1985

It was the middle of the night, and the sounds of muffled crying and footsteps roused Bill from his sleep. Slipping out of bed, he crept to the landing to investigate and recognised the voice immediately.

"Ron?" He called quietly. "Is that you? What's the matter?"

Ron hurried over to Bill and wrapped himself tightly around Bill's legs, refusing to let go. "I had a nightmare," he sniffled softly. Bill awkwardly ruffled Ron's hair and rubbed his shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner. It was difficult to be sure when he was required to bend so far to reach him.

"Oh no, that's no good. Nightmares are scary, aren't they?" Ron nodded, and his sniffling had subsided for the most part, so Bill gently tried to extricate himself from his brother's grasp.

"How about you let me go now, and you can come sit on my bed and tell me all about it?" He suggested gently. "We'll just have to be really quiet so we don't wake Charlie, okay?" Obediently, Ron followed him back to his room, carefully mimicking Bill's footsteps and being as quiet as possible.

Once they were both comfortably positioned against the headboard of Bill's bed, he looked to his younger brother for an explanation, and Ron began to retell, in a halting, frightened whisper, the details of his bad dream.

"There was so many spiders! Big ones and small ones and hairy ones and bald ones, and they were all coming towards me and they were hungry! They were going to eat me, and I couldn't move. I was stuck, and I called for mum and dad but they didn't come! It was so scary! One of the spiders was about to eat me, and then I woke up… I don't like spiders, Bill. Don't let the spiders hurt me!"

Bill felt a momentary urge to wake the twins and show them what their so-called prank had done to their little brother. Ever since Fred and George had transfigured Ron's favourite teddy bear into a giant spider, Ron had been plagued by a terrible fear of the things, refusing to go into a room that held a spider, even if it was miniscule. He'd start trembling and turn alarmingly pale, and Mum constantly worried that he might faint in fright. She had yelled so long and so loudly at Fred and George when she found out what they'd done that Fred and George swore they were partially deaf for days afterwards. Bill wasn't overly concerned for them. All the punishment in the world, however much it was deserved, could not undo the fear they had inadvertently conditioned in Ron.

"It's okay, Ron," he soothed. "It was just a bad dream. There are no spiders here. I won't let them hurt you, I promise. I'll save you."

Ron had calmed down by that time, resting his head on Bill's shoulder and letting his eyes drift shut. "I'll keep you safe," Bill promised, but his words fell on deaf ears. Ron was already sound asleep, and watching him, Bill felt himself sliding into a restful state, still with one arm draped comfortingly over Ron's shoulders. In the morning, Molly found them in the same position, and the sight brought a smile to her face. Silently, she went downstairs and came back with a camera, capturing a picture of the oldest and youngest of her boys.

The photo sat in the lounge room of the Burrow for years after it was taken, and even Ron was particularly fond of it, because it was a depiction, in a way, of the essence of their relationship. Bill was the perpetually protective, understanding older brother, and not just to Ron. It was something that Ron appreciated doubly as much when he appeared at Shell Cottage in 1997, sopping wet and exhausted, and Bill took him in without question.

It was late at night when he arrived, just like it had been all those times when Ron had woken up after having one of his nightmares, and Bill would be there to comfort him. The scene was eerily similar, except that this time Bill couldn't fight off the monsters in his mind, Ron would have to do that himself. Well, most of it.

Ron had a hot shower to warm himself up and changed into some of Bill's old clothes, and when he came downstairs, Fleur had returned to bed, and Bill was sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a steaming cup of tea. He gestured to the chair opposite him, which had an identical drink in front of it, clearly meant for Ron. "Have a seat."

Apprehensively, Ron did so, anticipating the interrogation that would surely come next. He pulled out his chair and sat down, busying himself with blowing air onto his tea and trying with an appalling lack of discretion to look anywhere other than at Bill. Surprisingly, Bill was content to let him be, and he didn't try to start a conversation like Ron had expected he would.

After a few minutes, the silence grew oppressive, at least to Ron, who kept hearing Hermione's voice in his head, pleading with him to come back and plaguing him with guilt, so he broke it. "Being in this house reminds me of when we used to come here when we were kids, and we'd always complain because Percy and I would have to share a room… We stopped coming after a while though, didn't we?"

"Yeah, once we were all a certain age, there didn't seem to be any point coming here anymore. We were all busy with jobs or homework or friends… Speaking of friends, you seem to be missing yours. Care to explain why? "

Ron squirmed in his seat, wanting to postpone this conversation or not have it at all, but he knew that if he had to confess everything to one person in the world, he'd want it to be Bill. "I – I was stupid. I was such a prat, Bill. I ran away from Harry and Hermione. I left my best friends behind, and I hate myself so much for it!"

While Bill listened attentively, Ron spilled out the whole story (leaving out the part about the Horcruxes, obviously.) He told his brother about his feelings for Hermione, and how they'd always been tainted by a little bit of jealousy directed towards his best mate. Without referencing the necklace or its function directly, he explained how those feelings had been greatly exacerbated while they'd been on the run, and the way he'd tried so hard to keep them hidden and in check, until one day he couldn't do it anymore, and his resentment burst out in a spiteful torrent of thoughtless, piercing words.

The sun was spilling into the sky by the time Ron had finished telling his story, and both he and Bill were yawning constantly. Still, it was only once the tale had been told in its entirety that Ron realised just how exhausted he was, and only then would he have been able to drift off to sleep.

Bill didn't approve of what Ron had done by any means, and he made that much clear straight away. What he didn't do was heap Ron with guilt or make him feel any worse. He seemed to recognise that Ron was more than capable of doing that himself, and what he needed most of all was someone who would listen and not judge him too harshly.

"Hey, Bill," Ron said suddenly as they stretched and prepared to head to their respective rooms.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." It was a single word, but within it Bill could hear so many different things, all the gratitude his brother, generally so inept when it came to emotions, struggled to convey.

"Anytime, Ron."

Written for:
The Connect the Weasley's Challenge
As Strong As We Are United (Version II)
The Different Genre Competition: Family