Title: Lessons in Codependence

Author: Green

Pairings: Ron/Bill, Ron/Harry

Rating: R-ish for ... themes

Warnings: preslash, incest

Disclaimer: The characters and setting are definitely not mine. Not even a teeny tiny bit.

Authors Note: Thanks to Spiffy Da Wondersheep for the beta!

A/N2: This is my first HP fic. Please be gentle with me.

***

Ron lays in bed and listens to the sounds of the dormitory, listens and picks out the breath of his best friend, recognizable in its hitches and snuffs and snorts.

He wonders if Harry had ever lain awake in the dark and listened for his breath, or if he is alone in this, too.

Sometimes a noise or movement of air disturbs Ron's slumber, and he comes awake, his ears straining to hear the approach of booted feet.

Wariness and watchfulness are a learned condition -- Pavlovian -- one taught at an early age by older siblings, as he lay in his own bed in the Burrow and listened to the creaks and muffled whispers in other beds. At the age of five, dreams bled into reality too much to clearly grasp, and only the vaguest memories rise up when called upon now, images and feelings and scents he's not always sure he can trust to be real.

Sometimes he dreams of smooth, damp skin against his own, of shushing and fondling in the blackness. He awakes, in turns aroused and ashamed, and listens for the familiar.

The familiar was once the sounds of Fred and George's light snoring, and sometimes rustling and noises that sounded like strangling. Now, Ron has taken the old routine of wake and sweat and listen and applies it and uses Harry in place of his brothers.

He sometimes thinks he will wake to find larger, clammy hands on his skin, and this would be familiar as well.

He misses Bill with pain and longing so intense it scares him. He misses the whispers. //'shh, shh, don't say anything. sweet boy. lovely boy. oh, that feels so good.'// He misses being special.

He basks in Harry's glow now, scoots as close to the warmth as he can. Being best friends with Harry Potter puts him in a certain light all his own -- not as bright or cozy, but his own light nonetheless -- and he is no longer just another Weasley, but Harry's mate, who shares secrets with Dumbledore and knows of hidden passages and ...

Harry gasps in his sleep, //'no, don't, stop it ...'// dreaming, and Ron debates waking him. He doesn't, and he wonders why he needs to know Harry has nightmares too, that Harry's afraid and not quite as brave and heroic and strong as the world would like to think.

Ron needs Harry; it isn't a question or idea anymore, it's a fact. Ron needs him the way he needed Bill -- to make him *be* someone. And in order to keep Harry, in order to bind him to him so that Harry will always be there, no matter what, he needs to make Harry need *him*.

He's had lessons.

Ron remembers how it started, being woken from a childish nightmare, comfort offered and accepted, the first step in trust and intimacy.

He gently shakes him. "Harry, wake up," he says softly.

Harry comes awake with a gasp, his hand reaching up to touch his forehead. His eyes are very white in the darkness of the dormitory. "What? Ron?" he says, still caught between terror and reality.

"You were dreaming," Ron says, reaching out and taking Harry's hand.

Harry's fingers curl around his hand and tighten, and his panting slows. "Thank you," he whispers, and Ron lets go of his hand. Harry seems sorry he let go. Ron smiles inwardly.

"Scoot over," Ron says, sitting beside him. Harry, still dazed, moves and gives Ron room to lay beside him. Ron turns on his side and throws an arm over Harry and snuggles against his side. "Just for a little while," he says, as if he were resigned, as if Harry had asked and he had given in. Because the first step is to make them believe they need *you*.

END