We Will Protect You

Chapter 5 - Hold Him Like a Brother

!!!TRIGGER WARNINGS: IMPLIED NIGHTMARES, PANIC ATTACKS, UNINTENTIONAL/CONSIDERED SELF HARM!!!

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After dinner, Harry had been called to Remus's office to meet up. It had gone on longer than expected, passing dinner time and drawling on until twenty-two hundred hours (ten p.m.). They had spoken about the Patronus charm, about how Uncle Moony met his father, about their other friends, and about how talented his parents had been. Harry soaked every bit of information about his parents he was given up, slowly inching closer to Uncle Moony over the course of the few hours. He'd noticed his uncle closing off when certain subjects were breached (see: when he asked who the fourth was when Moony let it slip that they weren't just Remus, Peter, and James) and had deftly avoided it. He had then been walked back to his common room, departing with a quick hug.

Everyone in their dorm was already in bed, asleep— it was the first day, after all, they were bound to be tired— which made Harry getting to bed was simpler than it'd have been if they were up. No questioning, no explaining, nothing. Sure, he had to keep his footsteps deft and not make any noise, but he was used to that with the Dursleys anyways.

Plus, he liked seeing him comfortable and peaceful they all looked, it made him happy. Ron was unintelligibly mumbling something about a cake, Neville had an arm slung over his pillow, which he was cuddling up to, and Seamus suddenly rolled over, grunting something that sounded an awful lot like Dean's name, which caused Dean to mutter a response.

He'd changed into another oversized jumper and sweatpants, then cuddled into bed. His blankets were soft and fluffy; his pillow was plush, but firm enough it didn't make his neck hurt like a bitch; and the curtains gave him enough privacy he wasn't nervous about sleeping while it let the snores of his dorm mates in and made him feel at home.

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He braced for what he thought was going to be a hard blow, already able to see the dark blood splattering on the clean, off-white wall next to him. His knuckles were already busted, and his arms were torn to shreds. What he could see of his own body was dyed red, purple, and blue. Just as the impact hit his head, the ground fell from under his feet and he was free falling, the world around him blurring into red-black-white flashes.

Then, his head was spinning and his breath was caught in his throat, it felt like he was going to throw up while his mouth went bone-dry and his eyes watered and ached. His body shook and sweat made his hair and clothes cling to his forehead and back. It felt like his brain was swelling against his skull, making it feel like his head was about to explode. Every bone in his body felt like it was on fire and he couldn't tell if it was because of the injuries he'd sustained over the summer, because some kind of magic had backfired on him, or if it was just phantom pain.

Harry didn't actually remember the nightmare that caused him to wake up, but the lasting terror from it was enough of a hint that he didn't really want to. It felt like he was dying— the lingering terror from his nightmare still causing dark clouds to form in his head; clouds that blotted out reality and caused the contents of his bad dream lurching out from under the thin blanket that separated that from his waking thoughts.

He sat up, pulling the curtains back, with full intentions of stumbling to the bathroom and finding a way to hurt himself. He reached over and shoved his glasses crookedly onto his face. He had his wand on him, he could use magic for it now. A laceration spell or a burning spell, anything that could pull him from the dark haze his thoughts were drowning him in. Briefly, the images of Uncle Moony, Ron, and Hermione flashed through his mind. They could help, right? Right? But... he would have to wake someone up to get their help. No. Then he would be a burden and he would drive them away. That would be horrible. Harry's nails dug into his arm, finding the somewhat-fresh burns and scratching at them subconsciously as he considered the prospect of pushing away the loving relationships he'd finally found.

He finally managed to haul himself onto his feet, taking two quick steps to the bathroom before tripping on his trunk, which he'd left open, and barely catching himself on the banister of his bed. Unfortunately, his timing had been less than ideal, because he heard a low groan from Ron's bed as the redhead rolled over, and oh, fuck, his curtains were open. Harry, not knowing what else to do, froze.

"Harry...?" Ron mumbled, squinting and pushing himself up, onto his forearms, "The hell're you doin' up?" His speech was sleep-slurred, but he was certainly awake enough that Harry would be unable to get him to drop it. Ron blinked a few times, hauling himself up further when he got a decent look at the other. His eyebrows furrowed, "Y' okay?" He asked slowly, his brain still turning on.

"U-uh, yeah," Harry said, and he could hear how unconvincing he sounded, "Yeah, I'm good," He tired again, only to cringe even harder at how shaky his voice was. Ron, despite his usual obliviousness, seemed to instantly cue into the fact that something was off and managed to look properly awake. Not quite up yet, but alert and ready to stand if he needed to. Harry suspected that him being hurt fell into the category of 'needing to.'

"You don't seem okay," Ron responded. That was one thing Harry simultaneously loved and hated about Ron: the fact he spoke his mind, was always direct. It'd gotten them fucked over on a fair few occasions. Sometimes Harry thought he ought to take lessons from Hagrid about what to say and what not to say— or, rather, when to know when he'd said something he shouldn't say. Maybe that could be step one to learning when to say what things.

Harry opened his mouth, closed it, and frowned. He wasn't quite sure how to make Ron believe him, and he had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn't be able to. He knew he'd have to lie his ass off to make that happen, which he already didn't want to do, plus he'd have to figure out a valid explanation as to why he was clutching his arm in a death grip and blindly stumbling to the bathroom, tears on his face.

"Harry?" Ron prodded again, "Are you good?" He questioned, concern growing in his voice. An odd feeling, like someone had lit a fire in Harry's chest and submerged his freezing body in warm water took over him as Harry realized that Ron was genuinely worried about him; genuinely worried that he wasn't okay. Worried enough that he, Ronald Weasley, who loved to sleep enough that he spent at least fifteen hours every weekend fast asleep, seemed just about ready to get out of bed to make sure Harry was okay.

"Uh... yeah...?" Came the rather stupid sounding response, even to Harry's own ears.

Ron swung his legs over the side of his bed with a yawn, "You sure? You seem..." He paused, eyebrows furrowing and nose scrunching, "I dunno," He gestured vaguely at Harry, "Really not okay— no offence," He said finally, a frown finding its way onto his lips as he continued to look Harry over, "C'mere," He beckoned with his hand, moving over as well to make room next to himself.

Harry sighed, reluctantly walking over and planting himself on the bed next to his best friend. Ron reached around him and pulled him closer, falling backwards with Harry (which granted him the cutest yelp he'd ever heard) and curling around the smaller boy. Harry blinked a few times, "Ron...?" He mumbled as a hand came up from around his torso to wipe the tears off of his face, "What're you doing?" He asked when the other buried his face in Harry's hair and snuggled closer.

"Sleeping," Ron replied simply, "You should probably do that, too," He yawned, and Harry felt warm breath on his scalp. The heat in his stomach ballooned further when he caught up and realized Ron expected him to rest with him, in his bed, together. Ron grunted, "Night, Harry," And, judging by his voice, he was getting close to sleep once again.

"G'night, Ron," Harry said, hoping his smile wasn't audible. At that point, his nightmare was slowly fading out of his memory. The anxiety it left him with stubbornly held onto his head, but it was drowned out by the happiness lulling him to bed.

That night, Harry had what was possibly the best sleep of his life, cuddled up with his brother.

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!!!Sorry for the hiatus! I got caught in an MHA hyperfixation but I'm back on Harry Potter now! Also, brotherly Harry x Ron is wonderful, I love it!!!