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For as long as Ron can remember, Harry's been having nightmares. It scared him at first, to hear this scrawny boy whispering in his sleep about some horrific happening that only he could see. Ron would lie in his bed and stare at the ceiling and cover his ears with his pillow and try to fall asleep. As the years went on, Harry started to toss and turn and pull at his blankets and talk louder and louder until Ron couldn't drown it out with sound of his own heart pounding in his ears. Now that the Dark Lord is back, Harry screams.
Ron has never told anyone--not Neville, not Hermione, not even Harry himself--but sometimes, when Harry is writhing so hard he might hurt himself, he slips into bed next to him and runs a finger up and down the length of his arm and whispers nonsense into his ear and presses his lips to the unscarred side of his forehead and strokes his hair. He tells himself that he does it so they can both sleep soundly, but he knows better.
Last night was one of those nights. The first light of dawn peeks into the window and he carefully untangles himself, gets out of the bed. He glances back at Harry, who shifts and smiles (actually smiles) in his sleep. As he climbs into his own bed, he feels a tear roll down his cheek for what is definitely not the first time. He wipes it off haphazardly and pulls his covers up to his chin and waits for Harry to say they're going to be late to breakfast, unable to even try to sleep.