Every night he wakes up in the middle of the night, yelping, whimpering. He starts to toss and turn when he wants to fall asleep again but the sheets under him are soaked in sweat, like his whole body. He hears the soft thump of the pillow hitting the floor under the bed. He feels cold. He wipes away a tear with the back of his hand and leaves the room; with the sheets messy and the pillow on the floor. Every night.

Every night she wakes up hours before the crack of dawn, letting out a shriek that would make your blood circulation turn to ice. She's tangled into her bedclothes, and the panic in her eyes grows bigger and bigger because she can't break free. And when she does, her cheeks are already soaked with the tears she doesn't show around other people. She doesn't fall asleep again, and when people ask her why she looks like she hasn't been sleeping, she tells them she was reading. Though she can tell they don't believe her anymore.

Two broken hearts. Two damaged bodies. Two crushed souls. And people say, "War will do that to you." Was that supposed to be comforting? Because it wasn't.

Because whenever they open their mouths to speak, they are somehow reminded of the war; the loss they had suffered. One more nightmare added to the overflowing list. So, they try to help others overcome their broken hearts. They try to heal everyone else's damaged bodies. They try to repair any other crushed soul. But what about their own?

They're not two people who want to ask for help. Not even from each other.

"Good morning, Ronald."

Ron looks up. He'd been walking with his head down from his room to the kitchen at the Burrow. He hadn't moved out after the war, because he by no means could afford his own place when he was in Auror training, but also because he just wanted to be close to the people he loved. (But being at his childhood home was a pain, because everyone was trying hard every day to ignore the empty chair at the dinner table around every mealtime and the missing team member at their nightly Quidditch games.) "Good morning, Hermione."

A simple answer, really. But it wasn't like he wanted to speak at the moment; even if it was with her. He looked at her face, noticing something; she looked paler than usually, and more tired; she had dark bags under her eyes that could only be caused by insomnia. But one good thing was that she wasn't as thin and fragile like she had been at the Horocrux hunt; at least he'd succeeded with making her eat more.

Though he did wonder where the small amount of scarlet that was on her cheeks all the time had gone.

"You look very tired. Are you okay?" Hermione asked, while cradling a cup of coffee between her hands; she hadn't drunk anything since she didn't like the taste, but she made coffee every morning, and every morning she hoped that she would drink it and maybe look a little more awake. "Is Auror training wearing you out after two weeks?"

The last comment was supposed to be a joke. But no one really appreciated jokes anymore. Not after Fred died.

"No I just-" Had another nightmare where you died, he wanted to say, to tell the truth. But instead, he sighed a low sigh and said instead, "Yeah. It's hard. I mean, look at Harry." He lied. Why did he lie? This wasn't just anyone after all. Maybe he should tell her…

Hermione caught the small hesitation when he spoke, and got instantly concerned. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but if she knew him right he'd either lie or walk out of there. "Yes, he looks really tired." Stating the obvious, she closes her eyes and turns her head the other way. These conversations came more often these days; these awkward, shallow, talking-about-the-weather conversations that pained them.

"There are a lot of people who…" Ron begins, but he wasn't sure what to say. What he had planned to say from the start was something he had already told her, and it would be more than useless for him to say it again, but he did. He didn't like to be quiet around her. "There are a lot of people who want to ask about… his life and… things."

"I can imagine."

Silence hits them like a brick wall. It almost hurts as much, too.

Hermione brings the coffee cup to her lips several times, but changes her mind every time and puts it down again. She isn't reading anything while she's having her coffee debate with herself, which strikes Ron as odd; she's always reading something in the mornings. Usually a book. No one really reads the Daily Prophet at the moment.

That was when he decided.

He sits down in front of her, hoping for her to look up and acknowledge him or something. She didn't, but he sat there, not about to leave anytime soon. He sat there because every day they were lied to. Every day they heard rumors and lies and things being said about everything they cared about. Like Hogwarts being built up again; was it really happening? The Ministry of Magic getting back on the right track; was it really true?

Lies. Lies. Lies. About Hogwarts. About Kingsley. About their families. About them, even. But Ron wasn't going to be lied to anymore by Hermione; he was going to make sure of it. Because she meant too much to him. So, he asked with a soft, worried voice, "Hermione, tell me the truth."

She knew what he was talking about. She knew very well what he was talking about but somehow she wanted to act oblivious. Look in his eyes and look confused. Could she do that? Or would he realize…

Of course he would.

"I can't sleep anymore, Ron." She pressed out. "I- I have all these nightmares that are changing every night, always some new fancy, frightening beginning but always the same ending. The ending never changes..." She almost chokes on her words. Was she going to say it? "Ron, you die in the end of every, single one of my nightmares. It's like I… want to die or go into a coma because these dreams are making me go crazy."

Why on earth was she confessing this? She panicked. Her eyes taking the same look of panic as they did every morning. She knocked over her chair when she stood up and hurried out of the room, because she felt like Ron didn't need to know this. He was – according to herself – the last person who needed to know this information. She hadn't even told Ginny. Ginny, of all people who would probably even know how she feels, – with Harry being away for almost a whole year and her not knowing anything – didn't know this. She felt foolish for letting herself have this slip of the tongue, as she called it.

She felt ashamed. She had dumped all of her worries and problems on him now; like he didn't already have a lot to think about. With a few sentences she had broken her wall of protectiveness she had made up for him. He didn't need to know her reasons to stay awake, he didn't need her reason for wanting to live in the same house as him; to make sure he was safe. Though with him away on Auror training it didn't help much that they lived in the same house; it was just that what was kept them together at the moment.

Because Ron was thrown into working for his one dream to come true, and Hermione was at the ministry almost all day trying to work for S.P.E.W; right now they really just were two people who slept in the same place.

Hermione wanted to change that. She really did, because the kiss they had shared had changed her way too much for her to just give up on them now. She was going to change it. Just not right now.

Ron doesn't watch her as she marches off. He doesn't like her back; whenever he sees it, it means that she's leaving him. And he needs her, so he doesn't look at her. He doesn't need the feeling of her walking away; though by now he knew that he was the one who walked away and came back begging for forgiveness.

He processes what she had said. Fuck. He was the source of her insomnia. He was the reason she had bags under her eyes. He was the reason she looked pale. Because she's the most wonderful person in the world; because she cares. About him.

Now he knew why she always looked like she was holding back tears.

He loves her. He can hide it but he doesn't want to. He wants to wrap his arms around her and keep her safe from her nightmares. He wants to be with her all the time to make sure that no left over Death Eater will come and drag her off and torture her in some old cellar far, far away where he won't be able to find her and save her.

And to think some people called him overprotective.

"Bloody hell." He whispers to himself, with his head in his hands and his brain overworking. He hoped for a miracle that Ginny or Harry would come through the kitchen door and tell him what to do, or that he would realize something genius. Sadly, these things weren't his kind of thing.

He shakes his head.

That night Hermione lied awake, way past midnight, because tonight, she was not going to have nightmares. She just wants to make sure she's not caught.

Her bare feet hits the cold floor and she gets goose bumps over her legs, she gives out an involuntary shiver and uses her muscles to help her stand up. She opens the door to her and Ginny's (Though it is more her room now, because after a long argument with Mrs. Weasley, Ginny was sleeping with Harry in Bill's old room. Or was it Charlies's? She was never sure.) room softly. The door makes a loud noise when she opens it and Hermione squeezes her eyes shut and stands so still she can manage; trying to make herself invisible while hoping no one had heard her. When she was still standing in complete silence, she took it as a sign that maybe this wasn't such a bad idea. She tiptoed to the stairs and starts to make her way to the attic, because that's where she's headed. But halfway she's stopped, by a very familiar redhead.

"Ron?" she whispers, trying to make out his facial features in the dark.

"Hermione?" he whispers back, his voice sounding very concerned. "What're you doing?"

"I was just on my way to…" she begins, but doesn't finish. I was just on my way to your room, how silly didn't that sound? She couldn't say that. She didn't. "What are you doing?"

"Going to your room." He says honestly.

She chokes on her reply. She can't seem to say anything in return, but she pushes away her confusion into another room and asks. "Why on earth would you…?"

"Because you need me, Hermione. And I need you. Because I dream that we're back in Malfoy Manor every, single, night and it's killing me. It's not Auror training that's making me look tired; it's you." He doesn't hide anything, he doesn't hold anything back. He hopes that if he says the truth, maybe she'll follow his example.

"I- I… Ron…" Why can't she speak? Is there something wrong with her?

She feels a tear behind her eye. But not like one of those that forces themselves out when she wakes up screaming every night. It's one of those that come when you know that you've found your only one. "Come with me."

She grabs his hand. It's so warm, and her body overflows with a feeling that she wouldn't exchange for anything. She leads him to her room, her bed, and they lay down.

At first it's awkward, and they feel weird and both of them almost get up to leave at several times. But they don't. It seems like they're both being pushed down by the feeling that the other one need their presence. After a while, Hermione puts her head on Ron's chest; listening to his heartbeat would assure her he was alive. She moves closer to him with putting her left arm over his waist, and at the same time grabs his right hand that's conveniently just lying there at his side. Ron's body stiffens, but he relaxes; because this is what she wants and then he wanted it too. He links their fingers together and squeezes her hand, and says "Don't be ashamed to cry, I've seen the dark side too."

She smiles, her eyes filled with tears that weren't there because she was scared.

That night neither of them had nightmares.

*Yawn* It's like 2 o'clock in the morning at the moment. Why is it ALWAYS that I write these things too late/early.

I hope you liked it.

/Kajsa