Summary: Ron realizes that not all dreams are bad.

Dedication: For Senoigh (AKA: falloutgirl), who, out of the goodness of her heart, drew me a second picture, just because she wanted my heart to feel better! You are such a love, dear, and a great friend, and the world needs more people like you!

A/N: This picks up almost directly where What Dreams May Come left off, so for the uninitiated, you should probably read that fic first.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been a terrible, mind-shaking nightmare, and afterwards, Ron had just not been able to get back to sleep no matter how hard he tried.

And goodness knows Harry had tried to lull him back into slumber. Harry had rocked him, cradled him, soothed him, held him. Harry had tried everything he could think of, but in the end, Ron just couldn't force himself to sleep again. The images were still too vivid, the sounds too real, and the dark too encroaching.

He had told Harry he could go back to his own room and go back to bed, but Harry wouldn't hear of it. He wasn't about to leave Ron alone after having faced such an ordeal. So they gathered some pillows, and Ron's old blanket, and went to the living room to drink hot tea and watch whatever was on the Muggle telly.

For the longest time they just sat, side by side on their worn couch, curled up under the blanket, in relative silence (only occasionally making small-talk), mindlessly watching old reruns of footie matches.

Harry didn't ask questions about Ron's dreams or try to force him to talk about his feelings, and Ron loved him for that. It was only one of the many things that Ron loved him for.

Ron loved how Harry understood that he just needed some peace and that he needed to get out of that dark room. Ron distinctly didn't like the dark anymore, and Harry went out of his way to make sure there was always some light on in their flat. He loved how Harry automatically made his tea extra sweet, and always let him sit in the corner of the couch with a soft pillow, that way he'd feel like he had a safe place to curl into if he needed it.

Harry did all of these things for him automatically, without ever being asked, without ever being told that Ron needed them. Harry just paid attention; Harry noticed Ron and still liked being with him despite all his eccentricities, all his foibles. And Ron loved him for it all.

Ron just loved him.

He didn't know if he'd ever have the courage to actually say the words to Harry out loud, but he was sure Harry was aware of it anyway. The two of them had always had their own way of communicating. Ron always tried to make sure Harry had hot buttered scones in the morning before he had to leave for work. And he made sure Harry's Firebolt Two was always polished and serviced, even if Harry hadn't used it in a while; Ron figured it was just a nice gesture, and one way he could show his thanks for all that Harry had done for him.

It was one way he could silently show Harry that he loved him.

And for once, for the first time in all of his life, Ron was sure that he was loved in return. He didn't know if he'd ever hear the actual words from Harry either; he figured Harry assumed he was still just too damaged from all that had happened to try to deal with something that important and fragile head-on.

That was okay. Ron didn't need to hear the words. He knew Harry loved him; if he didn't, then Harry wouldn't be curled up against him (the blanket having slid off to the floor long ago), trying to fight off sleep just so he could keep him company while they watched old footie matches and waited for the sun to rise.

"Do ya think it hurts when they head-butt tha ball like tha'?" Harry suddenly asked in a rather Hagrid-like accent, as he tried to simultaneously rouse himself and stifle a yawn.

"What?" Ron asked, amused. Harry was so very tired and it was definitely starting to show.

Harry pointed to the telly. "When they head-butt tha ball," he repeated. "Don' ya figure tha' hurts?"

"I dunno, maybe. Maybe they're just used to it by now." Ron answered, and he tried not to grin at Harry's expense, though it felt good to want to grin again. "You're the one that was raised by Muggles, Harry. Wouldn't you have a better idea than me?"

Harry yawned again and leaned further into Ron's side. "M' Aunt an' Uncle never let me watch any telly. Th' game'd be a whole lot easier if they jus' let 'em use their hands, yeah?" He queried in that strange accent that he only acquired when he was extremely tired and desperately in need of sleep.

Ron couldn't help but smile at Harry's poor state. "Harry, you're so tired."

"Oh, 'm okay," he steadfastly answered.

'"Like hell." Ron chuckled. "You're practically asleep against me."

Harry's eyes opened wide and he sat up away from Ron. "Oh! Oh, well, I can move over, or go back to my room if — "

Ron reached over and pulled Harry back to him; even in that short amount of time he had missed Harry's comfortable weight against him, and that ridiculous accent rumbling against his side. "Don't be ridiculous. You don't have to go anywhere, not unless you want to." Ron hesitated for a moment, slightly unsure. "Eh, you don't want to, do you?" He gently fingered the fringe across Harry's forehead.

"No!" Harry said resolutely, and he sighed lightly as he leaned into the touch. "Are you going to bed?"

"No," Ron said quietly, "not just yet. "But you sleep here, okay? You've done more than enough for me tonight. You've earned your rest."

"Ye don' care?" Harry asked, slipping back into that weird accent as his head fell further and further down Ron's shoulder.

"Course not!" He told him fondly. "Besides, I like having you here," Ron added quietly.

Harry smiled sleepily, then he reached up and cupped Ron's head in his hand. Without second though or preamble, Harry pressed his warm, dry lips to Ron's and kissed him. It was gentle and just a hint more than chaste, but Ron knew in that instant it was Harry's way of saying those three words that he thought Ron just wasn't quite ready to hear yet.

Ron smiled into their kiss, more at ease with himself than he had been in months, possibly even years. As the kiss broke, he laid Harry's head down in his lap. "You sleep here for now. We'll go to bed in a little while. Do you want me to pull the blanket back up?"

Harry curled up tight into Ron. "Na, yer warm. This is good." A few seconds later, Harry was deeply asleep.

Ron gazed down at Harry's slumbering face just as the sun was rising and sending new rays of light through their living room windows. He smiled and stroked the ever- tousled hair back away from his peaceful face.

Peace.

Harry brought many things into Ron's life, but above all, because of Harry, he had the chance to know true peace. That was why he loved him.

And that was why he told him so, just then. Ron leaned over and whispered the three words (which, really, weren't so fragile after all, but were as reinforcing as steel and concrete) softly into Harry's ear.

"I love you."

Harry smiled and mumbled a few words in return that Ron couldn't quite catch (but knew by heart anyway) in his well-deserved, peaceful slumber.