When Ron went to sleep that night he was for once not worrying about what Harry was particularly thinking. He just wanted to sleep, Bill and Fleur were leaving tomorrow, and breakfast would be whole big deal, he was worried about how he was going to deal with Harry as well. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but for some reason Harry seemed different. He couldn't possibly know about the dream the night before, or any of the dreams for that matter, so why was he acting like he did, or at least like he knew something? Harry had actually seemed moody at the dinner that night, a mood which Harry rarely donned unless it came hand in hand with anger, but he didn't seem particularly angry, he was somewhat subdued, mixed with confusion. Making Ron confused as well.
In the middle of the night, Ron was still awake. He didn't want to be thinking about Harry, but he couldn't help it. All he could do, was wonder about what would happen when they left his house and started on their way to Harry's parent's graves. He didn't like the idea of being just with Harry and Hermione for so long, with no one else traveling with them, and no place to escape. He would have to look into Harry's eyes when they talked, have to travel with him all day, have to comfort him when the sorrow of his parents' deaths washed over him anew at their graves. He didn't know if he could stand it, if he could endure such things. But he knew that he would have to anyways.
Finally, Ron fell asleep, and Harry woke at the sound of his snores. Ron turned and they stopped, leaving Harry in silence with his thoughts. He stood up from his bed and walked over to Ron, his hands slightly trembling in all that he was feeling, confusion, nerves, sorrow, excitement, and tiredness, even love, maybe. He leaned over Ron, as he slept, and gently kissed his lips, he meant to kiss his forehead, but he couldn't bring himself to perform such a simple, friendly act, for friendship was something he felt he and Ron had left in the past long ago…
