Hey guys! My very first HP story. I can't believe it's already over. Those ten years have gone by so fast! : (

Okay, on with the story before I start crying again!

Set at some point during Deathly Hallows part 1, when the trio is camping in the middle of nowhere. Hope you like it, reviews are appreciated! : )

English is not my mother tongue, so please let me know if there are any mistakes.

Ron Weasley was lying on his bed, wide awake. Like every single night since this crazy journey had begun, millions of different thoughts were flowing in his mind. Was he doing the right thing? Would they succeed in destroying You-Know-Who? At what price?

He sighed and rolled over, trying to empty his mind. As he did so, his eyes rested on the sleeping figure in the bed next to his. As usual, his best friend was tossing and moaning in his sleep, but he was not crying in pain, clutching his scar or covered in sweat like he had been only two nights ago.

At least one of us is getting some sleep, Ron thought bitterly. Hermione was outside, guarding the tent. In an hour or so it would be Ron's turn. He hated guarding. He hated being here, powerless and away from his family. He hated the horrible feeling of constantly being in danger. He hated not eating as much as he would normally have.

Deciding that he would not be falling asleep anytime soon, and because he had to get up in an hour anyway, the red-haired boy rose from his not-so comfortable bed and sat at the table where they usually ate (that was, when they were lucky enough to find anything to eat). He took out his Deluminator and started to play with it, turning on and off the only lamp they had.

"How dare you …"

Ron sighed. Brilliant. Now Harry's awake and he'll be bloody grumpy just like every time he lacks sleep.

"Sorry mate, didn't mean to wake you up. Go back to sleep".

That was apparently not the right thing to say, for Harry kept talking.

"How dare you fail your Master…"

Ron raised an eyebrow at the mention of the last word.

"I said I was sorry, your Majesty may go back to sleep and shut it, if He pleases" he answered, risking a look at his best friend.

That was when he realised that Harry was still sleeping. He was lying on his back with his hand stretched in the air, as if he was pointing a wand at somebody. And when the Boy Who Lived spoke again, it was with a high, cold and cruel voice that certainly was not his own.

"Lord Voldemort will not tolerate failure…"

That voice. It was undoubtedly not the first time he'd heard Harry use it, but it still sent shivers of fear down his spine every time. He remained still in his sit, watching his friend, who went on.

"Failure must be punished, Nott. Considering you spent years serving me, you should know that, my slippery friend…CRUCIO! "

Harry found back his own voice, and screamed in pain, in pure agony, chucking both hands to his forehead. He started trashing around, as if he was fighting something invisible. And he kept screaming.

"Bloody hell, HARRY!" yelled Ron, hurrying to his friend's side. He climbed in the small bed and pulled Harry, whose body was still convulsing violently, into a sitting position. Then Ron sat behind him, placed both his arms around his friend's forearms and held him in a firm grip.

"Ron?" said Hermione, who had just walked in. "I heard a scream, is everything… RON!"

It was a very odd and shocking scene that was taking place before her eyes. Her best friend, sweaty and red-faced, was firmly holding her other best friend, who seemed to be having some sort of really, really painful seizure.

"Hermione! Go…get me…a…bucket…" Ron said loudly, trying to cover Harry's screams.

"A bucket?" babbled Hermione, not understanding.

"Because he might…be…SICK! HURRY!"

She quickly grabbed her bag, opened it, and took out her wand.

"Accio bucket!"

"I'll also…need…a wet…and cold…washcloth!" Ron yelled.

Harry was still trashing around and howling in pain. It was becoming more and more difficult for Ron to maintain his hold. He tightened his grip, making Harry's bones crack. Hermione came to their side, put down the bucket beside the bed and handed the washcloth to Ron. Her eyes were shining with tears.

"Thanks 'Mione"

Ron pressed the washcloth against Harry's sweaty forehead.

"It's okay, mate…I'm here…He can't hurt you".

He kept whispering soothing words in his best friend's ear, holding him with one hand, and pressing the washcloth to his forehead with the other. Slowly, the screaming stopped and the smaller boy's body seemed to relax.

"There we go…You're fine, Harry. We all are."

When Harry's body had gone completely limp and his breathing pattern had become regular, Ron released his grip. Harry's head went resting on his shoulder.

"The cold water helps when his scar hurts" whispered the red haired boy.

Hermione sniffed, but said nothing. Ron went on:

"He told me. In fifth year. When I asked him why he was pouring snow on his head outside the Three Broomsticks."

Hermione remained silent. Slowly, carefully, Ron slid out from the bed and placed Harry in a lying position. Hermione finally spoke.

"You knew exactly what to do, didn't you?"

Ron smiled.

"Well, it's merely the result of almost eight years of room sharing with Harry Potter."

"Is it always like that?"

"Most of the time he's just talking. There are nights when it gets really nasty, though. Didn't ask you to bring a bucket for nothing".

"Are you going to tell him what happened? In the morning?" Hermione asked.

"I don't reckon he'll remember the seizure part. The dream, he will. Bet you anything that's the first thing he'll talk about when he wakes up."

There were a few minutes of silence during which the two friends only watched Harry.

"You should get some sleep. I'll take your turn outside." Ron said, taking out his wand.

"He's very lucky to have you as a friend. I hope he knows that."

Ron smiled.

"Reckon he knows. But don't hesitate to mention it, you know, just in case."

He stared at her, still smiling.

"Good night, 'Mione."

He walked out of the tent and sat in front of the door. It was a beautiful summer night, warm and starry.

Yes, he did hate this place. But now he knew the thing that was keeping him here. He loved Harry and Hermione, and would always be there for them.