A/N: I wrote this for a dear friend of mine, Senoigh (AKA falloutgirl), because she did a most wonderful piece of art for me when I was feeling particularly low and vulnerable. Copy and paste this link into your browser to see the pic: http://hobbitcuddles. . It truly is most beautiful and I am so proud! I wanted to thank her, so I wrote this short story to go with the picture. I can only hope that my efforts are half as poignant as hers. I have much love for you, Senoigh, and can't possibly thank you enough. BTW, she drew a second picture, which is just as lovely, so there will be a second story soon; be looking for it as well.

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Harry woke up abruptly and sat straight up in bed.

Ron was screaming.

Harry bolted from his room and down the hall; he threw open Ron's bedroom door and ran to his writhing, screaming best mate, caught in the terrifying throes of a nightmare.

He should have known. They both still had them from time to time and they were always horrible. Always.

Ron kicked and punched at the air, and swore at the Death Eaters that held him captive in his mind.

Ron had been a hell of a captive, and had withstood torture that would have almost rivaled the Longbottoms'. Harry was proud of him for what he had physically endured, but what no one saw was the lasting mental effects of such prolonged torture. What no one understood was that words could hurt just as powerfully as any wand.

The filth that the Death Eaters had filled Ron's head with had been worse than any Cruciatus.

"Ron, listen to me. It's Harry, Ron. You're safe here," Harry said very gently. He dared not raise his voice or touch him, not yet.

Ron tossed his head aside, away from Harry's voice. Tears leaked from his eyes. "NO!" he shouted.

Harry took a cautious step closer to the bed. "Wake up now, Ron. Wake up for me."

Ron just screamed and curled himself into a tight ball, a defensive pose. He expected the Death Eaters, expected Harry, to strike, though whether with words or spells, Harry wasn't sure.

"You have to wake up now, Ron. It's safe here. I'll keep you safe here. There are no more Death Eaters. It's just a dream." Harry softly sat on the very edge of the bed, not touching Ron, not quite yet. "It's Harry. You know your Harry. You know I won't let anything hurt you again."

Ron shuddered hard but didn't scream this time. Harry was grateful; he hated it when Ron screamed. When they were kids and Ron used to scream or yell, it was kind of funny, but these weren't the same kinds of screams at all. These were the screams and cries of someone that believed they had been abandoned by everyone they had ever trusted, ever loved.

That's what the Death Eaters had told him for so long, and because it had taken months for the Order to locate Ron, he had come to believe it.

The Death Eaters would physically torture Ron until he was nearly out of his mind, and then use trained Legilimens on him to probe the deepest corners of his mind, hoping to find Order secrets. What they found, instead, were his weakest psychological spots, and they turned them against him. They would cast Glamours on themselves so they would look like members of Ron's family and friends, then tease and taunt him, telling him the most horrific things over and over again.

By the time the Order located and rescued Ron, he was convinced that his own Mum had tried to take a potion to abort him when she found out she was carrying yet another "worthless, red-headed monstrosity", and that the only reason Harry ever tolerated him was because Ron looked and acted stupid, which made Harry only look more intelligent and dominant. He had believed that Harry only kept him around because he needed Ron for a fall guy, a court jester.

It took nearly four months worth of treatment in St. Mungo's, with six potions a day and four weekly visits with Order-trained Legilimens before Ron finally stopped screaming or crying every time he saw any member of his family, or Harry.

Every Death Eater that had been involved in Ron's capture had been brought in to the Order and had been tried and sentenced, as per proper Order conduct. Every member except one — Jugson. And Jugson, an old adversary of theirs from the long ago battle in the Department of Mysteries, was, thanks to Harry, very, very dead.

Harry had planned to bring Jugson in along with everyone else, until the slimy old man laughed and smiled and said, in Harry's own voice, how very easy it was to be Harry Potter.

Ron had screamed upon hearing him and Harry realized what Jugson had been doing to his friend all that time. Rage unlike he had ever known filled him, and Harry had simply raised his wand and cast the Killing Curse. When he was questioned about it later, he claimed that Jugson had tried to curse both he and Ron, so he had no choice. He was taken simply at his word; sometimes, being the real Harry Potter did have its perks.

That was the first time Harry had ever cast the Killing Curse. The second, and last time, was when he finally faced down Voldemort. To this day, he was still not sorry for either event.

Ron moaned again, a bit more softly, and Harry thought it was finally safe to touch him, so he gently stroked his fingers through Ron's hair. "Ron, are you awake? It's me; it's your Harry. Wake up, love."

Ron whimpered but Harry didn't give up; this time he made his voice clearer, stronger. He turned Ron's face so that he cupped it in his palm. "Ron, listen to me now. Wake up! Get up. It's Harry, and I've got you and you're safe!"

Ron tried one last time to pull away, albeit feebly.

Harry slipped his arm under Ron's shoulders and he finally stirred. "Ron, wake up now!"

Ron squeezed his eyes tight and curled against him. He murmured, whined. "Wha? No, 's cold. I want Harry. Where's Har— ?"

But Harry interrupted him. He pulled him further up so they were sitting and Ron seemed to rouse further. "Hush. Hush now. I'm right here. I've got you; you're alright." He pulled the threadbare and patched blue blanket closer around Ron.

Ron blinked slowly up at him, awake now. "Harry?" he asked, his voice rough from his screaming and sleep.

How it was that someone so broad-shouldered and tall could look so very vulnerable, Harry wasn't sure. But every time this happened, Ron looked like a sacrificial lamb ready to be led off to slaughter. His frame was big and his muscles were defined, but his skin was so pale and his eyes were so blue, and they always, always filled with tears when he got his bearings and realized what had happened.

"Harry? Oh, I'm sorry!" Ron curled closer into him. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"Hush!" Harry said firmly, and Ron did. Harry wove his fingers back through Ron's thick, ginger hair, an act that seemed to sooth him. "You can't help what you dream, and you know I would never leave you to suffer alone through that, just as you wouldn't me."

"I know, I…" Ron snuffled, and Harry knew he was crying a bit but he made no big deal of it. This always made Ron feel vulnerable and embarrassed enough.

Ron pulled the old blanket tight in his fist, nuzzling it against his face, and held it up against Harry's chest.

"Are you still cold?" Harry asked. "I can go get another blanket."

"NO!" Ron answered quickly, and he ducked his head back down under Harry's chin. "I'm not so cold now," he answered in a more controlled voice. "Just, um… just stay with me, okay?" he asked quietly.

Harry sank his hand back through Ron's soft hair again and he heard Ron give a tiny, grateful sigh. "Always," he whispered.