It was late, that much Ron was sure of. How late, he didn't know and couldn't bring himself to particularly care. The common room was finally empty, long shadows being cast by the remnants of a dying fire in the fireplace. Shivering, Ron curled his arms around his knees, which were drawn up against his chest. For the briefest moment he was once again thankful to Madame Pomfrey. She had done a right good job fixing his leg.

Remembering how it was that his leg had come to be in such a state, he closed his eyes, letting his face fall forward until his forehead rested on his knees. It was rather hard to forget being drug under the Whomping Willow by a large black dog. Sirius. Harry's Godfather.

All because he was the owner of a shabby little rat. Ron sighed, his chest suddenly tight. He had loved that rat.

Now he knew better. He knew what Scabbers -- who -- Scabbers really was. What he had done. Betraying little rat. Ron's breath caught in his throat. Lying, murdering rat. Scabbers had killed Harry's parents and for years since Ron had loved him all the same.

He didn't know who was the bigger fool. Scabbers or himself.

What must Harry think, Ron couldn't help but wonder. His friend hadn't said anything about it since he woke up in the infirmary. They'd gotten along almost like normal in fact. The redheaded boy didn't want to think of his friend hating him, but a not so little voice in the back of his mind was screaming that surely it could be no other way. How could he not hate someone who protected -- loved -- a murderer?

What if when everything settled down Harry came to his senses and realized what Ron had done? Would he blame him? Would he still want to be friends?

Sinking as far into the chair as possible, Ron found himself wishing he could disappear. The only thing he knew for sure was that even if Harry didn't hate him, that same voice in the back of his mind would do the job for both of them.

Because Ron was beginning to hate himself.

When Harry woke up, his first reaction was to be annoyed. All he had wanted to do was sleep for at least twelve hours. After the past few days, he imagined it was the least he could ask. However, hearing only silence in the room he found himself wondering what had woken him. The silence caused a nagging concern at the back of his mind.

Sneaking a hand through the drapes that surrounded his bed and snagged his glasses. A moment later he was sitting up in bed, peeking through the curtains and around the room.

At first he could see nothing out of the ordinary. Again, the drapes around the other four beds were drawn closed and the room was still. He looked at the beds one by one, grinning at the sight of Neville's leg sticking out from the curtains around his bed. Lastly he glanced at the bed nearest his own -- Ron's.

It struck him as wrong somehow, before he finally realized what his sleep-riddled eyes were trying to show him. The same crack in the drapes remained that was there earlier, and if he squinted Harry could tell that the bed was still empty.

Looking up at where a large clock rested against the far wall, Harry's breath caught. It was far closer to daylight than dusk and Ron was still not in bed. Worry began to claw at the corners of Harry's mind. Where was Ron? Why wasn't he asleep?

A pause, and then... What if something else had happened to him?

Panic gripped Harry and he flung the curtains away from the bed. Within seconds he was out of the dorm room and climbing down the stairs. He was halfway down to the common room when he remembered the Marauder's Map was tucked into the trunk by his bed. It would be the quickest way to find Ron, no doubt. Yet something moved him forward toward the common room.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs he looked out across the large darkened room. The fire was burning low and giving off very little light or heat. He had just turned toward the painting of the fat lady when he noticed an odd shaped lump in one of the plush chairs.

Harry took a step forward before realizing that the odd lump was indeed Ron. For a moment he wondered at how his friend could possibly fold himself into such a small space. Shaking his head, he walked across the room slowly.

He didn't realize that he was holding his breath until Ron's head jerked up and their eyes met. What little air was still in Harry's lungs rushed outward, seeing the briefest glimpse of fear in Ron's eyes. He couldn't help but think he looked more like a frightened animal than his normally exuberant best friend.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but closed it when Ron flinched backwards slightly. Looking away from the wide green eyes, Harry glanced over at the fire before spotting a chair next to Ron's and dropping into it.

They sat in silence for several moments, Harry casting long glances at his best friend out of the corner of his eye. Something was wrong -- he would have to be blind to not see it. The problem was Harry wasn't convinced he wanted to hear what it might be. What if Ron really was tired of being hurt because of him?

When Harry sighed, Ron looked up at the sound. The last thing he wanted to do was have to look at his friend, to risk seeing proof that he held Ron responsible for Scabbers. But at the soft sound, he found he couldn't resist checking up on him.

Harry was staring at the floor, and it was several anxious seconds for Ron before he met his gaze. Still worried, Ron began chewing on his lower lip. He had no idea what he should say. Luckily, Harry saved him from that task.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked in a low voice, the sound carrying no further than Ron's ears. Ron blinked. It was the last thing he expected Harry to say. "I was worried when I realized you weren't upstairs."

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out. It was a long moment later when he finally managed a hoarse, "I'm fine."

Harry looked doubtful. "How's your leg?" he asked, gesturing toward where Ron had it curled up in front of him.

Smiling faintly, Ron shook his head. "All better. I guess Madame Pomfrey really does know what she's doing."

"I'm sorry." The words rushed out of Harry's mouth, causing Ron to blink quickly. A night of surprises, it would appear. What, he could only wonder, did Harry have to be sorry for?

Again Ron shook his head, but any humor -- forced or otherwise -- was gone. "Why are you sorry?" He turned away from Harry, unable to meet the beseeching gaze any longer. "You didn't do anything."

"I didn't?" Ron turned his attention back to his friend at hearing the strained tone of his voice. A second later, Harry continued. "How many times have you been hurt just because you're my best friend?"

Ron laughed, a thin, forced sound. "Some friend." Staring at the low fire, he shook his head warily. "Friends don't keep murderer's for pets."

Harry blinked. Surely he had misunderstood. Staring at Ron with wide eyes, he tried to make sense of his last statement. "Ron..."

The other boy shook his head, uncurled his legs and stood on shaky legs. "No, Harry." Only able to watch as Ron paced nervously, Harry's concern grew. "He was my pet, don't you understand?" Pain filled his voice. Suddenly he stopped his restless movements and stared at Harry. "My pet. I..."

Ron shook his head, his hair falling over his face so that Harry could no longer see his eyes. "I loved him." The whispered confession sounded as if it had been ripped from his friend's chest, causing Harry's to ache in return.

Still limping just slightly, Ron resumed his pacing, arms waving wildly in the air as his words spilled forth in a jumble.

"He slept with me. I took care of him. Fed him. I brought him here -- to Hogwarts. To you." Once more, Ron paused long enough to stare at his friend and the wild light in his eyes made Harry blink. It was a side of Ron he had never seen, even when Ginny was missing. Harry found himself hoping to never see it again and yet still doubting he would be so fortunate.

Harry heard Ron take a shuddering breath, saw him wrap his arms across his chest. There were tears filling his eyes, but they didn't fall. He wondered if it was simply because Ron refused to let them. Ron cleared his throat, blinking the moisture away quickly.

Harry needed to reach his friend; the compulsion was overwhelming. Certainly he couldn't believe that Scabbers was his fault. Standing, Harry reached out a hand, laying it on Ron's arm. "Ron..."

Ron shook off the offered touch, throwing his arms away from his chest. However not before Harry felt the way he was shaking, trembling as if wired with an unending energy. "Harry, he killed your parents!" The cry echoed harshly in the dark room and Harry winced slightly.

"Voldemort killed my parents." Harry ignored the way Ron flinched at the mention of his name, rather pressing onward. "And Scabbers wasn't your fault. He was your pet, just like Hedwig is mine."

Ron laughed then, a strange brittle sound. "So how many people has Hedwig betrayed to their death, Harry?"

Ignoring the question, Harry shook his head. He was silent until Ron looked at him once more. "It's not your fault." When Ron began to comment, Harry held up a hand -- a plea for a chance to finish in his eyes. "It's not your fault you had a pet you loved. And it's not your fault who he really was."

Lowering his voice, Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Please believe that."

Ron looked at Harry for a long moment with an unbelieving stare as though he had sprouted a second head. Stranger things had happened at Hogwarts, Ron was forced to admit, but that was beside the point.

"Harry..."

The other boy shook his head, dark hair falling over his forehead, barely reaching the famous scar that rested there. "And I'm sorry."

Whatever words Ron had been about to speak flew from his mind then. His mouth hanging open, but mind empty of anything to say, he could only stare at his best friend for several long moments.

Swallowing nervously, he then cleared his throat. "What?"

Ron watched as Harry turned away from him, instead staring into the dimly glowing fireplace. As he shook his head, Harry glanced up toward the ceiling. "Ron you got hurt because of me. Because you're friends with me."

"So, what? I'm not supposed to be friends with you anymore?" Ron couldn't believe what he was hearing. For a second he wondered how it was the conversation had been turned so quickly. "Harry it's not like that."

When Harry turned around, Ron could see the true doubt in his eyes. "Yes it is. What about the chess set?"

"I chose my move." Ron stood up straighter, staring down just slightly at Harry. "I did what I had to do."

The smile that turned the corners of Harry's lips was sad. "I know." The whisper was more air than voice, and Ron was only half sure he had understood correctly. After a few minutes, Harry added, "Thank you."

Ron blinked, feeling lost. Any mention of the sacrifice on the chess set was forgotten. "Thanks? For what? Protecting a rat that's no rat at all? Getting hurt and being of no help when that rat escaped? Being in the Healer's Ward when you and Hermione saved Sirius?"

Harry smiled, shaking his head sadly. Reaching out his hand, he laid it on Ron's shoulder. He was relieved when it wasn't shaken away. "Thanks for being my best friend. You're the first one I ever had, you know."

When Ron blinked several times, obviously growing only more confused by the entire thing, Harry couldn't help it. He laughed. Still confused, Ron regarded him with a wary expression. But after a minute, he too couldn't help it -- it started as a low snicker and soon turned into laughter to match Harry's own.

A little while later, Harry sobered and squeezed Ron's shoulder. "I meant it. Scabbers wasn't your fault. Neither was being hurt."

He could see the debate in Ron's eyes, but was relieved when he merely nodded. A second later, Ron replied, "It's not yours either, you know."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Maybe." Ron shook his head. "What a pair we are, Harry." Ron laughed then, a low noise, throwing his arm around Harry's shoulders. "We should probably get some sleep. What time is it anyway?"

Reminded again of the time, Harry groaned. "Almost dawn by now, I'm guessing."

"Dawn?" Ron replied, glancing toward a window and moaning. "Aw, man."

Harry smiled, listening to Ron's exaggerated whine. Maybe they would be all right after all. It was a start at least, and for that Harry chose to be grateful.

End