(In which Ron Weasley has a conversation with Sirius. Ron is insecure. Sirius doesn't understand why.)
Ron's hand jerked away from the door handle; startled, he peered into the half-open door. Then, he let out a relieved breath. It was only Sirius. Sirius was, as old as his soul may be after years of suffering, still young. He wouldn't fault him for being up past his bedtime.
Ron slipped into the kitchen. He closed the door, careful and quiet, and turned back to Sirius; the older man motioned for him to join him by the table. Ron, unsure of himself, pulled out a chair and sat down.
The room was only dimly lit, the only source of light a flickering candle in the middle of the table. It was enough for Ron to see Sirius, his thin and gaunt face in a thoughtful expression.
"Well, then." Sirius leaned back in his chair. "Would you like something to drink? I can make tea, if you'd like."
Something about his tone — warm and friendly — made Ron nod. Sirius rose from his chair and walked over to the stove. Soon, there were two steaming mugs of tea standing on the table; Ron's cold fingers closed around his mug.
Sirius stirred his tea. "Sorry about the lack of light in here," he apologized. "I can see in the dark rather well, but this is about the only type of darkness my mind can take. I've been trying to get used to it."
Ron raised his eyes from where he was watching the flame. "Azkaban?"
"It's alright." Ron received a small, sad smile. "It's something I'll get over, eventually. This is not about me now—what's keeping you up? If you don't mind me asking, that is."
Ron swallowed. "Well—I just. I just couldn't stop thinking."
Sirius hummed thoughtfully. "I certainly know what that feels like."
There was something strange in his silver eyes, Ron mused, something akin to recognition—his gaze was now completely fixed on him, and strangely, he didn't feel uncomfortable. He felt—listened to.
"It's about Harry, actually."
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Oh, how so?"
"It's—" Ron shook his head. He turned his gaze away from Sirius, watching the swirls of steam instead. "It's complicated."
"Well, if you want to talk about it, Ron—"
He left the sentence unfinished.
"Thanks." Ron's throat was dry. He swallowed a mouthful of tea, hoping it would help. It didn't. "I appreciate it."
He did. He stayed silent for a few seconds, staring into his mug as if it held the secrets of the universe. He almost laughed when he was reminded of Trelawney.
"It's just that I feel like a horrible friend."
Sirius was stirring his tea—and when Ron said that, finally said it out loud, he stopped in the middle of the motion to give him a truly confused expression. "Why?"
It was Ron's turn to smile sadly. "Does that really need an answer?" He paused. "Wait—didn't Harry tell you about the whole Goblet of fire incident last year?"
"Oh, that." Sirius resumed stirring his tea. "Yes, he told me about it."
"Well, that's it—I mean, really, Harry and lying to me? What the bloody hell was I even thinking?" Ron bit his lip, hard. "Wasn't I his best friend? I should've trusted him, but I didn't. I left him."
Sirius decided to abandon his tea at that point. "For one, you still are his best friend. Hell, you're more of a brother to him at this point. And you're damn good at it, even if you think otherwise."
"And you came back." Sirius gave Ron a solemn look. "Even the best of friends argue sometimes, it's inevitable. It's honestly remarkable that you got that far without a hitch."
He shook his head. "That was a lot more than a hitch."
"Ron, do you think Hermione is a terrible friend?"
"No!" Ron's eyebrows shot up. "No, of course not!"
"Exactly," said Sirius. "Because she isn't—but tell me, Ron, just how many times did you two stop talking altogether?"
Ron stopped. He tilted his head to the side. "Many times," he muttered.
Sirius nodded. "Yes. Because a little falling out, or a big one, does not make you any less of a friend, and even so, it was a quite understandable reaction from your side. It's okay, Ron."
He paused to look at him fondly.
"Honestly, the moment I saw you stand in front of Harry, on a broken leg? I knew you and Harry are just as close as James and I were. And I was—I am—so, so glad you're in his life. Don't sell yourself short. Harry needs you in his life just as much as he needs Hermione, maybe more."
Sirius rose from his chair. "Horrible times lie ahead, but together, they'll be easier to face. Stay with him. And Hermione, too. You're more important to them than you realize."
He reached for the door handle. "I'm going to try and get some sleep. You should, too. Your mother will most likely insist on cleaning tomorrow."
Ron was left in the kitchen, staring at the candle, a warm feeling settling inside his chest. He blew out the candle and left the kitchen, hoping he wouldn't wake Harry when he returned back to bed, and closed the door.
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