"Just call us if you need us, Mr. Potter," one of the Azkaban guards said, looking at me as though I was insane or something. Which, in his eyes, I probably was. Ronald Weasley was a convicted Death Eater; he'd been given a life sentence in Azkaban.
It had been almost a year since I had conquered the monster that even now haunted my nightmares; a year that Ron had spent in this place. But being the Minster of Magic had it's advantages. And I had to power, now, to let him out. I only wished that I could dispel the doubts that filled me with fear.
Being Minster of Magic was not what I had wanted, I'd had enough of being the hero. And I understood why Albus Dumbledore had refused to leave the tranquillity of Hogwarts for the busy offices of the Ministry. It was overwhelming, and some days I wished I could simply disappear. Technically, I could: an advanced Transfiguration spell could make me into someone else entirely, but I could never run from my past without leaving the life we'd fought for behind, and I would never--could never--do that.
Ron's sudden appearance in the doorway was enough to take my mind off my troubled thoughts, at least for now. I stood up quickly, and for once I was grateful that those years with Voldemort had taught me to never show weakness. It was all I could do to not start yelling at the guard that roughly shoved him through the door.
"Hey, when you're done, call, okay?" I nodded in response to the guard's question, and watched with relief as he disappeared back out the door.
"Ron?" I said it softly, and even I could hear the faint waver in my voice.
"Hey, Harry. Heard you're Minister of Magic now, eh?" He sat down in the chair across from me, and for a moment I dared to hope that with Voldemort gone, Ron could once again be the boy who'd been my best friend since I was eleven years old.
"You on a routine prison check?" he asked casually. "Or am I a special case? You know, one of Voldemort's so-called 'inner circle'?"
"No, I'm not. I'm here to let you out, if you'll let me."
"You're the one who has to let me, Potter." The cold, disdainful way he said my name suddenly reminded me of Draco Malfoy, and I hated it. I hated it for what Voldemort had done to him, for what he'd let Voldemort do to him. Logic told me that even I had surrendered to the Dark Side, but that didn't matter to me. Somehow, I could not reconcile my image of the man sitting across from me with the boy he'd been before Voldemort came between us.
"Why does it have to be like this?" I demanded. "What happened to you, Ron?"
"Voldemort," he said casually. "He showed me a power I couldn't turn my back on, even for you."
"Am I that easy to turn on? Is it my fault, for being so trusting?" I heard his quick intake of breath, and I knew I'd gotten through to him. For the first time, our eyes met, and he looked away first. There was a long silence. He finally broke it.
"No. You're not that easy to turn on. It wasn't your fault that I went to Voldemort. It was my fault, I guess. He just made it so easy, you know." He sounded a bit shocked by how easy it had really been for him.
"And then, when I heard that you'd gone over to Voldemort's side too, I knew the Light Side couldn't win. And what was to be gained by resisting him?"
"Innocent lives," I whispered, and I knew he too was remembering our third year, when Peter Pettigrew had asked the same question, and Sirius Black had been the one to answer him then. And suddenly, it seemed so obvious.
Hermione, so like Lily, was gone. Her long-time boyfriend, Dean Thomas, was gone as well.
Neville, just like Moony, blamed himself for all that had happened, although in truth it was not at all his fault.
And I, like Padfoot, had paid for a crime I had not committed. And maybe I'm just a cynic, maybe all the things that I've been through have entirely erased my belief in human nature, but I found it so incredibly ironic that while everyone said I was exactly like my father, I had given in to Voldemort, and almost lost all that my parents had died fighting for.
And Ron, like Wormtail, had betrayed us all. The absolute irony of the situation suddenly struck me as hilarious, and I laughed bitterly. Ron stared at me for a moment in silence, and when he spoke, he sounded exactly like the cold, unfeeling voice that I, no matter how much I wanted to, could never forget.
"You. Are. Crazy."
"Absolutely," I agreed. "Of course, if you'd seen all the things I have, I bet you wouldn't be exactly normal either. Besides," I added darkly, "better crazy than dead, right?"
"Maybe. Maybe not."
"What?" I sneered. "Is the unbeatable Sir Weasley getting cold feet? Are you scared, Weasley?"
"Of you? Never."
"Don't try to be a smart aleck. Actually, don't try to be smart at all. You don't pretend well." I saw a flicker of surprise and vague amusement in his eyes, but when he spoke, it was in that same emotionless voice.
"Well, if you're letting me out, be about it. If you're not, don't."
"As you wish," I snickered. I rose from my chair and headed for the door. I glanced back at him, and the sight almost broke my heart. I hated having to do this to him, but I had no other choice. I motioned for the guard, and left the room.
"You'll regret this, Potter!" Ron yelled after me.
"I already do," I said softly, and then turned my back on the man who used to be my best friend.