Ron had finally reached a point where he could walk around on his own, which was good. His sides still hurt, and his fingernails were still growing in, and he was still covered in cuts and half-healed scars . . . but he could walk, that was something. At this precise moment he was thirsty, which was why he was heading into the kitchen for a glass of water or whatever else Hermione had stocked the tent's icebox with at the moment. He was slightly surprised to find Harry already in the kitchen, and worried to see his best mate looking so obviously haggard.