Author's Note: I eventually plan to write a THIRD epilogue to this - I want to write Umbridge's trial. If it's to be HBP compliant, she'll have to get off with a slap on the wrist - but I still want to write it. However, my readers may consider this story over for the time being.

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It was late when the last of the students left. Well, technically he supposed they'd been shooed out, really; Pomfrey had appeared about to have a heart attack.

He missed Harry and Hermione.

The thought had come out of the blue, but he did. Yeah, it was nice to be the center of attention, and it was wonderful to be famous and fawned upon. But.. For the first time he understood what Harry always said. Well, he didn't exactly say it, but as good as; once all the people had cleared out, it was a bit lonely. He supposed still being under the weather made you feel out of sorts, too; whatever it was, he felt a funny sort of emptiness.

"Ron!"

The whisper came from the door, though he couldn't see them. Then the Cloak slipped off, and suddenly they were next to him. Still lying perforce on his stomach, he propped himself up on his elbows to look at them.

"I brought this—" Harry produced a chess set.

"Couldn't wait for me to trounce you in the Common Room, could you?" Ron couldn't help grinning.

"Oh, charming!"

Hermione giggled. "And I brought you—"

Ron groaned. "I know. My homework."

"No," Hermione said, sounding offended, "Cockroach Creams."

"Oh, brilliant!" Ron perked up, taking the proffered Honeydukes bag and stuffing one into his mouth. Bliss.

"There's some chocolate here too," Hermione added. "You should really eat some, remember Professor Lupin, chocolate's really good for depression."

He swallowed and stared at her. "I'm not depressed."

"Well, you should be." Hermione retorted.

"I like that!"

"Listen, Ron," Harry cut in, "what Hermione means is that you've been – well – "

"Oh, don't mince words, Harry," Hermione said. "He's been tortured." At Ron's snort, she continued, "Yes you have, Ron, so don't try to deny it. Muggles – in wars – some of them were tortured enough to get into a War Crimes tribunal, and they weren't as badly hurt as you! What I'm saying is," her voice softened, "you've been through a terrible thing. If you feel depressed –"

Harry cut in. "Yeah, if you get nightmares or – or remember it and – and get panicky or something – it doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you. It's um – all right to be upset. It doesn't make you – you know, weak or anything. That's all."

For some reason, hearing it from Harry calmed him; he had the feeling that Harry was speaking from experience. He knew that should disturb him, or that he should pursue the thought further or something, but he was too tired and content in their presence to care. He rummaged around in the bag and popped a piece of chocolate into his mouth. Hermione was right, it did make him feel better.

He closed his eyes as the wonderful taste filled his mouth. Feeling decidedly better, he decided to change the subject. "How'd you get these, anyway? They only sell them in Hogsmeade."

Hermione turned pink. "Well…"

"She sent Dobby to get them," said Harry, looking highly amused.

Ron turned thrilled, incredulous eyes on her. "What? You ordered a house-elf to do your bidding? Hermione Granger, I'm ashamed of you—"

"I paid him, all right, so could you two both drop it?" Hermione burst out, looking sheepish.

Ron burst out laughing anyway. He laughed until he had to lower his head to the pillow to fight off a bout of dizziness, and raised his head to find their eyes on him in a mix of compassion and anger that made his heart lurch, though he didn't know why. "Well- thanks, anyway." Longingly, he eyed the chess set. "I'd love to beat you at chess, Harry," he sighed ruefully, "but I don't think I'm up to sitting up again just yet—"

His friends looked sympathetic but determined. "That's all right…"

"We'll think of something."

And so Harry and Hermione ended up lying face-down on either side of Ron, as though they were reading a book together, only with the chessboard in front of them instead of a book. They munched on Ron's sweets contentedly, gossiped animatedly, and played chess half-heartedly, and Ron finally felt he had all the visitors he needed. His memories of that night in the dungeon were a bit hazy, but he remembered enough to know that these two had reached out and pulled him back from – well, death sounded a bit melodramatic but, well… death. It wasn't, he supposed, necessary to be famous and popular like Harry or bright like Hermione. Just having friends like these was enou—

"…be friends any more?"

"Hmm?"

"I said," Harry fiddled with his knight, which was shouting something unprintable at Ron's rook, "there was something you said, and Umbridge – she said I wouldn't want to be seen with you, and you said I didn't want to be your friend – any idea what that was all about?"

Ron felt his face flame. Looking back, he felt like a right git for believing Umbridge, but then… Perhaps he could deny the whole thing.

He heard Hermione gasp. That girl was really too bright for her own good. "She told you Harry believed Malfoy, didn't you? When he said we'd all turned against Ron because we'd heard he was in league with the Death Eaters, that he wouldn't have any friends any more…"

Ron groaned and lowered his head to the chessboard until a feisty pawn poked him in the forehead with his spear. "Oi! Watch where you're putting your fat head, you!"

Raising his head, Ron looked at the board, thought for a moment, and then deliberately moved the pawn into the path of Harry's queen. Amused, he looked on as the pawn yelled, "No, no, can't you take a joke? AARGHH!" as Harry's Queen cracked him in the head with her mace and dragged him unconscious off the board.

Harry wasn't looking at the board. He seemed to be replaying the accusations Malfoy had made. He turned to Ron. "You didn't think for a minute we'd really believe that rubbish, did you? If you did, you're thicker than I thought."

Ron sighed. "Well, it wasn't just that."

"What, then?" Hermione broke off a piece of chocolate and handed it to Ron. Her hand settled gently on top of his. "You can tell us."

He popped the chocolate into his mouth and ate it slowly, feeling the strength spread through him. Knowing Hermione wouldn't let up unless he told, he finally said slowly, "Um… well, she said… um, something about Harry dropping me because he believed I'd done a Wormtail."

"WHAT?" Harry exploded, but subsided at Ron and Hermione's shushing. He looked around at the quiet, dimly lighted infirmary before continuing in a furious whisper. "She said I… I'd never think that, least of all on Malfoy's say-so!"

"Well, no," Ron looked intently at the chessboard, "but she said you wouldn't…" he mumbled on, "wouldn't want to be friends with me anymore, and…"

Harry was still looking incredulous. "You didn't actually believe that, did you?"

"He was all alone and feeling poorly, and of course that horrible woman took advantage of it!" the words tumbled out of Hermione. "It's easy for people to put ideas into your head when you're hurt and completely in their power and they've got you trapped and all alone, surely you can understand that!"

It was funny the way Harry fell suddenly, completely silent.

"Harry?" Ron asked nervously. "You all right, mate?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, his voice seeming to come from a million miles away, "just… nothing. But Ron," he turned to Ron earnestly, urgently, "you're my best mate in the world. I'd never believe you could do what Wormtail did to my dad, never! No matter who said so!"

"Mphrgh," Ron mumbled intelligently. "Sorry, I s'pose I can be a bit thick sometimes."

"No, you're not, don't apologize," Harry went on, seeming to struggle to find the right words, "it's not thick at all, I mean, I can see how you might believe her if she had you locked in and calling you names like freak and usel—" He broke off abruptly and Ron gasped, recognizing the Dursleys' favourite insult, remembering the iron bars on Harry's window. But that thought would have to wait for another time, because Harry was barreling on: "…er, I mean telling you all sorts of things, you know, I can see how you might believe them."

"Right," Ron said.

"But Ron," Harry took a deep breath and started off, sounding sincere, "Even if you pointed your wand at me and said "Avada Kedavra" I wouldn't believe you meant it, you git. I'd never believe you'd betray me as long as I lived, not unless you killed me." He picked up the phrase again with the air of one trying to make sense of what he has just said. "But if you did kill me I still wouldn't believe it, because I'd have died trusting you anyway, wouldn't I, and I couldn't stop trusting you afterwards because then I'd be dead. So I'd still never believe it as long as I lived…" His mouth twisted wryly. "Mucked that up good and proper, didn't I."

Hermione sniffled. "N—no you didn't. That was beautiful, Harry."

To his chagrin, Ron felt his eyes sting to hear the declaration of trust. Did he deserve such unquestioning faith? What if he got Imperiused one day or something? Possessed with an urge to warn Harry, he blurted, "I'd never—if You-Know-Who ever did get to me – try to get me to hurt you, I mean – he'd just be wasting his time, I'd die first, but I dunno, I could get Imperiused or Polyjuiced or something, and they say that in a war you shouldn't trust anyone absolutely…"

"I don't care what they say," Harry retorted. "If I can't trust you, then who can I trust? Besides Hermione, of course."

At this point, Hermione burst into floods of tears, hugging them both tightly. What with Drying Charms for the pillows and one thing and another, they were thoroughly exhausted…

…and when Madam Pomfrey came in at midnight to check on her patient, she found the three of them asleep, Ron face-down on the chess set, Hermione's hair covering his face, and Harry with a melted Cockroach Cream smeared across his glasses.

With a quick spell, she cleared the paraphernalia away, and covered the three of them with a blanket. "Good night," she said to the room at large. She turned away; looking back as she left for bed, she murmured:

"Sweet dreams."