As Hermione packed up the last of their things, Ron fidgeted, glancing about for signs of hidden observers. Which, admittedly, there didn't seem to be any, but they really didn't know enough about how the damn journals worked to risk posting something public like Harry'd done. And he was still angry with Harry, but he'd quashed any further impulse to comment on what a thick-headed move it had been. At the moment he was focused on getting them the hell out of here. And, truthfully, girding himself Hermione's inevitable overreaction when she realized what sort of safe-house he'd set them up in.
"Yeah. I . . . know a bloke, needs someone to house-sit for him for a couple of weeks. Flat in Colchester. Rent and utilities are all paid up for the month, not the best neighborhood but there's public transit nearby, neighbors aren't the nosy types . . . gives us some time out of the bloody woods, at least."
Yes, Duke's snide little comment had worried him a bit. Maybe it was just a guess, but if the Death Eaters actually knew that much . . . well, it was time to change things up a bit.