"Nah, couch is fine. More comfortable than a sleeping bag at least, yeah?"
Ron ignored Harry's question since, really, if he didn't know maybe Hermione wouldn't figure it out either . . . not that he actually believed she wouldn't. As Hermione laying into him a few moments later proved. He'd expected her to react like this, but the particular way she phrased her objections were enough to cause his already frayed temper to snap.
"We're already fucking criminals," he shouted back, "in case you forgot. And it's a good idea because it's an actual damn roof over our heads, running water, decent food, and it's not like we're going to sell the stuff. The Muggle cops don't know about this place, the bloke who lives here is out of town for a month and is paying me five-hundred quid a week to sit on his stash, it's just about the last place the damn Death Eaters will be looking for us, and my talking to the sort of people who do this has kept us from starving to death for the last four bloody years, hasn't it?"
Forcing himself to take a deep breath and calm down a little, Ron added in a less aggressive tone, "Look, I know it's not ideal, but we had to move in a hurry. If I had better options for us I'd have bloody well taken them, but this buys us some time at least."