"In here," Ron called out from the bedroom that Harry had insisted on him taking. Ron had only agreed at first because he'd been too tired to argue anymore with Harry. And then that bastard Crouch . . . well, Ron knew Harry would be hellbent on punishing himself somehow, even if it meant sleeping on a lumpy sofa. Not that Ron was one to talk. He'd been sleeping on the floor.
At the moment though, he was sitting on the bed, which was currently covered in a messy assortment of newspapers. He'd been checking the adverts and personals, looking for the sort of double meanings that could lead to potential income. So far though it was mostly used cars and disturbing sex acts. Waste of bloody time.