"Just pretend I'm not here, then," Ron shot back, bristling as he tugged off his jacket and let it fall on his bedding. "You've gotten pretty damned good at that." Now, for instance - when he turned to glare over his shoulder, they were still holding hands, as though there were no reason at all to stop. And maybe there wasn't.
Harry was the one who'd gone through so much, after all, who was supposed to know something about what they were doing here. Was it any wonder Hermione couldn't stop worrying over him? And of course he didn't show any signs of admitting that maybe they'd gone down the wrong path, no matter that he clearly had no bloody clue what they were doing. "Might as well not be at all, for all the good we're doing."