It's Ernie

A/N: Ok, I genuinely apologise now for the, erm, weirdness of these fics today. I wasn't going to write again, but this is the last ingredient in the set, so I might as well finish it. This fic was written for the Potions Club on the Diagon Alley II forum.

There is some Goyle bashing, but just for the record, I quite like Goyle and think he does have some level of intelligence. This is more of a silly fic. Whether you enjoy it or not, thanks for reading :)

"Oi, you there, what's your name?"

Ernie gulped as he heard someone behind calling out to him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He was in trouble; although there was still an hour before normal school curfew, everyone knew it was safer for students to be in their dorms as soon as the last bell rang. Even attending dinner—served these days at precisely at seven o'clock—was a risk, the Carrows finding new ways to torture students who dared enter the hall a minute late.

Still, Ernie refused to show that he was as scared as he felt. Placing a hand in his robes pocket and clutching his wand, he spun around.

"Goyle?"

For just a moment, his fear was replaced with incredibility as he took in the burly figure of his classmate. Goyle was staring at him with beady eyes, his shoulders hunched over, making him appear just as ape-like as ever. The boy had held his wand aloft in preparation to shoot a curse, yet it wasn't the way that he was holding it—the tip aimed at Goyle himself—that had Ernie dumbstruck.

"Goyle?" he repeated, taking a step forward. "It's me, Ernie… You know, Ernie McMillan… I've been in some of your classes for the last seven years…" he prompted, taking another step forward.

Ordinarily, Ernie was wary of approaching anyone in Slytherin, especially Malfoy's 'bodyguards,' outside of class unless it was absolutely necessary. Now, however, he was too perplexed—and a little insulted—not to.

How could the brute forget his name? Flitwick had made them pair up for Charms for the last three years. Sure, the boy grunted more than spoke, but even someone as dimwitted as, well, Goyle, would know who he was… wouldn't he?

Goyle surveyed him for a minute, lifting up a thick hand to scratch his head. "Erm, right."

It was as though the boy had forgotten why he had stopped him, for he didn't say anything else. Rolling his eyes, Ernie turned around and began to march back down the corridor. He had a mission, and if a thug like Goyle could be confused this easily, than perhaps he would be alright after all.

"Oi, wait…" Goyle called again.

Or perhaps not.

Sighing, Ernie turned back to Goyle, who was shaking his head—possibly shaking some thoughts into it. Dumb or not, they were in the middle of a war, and Goyle was still the enemy. If Ernie was to survive, he would have to get rid of the boy and quickly.

"Yes, Goyle?" he asked, slowly withdrawing his wand.

Goyle opened his mouth to speak, yet closed it again. Blinking a few times, he lifted a hand to once more scratch his head.

"You know my name?" he asked.

Ernie's gaped at the boy, before rolling his eyes and placing his wand back into his pocket. The Hufflepuff in him reminded him that it was cruel to jinx a dumb animal, even if it was Goyle. No, the best way to deal with Goyle would be to use a tactic he was used to.

Clearing his throat and standing taller, Ernie folded his arms across his chest. "Well, of course I know who you are, you great, erm… ugly, erm, troll." Thinking of an insult was not in Ernie's nature, but he knew he had to sound as haughty as Malfoy. Praying that it wouldn't result in him getting a black eye, he continued, "I'm in Slytherin, duh. Now, why don't you go off and do something useful for once and… and get out of my way."

Ernie hadn't realised that he was shaking a little. It was hard to hold his chin up and appear imposing, especially when Goyle narrowed his eyes. Of course his idea wouldn't work; Goyle would realise that he wasn't a Slytherin, that he no longer had any right to walk down the corridors after class. Ernie should've stunned him whilst he had the chance.

Goyle took a step forward, wand still pointed at Ernie. This was it; he was going to die, and at the hands of a peer who didn't even know his name no less. The shaking grew stronger and Ernie sucked in his breath, but just as Goyle took another step, the boy nodded.

"Alright," he said, strolling forward.

Ernie braced himself to be punched, but Goyle simply lumbered past him. It was only when he rounded the corner and disappeared from sight that Ernie breathed out, now his turn to scratch his head. His plan to act like a snotty Slytherin worked? It actually worked?

Instead of running off to safety, however, Ernie remained rooted to the spot. The relief at surviving the encounter was short lived, replaced this time by pure indignation. Goyle genuinely didn't know who he—the Ernie McMillan—was. How? How was that even possible? Why?

"Ugh." Shaking himself into movement, Ernie turned on the spot and marched after the retreating boy. Well, he would just have to show Goyle who he was, wouldn't he?