"Straighten your hair, Mr. Potter," Ron says in a low voice as they wait for the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students on the front steps of the school.
"Excuse me, that's 'straighten your hair, Lord Slytherin,'" Harry says, sticking his nose up as far as it will go.
Ron snickers, then yelps as Hermione takes the opportunity to lean over and swat him on the back of the head.
"Honestly, you two!" Hermione hisses under her breath as an enormous carriage drawn by Abraxans swoops down from the sky. "Can't you be respectful of the other schools even if you aren't respectful of the competition?"
"I'm very respectful of Durmstrang," Ron protests. "They field Viktor Krum!"
"You should be thinking about—"
Harry allows Hermione's voice to fade into the background as he watches Dumbledore and Hagrid come out to welcome Madame Maxime and the Beauxbatons students. Hagrid looks like he's in love, his eyes almost bugging out. Harry wishes him luck. Madame Maxime might be Hagrid's size, but she looks far too elegant to fit into Hagrid's world of rough walls and wounded beasts.
The Beauxbatons students all seem to be clad in filmy robes and to not have an idea about Warming Charms. Harry frowns a little, wishing he could do something to help them as he watches them troop into the school.
There's a loud whoosh, and two huge bonfires spring into life on either side of the entrance doors, apparently burning on air. The Beauxbatons students murmur excitedly and extend their hands to them.
"Was that you, Harry?"
"Come on, Hermione, did you see me move my wand?" Harry objects.
"Whenever something unexpected happens near Hogwarts, it's usually you," Hermione retorts.
"One of the professors probably saw that they were cold and started the fires."
Harry's voice lacks conviction, though. He remembers the odd secret passage that took him back to Gryffindor Tower the night he tried to break through Moody's wards and set off the alarms. He thought at the time he was just desperate and lucky, but he's looked for the passage since and couldn't find it.
Did Hogwarts sense his concern and start the fires burning the same way it probably opened up the passages?
Harry supposes it would make sense of otherwise inexplicable things like why the Ministry thought they needed "Lord Slytherin's" permission to hold the Tournament at Hogwarts.
But it needs more testing, so Harry watches as the Durmstrang ship surfaces in the lake and then thinks as hard as he can, It would be very convenient for them if there was a bridge that went from the ship to the shore.
The air shimmers and turns bright and glossy for a second. Then a bridge of ice forms between the ship and the shore. At least it's made of thick, heavy ice, Harry thinks, with high railings that will prevent anyone from slipping off. It's also covered with carvings of Quidditch players for some reason.
There's an excited murmur from the students. Karkaroff, Durmstrang's Headmaster, seems to think the bridge is a tribute to his own presence and practically struts across it.
Harry snorts into his hand. He could make the bridge tip Karkaroff into the freezing cold water, he's fairly sure.
For a moment, a section of the bridge around the middle flexes eagerly.
Harry takes a mental step back and shakes his head. He shouldn't use the power he has in Hogwarts for petty reasons or reasons that would endanger people, only ones that would help them.
The bridge seems almost disappointed as it settles back down. Hermione takes the opportunity to thump Harry on the back of the head, and Harry turns around rubbing the back of it and glaring at her.
"What was that for?"
"A warning."
Harry sighs mournfully.
It turns out that the Goblet of Fire, which would have been the method used to select Champions for the Tournament, is also what they're using to select student leaders of the various schools' demonstrations. It chooses Krum to lead the "Defense" demonstration for Durmstrang, a part-Veela girl named Fleur Delacour to lead the fire magic one for Beauxbatons, and Harry to lead the Quidditch teams.
"Of course it chose bloody Potter," says Angelina Johnson, slumping down in her chair and scowling at Harry.
"You like Harry, Angelina," says Fred, sounding a little shocked.
"Still," Angelina mutters.
"Why didn't it choose Cedric?" asks a Hufflepuff loudly from their table. "Cedric's as good a player as Potter, and it's about time that a House other than Gryffindor got some glory for once."
There's an answering mutter, and Harry winces. He glances at the Goblet and wonders if there's any way he can influence it. After all, they are in Hogwarts, and the Goblet is inside the school if not a part of it.
The Goblet abruptly burns bright blue and tosses out a scrap of parchment. Harry blinks. He thought that the professors submitted the names of students they believed would do well in the demonstrations and the Goblet would pick one for each school. Not multiple.
Dumbledore unfolds the bit of parchment and wrinkles his forehead. "Cedric Diggory has also been named a leader of the Quidditch demonstrations for Hogwarts," he says.
Amid the cheers from the Hufflepuff table, students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang can be heard loudly complaining that the favoritism of Hogwarts isn't fair. That's not something Harry thought of, and he winces as he contemplates it.
The Goblet lights up brightly again and spits out two more pieces of parchment.
Karkaroff leans forwards, one hand spreading out. "Let me see the name of the other student chosen for Durmstrang, Dumbledore."
"I am not sure that this one is for Durmstrang, Igor—"
Karkaroff ignores him and snatches away the second piece of parchment, just as Madame Maxime does the same on the other side. They read them and then look at each other, narrow-eyed, as if trying to figure out which one of them interfered with the Goblet of Fire.
"Ivana Karkaroff," Karkaroff says, softly.
"Etienne Dupiax," Madame Maxime says.
Two students stand up at the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables. Harry notices that the girl who must be Karkaroff's daughter or cousin or something is thin and dark-haired, with a sullen expression on her face. Etienne Dupaix looks as if he might be made out of moonlight, hair and skin alike.
"Now that we have two students each to lead the demonstrations," Dumbledore says loudly, "the Goblet of Fire will be going out now."
The Goble does flicker and die. Harry is still a little stunned about his apparent ability to influence it through "Lord Slytherin's" connection to Hogwarts and doesn't try to do anything about it.
What he has done, he thinks, is more than enough.
"Did you influence the Goblet of Fire to provide more leaders for the demonstrations?"
"What if I did?" Harry mutters. He and Padma Patil are the only ones at the Lord Slytherin table in the library right now, and Harry, at least, is head-down in an essay for Snape. Or he's supposed to be. Padma keeps distracting him.
"I can't decide if it was a kind thing to do, or a disturbing thing."
Harry takes a breath and looks up. Padma is sitting with her chin propped on her hand and her eyes narrowed as she looks at him. He shakes his head. "Does it really matter? And what do you mean, 'disturbing?' Because I have too much power?"
"Yes. I don't know if that kind of power over Hogwarts and ancient artifacts is really a good thing."
Harry half-shrugs and writes down another description of what powdered moonstone can be used for. No matter how good the essay is, Snape will give it an Acceptable, so Harry doesn't try to do more than make sure he isn't copying the book word-for-word. "I don't intend to use it to, I don't know, trap people I don't like in the stone and suck them into the walls to lie trapped forever."
Silence. Harry looks up and blinks at Padma, who's staring at him with stunned eyes.
"You thought of that," Padma says weakly.
"I'm vengeful sometimes. But I wouldn't do that."
Padma just nods with wide eyes, and they go back to their writing. But Harry thinks, sighing, that the silence is less tranquil than before.
This is why I should tell them what I'm going to do but not everything I think. It's just disturbing to them.
Harry circles down towards the pitch on his Firebolt, tired but well-satisfied. The practice for the Quidditch demonstration has been going well, and he and Cedric actually work pretty well together. The demonstration will be in the middle of December, just before the apparent Yule Ball the school is hosting.
Harry doesn't quite understand why everyone is aflutter about the Yule Ball, but he supposes it's because some people like dancing.
"Harry."
Susan is waiting for him in the middle of the pitch, arms folded. Harry sighs to himself. He likes Susan, but lately, every time she shows up, it's bad news.
"Yeah?" Harry asks, and hands his Firebolt to Ron, who takes it with reverent hands. Harry knows that the Firebolt will be polished and taken care of as well as he could himself. Maybe even better.
"Have you heard that you have to bring a date to the Yule Ball?"
"No," Harry says slowly. "Why would I? I wasn't even planning on attending. I'm going to go to Grimmauld Place and stay with Sirius." Sirius has been writing that they've got the house mostly cleaned up now.
"It's something to do with the rules for who would have been Champions in the Tri-Wizard Tournament." Susan's mouth is pinched. "They would have had to attend the ball with dates, so now they're saying that the leaders of the demonstrations have to.'
"That's stupid."
"I agree. But that's what they're saying. And you should also consider that, depending on who you take, people might think that you're growing closer to one of your followers than another, or showing favor to someone over another person."
"And it's political because everything involving Lord Slytherin is political."
"Precisely."
Harry sighs. "Okay. So probably the best thing for me to do is not attend the Ball at all."
"Why do you think that?" Susan is blinking.
"Because I can't think of any way to prevent someone from taking it wrong."
"If you took a follower—"
"I can't prevent other people from thinking that they're my official partner and they should approach them to get to me. Or, what was what that word Theo used the other week, consort. Ew." Harry shudders.
Susan smiles, but there's a gleam in the back of her eye. "You don't want to date anyone?"
"I don't want anyone to be a consort," Harry says sharply. "I want them to stand on their own and date who they want to and not be overshadowed by the Lord Slytherin business."
Susan nods, with a distant look on her face. "You don't know how you would protect them."
"Exactly."
"So we need to find someone who can stand on their own and protect themselves."
"What? Susan, no—"
"Don't worry, Harry. We'll find you a consort who isn't overshadowed by Lord Slytherin. Someone who's famous and good at magic and not inclined to use you…" Susan frowns over the last words. "The last one is going to be hard, but we'll find you one."
"Susan, no, don't matchmake me—"
"I don't know if we'll find them in time for the Yule Ball, though," Susan goes on, turning around and walking back towards the school with a faint frown audible in her voice. "But we'll try our best."
"Susan!"
"Don't worry, Harry, I understand why you don't want to attend the Yule Ball with anyone you couldn't protect. I just need to figure it out so you can still go and enjoy yourself."
Harry regrets giving his Firebolt to Ron, since it means he can't slam his head against the wood.
"Hmmm, what about this dueling champion? Her name is Araminta Evermist, and she's just sixteen, so a few years older than you but not too old, and she could certainly protect herself, and she grew up in Australia so she probably won't try to use you, and she's famous in her own right—"
"Actually, Susan, you know what I really need?"
"What?"
"Dancing lessons! I really need dancing lessons!"
"So no to Araminta Evermist, then?"
"Did I tell you that Viktor Krum asked me to the Yule Ball?"
Harry gapes at Hermione. He's sitting on the couch in the common room and just came in from another practice for the Quidditch demonstration, preceded by more dancing lessons. His brain is drifting aimlessly in circles and he's not sure he heard her right.
But Hermione is standing nervously in front of him with her chin lifted, and she seems serious about it.
Harry bursts into a grin. "Congratulations, Hermione! That's fantastic!"
"You—don't mind?"
"No," Harry says, wondering. "Why? Did someone say something to you that made you think I would care about you dating Quidditch competition or something?"
Hermione laughs. "Harry, no offense, he's a professional Quidditch player, and you're not. The competition only goes one way."
Harry smiles. "No, but why?"
Hermione looks down, hands twisting around each other. "Ron snapped congratulations in this really snotty voice, and stomped away."
Harry sighs. "Sorry, Hermione."
"It's—okay. I didn't know he would do that, but it's okay." Hermione looks up and smiles. "Thanks for your congratulations, and do you know who you're going to the Yule Ball with?"
"I'm not going."
"Harry."
Harry shrugs.
"And demonstrating on their brooms the skill at the game they're known for, the HOGWARTS INTER-HOUSE QUIDDITCH TEAM!"
Harry grins and slings a leg over his broom. Ludo Bagman's enhanced voice booms across the pitch. The stands that surround the pitch have been extended up and sideways and maybe actually under the ground with magic for all Harry knows, and are crowded with students from all three schools, professors, spectators, and professional Quidditch players. All of them cheer their heads off.
"Ready?" Cedric asks, leaning over with a grin. Harry nods at him, and they kick off.
They're zooming around the pitch soon enough, tossing the Quaffle and Bludgers back and forth between them in dizzying patterns—dizzying even to Harry, who worked on them with Cedric, so he should know what they look like—and chasing the Snitch in the patterns of a compass rose. The Snitch cooperates beautifully, although that might be because four Seekers at once are chasing it, Harry and Cedric and Draco and Cho Chang from Ravenclaw. At one point, Draco acts as if he's going to get higher than everyone else and snatch the Snitch for real, but Harry gives him a stern look and he calms down.
It's exhilarating, and Harry laughs aloud as he makes a tight turn near the stands.
A Blasting Curse comes zipping at him from the direction where the Slytherin and Durmstrang students are sitting.
Harry makes a few calculations that proceed so fast they seem to flow through his brain and down his arms like lightning, and then turns to the side and manages to avoid the curse without breaking the compass rose pattern. He does cast a Shield Charm from his wand, which he brought with him to create the grand finale of the demonstration, and the Blasting Curse slams harmlessly into a glowing dome in midair, right in the center of the Snitch's pattern.
That helps, and it makes people gasp instead of scream. But then they do start screaming as more Blasting Curses begin raining out of the stands. At least the placement of them means that Harry is pretty sure it's just one person casting them, not multiple.
He raises Shield Charm after Shield Charm in midair, catching as many curses as he can, but he knows it's only a temporary measure. And even if some of his friends are standing up and using shields of their own, it won't stop someone this crazily determined.
The only thing to do is take out the problem at the source.
Harry turns and soars straight for the caster.
He can see one other person on a broom coming after him, from a direction that's unexpected given the patterns they worked out, but he can't turn his head to concentrate on who it is. He's too busy focusing straight ahead. He dives, and the next two curses miss him, flying wild. But they must have hit someone, because there's a crash and a crack and a shriek of real pain.
Harry sees red.
He unleashes the Firebolt's full speed and casts a Summoning Charm, which they've been practicing with in class, at the same time.
He blurs past wide mouths and gaping eyes and different-colored robes, and hits Vincent Crabbe in the chest with his broom, and in the forehead with the Snitch that he's Summoned. Crabbe's eyes cross, and he gasps loudly. He sags forwards and goes unconscious.
Harry twists to the side and just manages to loft the Firebolt above the next person in the stands. He glances back, and sees Oliver, of all people, hovering over Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, who's apparently drawn his wand. Well, Harry knew Oliver was coming, but he didn't know he would be riding a broom.
Oliver sees Harry watching and jerks his head frantically back at the pitch. "Go on, go on!" he calls. "I was going to handle them, but you were faster. But you can't let anything disrupt Quidditch!"
Harry grins and laughs aloud, and then turns back to the pattern. The last of the Shield Charms are fading in the air. He can see the other Seekers hovering anxiously, waiting for him, and the Snitch flies into his hand as he Summons it.
"Are we ready to see some Quidditch?" he calls, and the crowd roars assent.
Harry throws the Snitch back into the middle of the compass rose pattern, and they begin weaving it once more.
Harry sighs a little as he takes a step into the middle of the dungeon room where Draco and Daphne, unusually solemn, have led him. He already had a confrontation with Crabbe and Goyle in Dumbledore's office. Apparently Crabbe cast the curses because his father told him to, told him he had to do it, with Voldemort coming back. Goyle only drew his wand to defend his friend from Oliver.
Dumbledore promised Crabbe that he could stay at the school and wouldn't have to return home for any holidays, until the end of term. He had nothing to say when Harry asked him what would happen after that. And from Crabbe's grey face and the way he stared at the floor, he seems to believe he won't escape his father.
Harry got a message from his "followers" that they would demand more justice than that.
Yes, he heard that, but still, the last thing he expected was to find a circle of his friends standing around Crabbe and staring at him like silent judges, like the Wizengamot must have looked when they tried Sirius. All of them, or most of them, have wands drawn. Hermione is shaking her head. Ron is quiet, but his eyes glint. As Draco and Daphne filter in among them, they don't look different than the rest.
(Well, Oliver does, but that's because he's pointing his broom at Crabbe instead of a wand and probably primarily cares about the disruption to Quidditch. Harry has to smile. It's nice to know some things never change).
The person Harry is worried about, though, is Theo, who's prowling slowly back and forth in front of Crabbe in the clear space inside the circle. Harry steps up next to Theo, and Theo turns his head to acknowledge Harry, but his eyes are distant.
And violent.
He wants to hurt Crabbe, Harry realizes with a jolt. Maybe he wants to kill him.
"Theo," Harry says softly.
"Yes, my lord?"
Theo's voice is as cold and distant as the dark side of the moon. Harry narrows his eyes. He does not approve.
"What would you cast? A Killing Curse?"
Theo jumps and spins around, staring at Harry. The people behind them gasp. Crabbe is the one who seems to react the least; he just bows his head further and clasps his hands on his arms and sways a little in place.
"What?" Theo asks. His eyes are wide and he looks more normal than he has since Harry stepped into the room.
"Are you going to cast a Killing Curse on Crabbe?" Harry asks as he takes a step forwards. "Is that why you're pacing up and down and glaring at him like you want to kill him?"
"I—no, of course not."
"Then stop looking like you want to kill him," Harry says, and turns to face Crabbe, feeling his heart pound through his ears. He's going to solve the problem. He's not going to just sit around and let people use him. Not Crabbe's father and not Voldemort, if he's lurking around, and not Theo or other friends of his who might want him to handle this like Lord Slytherin. "I'm not going to kill him."
Crabbe flinches and looks up. "What are you going to do with me?" he whispers.
"I want to keep you safe from your father and make sure you never do something like this to me again."
"Harry—"
"Mate, you could—"
"I think you should consider this carefully, my lord," Theo hisses underneath his breath, stepping towards him. His eyes have gone cold again.
"I think you should stop calling me lord," Harry snaps, and Theo frowns and takes a step back.
"You can't keep me safe," Crabbe says.
"Yes, I can," Harry says. "What good does it do for me to be Lord Slytherin, if I can't protect someone Voldemort tried to use to hurt me?"
Crabbe flinches at the sound of the name, but looks up with round eyes. "I could swear to you and you would protect me?"
Harry blinks a little. "You mean become my fr—follower?" He thinks that using the word "friend" right now might make Theo actually curse Crabbe.
"More than that. They're your followers and they didn't swear to you."
Harry half-frowns. "How do you know that?" He's going to be upset if someone told Crabbe about things his friends have said and done in private. Or not said and done in private, in this case.
"Because they would act different if they did." Crabbe is standing a little taller now, although he still cringes when one of Harry's friends glances at him. But his voice has a tiny bit of hope. "I could swear to you. I'd be your servant. You would protect me."
"Servant?"
"The status an oath like that would give him is somewhere between a free wizard and a house-elf," Theo says. His voice is so blank that Harry could probably only learn what he's feeling by looking into Theo's eyes, and right now, it feels dangerous to look away from Crabbe. "He would be protected by your magic and because his first loyalty would be to you, it would literally take him away from his father."
"Like he's property?"
"Yes," Crabbe and Theo say at the same time. Theo seems to be glaring at Crabbe. Crabbe just looks down.
"You can't, Harry," Hermione says, low and urgent, more passionate than Harry has ever heard her. "It's wrong."
"Yes, I know it is," Harry says, and shakes his head when Crabbe opens his mouth to protest. Or do something. Harry isn't sure what. "I'm going to swear the kind of oath that will mean my magic is bound up in protection of you and I can be Apparated to your side if something happens to you, okay? Like your father trying to take you out of the school."
"You can't do that without me swearing as your servant."
"How do you know?"
"You just can't." Crabbe sounds baffled.
"He's right," Draco says, moving a step forwards out of the circle. His voice just sounds young instead of arrogant. "There's not—there's not enough of a return on that kind of oath. Your magic will need something stronger from Crabbe than just your commitment to protect him. Swearing it without making him a servant won't work."
"At the very least," Theo says, his voice slow and cold and almost dreamy, "you should make him swear an oath not to attack you again."
Harry nods, irritated with himself for having forgotten that. "Of course I will."
"That won't be enough." Draco shakes his head when Harry glares at him. "It doesn't matter how much you wish it was different, Harry. It just—the imbalance of magic isn't—it would be worse if that Blasting Curse that landed had hit one of your followers, but still—"
Harry nods. The Blasting Curse hit Professor McGonagall in the shoulder, apparently, and although Madam Pomfrey easily fixed the broken bone, Harry is still irritated by the reminder of what happened. He scowls at Crabbe. "You'll also have to swear an oath not to cast curses except in self-defense."
"I can do that."
"You cannot," Daphne says, voice high and precise. "In the exchange of powers between parties as oathbound to each other as this transaction will make you, the party of the first part must swear to become a servant, and the party of the second part must swear to accept that oath. There is no other trade of magic that will work."
"Do you know that?"
"Of course I know that, Potter—"
Harry does prefer the moments when Daphne drops her Madam Pince act and sounds more human. He smiles at her with a slight shake of his head. "I mean, have you seen it happen? Or is it just a theory?"
Hermione narrows her eyes at him across the circle. Harry knows she's angry that he might be risking Crabbe's freedom on essentially a roll of the dice, but he feels it's a pretty good roll of the dice.
"No one has seen it happen outside of the Death Eaters," Theo says quietly.
The name brings a chill to the room. Harry takes a deep breath and watches the way Crabbe shakes. Of course he's still angry that Crabbe was casting curses at the demonstration and injured Professor McGonagall, but he sees the fear in him, too.
It's not just the good people who are afraid. It's not just the good people who need saving.
"And there's been no Lord Slytherin for decades."
"Harry."
Harry can't even tell who that low, concerned voice belongs to. He draws his wand and says, "I'm powerful enough to risk it."
"Harry!"
Harry gestures with his wand towards Crabbe, who's watching him with wide eyes but also crouching as if to protect his head. It says a lot about what his life has been like. Harry says simply, "I swear to you that I will protect you, and I will Apparate to your side if you need me."
The surge of magic that leaves him is so powerful it nearly knocks him off his feet. The lights in the room seem to flicker—although that's probably just Harry's perception—and he staggers but doesn't go down on one knee. Then he manages to straighten up again, just in time to receive Crabbe's babbled oaths about not acting against Harry again and not casting curses except in self-defense.
The "weight" of the magic that has left Harry and is now pooled around Crabbe doesn't lessen at all. Harry snorts quietly to himself, making sure that Crabbe can't hear it, since he would probably assume Harry was refusing his oaths.
So. Yeah. There's no "return" on the oath Harry made Crabbe. It does bind them, and it does take a lot of magic, but, just as Harry suspected, people either made up the bit about having to have someone swear themselves to a lord as a servant or just took advantage of the perception for their own gain, like Voldemort.
Or just can't imagine that someone powerful would want to protect someone less powerful without a servant oath.
His friends drift out of the room after that, Crabbe scuttling out first. Hermione leans forwards and hugs him, and Harry hugs her back. Ron shakes his head, stares at Harry, and claps him on the shoulder.
"I don't know if you're mental or the sanest person I ever met."
"I'll go for 'alive,'" Harry says dryly, and Ron laughs like he's made a great joke.
Oliver claps him on the shoulder, too. "He won't threaten Quidditch again!"
"No, he won't," Harry says happily. (He is happy Oliver will never change).
In the end, Susan, Theo, Draco, Daphne, and Ernie stay. Ernie's expression is pinched. Susan leads with, "You didn't feel the drain of the magical exhaustion, did you? I mean, it didn't knock you out. And you weren't compelled to make Crabbe swear a servant oath."
"No," Harry says quietly, holding her eyes.
Susan nods, sharply, once, and leaves.
Daphne still looks as though someone has taken her favorite legal tome and ripped it apart in front of her. "You could have acquired so much power," she says. "Why didn't you decide to make him pay the price?"
"I'm not into making people pay those kinds of prices."
Daphne leaves, then, too. Draco opens his mouth, looks at Harry, and sighs and goes with her. He probably knows he'll not get an answer to any of his questions.
Theo watches Harry with wintry eyes. "I'm afraid you'll regret it," he says.
Harry says the one thing he thinks will make Theo drop it and pay attention to the really important things. He doesn't know where the inspiration comes from, only that it's there. "Then it's up to you to make sure I don't."
Theo's shoulders immediately lift, and his eyes become warmer. He touches Harry's shoulder gently, as if afraid to clap it like Ron, before he departs. Harry watches him go and thinks that caring for people and keeping them safe doesn't just involve fighting for them. Sometimes it involves letting them fight for him.
And that leaves Ernie. Harry turns towards him, a little curious. Ernie is still not as close to Harry as some of the others and tends to hover on the outer fringes of the group.
"You're one," Ernie says.
"Pardon?" Harry asks, and then winces internally. That's the sort of thing Daphne would say.
"You're—one of them," Ernie says. "A real lord. I didn't think they existed anymore." To Harry's shock, confusion, and embarrassment, it looks like Ernie's eyes are a little damp, and he keeps reaching up as if to brush tears, then snatching his hand back.
Harry coughs. "I try to be."
"Then I should do everything I can," Ernie says, and marches out of the classroom.
Harry blinks after him, wondering if he should be worried about that.
As it turns out: yes.