If there was a confrontational note to the question, Ernest entirely missed it. He was so completely unused to thinking of the Welcome Witches as actual people who might have their own thoughts and opinions about things that he wasn't apt to notice much beyond the content of what she was saying. The interaction would have to border on assault before he would be likely to recognize her disapproval. He was focused, instead, on the headache of paperwork that would await him when he got back downstairs, and the — ugh — inevitable report of the matter to the Minister. Perhaps Mrs. Lestrange would bestir herself to deal with the latter, but he thought it unlikely.

"Oh, there won't be any avoiding that," he said with a weary sigh. "Good luck with the address. Hopefully you needn't walk far." It seemed monstrously inconvenient to have to carry a chicken through any great length, particularly if it were in a populous area like the streets of the less fashionable neighborhoods of London. She might arrive at the house with only a handful of feathers and a story the family likely wouldn't believe.