"Come on, Harry," she whispered, joining Ron in his looping, desperate words, watching Harry like a hawk, wincing as Kingsley bumped him into a stack of galleons and they exploded into a shower of white-hot coins that burnt his face, neck and hands, and scorched round blackened pieces into his leathers. "You can do it..." she added, nails digging into her palms, as if she could make him get the cup through sheer force of will. And then his wand tip slid over the cup, hooking it up, and she gasped and her shoulders sank with immense relief.