Pink in the Night.

Chapter Thirty.

"Harry, are you all right?" (Y/n) asked soothingly, finding Hermione and Harry in the process of going on a walk. "You don't actually have to be in the Tournament, right?" Harry nodded miserably. "Oh, Harry..." Her hands automatically wrapped around his torso in a side-hug as they walked. "I've already written to your mum," she murmured as Harry pulled her closer and hid his face in her hair. "She'll come and chew Dumbledore a new one... A fourth-year in the Triwizard Tournament. Honestly... Imagine that. Tiny, little you against big and tall seventeen-year-olds." She laughed as Harry groaned. "You know, Valorie's thinking of opening a shop in Hogsmeade..." she began.
Whenever Harry was sad, the one thing (Y/n) never failed to do is leave him alone. Sure, she'll acknowledge what he's sad about and then provide comfort, but that's where it ended. Her rambling distracted him and he was forever grateful for her ability to talk: which didn't happen around people she didn't like. Harry was just Harry around (Y/n), not The Boy Who Lived. There was a nice reminder that Harry was not the centre of the universe, let alone her universe (as much as he wanted to be). That, likely, was what Harry had liked about her.
"—right, Harry?" (Y/n) asked.

"Er... what?" Hermione and (Y/n) both burst into laughter and Hary smiled sheepishly.

"(Y/n) thinks we should play matchmaker with Madame Maxime and Hagrid," said Hermione. Harry burst into laughter this time.
They crossed the entrance hall quickly without looking in at the Great Hall, and were soon striding across the lawn toward the lake, where the Durmstrang ship was moored, reflected blackly in the water. It was a chilly morning, and they kept moving, munching on their toast, as Harry told the girls exactly what had happened after he had left the Gryffindor table the night before. To his immense relief, they both accepted his story without question.

"I've learned to never doubt you and I don't know if that's a good or bad thing," (Y/n) told him.

"Well, of course we knew you hadn't entered yourself," Hermione said, taking such a different approach that almost made Harry giggle. "The look on your face when Dumbledore read out your name! But the question is, who did put it in? Because Moody's right, Harry... I don't think any student could have done it... they'd never be able to fool the goblet, or get over Dumbledore's—"

"Have you seen Ron?" Harry interrupted.

"My guess is one of Voldemort's followers," (Y/n) said.

"...Ron or the sabotage?" Hermione asked, rather terrified of (Y/n)'s inquiry.

"Ron? What's he got to do with this? Ron couldn't get past the Age Line even with an age potion—"

"Does he think I entered myself?" Harry asked.

"What is this conversation?" Hermione cried. "No, I don't think so... not really," said Hermione awkwardly.

"You don't think one of Voldemort's followers would do this? I beg to diff—"

"Ron, (Y/n)! We're talking about Ron!"

"Sorry..."

"What's that supposed to mean, 'not really'?" Harry pressed.

"Oh Harry, isn't it obvious?" Hermione said despairingly. "He's jealous!"

"Jealous?" Harry said incredulously. "Jealous of what? He wants to make a prat of himself in front of the whole school, does he?"

"Look," said Hermione patiently, "it's always you who gets all the attention, you know it is. I know it's not your fault," she added quickly, seeing Harry open his mouth furiously. "I know you don't ask for it... but— well— you know, Ron's got all those brothers to compete against at home, and you're his best friend, and you're really famous— he's always shunted to one side whenever people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but I suppose this is just one time too many..."