Pink in the Night.

Chapter Thirty-One.

"I GOT THE PART!" (Y/n) shouted, rushing up to Harry and Hermione. She hadn't seen the cast list until it was well into Wednesday classes.

"Congratulations, (Y/n)!" Hermione beamed. "...who were you auditioning for?"

"Helena!" (Y/n) squealed.

"Helena," Hermione said proudly. "He-Helena?" she repeated in shock. "But you're... not tall."

"Short. You're so bloody short," Harry corrected bluntly.

"Real bold coming from you," (Y/n) jeered.

"I'm still taller than you!"

"I'm average height! You're below average!"

"You are not average," Hermione said, straightening up just so she would be able to look down at (Y/n). "I'm average." (Y/n), betrayed, gaped at Hermione.

"How could you do this to me?" (Y/n) asked, her voice straining as though she were hurt.

"(Y/n)—"

"NO! I don't want to hear it," (Y/n) said pitifully. Harry tried not to smile at Hermione's exasperation. "Anyways, I get the feeling the school isn't too happy with you, Harry," she added as though it weren't the most obvious thing in the world. The Hufflepuffs were being rather cold towards the Gryffindors; The Ravenclaws were neutral on the subject: On one hand, they weren't too happy with the original champion, on the other Harry always got the attention; The Slytherins were just outright rude, only toning things down in front of a teacher or staff.

"Really? You get the feeling?" Harry sassed. (Y/n) gave him a stink eye. "At least I know I have my best friends in the whole wide world—" he said loudly as Ron passed "—giving me support," he finished in a regular tone. He faltered at (Y/n)'s guilty expression. "You're joking? I don't have your support?"

"Of course you do!" (Y/n) stammered. "But Cass and I are rather... close, you might say. He gets my support too... And Fleur... And Krum, too..." Harry deadpanned at her.

"That's all of the champions, (Y/n)."

"And? I'm allowed to support whoever I want!" (Y/n) said huffily. "I'll even support Hermione if I wanted to."

"You don't want to support me?" Hermione moped.

"Of course I do!"

"So, what're you gonna do?" Harry asked. He was behind (Y/n), bent down to her height with his hand on the table for support. (Y/n) herself sat with perfectly straight posture and her fingers wriggling over the typewriter she never had the chance to use. It was a bit dusty when she had found it in the back of her wardrobe, but nothing a quick wipe down with a microfiber rag couldn't fix.
They had gathered in the library to write (Y/n)'s letter after Harry's dreadful interview that he told them all about, not sparing a single detail. In addition, (Y/n) noticed Hermione's smile looked different and, privately, she was told she got hit with a densaugeo hex and when she got to Madame Pomfrey's, she had her teeth fixed until they were no longer considered buckteeth.

"Write a letter of approval pretending to be my godmothers, Harry. We've gone over this," (Y/n) said dismissively. Hermione, who was also leaning over (Y/n)'s other side, shook her head.

"I still think this is a bad idea..." she said.

"A bad idea that I will accept any potential consequences for," (Y/n) said. "Let's see... Professor Burbage knows Anastasia and therefore knows Anatasia's my legal guardian. Therefore, I've gotta pretend to be her..."

"She does write with printed letters, right?" Hermione asked at length.

"Oh, yeah," (Y/n) said. "In fact, she's resorted to sending me messages on this—" she held up her wrist that had a watch "—as it's far quicker. Anyways, she always signs them, so the signature is something I'm nervous about..."