The week after Germy Nott's arrival passed like a soft echo through the castle. She wasn't loud, nor was she the sort of person who demanded attention. If anything, she seemed to fold herself neatly into the rhythm of Hogwarts. Polite in corridors, attentive in class, and just quiet enough to be liked by everyone who met her. And yet, people noticed her.
It wasn't her beauty, though she had that. It was something quieter. A way of listening that made you feel seen, heard, as if your thoughts mattered when she looked at you.
Harry saw it first in Potions. Slughorn's praise had turned into a routine.
"Excellent work again, Miss Nott!" and every time, she'd blush slightly, not from vanity but something more genuine. Modest, almost shy.
Even Ron admitted it once, when they were walking back to the Tower.
"She's... not what I thought Slytherins were like," he said.
Harry gave him a sidelong look. "You mean evil?"
"I mean cold," Ron muttered, "She's actually... nice."
Hermione said nothing then, but the flicker in her eyes was unmistakable.
That evening in the library, Harry found Germy in the corner of the room. Her hair fell loose over her shoulder, a small stack of books beside her. She was reading quietly, tracing each line with her finger.
"You always study this late?" he asked, trying not to sound awkward.
She looked up, and that small, knowing smile returned, "Only when I can't sleep."
"What keeps you up?" he asked before he could stop himself.
She hesitated, eyes flicking down to the page, "Memories, mostly. Sometimes, thoughts I wish I didn't have."
Harry didn't know what to say. There was no edge in her tone. No mystery, no manipulation. Just honesty.
After a moment, she added softly, "You know what it's like, don't you? Not sleeping."
He met her gaze, "Yeah, I do."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It was... delicate.
When the library clock struck ten, she closed her book.
"You should get back," she said gently, "Curfew's soon."
"What about you?"
"I'll stay a bit longer," she said, smiling faintly, "I like it when the castle gets quiet. It feels... alive."
Something about the way she said it made him pause. But before he could ask more, she rose from her seat, her fingers brushing his hand as she picked up her books.
"Goodnight, Harry," she whispered softly.
And then she was gone, leaving only the faint scent of rain and lilac behind her.
When Harry returned to the common room, Hermione and Ron were by the fire.Ron looked half-asleep, but Hermione was wide awake, a book open on her lap.
"You saw her again," Hermione said, not looking up.
Harry frowned, "She was just studying."
"She's always studying," Hermione murmured, "Always listening. Always near."
Ron groaned, "Merlin's sake, Hermione, she's just being nice."
Hermione shut her book, eyes finally lifting to Harry's, "That's what worries me," she said quietly.
Harry didn't answer.
Because when he closed his eyes that night, he could still hear Germy's gentle, patient, warm voice saying Goodnight, Harry, in a way that somehow stayed in his chest.