It didn't take long for Germy to become part of the background noise at Hogwarts. She had a way of making people feel comfortable, even when she said very little. It wasn't charm exactly, but everyone agrees it's because of her attentiveness. She can make you believe she saw the best in you.
By the second week of term, she was already exchanging polite nods with the Ravenclaws, chatting lightly with the Hufflepuffs in the library, and to Ron's surprise, sitting with them in the courtyard one quiet afternoon.
She didn't ask. She just sat down beside Hermione with a small smile, setting her books carefully on the bench.
"Is this spot taken?"
Ron nearly choked on his pumpkin pastry, "Uh, no! Not at all."
Hermione gave him a look, then turned back to her essay.
Germy tilted her head, her voice easy, "You're working on McGonagall's assignment too?"
"Trying to," Ron muttered.
Without a word, she leaned slightly closer, scanning his parchment, "Your transitions are strong. You just need to phrase this part more confidently."
He blinked, "Confidently?"
Her lips curved, "Like you already know you're right."
Ron looked at her and felt something unfamiliar tighten in his chest. She didn't sound patronizing or smug like most Slytherins. She sounded… kind.
Harry watched quietly from across the table. There was nothing wrong with what Germy was doing. In fact, it was nice. But something about the rhythm of her presence unsettled him. She had an ease that seemed rehearsed, yet completely natural.
When she laughed, it was soft.
Even Hermione couldn't find anything to object to. Germy had answered all her questions thoughtfully, and when Hermione challenged her on a spell interpretation, Germy had simply smiled and said, "You're probably right. You usually are."
No one could dislike her. And that, somehow, was the most disarming thing of all.
That evening, Harry found himself walking toward the lake. The wind carried the faint scent of rain again.
And there she was.
Germy stood near the water, arms folded against the breeze, her reflection rippling across the dark surface.
"Couldn't sleep either?" she asked without turning.
He hesitated, "Just needed air."
"I know the feeling."
She looked over her shoulder, then a faint smile appeared on her lips, her hair catching the moonlight, "It's quiet out here. No noise, no expectations."
Harry stepped closer, unsure why, "You come out here often?"
"Sometimes," she said, "When I want to remember who I am."
He frowned lightly, "You forget?"
Her eyes met his, "Don't you?"
The question sank between them like a weight.
Harry didn't answer. He couldn't.
They stood there a while longer. No words, no reason to leave. Just the sound of the lake moving like a steady breath between them.
Finally, Germy said, "You're easier to talk to than people think."
He gave a faint, awkward smile, "That's a first."
"It's a good thing," she said, voice quiet, "It means you listen."
He wanted to ask what she meant, but she was already turning away, her steps barely breaking the reflection of the moon.
"Goodnight, Harry."
Her voice carried softly through the night air like a promise.
--
Back in Gryffindor Tower, Hermione was waiting. She didn't ask where he'd been.
"She's getting close to you two," she said evenly.
Harry sat down, rubbing his hands together, "She's just being friendly."
"Friendly," Hermione repeated, "Right."
Ron yawned, half-asleep in the armchair, "You're just jealous she's helping me with McGonagall's paper."
"I'm concerned she's helping you," Hermione muttered.
Harry looked toward the window. Somewhere out there, he knew Germy was probably still standing by the water, her silver locket glinting faintly against the night.
He didn't know why he thought of her then, but he did. And the thought stayed, long after he closed his eyes.