The First Glimpse of Affection
The weeks passed slowly, a steady rhythm of lessons, students, and staff meetings that filled the hours but left Hermione feeling hollow at the end of each day. Yet, there was a growing pattern in her evenings—a pull she couldn't quite name but didn't resist. It had become a routine now, visiting Lucian’s portrait when the castle halls were quiet, when her duties as a professor were done for the day.
Initially, she had gone out of curiosity, seeking answers about the man whose sacrifices had been hidden in the shadows of history. But those first few conversations had stirred something else in her. Lucian wasn’t just another name from the past anymore; he was a presence, one that felt very much alive, despite his form confined to canvas and enchantment. His portrait wasn’t like the others. There was a vitality in him, something Hermione couldn’t explain but found herself drawn to.
It started with small, harmless exchanges—talk of the students, of the everyday happenings at Hogwarts. Lucian always seemed to know more about the school than she expected, even keeping track of the classes that passed by his portrait, making witty remarks about the students’ antics that would sometimes draw an unwilling smile from her.
One evening, as she stood before him in the flickering light of the castle’s torches, Hermione found herself relaxing in his presence. They were talking about a particularly mischievous group of third years, and Lucian, with his usual wry humor, said something that made her laugh—an honest, unrestrained laugh that rang out in the otherwise silent hallway.
She quickly clamped a hand over her mouth, surprised at the sound. It had been so long since she had laughed like that—truly laughed. Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she looked away, suddenly feeling foolish for letting her guard down.
“Surprised yourself, didn’t you?” Lucian’s voice was smooth, laced with that familiar hint of amusement. His painted form leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with something that felt almost playful.
Hermione looked back at him, her lips still curled in a reluctant smile. “I suppose I did. I don’t laugh like that very often these days.”
“Shame,” Lucian said lightly, though there was a depth beneath his words. “You should. It suits you.”
She felt the warmth rise in her cheeks again, this time from something deeper. His words carried a weight that lingered, and though she wanted to brush it off as casual banter, she couldn’t ignore the way they made her feel. There was a softness in his tone, something gentler than the wit and charm he usually wielded.
Their conversations began to shift after that. What had once been guarded, polite exchanges became something else—something more intimate. Hermione found herself lingering longer in front of the portrait, drawn in by the way Lucian challenged her, the way he seemed to anticipate her thoughts and questions. He had a way of pushing her intellectually, of making her see things from angles she hadn’t considered. It was frustrating at times, but it also thrilled her in a way she hadn’t felt in years.
Lucian was quick-witted, always ready with a clever retort or a teasing remark, but there was a kindness to it, an understanding that made her feel seen in ways she hadn’t expected. He seemed to enjoy sparring with her, and she found herself rising to the challenge, their verbal exchanges growing more spirited with each passing conversation.
It was on one of these evenings, after an especially long day of classes, that Hermione found herself standing before Lucian once more. She had barely noticed how frequent her visits had become—how natural it now felt to seek him out at the end of her day.
“I’ve noticed you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with me, Professor Granger,” Lucian said, his tone light but his eyes keenly observing her.
Hermione crossed her arms, leaning casually against the wall beside the portrait, trying to hide the slight flutter in her chest. “Perhaps I just enjoy good conversation,” she replied, her voice deliberately casual.
“Good conversation? With me? I’m flattered,” he responded with mock surprise, though there was a flicker of something genuine in his expression—something Hermione wasn’t sure how to interpret. “I thought you preferred dusty old books and intellectual debates with colleagues.”
“Books can’t challenge me like you do,” she admitted before she could stop herself. The words hung between them, heavier than she intended. She quickly added, “You’re more opinionated than most portraits.”
Lucian’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with that familiar amusement. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. There was something disarming about Lucian’s charm, something that made it easier to forget the oddity of their situation. He wasn’t like any of the other portraits at Hogwarts. He wasn’t a distant, hollow reflection of the past. He was sharp, present, alive in ways that often made her forget he was merely a painted figure on a wall.
But even as she told herself that, there was no denying the growing tension between them—the way her heart seemed to race just a little faster when he looked at her, the way his words, once casual, now seemed to carry layers of meaning she hadn’t noticed before.
“You know,” Lucian said, his tone softening slightly, “I don’t mind your visits. In fact, I think I quite enjoy them.”
Hermione’s breath caught for just a moment, her gaze flicking up to meet his. His words were simple, but they carried a weight that sent her mind racing. Was this just Lucian being charming, or was there something more behind those words?
“I’m not sure why,” she said, half-joking, trying to lighten the mood even as her pulse quickened. “I’m sure I’m not the most entertaining company for someone who’s been… stuck in a portrait for so long.”
Lucian chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm. “You underestimate yourself, Hermione. You’re far more interesting than you give yourself credit for.”
The way he said her name—Hermione, not Professor Granger—felt intimate, personal. It sent a shiver down her spine, though she tried to ignore it.
Their conversations continued in this way for weeks. They talked about the war, about magic, about life at Hogwarts. Lucian would ask about her students, and she found herself sharing stories she wouldn’t have with anyone else. He seemed genuinely interested in her life, in her thoughts, and it was that sincerity that drew her in, despite the absurdity of it all.
But as the days passed, something else began to stir beneath the surface—something neither of them was quite ready to acknowledge. It was in the way Lucian’s gaze lingered on her when she spoke, in the way her heart fluttered whenever he said her name. There was a tension between them now, subtle but unmistakable.
One evening, as she stood before him once again, the conversation fell into a brief silence. Hermione had just shared a particularly amusing story about one of her students, and Lucian had laughed, his painted features lighting up with genuine amusement. But now, the laughter had faded, and there was something heavier in the air.
Lucian’s gaze softened, his voice quieter when he spoke again. “You’ve changed since we first started talking.”
Hermione blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. “Changed?”
“Yes. You’re… more at ease now. Less guarded.” His eyes flicked over her face, as though searching for something in her expression. “It suits you.”
She swallowed, her heart beating a little too fast. “I suppose I’ve just grown used to you,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
Lucian smiled, but there was a warmth in his eyes that made her chest tighten. “Perhaps. Or perhaps you’re just starting to let yourself be yourself again.”
Hermione’s breath caught at his words. They were simple, but they struck a chord deep within her, one she hadn’t even realized was there. She had spent so long guarding herself, keeping her emotions locked away after the war. But Lucian… Lucian had somehow slipped past those defenses, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it.
She stared at him for a long moment, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and something else—something she wasn’t ready to name. The man in the portrait wasn’t just an enigma anymore. He was becoming something more.
And that terrified her.