Haunted Memories
The castle was eerily quiet that evening, the corridors bathed in the soft glow of torchlight as Hermione made her way to Lucian’s portrait. The familiar path had become a source of comfort, though she couldn't quite explain why. There was a weight in her chest tonight—an invisible heaviness that pressed down on her, and though she had tried to distract herself with papers and lesson plans, her mind kept wandering back to memories she’d rather forget.
As Hermione approached Lucian’s portrait, she hesitated, her hand brushing the cold stone wall beside her. The past few weeks had seen their conversations deepen in unexpected ways, and while she was grateful for the distraction, there was an unspoken bond between them now that both fascinated and unsettled her. She sought him out not just for his wit or charm, but for something more. For the solace he unknowingly provided.
“Back again, I see,” Lucian’s voice greeted her as soon as she stopped before the painting. His silver-grey eyes were bright with that familiar spark of mischief, but his expression softened when he saw the weariness in her eyes. “You look troubled.”
Hermione gave a small, tired smile. “It’s been… a long day.”
He didn’t push, didn’t ask for details, but he had a way of watching her with such quiet intensity that it felt as though he already knew what weighed on her mind. And perhaps he did. They had shared enough in these weeks that she no longer felt the need to mask her emotions around him.
After a moment of silence, Lucian’s expression shifted, more serious now. “I can tell when you’ve had more than just a ‘long day,’ Hermione. You wear your past like a heavy cloak, even when you think no one is looking.”
Hermione blinked, caught off guard by the accuracy of his observation. She had always been good at hiding, at burying the pain of the war deep within herself. But Lucian, in his stillness, seemed to see right through her.
“I suppose it’s hard to forget,” she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “The war… it lingers. In everything.”
Lucian’s gaze flickered, his expression darkening slightly as memories of his own came rushing back. For a moment, the portrait was still, his painted form caught in a shadow of something deeper, something raw. And then, without warning, the air around them seemed to shift, and the world tilted as if pulling Hermione into the past.
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It was the middle of the war, and the sky above was dark, filled with the smoke and ash of a world torn apart. Lucian stood on the edge of the battlefield, his breath ragged, his wand gripped tightly in his hand. His silver-blonde hair was matted with sweat and dirt, and his sharp features were etched with grim determination.
The roar of spells and curses filled the air around him, but Lucian’s focus was on a group of fighters—members of the Order—who were pinned down by a barrage of Death Eaters. He had been watching from the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike, and now, seeing the desperation in their eyes, he knew it was time.
Lucian had never openly aligned himself with the Order of the Phoenix. That had been Draco’s path, Draco’s struggle. But Lucian had fought in his own way—quietly, subtly, using his knowledge of dark magic to undermine the very forces he had once studied. He had always been the secret, the hidden ally that no one knew they had. His sacrifice had never been for glory or recognition. It had been for her.
He raised his wand, his heart pounding in his chest as he stepped forward into the fray. Spells exploded around him, and he dodged a curse just in time, sending a blast of magic toward the Death Eaters who were closing in on the Order’s forces. The Death Eaters faltered, confused by the sudden attack from one of their own.
But Lucian didn’t stop. He pushed forward, his mind focused only on protecting those in danger, on protecting her.
In the chaos of battle, Lucian caught a glimpse of Hermione, her wild curls streaked with blood and sweat, her face set in fierce determination as she fought alongside Harry and Ron. He felt a pang of something sharp in his chest, but there was no time for hesitation. He knew what he had to do.
Lucian pushed through the fight, his wand a blur of motion as he cast spell after spell. He fought with a kind of reckless abandon, knowing that each moment could be his last. And in that final push, when he saw the curse flying toward Hermione, he didn’t think. He acted.
The pain was blinding, searing through him as he threw himself between Hermione and the curse. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud, and the world around him faded to a dull roar. His vision blurred, and he knew, even then, that this was the end.
But in his final moments, as the darkness closed in, Lucian’s thoughts weren’t of regret or fear. They were of her. He had saved her, and that was enough.
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Hermione gasped as the memory faded, her heart pounding in her chest. She blinked, the dim light of the Hogwarts corridor slowly coming back into focus. Lucian was watching her closely, his expression unreadable.
“You…” Hermione’s voice was shaky, her mind still reeling from what she had seen. “You saved me.”
Lucian’s eyes flickered, a shadow of pain crossing his features. “I did what I had to do.”
For a moment, Hermione couldn’t speak. The weight of what she had just experienced pressed down on her, filling her with a deep, overwhelming sadness. She had known Lucian had fought, had sacrificed himself in the war—but seeing it, feeling it through his eyes, was something else entirely. It was a truth she hadn’t been ready for.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Why didn’t you let people know what you did?”
Lucian’s expression softened, his painted form leaning forward slightly. “Because it wasn’t about recognition. It never was. My choices… they were mine. And they were for reasons I wasn’t ready to admit back then.”
His gaze held hers, and in that moment, Hermione felt the depth of his unspoken words. It had been for her. He had fought for her, protected her, because of something more—something that even now, she wasn’t sure how to process.
“I never wanted you to know,” Lucian added quietly. “But I suppose it was inevitable.”
Hermione swallowed, her throat tight as she looked at him—really looked at him. Lucian, the man who had been nothing more than a name in the shadows, had been there all along. And now, despite the impossible nature of their connection, she found herself drawn to him in ways she hadn’t expected.
“You were never just a Malfoy,” Hermione said softly, her voice trembling with the weight of her realization. “You were so much more.”
Lucian smiled faintly, though there was a sadness in his eyes that lingered. “I was always just Lucian. But maybe now… maybe you’ll see me for who I was.”
And in that moment, Hermione knew she did.