A Glimmer of Admiration
The early morning light filtered softly through the tall, arched windows of the corridor, casting pale shadows along the stone walls as Hermione made her way toward Lucian’s portrait. It had become a routine now—one she couldn’t bring herself to break, though she often questioned why she kept coming back. He was, after all, just a portrait. And yet, each conversation with Lucian had peeled back another layer of the man she thought she barely knew.
As she rounded the corner, she caught sight of him in his frame. He was leaning against a painted window ledge, staring out at a world that didn’t exist, his platinum hair falling slightly over his eyes. Despite his stillness, there was a kind of life to him—something that went beyond mere paint and magic. It was unnerving how real he felt, how tangible their connection had grown.
She paused, collecting herself before stepping closer. He noticed her approach immediately, his gaze shifting from the distant landscape to her.
“Good morning,” Lucian greeted her with a casual smile, but his eyes held that familiar, unreadable depth. “Another early visit?”
Hermione shrugged lightly. “I suppose I’m becoming a creature of habit.”
Lucian’s smile widened just a fraction. “I’m honored to be part of your routine.”
She settled into her usual spot near the portrait, her eyes tracing the delicate brushstrokes that made up his features. It still felt strange, having these conversations with someone who existed in such a limited way—yet their exchanges had become something she looked forward to. She often found herself replaying their words late into the night, unable to shake the growing sense of connection she felt.
But today, there was something different in the air. A quiet tension hummed between them, unspoken but palpable.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said before,” Hermione began, her voice steady though her thoughts were far from it. “About not wanting people to know what you did during the war. You… you sacrificed so much, and yet you’ve been content to stay in the shadows. Why?”
Lucian’s gaze lingered on her, his expression thoughtful. “I’ve never been one for the spotlight, Hermione. That was more Draco’s territory. I suppose… I always found satisfaction in the quiet victories.”
She nodded, understanding that more than she cared to admit. She had never sought out fame after the war either, preferring her quieter life as a professor over the chaotic limelight of the Ministry. But there was something else in his words—something deeper.
“Still,” she said softly, “it feels as though there’s more to it. You never even spoke to me when we were at Hogwarts.”
Lucian hesitated for a moment, and in that brief pause, Hermione saw something flicker in his expression—something vulnerable, almost fragile. His eyes met hers, and for the first time, there was an openness there, a crack in the carefully constructed mask he wore.
“Maybe I didn’t speak,” Lucian began quietly, “but I certainly noticed you.”
Hermione blinked, caught off guard by his confession. She hadn’t expected that—hadn’t imagined that she, of all people, had been noticed by someone as enigmatic and distant as Lucian Malfoy. Her mind raced back to their school days, trying to recall any interaction, any moment that might have hinted at this, but there was nothing. He had always been a shadow, silent and observing from afar.
“Noticed me?” she echoed, her brow furrowing in confusion.
Lucian’s gaze didn’t waver, his eyes now fixed on her with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. “I saw more than you realized, Hermione. You… intrigued me. Even then.”
Her heart skipped a beat, the weight of his words settling heavily in the space between them. The air grew thick, and suddenly, it was hard to breathe. She wanted to ask him why--wanted to know what he had seen, what had drawn him to her all those years ago--but the question caught in her throat, tangled with the strange sense of unease that came from realizing how much she hadn’t known.
“I…” Hermione struggled to find the right words, her mind spinning. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you ever say anything? Why keep it to yourself?”
Lucian’s lips curved into a small, wistful smile. “Because it wasn’t my place. And, well, you had other things on your mind back then. You were always surrounded by your friends Potter, Weasley, and I… I was a Malfoy. You wouldn’t have noticed me even if I had tried.”
The truth of his statement stung, not because it was unfair, but because it was likely true. Back then, Hermione had been too focused on survival, on keeping her friends alive, to ever notice the quiet glances of someone like Lucian. And he, in turn, had stayed silent, content to admire her from afar. It was such a strange, bittersweet thing to realize that even in the midst of war, someone had seen her, had cared enough to act, without ever expecting anything in return.
Hermione’s chest tightened, a confusing mix of emotions swirling within her. She was drawn to Lucian—there was no denying that anymore but the nature of their relationship was anything but simple. How could she allow herself to care for someone who no longer truly existed? Someone who was only an echo of the man he had been?
“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Lucian replied gently, his tone soft yet firm. “I didn’t tell you this to burden you, Hermione. I just thought… maybe it was time you knew.”
She nodded slowly, though her thoughts were far from settled. A thousand questions swirled in her mind, but none of them seemed appropriate to ask. Instead, she let the silence stretch between them, the weight of his words hanging in the air.
As their conversation drew to a close, Lucian’s gaze lingered on her longer than usual. There was something almost tangible in the way he looked at her—something that made her heart race and her mind spin with possibilities she wasn’t ready to confront. She could feel the pull between them growing stronger, more undeniable with each passing day, and it terrified her as much as it intrigued her.
When she finally tore herself away from the portrait and made her way back to her chambers, Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that everything had changed. Lucian’s admiration, his secret, long-hidden feelings had thrown her carefully constructed world into disarray.
And as much as she tried to convince herself that it didn’t matter, that he was only a portrait, Hermione couldn’t stop the growing tension that gnawed at her heart. Lucian Malfoy had noticed her. Admired her. And now, in the quiet, lonely halls of Hogwarts, she was beginning to notice him too.