A Flirtatious Game
Days passed, and Hermione found herself returning to Lucian’s portrait with increasing frequency, each time with less apprehension. Their conversations, once laced with cautious curiosity and hesitancy, had shifted into something more playful, a dance of wit and banter that Hermione couldn’t quite pull herself away from.
This morning was no different. As she rounded the familiar corridor, she could already see Lucian standing in his frame, his arms crossed lazily as he leaned against the painted ledge, waiting for her as if he’d known she would come.
“Well, well,” Lucian greeted, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “I was beginning to think you might not show today.”
Hermione rolled her eyes as she approached, but a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself. “I didn’t realize I had a schedule to keep.”
“Of course you do,” Lucian replied smoothly. “You’re a creature of habit, Hermione Granger. Always so predictable.”
“Predictable?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow. “I’d say that’s rich coming from someone who’s literally painted into a frame.”
Lucian chuckled, a low, warm sound that sent an unexpected flutter through her chest. “Touché. But I’d argue that even in this limited existence, I can be far more unpredictable than you’d expect.”
Hermione shook her head, trying to suppress the smile that was growing harder to conceal. This was how it had been lately—Lucian pushing her buttons with his sharp wit and charm, and she, despite her best efforts, rising to the bait. What had once been a strange, formal interaction had evolved into something else entirely—something more… fun.
It shouldn’t have been fun. She knew that. He was just a portrait, a memory of someone long gone. And yet, in these moments, he felt so alive. So real.
“I suppose I should be grateful, then,” she replied, matching his playful tone. “Without you, my days would be dreadfully dull.”
Lucian’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he tilted his head slightly, studying her. “Ah, so you admit it—you enjoy our little chats.”
Hermione felt a blush creep up her neck, though she tried to ignore it. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to,” Lucian teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Your actions speak louder than your words, Hermione. You keep coming back.”
She opened her mouth to retort, but quickly closed it. He wasn’t wrong. She had been seeking out his company more and more, often finding herself thinking of things to say to him long before she arrived at the portrait. There was a part of her that wanted to deny it—to tell herself that this was just idle conversation with a magical relic, nothing more—but deep down, she knew it was becoming something else. Something more personal.
Lucian must have sensed her hesitation because his expression softened, though his teasing tone remained. “Come now, admit it. You’re enjoying yourself.”
“Maybe a little,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.
“A little?” he scoffed in mock offense. “You wound me, Granger.”
Despite herself, Hermione let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Honestly, how are you this insufferable even as a portrait?”
“It’s a gift,” Lucian said, his smile widening. “Besides, it seems to be working. You’re laughing, aren’t you?”
She couldn’t deny that. Every time they spoke, the heaviness in her heart lifted just a little, as if he was pulling her out of the lingering darkness that still clung to her from the war. It was a strange comfort, this back-and-forth with someone who existed only in this two-dimensional world. And yet, with each passing conversation, Lucian’s presence in her life became more significant.
He had an ease about him, a natural confidence that bordered on arrogance but was softened by a genuine warmth that Hermione hadn’t expected. His flirtatious remarks—subtle as they were—caught her off guard, leaving her flustered and uncharacteristically unsure of herself. But she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed it, even when it left her questioning the reality of her situation.
“You’re impossible,” she muttered, shaking her head but unable to suppress her smile.
Lucian’s grin widened, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something more in his eyes—something deeper. “Only for you, Hermione.”
Her heart skipped a beat at his words, and she quickly looked away, her mind racing. It was just a playful comment, she told herself, nothing more. But the way he said her name—soft, deliberate—it sent a strange thrill through her. She wasn’t sure what it was about him that made her react this way, but it unsettled her.
Still, she couldn’t stop herself from returning the next day. And the day after that.
As their conversations continued, the teasing grew bolder, the tension between them tightening with each passing moment. Lucian was always careful, though—his flirtations subtle, never crossing a line. But the way he spoke to her, the way his gaze lingered on her, made her chest tighten in a way she wasn’t prepared for.
Hermione tried to resist it. She reminded herself constantly that this wasn’t real, that Lucian was nothing more than a portrait. But his wit, his charm—it felt real. And it was becoming harder and harder to push aside the growing connection she felt.
One afternoon, after a particularly lively exchange of banter, Hermione leaned back against the wall beside his portrait, exhaling slowly. She glanced at Lucian, who was watching her with that familiar, knowing smile.
“You know,” she said, her voice quieter now, “sometimes I forget you’re… well, that you’re not really here.”
Lucian’s smile softened, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “It’s easy to forget, isn’t it? But trust me, Hermione—I’m as real as I can be in this frame. I’m still me.”
She met his gaze, her heart tightening at his words. It was easy to forget. Too easy. But she couldn’t shake the gnawing reality that he was just a shadow of the man he once was—a man she never truly knew.
And yet, here she was, flirting with a portrait as if he were standing right beside her.
“You’re dangerous,” Hermione murmured, half-joking but with an edge of truth in her words.
Lucian raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ve been called worse.”
She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “I mean it. You… you’re making me forget things I shouldn’t.”
His expression shifted, the playful tone giving way to something more serious. “Like what?”
“Like the fact that this—” she gestured between them, “—isn’t real.”
Lucian’s gaze darkened slightly, his voice quiet but firm. “It feels real to me.”
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat at the sincerity in his words. She didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know how to reconcile the growing feelings inside her with the reality of their situation. But as she stared into his eyes, she couldn’t deny it any longer.
It felt real to her too.
And that was the most dangerous part of all.