Unspoken Words
The halls of Hogwarts were bathed in moonlight, casting long shadows across the stone floors. The castle, normally so alive with the sounds of students and magical life, had fallen silent, leaving only the faint rustle of leaves outside and the occasional whisper of wind through the corridors.
Hermione paced slowly through the empty hallways, her footsteps barely audible. She had finished her lesson plans for the next day, but sleep had eluded her once again. Thoughts of Lucian stirred inside her, a restless energy she couldn’t shake. She knew where her feet were taking her—where they always seemed to lead, despite her attempts to resist.
She rounded the corner, her breath catching slightly as she saw his portrait, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. Lucian was there, as always, waiting for her. His presence was a strange kind of comfort now, one she had grown used to over the weeks. But tonight felt different. There was a tension in the air, an unspoken weight between them that had been building with each conversation, with each lingering glance.
“Hermione,” Lucian greeted her, his voice low, intimate, as though he had been expecting her. He stepped closer within the portrait, his silver-blonde hair catching the light as his eyes met hers.
“Lucian,” she replied softly, her heart quickening at the sight of him. There was something about the way he looked at her—something that always made her feel like he could see through her, past her defenses and into the parts of herself she kept hidden.
For a long moment, they simply looked at each other, the silence between them thick with everything left unsaid. The castle felt eerily quiet around them, as if it was holding its breath, waiting for whatever was to come next.
“Can’t sleep?” Lucian asked, his voice breaking the silence, though it held a warmth, a softness that made Hermione’s chest tighten.
She shook her head, her fingers brushing against the cool stone of the wall beside her. “No. I’ve been… thinking too much, I suppose.”
Lucian’s eyes darkened, his gaze never leaving hers. “About me?”
Hermione’s breath hitched slightly at the bluntness of his question. She had grown used to his wit, his teasing remarks, but this—this was different. There was a seriousness to his tone, an underlying vulnerability that caught her off guard.
She hesitated, her pulse racing as she tried to find the right words. But the truth was, she had been thinking about him—more than she wanted to admit. More than she should.
“I… yes,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “About you.”
Lucian’s expression softened, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. He stepped closer within the portrait, his gaze intense, as though he was trying to memorize every detail of her face.
“I think about you too,” he said, his voice low and sincere, the usual playful edge gone.
Hermione’s heart pounded in her chest, the weight of his words hanging between them. She didn’t know how to respond, her mind swirling with emotions she had been trying to suppress. This was wrong, wasn’t it? He was just a portrait—an echo of someone who had once lived. And yet, he felt so real to her. His presence, his words, the way he looked at her—it was all too real.
She swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. “Lucian… I don’t understand what’s happening between us.”
Lucian’s gaze softened, his eyes filled with something that looked dangerously close to longing. “Neither do I. But I know that I can’t stop thinking about you, Hermione. I’ve tried… but you’re always there.”
Hermione’s throat tightened, her emotions warring inside her. She wanted to pull away, to put distance between them, but the pull of him was too strong, the connection too undeniable. Every conversation, every shared moment had only drawn her closer, and now, standing there in the quiet of the night, she felt the full weight of it.
“I don’t know how to feel,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “You’re—”
“A portrait,” Lucian finished for her, his voice laced with frustration. “I know.”
The silence stretched between them again, thick with the tension of everything they were too afraid to say. Lucian’s eyes lingered on her, his gaze sweeping over her face as if he could reach out and touch her.
“But I’m more than that,” he continued, his voice low and intense. “I may not be alive, not in the way you are. But everything I feel, everything I say to you—it’s real, Hermione.”
Hermione’s chest tightened, her heart aching at the truth in his words. She wanted to believe him, wanted to give in to the pull between them, but there was a part of her that was terrified—terrified of how deeply she was already falling.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I don’t know if I can let myself feel… whatever this is.”
Lucian’s expression softened, his eyes filled with something that looked like understanding. He stepped closer within the portrait, his gaze never leaving hers. “You don’t have to decide now, Hermione. I won’t ask you for anything you’re not ready to give.”
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat, her emotions swirling in a storm of confusion and longing. The reality of their situation loomed over her, heavy and impossible. Lucian was right—he wasn’t just a portrait. He was more than that. But he was still… not alive. Not truly.
And yet, her heart didn’t seem to care.
She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away. It was just them, standing there in the moonlit corridor, caught between the past and the present, between what was real and what wasn’t.
Lucian’s gaze softened, his voice barely above a whisper. “Whatever this is… I feel it too.”
Hermione’s heart clenched at his words, the final barrier between them crumbling. She felt it too. This strange, impossible connection that had grown between them—this bond that neither of them could explain.
But as the silence stretched on, neither of them dared to say it. The words hung in the air, unspoken but understood.
And in the quiet of the night, with the weight of everything left unsaid between them, Hermione knew that she was standing on the edge of something she couldn’t turn back from.
But neither of them was ready to cross that line—not yet.