Haunted by Loss
The morning sun streamed through the high windows of Hogwarts, casting golden light on the stone corridors. Hermione moved through the halls with purpose, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of the night before. The intensity of her conversation with Lucian had left her shaken, but it wasn’t something she could share with anyone. It was still too strange, too difficult to explain—this connection she had begun to feel with someone who was no longer truly alive.
As she made her way toward her classroom, her thoughts clouded with memories of their whispered words, a familiar figure stepped into her path. Draco Malfoy. His platinum hair gleamed in the sunlight, his expression unreadable as he stopped a few feet in front of her.
“Granger,” he greeted her, his tone neutral but his sharp eyes observing her closely.
“Malfoy,” she replied, her voice tight, trying to hide the discomfort that always accompanied their encounters. Draco had softened after the war, his animosity dulled by the shared horrors they had witnessed. But even now, there was an unspoken tension between them, one born from years of history they couldn’t easily forget.
Draco glanced behind her, his gaze lingering in the direction of the portrait corridor where Lucian’s image resided. He frowned slightly, a flicker of something dark crossing his features before he turned his attention back to her.
“I’ve noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time with my brother,” Draco said, his tone casual but edged with something colder, something protective.
Hermione’s heart tightened at his words. She hadn’t realized how often she had been visiting Lucian’s portrait until now. Guilt and embarrassment washed over her, and she shifted uncomfortably under Draco’s scrutiny.
“It’s… nothing,” she said quickly, hoping to deflect the conversation. “Just curiosity, I suppose. I didn’t know much about him during our school years.”
Draco’s gaze hardened, and he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Lucian is dead, Granger. Whatever you’re looking for, you won’t find it in that portrait.”
His words struck her like a blow, the harsh reality of it settling in her chest. She knew he was right—Lucian was dead. No matter how real their conversations felt, no matter how much he had made her heart stir, he was still just a memory, a fragment of a life that had been cut short.
“I’m not—” Hermione began, but her words faltered under the weight of Draco’s gaze.
“I know my brother,” Draco interrupted, his voice quieter now, but laced with a warning. “He was always… intense. Even when he was alive, he kept parts of himself hidden from everyone, especially those he cared about.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”
Draco’s jaw tightened, as though he were struggling with something unsaid. “Lucian wasn’t like me,” he said after a moment. “He was quieter, more observant. But he cared deeply, more than I ever did. He just never showed it—until it was too late.”
The words sent a jolt through Hermione, and she felt her breath hitch as the implications of Draco’s statement began to sink in. Was he saying that Lucian had cared for her… even then?
“I’ve seen the way you look at his portrait,” Draco continued, his voice sharp with warning. “Don’t let yourself get too close. He’s not here, Hermione. He’s never coming back.”
A heavy silence fell between them, Draco’s words echoing in her mind. She wanted to argue, to push back against the cold finality of his statement, but she couldn’t. Lucian was gone. His portrait was only a shadow of the man he had been, a reflection of memories frozen in time.
“I’m not…” she tried again, her voice trailing off. But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. She was becoming attached, more than she had intended, more than was safe. And Draco had seen right through her.
Draco’s gaze softened slightly, as though he understood the turmoil inside her. He took a step back, giving her space, but the weight of his warning still lingered between them.
“I’m telling you this because I know what it’s like to be haunted by someone who’s gone,” Draco said quietly, his voice carrying a rare note of vulnerability. “Don’t let him haunt you too.”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Hermione standing alone in the corridor, her heart heavy with confusion and loss.
She felt her legs trembling as she watched him go, her mind racing with the weight of his words. She had always known that Lucian was no longer alive, but somehow, in the quiet moments of their conversations, it was easy to forget. It was easy to pretend that he was still here, still with her.
But Draco had shattered that illusion.
Hermione turned slowly, her gaze falling down the corridor where Lucian’s portrait hung, just out of sight. The pull toward him was still there, stronger than ever, but now it was laced with something darker—an awareness of the impossibility of their connection.
Her heart ached, torn between the strange comfort she found in Lucian’s presence and the painful truth that he was gone, forever beyond her reach.
As she stood there, rooted to the spot, memories of the war came flooding back—the loss, the sacrifice, the haunting silence of the aftermath. She had seen so many lives taken too soon, had watched too many people slip away. And now, she was here, caught between the living and the dead, her heart drawn to someone who could never truly be hers.
Draco’s words echoed in her mind. Don’t let him haunt you too.
But as she turned and began walking toward Lucian’s portrait once more, she couldn’t help but feel that it was already too late.