The Confession
It was late, well past midnight, and Hogwarts lay in a deep slumber. The castle’s usual vibrant hum had quieted to a serene stillness, broken only by the occasional creak of ancient wood and the distant sound of wind brushing against the windows. Hermione, wrapped in her thoughts, found herself once again standing before Lucian’s portrait, her nightly visits to him becoming more of a routine than she’d ever imagined.
She hesitated for a moment, gazing up at his likeness—the sharpness of his features, the way his eyes always seemed to hold an unspoken depth whenever they looked at her. Every visit felt like a step deeper into something she couldn’t quite name, a growing bond that tugged at the corners of her heart even when she tried to push it aside.
Lucian stirred in the painting, as if sensing her presence before she had spoken a word. He was dressed as always in his dark robes, his expression calm, though there was a certain softness in his gaze tonight, a kind of vulnerability that she hadn’t seen before.
“You’re restless again,” he said quietly, breaking the silence between them. His voice was low, almost tender, as though the late hour had stripped away his usual wit and banter.
Hermione sighed softly, stepping closer to the portrait as she folded her arms around herself. She didn’t know what to say. The past weeks had been a whirlwind of emotions—between their deepening conversations, her own growing feelings, and the impossible reality that stood between them. The rational part of her mind screamed that this was absurd, that this connection was only a reflection of loneliness and unhealed scars. But her heart... her heart had stopped listening to reason weeks ago.
“I suppose I am,” she admitted, her voice softer than usual. She wasn’t in the mood for clever exchanges or evasive remarks tonight. She was tired, emotionally and mentally drained from the constant push and pull between what she wanted and what she could never have.
Lucian studied her closely, his silver-grey eyes filled with an intensity that made her stomach twist. He’d grown quieter in their recent conversations, less teasing and more observant, as if there was something unsaid lingering between them, waiting for the right moment to be revealed.
“Something is weighing on you,” Lucian murmured. His eyes followed her as she paced slightly in front of his frame, her nervous energy palpable. “You’ve been distant these past few days.”
Hermione paused, meeting his gaze. There was no point in denying it. The truth was, she had been avoiding the full reality of their situation, unwilling to confront the depth of what was developing between them. The flutter of attraction had long since turned into something deeper, something more dangerous. But it wasn’t just her own feelings that had unsettled her—it was the growing awareness that Lucian, too, was holding back.
Lucian’s gaze didn’t waver as he continued, his voice quieter now, more intimate. “I’ve been holding something back, Hermione.”
Her breath caught in her throat, her heart racing with the sudden weight of his words. She wasn’t sure she was ready to hear what he had to say, but at the same time, she couldn’t deny the pull—the desire to understand what had been simmering beneath the surface of their conversations.
“Tell me,” she whispered, stepping closer to the frame. Her pulse quickened as she looked up at him, her chest tight with anticipation.
For a long moment, Lucian simply watched her, his expression unreadable. Then, he took a slow breath, his shoulders tense as though he was gathering the courage to speak. When he did, his voice was softer than she had ever heard it, almost fragile.
“I remember you,” he began, his eyes holding hers with an unwavering intensity. “From when we were at school.”
Hermione blinked, startled by the revelation. “You remember me?”
He nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. “Of course I do. You were... hard to forget.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. Hermione’s heart raced as she tried to process what he was saying. Lucian had been in the same year as her, but he had always been a shadow in the background—a figure she had barely registered in the chaos of those years. And yet, he remembered her. He had been watching her, noticing her in ways she had never imagined.
“I admired you,” he continued, his voice growing quieter. “More than I ever let on. You were... everything I wasn’t. Strong, brilliant, determined. I watched you from afar, never daring to speak. And then, after the war started... it only deepened.”
Hermione’s breath hitched in her throat. His confession felt raw, vulnerable, and it hit her in a way she hadn’t expected. She had never considered the possibility that someone like Lucian Malfoy—someone who had always seemed so distant, so far removed from her world—could have harbored these feelings for her. And not just admiration, but something deeper, something that had lasted all these years.
“You...” she struggled to find her words, her mind reeling. “You admired me?”
Lucian smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I did. I still do.”
The weight of his words settled heavily between them, and Hermione felt her heart twist painfully in her chest. She didn’t know what to say, how to respond. The rational part of her screamed that this was impossible, that it didn’t matter, that he was only a portrait now. But her heart... her heart was breaking for him—for everything that could have been, everything that was lost.
Lucian’s gaze softened as he looked at her, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite name. “I was too much of a coward to say anything when I was alive. And now...”
He trailed off, the unspoken words hanging in the air. Hermione’s chest tightened, her emotions swirling inside her with a force that left her breathless. There was nothing she could say to change the reality of their situation. Lucian was gone. He had been gone for years. And yet, here he was, pouring out his heart to her in a way that was both beautiful and tragic.
“I wish things were different,” Hermione whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Lucian’s gaze softened, and for the first time, she saw a glimmer of pain in his eyes—a pain that mirrored her own. “So do I.”
They stood there, in the quiet corridor of Hogwarts, the distance between them more than just the frame of a portrait. It was the distance of time, of life and death, of everything that could never be. And yet, despite it all, there was a connection between them that defied reason—a connection that had grown stronger with every conversation, every shared look.
For the first time, Hermione allowed herself to fully feel the weight of her emotions—the pull of something she couldn’t have, the ache of unspoken desires that had no place in the reality they lived in.
But as she stood there, staring into Lucian’s eyes, she realized something else too—something that both terrified and comforted her.
She wasn’t alone in this.
Lucian felt it too.