Portrait of a Heart
The fire in Hermione’s office flickered quietly, casting shadows on the ancient stone walls. The steady crackle of the flames should have been soothing, but instead, Hermione felt a growing anxiety gnawing at her, a sensation that had become more frequent over the past few days. She could hardly focus on her work. She had replayed her last conversation with Lucian over and over again in her mind, every word, every pause. His confession, his torment, their shared agony of longing and loss—it had left her raw, exposed to emotions she wasn’t ready to face.
She hadn’t visited the portrait since that night. Not because she didn’t want to—but because she couldn’t. Every time she thought of going to him, she was overwhelmed by how impossible it all was. How could she allow herself to fall for someone who wasn’t even alive? Someone whose very existence was nothing more than a memory trapped in a frame?
But tonight, the pull was too strong.
Hermione stood, abandoning her stack of unfinished essays, and left her office, her feet moving instinctively toward the hall where Lucian’s portrait hung. The corridors were empty, the quietness of the castle enveloping her like a thick blanket. As she neared the familiar hallway, an uneasy feeling stirred in her chest. Something was different.
When she turned the corner, her heart stopped.
Lucian’s portrait was flickering.
It was faint at first—just a ripple, like the surface of water disturbed by a slight breeze. But then his image began to fade, blurring at the edges, as though he were struggling to stay anchored to the canvas. Panic surged through her.
“Lucian?” Her voice trembled as she hurried closer, her eyes wide with fear. “Lucian!”
The figure in the portrait turned to her, his features distorted, his form shimmering as if it were caught between two planes of existence. His eyes, usually so sharp and full of life, were dull and clouded.
“Hermione…” His voice was faint, barely audible above the crackling of the torches lining the walls.
She reached out instinctively, her fingers brushing the cold wood of the frame, as if touching it could somehow stabilize him, could bring him back into focus. “What’s happening?”
Lucian’s form flickered again, his outline growing fainter with each passing second. He looked down at himself, confusion and fear flashing across his face. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice laced with desperation. “It’s like I’m… slipping.”
“No,” Hermione whispered, her heart pounding in her chest. “You can’t disappear. You can’t.”
Lucian tried to give her a reassuring smile, but it faltered. “I didn’t think it was possible… but something’s wrong.”
The panic rising in her chest was suffocating. Hermione’s mind raced, trying to understand what was happening. Portraits didn’t just fade away—not like this. The enchantments that kept them alive were ancient, powerful. Yet here was Lucian, a mere flicker of the man he had been, and with every second that passed, he seemed to fade further from her reach.
“What can I do?” Hermione asked, her voice barely a whisper, desperation threading through each word. “There has to be something. I can’t— I can’t lose you, Lucian.”
At that, Lucian’s gaze softened, though his form continued to blur, fading in and out of focus. “You won’t lose me,” he said, but the sadness in his voice betrayed the fear that they both shared. “But, Hermione… you can’t hold onto a ghost.”
Her breath hitched at his words. It felt like a punch to her chest. She wanted to scream, to tell him that he was more than just a ghost to her, that he had become something real, something she couldn’t bear to lose. But the words lodged in her throat, trapped by the cruel reality of their situation.
“I need you here,” she whispered, her fingers clutching the edges of the frame as if she could pull him back into existence by sheer force of will. “I can’t— I can’t let you go.”
Lucian’s fading figure reached out, his hand hovering near where hers rested on the frame, though he couldn’t touch her. His form flickered again, his outline becoming so faint that for a moment, Hermione feared he would disappear completely.
“Hermione, I…” His voice was barely a whisper now, like the dying embers of a fire. “I wish I could give you more than this.”
Her chest tightened painfully, the weight of their impossible situation crashing down on her all at once. How had she allowed herself to fall this far? How had she come to need him so much that the thought of him fading from her life left her feeling hollow, broken?
“Please don’t leave me,” she whispered, the words escaping before she could stop them.
There was a long pause, and for a moment, Hermione thought he was gone. But then his voice, faint but still present, whispered back.
“I’m not leaving you. Not willingly.”
Tears pricked at her eyes. Hermione watched as his form flickered one more time, then slowly, mercifully, began to solidify again. His image sharpened, his outline returning to its usual clarity, though there was still an undeniable fragility to it, as though the magic tethering him to the portrait had been weakened.
Hermione let out a shaky breath, relief flooding her as she watched him return. But the fear, the panic, still lingered in the back of her mind. She had nearly lost him. The reality of how fragile his existence was—how easily he could be taken from her—settled heavily on her chest.
Lucian looked down at his hands, still faintly shimmering, his expression grim. “I don’t know how long I have, Hermione,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a sadness that cut through her like a blade. “There’s something wrong with the magic that keeps me here.”
Hermione swallowed hard, her mind racing with possibilities. She would research every book, every ancient text, every spell that could preserve him. She would not let him fade away. Not after everything they had shared, everything they hadn’t even begun to explore.
“I’ll find a way,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. “I won’t let you disappear.”
Lucian gave her a small, sad smile, his eyes filled with an emotion she couldn’t name. “You’re stubborn, Granger. Always were.”
A weak laugh escaped her, but it was laced with pain. “You’ve no idea.”
As they stood there, the space between them vast yet intimate, Hermione realized just how deeply she had fallen for him. This wasn’t just a passing infatuation. This was something more—something that terrified her because of how fragile it was.
And for the first time, Hermione understood how much she had to lose.