A Desperate Wish
The library had always been Hermione’s refuge—a place of quiet solace where she could lose herself in the endless pages of knowledge. But now, as she sat hunched over a pile of ancient tomes, her fingers tracing the brittle edges of parchment, the peace that once soothed her was replaced by an aching desperation.
It had been days since Lucian’s portrait had nearly faded, and the memory still haunted her. She couldn’t stop thinking about it—the way his form had flickered, his voice growing faint, the fear in his eyes. That moment had ignited something in her—a frantic need to save him, to find some way to anchor him permanently to this world, to her.
The castle was quiet tonight, the other professors retired to their quarters, leaving Hermione alone in the dim light of the library. She flipped through page after page of old wizarding texts, eyes scanning for any hint of a spell, a charm, some ancient magic that could breathe life into Lucian’s portrait beyond its existing enchantment. She knew it was foolish, she knew portraits were only fragments of a person, shadows of the souls they had once been. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that Lucian was more than that. He felt more than that.
Every smile he gave her, every sharp retort, every lingering look—it all felt too real, too alive to be merely a trick of magic.
Her fingers trembled as she turned another page, her mind racing with possibilities. There had to be something. There had to be.
“Living Portraits,” she muttered, reading the title of an old chapter. Her heart leapt with a surge of hope, and she began devouring the text, her mind clinging to every word. The book spoke of powerful, dangerous enchantments—magic that could temporarily animate a portrait beyond its usual capacity, allowing it to act as though it were truly alive for a short time. But nothing permanent. Nothing that could give her what she truly wanted.
She slammed the book shut, frustration coursing through her veins. It wasn’t enough. None of it was enough.
“Still chasing hopeless dreams, I see.”
Hermione jumped, startled by the sudden sound of Lucian’s voice. She looked up, her heart skipping a beat as she saw his familiar figure watching her from the portrait that hung on the wall of the library. His expression was soft, but there was a sadness in his eyes—a sadness that mirrored the one she felt inside.
“Lucian,” she breathed, her voice betraying the exhaustion and the raw emotion she had been bottling up for days.
He stepped forward within the frame, leaning against the edge as if it were the doorway between their worlds. His gaze flickered over the books scattered around her, and he raised a brow. “Are you really trying to bring me back from the dead?”
Hermione’s cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and defiance. “I’m just— I’m trying to find a way to make sure you don’t—” Her voice faltered, the words sticking in her throat. “To make sure you don’t disappear again.”
Lucian’s eyes softened, but he shook his head slowly. “Hermione… you can’t chase this. You know it’s impossible.”
“I don’t care if it’s impossible!” Hermione’s voice rose, frustration and fear bubbling to the surface. “There has to be something, some spell, some way to keep you from fading. I’m not going to sit back and watch you disappear, Lucian.”
He sighed, his form leaning more heavily against the edge of the portrait, his expression pained. “You can’t save me, Hermione. I’m not alive. I’m just—”
“Don’t say that,” she interrupted, her voice tight. “You’re more than just a memory. You feel… real.”
Lucian’s gaze locked onto hers, the weight of her words hanging between them. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Hermione could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the pull toward him growing stronger with every beat.
“I am real,” Lucian finally said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “But not in the way you want me to be.”
The words cut deep, and Hermione looked away, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She had always prided herself on being rational, on understanding the limits of magic and life. But Lucian had shattered those boundaries, made her yearn for things she knew she couldn’t have.
“You don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I can’t lose you, Lucian. I’ve lost too much already.”
Lucian’s gaze softened even further, and he stepped closer within the portrait, his hand reaching out as if to touch her, though they both knew the barrier between them was unbreakable. “You haven’t lost me, Hermione. I’m here. I’ll always be here. But you have to accept that this… this is all we have.”
Hermione’s chest tightened painfully, the weight of his words crashing down on her. She wanted to argue, to fight against the reality of their situation, but deep down, she knew he was right. He was trapped in that frame, bound by ancient magic that couldn’t be undone. And yet… the feelings between them were so real, so overwhelming, that it was impossible to reconcile.
“I don’t know if I can,” she whispered, her eyes locking onto his. “I don’t know if I can live with that.”
Lucian’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, the air between them seemed to hum with unspoken intensity. He stepped closer to the edge of the frame, his gaze burning into hers. “You have to.”
The tension between them was palpable, a slow burn that had been building for weeks, months. The unspoken desires, the stolen glances, the shared moments of vulnerability—it all came rushing to the surface, threatening to consume them both.
“Hermione,” Lucian’s voice was barely a whisper, but it held the weight of everything unsaid. “I wish things were different. I wish I could give you what you want.”
She looked at him, her heart aching with the knowledge that he couldn’t. That no matter how much she cared for him, no matter how deeply she had fallen, their love was bound by the cruel limits of magic and fate.
“But you can’t,” she said quietly, the tears finally spilling over.
Lucian’s gaze lingered on her, filled with a sadness that mirrored her own. “No. I can’t.”
And yet, as they stood there, separated by a frame and an impossible dream, the connection between them only grew stronger. Even in the face of their doomed situation, Hermione knew one thing for certain.
She couldn’t stop loving him. No matter what.