A Dangerous Spell
The dim light of the library flickered in the late hours of the night, casting long shadows on the ancient tomes that lay scattered across the wooden table. Hermione sat hunched over a particularly worn, dark-covered book, her fingers trembling as she traced the inked lines of an obscure, forbidden spell. She had been here for hours, pouring over forgotten texts and hidden volumes, hoping against hope that she could find something to stop Lucian from fading completely.
And now, she had.
The spell was buried deep within a book on ancient magical practices, one she had found tucked away in a restricted section of the library. Its pages spoke of dangerous, life-altering magic—magic that could tether a soul to something stronger than a portrait, something real and connected. But the warnings were clear: this spell came with great risk. It wasn’t just about bringing Lucian back, even temporarily. It would require a dangerous exchange, a kind of sacrifice, and the consequences could be irreversible.
Her pulse quickened as she read the final lines of the spell, her mind racing. Could this be the answer? Could this be how she saved him?
The weight of her decision pressed heavily on her chest. She had spent the last few weeks watching Lucian fade before her eyes, his image growing weaker, his voice sometimes barely more than a whisper. The idea of losing him now, after everything they had shared, was unbearable. Yet the very thought of attempting such dangerous magic filled her with dread.
A sound from behind her interrupted her thoughts—the familiar, soft rustle of the enchanted canvas. Hermione turned, finding Lucian in his portrait, standing as solidly as he could, though his figure remained faint and ghostly.
“Hermione,” he said softly, his voice filled with concern. “What are you doing?”
She closed the book gently, almost as if she were trying to hide it from him, though the guilt already hung heavy in the air. Her eyes met his, filled with desperation and sorrow. “I think I found a way. A way to stop you from fading.”
Lucian’s expression immediately darkened. His figure, though dim, seemed to tense with alarm. “What are you talking about? You can’t do this, Hermione.”
She stood up, her hands trembling as she clutched the book against her chest. “I can’t just watch you disappear. I can’t just let you go without trying something—anything!”
Lucian stepped forward in the portrait, his voice urgent but filled with a pleading warmth. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with. That kind of magic is—Hermione, it’s dangerous. It could kill you.”
Hermione felt her throat tighten as her frustration bubbled to the surface. “And what am I supposed to do? Watch as you fade away? As you slip through my fingers, little by little, until there’s nothing left of you?” Her voice wavered, breaking with the weight of her anguish. “I can’t lose you, Lucian. I can’t…”
Tears welled up in her eyes, her body shaking with the force of her emotions. Lucian, too, looked torn, his usually calm and teasing demeanor replaced with a deep sadness. He wanted to reach through the frame and comfort her, but all he could do was stand there, confined to his painted prison.
“Hermione, listen to me.” His voice was gentle but firm. “This spell—it’s not worth it. You know that. You’ve always known that. If you try it, you could lose more than me. You could lose yourself.”
She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t care. I don’t care about the risk. I just need to know that I did everything I could to save you.”
Lucian sighed, his gaze softening. “I’m already gone, Hermione. I’ve been gone since the war. What you see here”—he gestured to the portrait—“this isn’t real. It’s a memory, a reflection of what once was. I don’t want you to hurt yourself for something that can never truly come back.”
Hermione’s heart ached as she listened to him, the truth of his words sinking in like a cold, bitter wind. But still, the thought of living without him, without their connection, felt unbearable. She had come to depend on him in ways she hadn’t even realized. He had become her solace, her anchor in the sea of pain and loss that had defined her life since the war.
“I love you, Lucian,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I can’t lose you. Not again.”
Lucian’s face softened, his expression filled with the same love and heartbreak that mirrored her own. “And I love you, Hermione. But I can’t let you risk your life for me. You deserve more than this—more than a man trapped in a frame.”
The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken words and impossible wishes. Hermione wiped at her tears, her heart torn between what she wanted and what she knew was right.
“There has to be another way,” she murmured, her voice breaking. “There has to be…”
Lucian took a deep breath, his form flickering slightly. “Even if there were, I wouldn’t let you do it. I would rather disappear completely than watch you hurt yourself trying to save me.”
Hermione looked down at the book in her hands, her grip loosening. She knew he was right—deep down, she knew. But the pain of losing him, of losing this connection that had become so much a part of her life, felt unbearable.
“You’re stronger than you think, Hermione,” Lucian said softly, his voice filled with admiration. “You survived the war, you’ve survived loss. You can survive this, too.”
Her hands trembled as she slowly placed the book on the table, the dangerous spell still burning in her mind. She had been so desperate to find a way to bring him back, to stop him from fading, that she hadn’t fully considered the cost. But now, faced with Lucian’s gentle yet firm resolve, she realized that some battles weren’t meant to be fought.
“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered, her voice thick with grief.
Lucian’s image flickered again, but his smile remained steady. “You’ll never lose me, Hermione. I’ll always be with you… even if I’m not here.”
The tears fell freely now, and Hermione stepped closer to the portrait, her fingers brushing against the frame as if she could feel him through the cold wood and canvas. “I don’t know how to let go.”
Lucian’s eyes softened with love and sadness. “You don’t have to, not completely. But you do need to let go of the idea that you can save me. I’ve already made peace with my fate. Now, you need to make peace with yours.”
Hermione closed her eyes, the weight of his words settling deep within her. Letting go—how could she do that when all she wanted was to hold on? But as the minutes passed, she began to understand that holding on to him, to this impossible dream, was only causing them both more pain.
When she opened her eyes again, Lucian was still there, though fainter than before. His gaze remained on her, filled with the same warmth and admiration that had drawn her to him in the first place.
“I’m here,” he whispered softly. “And I always will be.”
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Hermione felt a flicker of acceptance amidst the pain. Though the road ahead was filled with heartbreak, she knew that Lucian’s love, even in its tragic form, would always be a part of her.