The Last Secret
The days had settled into a steady rhythm, but Hermione’s heart had not yet completely healed. Though she had thrown herself into her work and allowed the passage of time to dull the sharper edges of her grief, there was still a part of her that could not fully let go of Lucian.
One crisp autumn evening, as she made her way through the familiar halls of Hogwarts, she noticed something strange near Lucian’s portrait. A faint glimmer of light caught her attention, drawing her toward it like a whisper from the past. Her feet slowed as she approached the familiar frame she had once visited daily but now only passed by with a silent acknowledgment.
There, tucked into the lower corner of the frame, barely visible, was a folded piece of parchment.
Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. Hesitation stilled her hand for a moment, but curiosity—an old friend—propelled her forward. She gently took the letter, her fingers trembling as she unfolded it, and her breath caught when she saw the handwriting.
It was Lucian’s.
Her mind raced. How could there be a letter from him, especially now, when he had all but disappeared? The words on the parchment, however, made it clear that this was something Lucian had left behind intentionally, knowing she would find it only when she was ready.
As Hermione read, her eyes stung with unshed tears.
My Dearest Hermione,
If you are reading this, then I have already faded, and the time for parting has come. I cannot begin to imagine what you must feel, but I know you well enough to believe that you are stronger than you think—stronger than anyone I have ever known.
There are things I’ve kept from you, secrets I did not share, because I wanted you to live without the burden of them. But I owe you the truth, and I want you to know that every choice I made, every risk I took during the war, was because of you.
I loved you from afar when we were at Hogwarts together, though I doubt you ever noticed me back then. How could you? You were always too busy saving the world. But it was your courage, your strength, your unyielding heart that drew me in. I admired you long before I knew what admiration truly meant. And though I never spoke a word of it while I was alive, it was the thought of you that kept me from fully surrendering to the darkness around me.
During the war, I knew I had little to offer compared to Harry, Ron, or even Draco. But I did what I could, quietly, from the shadows. I aligned myself with the Order, using what I knew to protect you, Harry, and Ron, even if from a distance. I told myself it was out of duty—out of some twisted sense of honor—but the truth is, Hermione, I did it for you.
I never had the chance to tell you this in life, and perhaps it’s for the best that I didn’t. But now, as my time in this world fades, I need you to know. I loved you, Hermione Granger. I still do. You gave me the courage to be better, to do better. My only regret is that I never told you while I was alive.
I don’t expect you to carry this burden. In fact, I beg you not to. Live your life, Hermione. Be the incredible person you were always destined to be. But know that in the brief moments we shared, even through this portrait, you gave me more than I ever thought possible.
This is my final farewell. Please, take this as my last wish for you—to find happiness, wherever it may lead. I’ll be watching over you, from whatever place this magic takes me.
Yours, always,
Lucian
Hermione’s hands trembled as the letter slipped from her fingers, fluttering to the floor. She pressed her palm to her chest, as if trying to hold back the wave of emotion that crashed over her, but it was impossible.
Tears streamed down her face, unbidden and uncontrollable. The weight of Lucian’s words, the depth of his hidden love, his sacrifices, all of it overwhelmed her. She had known, on some level, that Lucian had cared for her, but to see it written so plainly, to know that he had fought for her, lived for her, and even in death, had loved her—it was too much.
She knelt, picking up the letter again, her fingers brushing over his words, tracing them as if they could bring him back, even for just a moment. But he was gone. Truly gone. And this letter—this last confession—was his final gift to her.
The air felt colder, the walls of Hogwarts more confining than ever before. The letter had been a farewell, a closing of a chapter that she wasn’t sure she was ready to end. Yet, deep down, Hermione knew that this was what Lucian wanted. He wanted her to move on, to live, to find happiness, even if he couldn’t be by her side.
She pressed the letter to her chest, closing her eyes. “I loved you, too,” she whispered, the words hanging in the empty corridor like a secret shared only with the shadows.
As the night deepened, Hermione slowly rose to her feet. The letter, now folded carefully, would stay with her—a piece of Lucian she would always carry. But it would not be a weight of sorrow. It would be a reminder of the love that had blossomed in the unlikeliest of places, between the living and the dead.
And as she walked away from the portrait, leaving behind the echo of his lingering gaze, she knew that, somehow, Lucian had always been with her. And always would be.
With one last glance over her shoulder, Hermione whispered, “Goodbye, Lucian,” before turning away, ready to face the world anew.