Chapter Text
The gorgeous image of Will above was graciously provided by the kind and talented madsmeetsmisha - THANK YOU!!! <3
Sunday
Will looks down at the Prefect badge pinned to his collar as it catches the light from the thousands of candles floating above him. He still can’t believe he agreed to be a Prefect when Headmaster Crawford asked him last year. Word of Will’s prowess at reading people had been circulating for years, and Crawford never missed an opportunity to utilize (exploit) someone’s talent, especially when it makes him look good. Thankfully due to his “gift,” Will has been able to avoid the duller tasks Prefects are usually assigned such as orienting new students, since Crawford mainly wants him patrolling. Sadly, Will can’t make the argument that he’s not suited for it – he does have a lot of free time. His intelligence allows him to excel in his classes without a large amount of studying. And his socially awkward nature translates to him having very few friends. His looks don’t help his social awkwardness, if anything they seem to reflect it. He’s tall but on the lean side, and often with gaunt complexion from not sleeping well, prone to nightmares as he is. He has untamable curly brown hair, and light facial hair; he finds the facial hair makes him look older which seems to discourage some of the bullying he gets (not much, but every little bit helps). He wears glasses too, not that he needs them, but they provide another layer of protection against the excessive empathy he gets from eye contact. Ironically, they hide what he would consider to be his best feature, his eyes, which are a bright blue.
The new students, fresh from the boat ride across the lake, begin to file in the Great Hall with looks of awe on their faces and Will hears names being read off, only halfway paying attention. He does look up out of reflex whenever he hears “Ravenclaw!” since they will be members of his house. His mind recalls his own sorting... “William Graham!” He had walked up to the stool, allowed the Sorting Hat to be placed on his head, and even though he knew what was coming, was shocked to hear the voice of the hat in his head - magic never failed to astonish him. Well well, what do we have here, you are certainly unique Mr. Graham…I could place you in any house couldn’t I?? How unusual! Do you have a preference? Let’s go down the list eh? Hufflepuff? At that a wave of distaste flowed through Will’s brain, picturing all the happy people chatting and eating…in one way he envied their easy closeness, like family he never had, but he found them to be bland and dull. Hmm well apparently not Hufflepuff. Gryffindor? For a moment Will pictured himself in red and gold and immediately felt like a fake. He knew deep down he was more cowardly than courageous and certainly his “gift” afforded him enough moral ambiguity to not feel like he was a steward of good faith. Not Gryffindor either. I can see you would fit nicely into Slytherin, you could really make a name for yourself... Will thought this over, and truth be told he was afraid. On the surface he was afraid of the people in Slytherin, his lean and awkward nature made him prone to bullying, and it seemed like Slytherin always had more bullies than the other houses. On a deeper level he was afraid of what that hat said, that there was a part of him deep inside filled with darkness that, if let loose, he wouldn't be able to control. Okay then Mr. Graham, all we have left is Ravenclaw, is that your choice? You must be sorted…Will thought it over. It seemed like the safest option, in Ravenclaw people tended to keep to themselves, and intelligence was respected - and he certainly had that. It didn’t feel 100% true to his nature but it was what he decided. “Ravenclaw!” the hat shouted, and nearby the table filled with students dressed in blue and silver stood, cheered, and beckoned him over. All the eye contact he was getting felt overwhelming and he instinctively pushed his glasses more securely on his face and kept his eyes down as he joined his house.
The sound of Headmaster Crawford’s voice brings him back to the present, all the first years are apparently sorted and with their new houses. “Students we have one more wizard to be sorted, a transfer from Durmstrang, Hannibal Lecter.” A small murmur makes its way through the crowd and Will finds his attention snapped to the front like a rubber band. Transfers into Hogwarts are extremely rare, in fact, this is the first one he has ever seen. Approaching the stool and Sorting Hat is a tall teen who looks about his age (seventeen) with dark blond hair sweeping over his face, strong cheekbones, and warm brown eyes. He moves with such grace that Will can’t take his eyes off of him and his finely tailored robes. There’s something magnetic about him, and Will can’t put his finger on what it is. He’s usually able to get a good read off of peoples’ body language and appearance, but he’s surprisingly coming up blank. It simultaneously scares him and feels refreshing.
Hannibal sits down on the stool and the Sorting Hat is placed on his head. Will thinks he looks a little irritated about having the shabby hat placed on him but tolerates it with grace. Almost immediately, as the hat touches his head, it yells out, “Slytherin!” Cheers and clapping erupt from the Slytherin table, and Hannibal makes his way over, shaking hands with a few members and getting some claps on his back as he sits down. Crawford makes the rest of his beginning of term announcements, but Will barely hears them, his attention keeps being drawn back to the new student, Hannibal Lecter. Before he knows it a feast has materialized on the table, and Jimmy Price nudges him with his elbow around a mouth full of food and waggles his eyebrows, “See something you like Will?”
Will’s cheeks color slightly at being caught out but moves his focus to the feast and grabs the closest item to him and takes a bite (lamb chop he realizes belatedly) to buy him time to reply. “Ha ha, very funny Jimmy,” he says sarcastically as he set his lamb chop down and adds more food to his plate, mashed potatoes with gravy, peas, and carrots. Next to Jimmy, Brian Zeller pauses eating and looks at Jimmy, then Will, then goes back to eating, apparently uninterested in getting further details. No doubt Jimmy will tell him later whether he asks or not. Jimmy and Brian’s bunks are near Will’s in Ravenclaw tower, and while Will would not call them friends, they don’t object to his presence and Jimmy has no qualms roping him into conversation (whether it is welcome or not, often not).
“No really, I see the appeal! He’s so foreign and mysterious looking, regal even…like a blonde Victor Krum!” Will clutches his utensils tighter and continues to eat, keeping his eyes on his food. He has a brief thought of stabbing his fork into Jimmy’s hand next to him on the table but lets it go just as quickly.
“Mm hmm, sure.” Will continues with the sarcastic route. Usually a lack of reaction gets Jimmy to move on to other topics.
Across the table Bedelia Du Maurier looks up and her sharp Ravenclaw mind seems to put two and two together looking from Jimmy, to Hannibal, and then to Will, with a slight smirk on her lips. She invites herself into the conversation, “He is quite dashing isn’t he,” she comments as she brings a dainty forkful of food to her mouth.
Will shuts his eyes and rolls them simultaneously. Fucking Bedelia. Just when he was certain Jimmy was going to move on to something else, she stirs the pot back up, and he’s pretty sure did it just to rile him. She’s smart as a whip but seems to have a mean streak in her where Will is concerned. From the very beginning they never seemed to get along and now in year six nothing has changed. He opens his eyes and levels his gaze at her, letting all his anger into it. So much for Ravenclaw not having bullies.
“I know right!” Jimmy chimes in. Will refuses to rise to Bedelia’s barb and instead focuses on eating as the conversation continues around him. As soon as he’s done eating, he pockets a lamb chop and a treacle tart, stands, and leaves the dining hall to do his nightly Prefect patrol, away from Bedelia’s irritating existence.
As he walks around the empty halls, he lets the anger dissipate. He walks out onto the grounds and eventually finds himself near the Forbidden Forest, keeping an eye out for the thestral herd he knows reside nearby. After a few minutes he hears one approaching and tosses the lamb chop that direction as he eats his treacle tart. A small female one he calls Patch comes out and starts to nibble at it. When Will is finished with the tart he brushes the crumbs off of his fingers on his pants and walks closer, watching her eat, her bony horse-shaped body coated in dark black skin with bat-like wings. When the lamb chop is gone, the creature nudges his hand, then his face gently. Will lays a hand on the bridge of her face and pets her a few times. “Sorry girl, that’s all.” He pets her for a few more minutes, relaxing. Being in nature with animals (or conversely – away from people) always calms him. With one last stroke to her dark skin, he turns to go back towards the castle.
*
Monday
The next morning, Will has taken only three bites of breakfast before he receives his class schedule.
Monday and Thursday morning – Charms with Professor Flitwick.
Monday and Thursday afternoon – Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell.
Tuesday morning – Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall.
Tuesday afternoon – Herbology with Professor Sprout.
Wednesday and Friday morning – Potions with Professor Snape.
Wednesday and Friday afternoon – Alchemy with Professor Dumbledore.
About what he expected. He sets it aside and notices an unclaimed Daily Prophet across the table. He both appreciates and envies the ungrateful students whose parents pay for them to get it. Having pretty much no money to his name to buy his own, he takes every opportunity he can to snag one when the owner is done. Will scoots down and reaches over the sticky buns and pumpkin juice, holding his tie with one hand to make sure it doesn’t get dirty, grabs the paper, and settles back into his seat. He’s just finished the last article when he realizes it’s too quiet, the bustle of students is gone and sure enough morning classes are starting soon. He grabs his bag and runs full speed out of the Great Hall, already preparing to use his status as a Prefect as an excuse if needed. In his haste, he doesn’t see a group of Slytherins look his way until it’s too late, as one of them “accidentally” drops their bag right in front of him. Will’s foot catches in the strap and he’s weightless for a moment before he goes down hard, his own bag and its contents flying everywhere. Well I guess I don’t have to lie now Will thinks bitterly. He pushes himself up and the Slytherin closest to him (Francis Dolarhyde if Will remembers right) is trying not to laugh, “I’m so sorry, do you need help?” he asks mockingly. Will puts his glasses back on and glares at him as he shoves his stuff back in his bag. He has to give them credit, the bullies have become slightly more clever – how can he prove they did it on purpose? He can’t of course and they know that. He doesn’t even deign that with a response, instead turning and stalking away, hearing muffled laughs behind him.
He makes it to Charms just as Professor Flitwick is climbing up on his stool to begin class. Will notices the class is quite large, it’s a double class with Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. He spots an empty chair near Alana Bloom and Beverly Katz and sits down. They both offer him a quick smile and then return their attention to class as Professor Flitwick begins lecturing. Will cringes a little when he thinks of his last conversation with Alana at the end of last year. Towards the end of term, Will had realized he had a crush on her and had mustered up the courage to ask her out. He had been expecting flat out rejection and was shocked when she agreed. They had gone to Hogsmeade together, and since the moment they sat down with their Butterbeers, Alana had question after question for him. At first, he was grateful that he didn’t have to come up with polite conversation, since he wasn’t the most experienced dater. However, he quickly realized he was a curiosity to her, a puzzle to be solved. She asked him how his empathy worked, what exactly he feels, what non-verbal cues does he read, does he think it is a form of magic, when did he first notice, on and on. A few times he attempted to steer the conversation over to her, thinking maybe this was her way of getting to know him and he ought to try to get to know her as well, but her answers were always brief, and her persistent questions quickly returned, even advancing to details about his experience helping the Ministry, a topic most people never breached with him. When their Butterbeer was finished, she offered to buy the next round and he declined, saying he wasn’t really in the mood for talking anymore. She had looked more confused than hurt which cemented Will’s intuition that her interest in him was not romantic, merely curious, although not malicious either which made him feel a little bad. He had told Beverly about it on the train ride back to King’s Cross. Beverly was the one constant thing he had had at Hogwarts. On his very first train ride to the school, tiny Beverly had appeared in the doorway and asked if she could sit with him. He had nodded and in a way the rest was history. Beverly was smart, had lots of friends, and to be honest they had very little in common, but every train ride she would find him and chat with him, even for a short while. Will always found her refreshing, she has a no-bullshit quality about her, there isn’t much to intuit since she is pretty genuine to her words and actions. Will supposes she is the closest thing to a friend he has at Hogwarts.
The rest of Charms is uneventful, as is lunch. He makes a concerted effort to not be late to Defense Against the Dark Arts and is successful, choosing a seat in the back with plenty of time to spare. He opens his bag to get out his textbook and realizes it’s not in his bag. Fuck, Will thinks, it must have fallen out when those bastards tripped me. He plans to go after class to look for it, hopefully someone turned it in. He got that used copy from Crawford when he started at Hogwarts, having not been able to afford one of his own, and he’s pretty sure it was the library’s copy prior to that. He’s not sure what he’ll do if he can’t find it…
*
Hannibal Lecter is about to step into Transfiguration class when he notices a textbook on the ground. All the other Slytherins have already taken their seats. He makes a quick decision and picks it up, drops it in his bag, and continues into class.
So far Hannibal is not impressed with the students of Hogwarts, but he concedes he wasn’t impressed with the students at Durmstrang either. He admits the majority of the professors seem competent and has developed a quick respect for Madame Pomfry who takes no bullshit in her hospital wing. She gave him a long lecture about how she usually does not accept sixth years to shadow her but Hannibal’s resumé made him an exception - but he better not forget it! Hannibal is on the healer track, so having experience in a hospital wing will no doubt improve his already robust skillset. If not, he’s not above causing some injuries just to get some practice. He smiles darkly at that thought, a few candidates already popping into his mind. There is certainly no shortage of rude people here. His fellow Slytherins, while he can respect their ruthless and self-serving actions, could at least learn how to pleasantly interact with others. Most of them resemble toddlers demanding a coveted toy rather than young adult wizards getting ready to shape the future. He is torn out of his internal musings by Professor McGonagall asking everyone to direct their attention to the mirrors in front of them and attempt the Crinus Muto spell to change the color of their eyebrows. Hannibal pulls out his wand, follows the instructions, and on the second attempt, has both eyebrows changed to blue as requested. A quick glance around shows no one else has succeeded yet. He changes his eyebrows back and practices all the colors he can think of. For some reason orange takes him a few tries but he gets it just as Professor McGonagall is making her rounds. “Very nice Mr. Lecter.”
“Thank you, Professor,” he replies, and she moves on. Figuring he has some time before they move on to the next topic, he pulls the book he found out of his bag. It’s the same Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook he has in his bag, but the copies are easily distinguishable from each other. Hannibal had purchased his at Flourish and Blott’s just last week in preparation for his transfer, its cover shiny and pages crisp. The other copy is an older edition, either a different color or colored with age, corners softened and rounded, and pages well worn. He opens the front cover and the name “Will Graham” is written in the upper corner. Current owner Hannibal surmises. He flips a few pages in and is nearly overwhelmed with the amount of writing all over the margins. Curiosity piqued, he flips from page to page reading here and there. A clear trend emerges by the time he is mid-book, about a quarter of the scribbles are questions such as Why are there no ‘offensive tactical magic’ textbooks? and Ðoes Ministry of Magic have a military? Training manual? About half of them appear to be spells and hexes in various states of completion, not always clear what they are intending to do, although one appears to cause your opponent’s eyes to catch on fire. Interesting Hannibal thinks, an amused smile on his lips. It reminds him of a spell he developed last year that attempted to have one’s eyes roll backwards inside the head, preventing your opponent from seeing you (yet easily healable, in theory), he regrets he has yet to test if it works. The other quarter of the scribbles Hannibal cannot make heads or tails of. He hears Professor McGonagall beginning to lecture again and tucks the book back in his bag.
Later that night in his bunk, Hannibal pulls the book back out and peruses it some more. Another spell appears to choke your opponent, although the drawings next to it seem to indicate the author was trying to figure out how to selectively apply pressure just to the carotid area and not the windpipe, although a solution is not evident. Hannibal, having been in a fair share of skirmishes throughout his life, has always preferred the intimacy of using his hands to choke or submit his opponents, but he appreciates the convenience and elegance this spell attempts. He wonders what this Will Graham person is like. Slytherin? The violent nature of the spells does suggest it, although Hannibal’s eidetic memory has no recollection of meeting a Will Graham so far. Future dark wizard in another house? Or is it possible that the owner of this book is long gone, and the book is all that remains?
“Francis,” Hannibal calls out to the student in the closest bunk to him. Francis Dolarhyde turns to him, slight snarl to his lip, but he has enough common sense to respect Hannibal. He may not be very bright, but he recognizes power when he sees it.
“Yeah?”
“Do you know who Will Graham is?” Hannibal sees recognition and a flash of fear in his eyes before he can reply. Hannibal files that away for later. Hmm interesting.
“Uh yeah, he’s a Prefect for Ravenclaw.”
“A Prefect?” Hannibal is so rarely surprised it takes him a moment to identify the feeling. A law enforcing Prefect is far from the image he had been building in his head of this Will Graham. Although he supposes those prone to violence often are attracted to power in whatever form it comes in, including law enforcement…
“Yeah, but he’s a weird creepy fucker. They say he can read minds or some shit. That’s why Crawford made him a Prefect.”
“Read minds?” Hannibal clarifies, eyebrow raised. That can’t be right. Maybe a Legilimens?
“I don’t know, rumor is a few years back he helped the Ministry catch that murderer Travers. Next thing you know he’s a Prefect, although it hasn’t helped him much. Still a loner and a loser.”
Hannibal takes in this information, feeling like he’s probably gotten all there is to get from Dolarhyde. “I see. Thank you, Francis.” The dismissal in his tone is clear. Francis nods and turns back to his bunk, a slight relief in his expression. Hannibal closes his eyes and enters his mind castle, assimilating the information from the day. When he gets to Will Graham, he can’t help but feel intrigued by this person who appears to be full of contradictions, yet also shares some similarities with Hannibal. Hannibal’s intelligence, background, and proclivity for manipulation and violence have resulted in him not having any significant friendships or relationships, and he is honestly fine with that. But the surprising feeling of hope in his chest that this Will Graham could be a friend to him, or at minimum an ally with power which could be helpful down the road, is hard to tamp down. It’s decided. Tomorrow, he will find Will Graham.
*
Tuesday
Will has looked everywhere and has had no sign of his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. He even reluctantly asked Filch if anyone had turned it in. He asked Professor Quirrell as well and his response was that if it doesn’t turn up, he has one Will can borrow. Will even tries summoning his book even though he would be slightly disappointed if it worked – he’s been assaulted enough at Hogwarts that he put a summoning-blocking spell on his school items…an apparently it works. Yay Will thinks sarcastically. He is eating his breakfast alone at the end of the Ravenclaw table, musing on if it is possible to put some sort of magical trace on his items so this won’t happen again, when he detects a presence that has stopped next to him. He turns and looks up and has to keep looking up because wow he is tall, and Will recognizes the new (and good looking) student Hannibal Lecter.
Hannibal’s eyes briefly flash to his Prefect badge, then back to his face. “Will Graham?” Will doesn’t think he’s ever heard his name sound so nice, that velvety voice and accent makes him sound like someone important. He feels his cheeks warm but answers.
“Yes.” To Will’s surprise Hannibal smiles and sits down next to him at the Ravenclaw table in his Slytherin robes. It’s not technically against the rules, Will thinks, but even his own house members don’t like sitting near him, so this is new.
Hannibal sticks out his hand to shake Will’s as he says, “Hannibal Lecter.” Will sets down his fork and shakes Hannibal’s hand, trying and failing to get much of a read on him, just like before. He gets a generic vibe of dangerous, but it’s easily masked by Hannibal’s friendly but reserved demeanor. Will feels his skin tingle pleasantly where their hands touch. Am I really that touch starved that a handshake feels good? Will wonders sardonically.
“Nice to meet you Hannibal.” Will says for lack of anything better to say. Hannibal pulls his hand back, reaches into his bag, and pulls out Will’s Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook and offers it to Will.
“Yours?” Hannibal asks with a slight smile.
“Yes! Oh my gosh, thank you. Where did you find it?” Will accepts it from him, noting it has what he can only describe as a pleasant but expensive smell on it now.
“In the hallway outside the Transfiguration classroom.” A flash of anger crosses Will’s face briefly but is gone as quick as it came, back to relief. Hannibal takes a moment to observe Will Graham and reconcile the man formed in his mind with the reality. Will has unruly curly brown hair, pale skin, hunched posture, and faded robes. He wears glasses slightly too small for his face and has a smile that doesn’t linger. Hannibal’s attention is most captured by his bright blue eyes framed by long eyelashes. The knowledge of his violent spells makes Hannibal want to see him as an aggressor, his Prefect pin makes him appear to be a protector, yet his posture and circumstance make him appear to be victim-like. More contradictions…
“I confess when I opened it, I did read some of your notes.” At this Will freezes and looks directly at Hannibal, then down, embarrassment and a hint of fear coloring his face. “There are spells in there I don’t recognize.”
“Yeah, uh, I’ve written a few.”
“Can you show me?”
Will hesitates, he feels unable to say no to that voice. The majority of his spells are not things he could show unless he was trying to hurt someone. “They’re not very…good…uh…nice…spells.”
Hannibal pauses before he speaks, then says seriously, “I personally don’t believe in good and evil Will. I don’t discriminate in what I learn, but I am always looking to learn more, a trait I believe I share with Ravenclaw. I would be honored if you would show me, and if you are interested, I can show you some spells I have written as well.”
Without any conscious thought on his part, Wil find himself agreeing. “Yeah, okay, um, not here though.”
“Certainly. How about after last class today? We can meet by the Entrance Hall.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.” Apparently, his mouth is content to answer on his behalf, brain still processing.
With that, Hannibal shakes Will’s hand once more as he leaves. “It was a pleasure to meet you Will. See you later.” Will feels the pleasant tingling in his hand again long after Hannibal leaves. As he walks to Transfiguration, he feels like butterflies have taken residence in his stomach, a nervous anticipation. He’s never shown his spells to anyone, but he supposes he’s never seen anyone else’s personal spells either. Will again is struck by how his empathy and intuition offer him little to nothing about Hannibal. Despite the dangerous aura he has, Will can’t deny he feels more comfortable with Hannibal than he expected to. He briefly wonders if this is how most people feel interacting with others; when not getting bombarded with sensory input, he has to admit it’s not so bad.
*
All through Transfiguration and Herbology, Will is hardly paying attention. He’s thumbing through his Defense Against the Dark Arts book reviewing his spells, considering. He knows most of his spells would be considered inappropriate, violent in nature. If Hannibal did read them then he must know what he is asking for. All the same Will wants to pick a mild one to start with, just in case Hannibal’s spell ends up being something benign like turning a rock into a pie or some other nonsense. Somehow he doubts that will be the case, but he doesn’t trust easily, and on balance usually when someone is interested in him they don’t have his best interests at heart. He can imagine the rumors now if he picked a violent spell – “Ravenclaw Prefect attacks and maims transfer student.” No, better to err on the side of caution.
Before he knows it, class is dismissed and he makes his way down to the Entrance Hall. He doesn’t see Hannibal yet so he stands off to the side, leaning against the wall, eyes downcast, secretly hoping he doesn’t get stood up.
As Hannibal makes his way toward the Entrance Hall, he spots Will right away. He also observes the other students’ reactions to him. Most give him a wide berth, some clearly afraid, some curious. Others look at him with hostility, but no one approaches him. Will doesn’t look up at all until he is standing right in front of him. “Will.”
“Oh hi Hannibal.” Will feels more eyes on him than usual, he supposes the combination of him and the new student is a curiosity too powerful for most to resist. The feeling is putting him on edge and he’s not sure he doesn’t look like a spaz but can’t help it. “Ready? I thought we could go over by the lake.”
Hannibal nods and Will turns and heads towards the lake without looking back, a little faster than he means to. With every step he takes, Will feels calmer and calmer, away from all the eyes. He takes a deep breath of the cold air, continuing past Hagrid’s hut, stopping by the edge of the lake just before the Forbidden Forest. He turns and sees Hannibal has stopped as well, taking in the surroundings. Will continues to be surprised by how comfortable he feels, despite the silence. Especially since he’s not really comfortable around most people, let alone a stranger with an aura of danger, however Will feels no threats.
“So, you still want to see one of my spells?” Will asks as he sets down his bag.
Hannibal smiles. “I would like to see as many as you are willing to show me Will.”
Will feels his cheeks heat slightly, Who talks like that? Especially in that voice… Will takes a step back, pulls out his wand, and aims it at Hannibal. “Ready?” Hannibal nods and Will says “Iaccam arcto positos!” With a swish of his wand, the sleeves of Hannibal’s robe start to grow, move, and then fuse tightly in the style of a straight-jacket. Hannibal looks down, his expression more open than Will has seen yet. Hannibal looks almost childlike in his amusement as he pulls his arms and inspects it. Will is reminded of the moments where he too is dazzled and awed by magic, no matter how old he gets. Hannibal mentally notes the spell also makes the material stronger because he honestly isn’t sure if he could easily get out of it, an effective restraint he thinks.
Hannibal looks up at him, amusement and something else in his eyes Will can’t quite place. “What a cunning boy you are,” Hannibal says, smiling.
Will feels his cheeks color again. “Yeah, uh…I call it ‘straight-jacket hex’ for obvious reasons. Just say when and I’ll undo it.” Hannibal takes another moment assessing it before nodding and Will reverses the spell, then pockets his wand. Hannibal’s eyes almost twinkle with glee and satisfaction.
“Very nice Will, I would like to learn that from you if you would be so kind to teach me. But first, as promised, would you like to see one of my spells?”
Will nods and begins to sit down on a nearby rock. Hannibal reaches into his robe and pulls out his wand. “Now Will, like many of your spells, this spell is meant for offense and can be used to harm. That being said, if you will permit me to do it on you, I will do my best to not cause you any significant harm or pain.”
Will is intrigued, Hogwarts has never taught them what he would consider truly offensive magic, only defense. He supposes he should feel afraid but all he feels is excitement. He smiles, returning to standing, and gives his consent. Standing with his arms at his sides, not sure what to expect, Hannibal points his wand at him and says “Ducartur hiburnis!” quickly followed by “Arresto trahere!” Instantly Will is jolted into the air, supine, and feels his arms and legs being pulled in opposite directions almost painfully. However right before it gets too painful, the pulling stops and he is frozen mid-air. His glasses are gone and he stares up at the darkening sky before looking down the length of his body to see Hannibal walking towards him. Both his view of the sky and of Hannibal are perfectly clear despite the loss of his glasses.
“Let me guess, drawn and quartered hex?” Will says smiling. Hannibal is circling him, appearing to inspect his work.
“You know your Latin, yes. How does it feel? I admit I’ve never tried to put a slowing charm on top of it, although you don’t look in excruciating pain so I’m guessing it worked.”
“Yeah, I would say so. I feel pressure, pulled taught, but no pain.” Will tries to pull against the invisible restraints and can’t get more than a centimeter of give. Hannibal is now standing near his feet but from Will’s point of view he appears between his legs. Will feels a brief heat to his cheeks at the suggestive position, realizing the vulnerability he is presenting right now.
“Say when and I will release you Will.” It shouldn’t sound as dirty as it does but Will’s mind has apparently gone there and there’s no going back.
“Yeah, I’m good.” No sooner spoken than he is falling to the ground unceremoniously, the wind briefly knocked out of him, and he hears a crunch on his left side. Hannibal extends a hand looking slightly more amused than is polite but Will can’t bring himself to care. He takes the hand, feels that same tingle where their hands meet, and stands up, brushing the grass from his robe, breathing fast and feeling pleasantly alive. He finds himself smiling, using muscles long unused.
When he has removed most of the grass, Will sees Hannibal picking up his glasses which appear to be broken. Before Will can say anything, Hannibal waves his wand and says “Oculus reparo argenti.” Hannibal takes a close look at the glasses, then hands them back to Will with a knowing look on his face, although not judgmental. Will flushes slightly again being caught out at his fake prescription, it feels odd to be the one being seen instead of vice versa. As Will takes them he notices a glint of silver. Hannibal has not only repaired them but has added a touch of silver running around the edges, making them look ten times more expensive, which isn’t to say much but it’s still a huge improvement.
“Thank you.” Will smiles. He can’t help but think how it is another link between himself and Hannibal, silver being a shared color between their houses.
“It’s the least I can do, being the cause of their injury. I do like leaving things better than I found them, although I’ve found my definition of better is not always congruous with others’.”
“No, it’s great.” Will pockets the glasses feeling like there’s no point in wearing them now. He may not know Hannibal well but he recognizes the man is highly intelligent, probably equal to Will so there’s no sense in pretending. Hannibal graciously doesn’t call attention to it and Will appreciates it.
After a beat goes by, Hannibal speaks again, “So I have been told you have a gift for reading people.” It’s not explicitly a question but Will hears the question and laughs darkly.
“Yeah I’d bet money you’ve heard more than that, especially if you heard it in Slytherin house.”
“The source of the information is not a person I hold in high regard, but yes, you do appear to have a reputation in there.”
“It’s not isolated to Slytherin house but I get the most flak from them so I’m not surprised.”
“Are you a Legilimens?”
Will looks up at that, having been pacing around looking at the scenery as they spoke, the topic of his reputation not one he particularly enjoys discussing but aware of the necessity.
“No…not a Legilimens, although I suspect I would have a natural aptitude for it. It’s funny you mention it, Crawford tried to get me to take a Ministry course in it.”
“Did you?”
“No, I refused. I have a hard enough time keeping others’ thoughts at bay now. To actively go into someone’s mind…I worry I wouldn’t be able to find my way back.” Will isn’t sure why he keeps talking, but he feels like for the first time he’s telling someone who is actually cares, not just for curiosity or gossips sake. “You probably heard I helped out on a Ministry case, helped profile a murderer. It’s why Crawford made me a Prefect, my profile helped catch the guy. But…by the end I felt like I knew the murderer so well I almost was him. I could feel the joy he felt killing. It became hard to tell what my own feelings were…” Will shakes his head as if to shake off the memories. “Shortly after, rumors started that I’d lost my mind, that I would become a murderer, that I’m a freak…” Will takes a breath, “…and the rest is history.” He holds his hands out as if to say this is what you get.
Hannibal has stayed still the whole time, eyes never leaving Will’s pacing form, posture relaxed but all of his attention on Will. The sun has begun to set, the pinkish orange sky reflecting off the lake. “Will…what do you see when you look at me?”
Will stops his pacing and stares straight at Hannibal. Many people have asked him do this, as if he’s a party trick and he almost always either refuses or regrets it, but right now he really looks, his empathy reaching out towards Hannibal. Just like before, he doesn’t get much, not nearly as much as the average witch or wizard. “To be honest Hannibal, you are difficult for me to read. You are intelligent, that much is evident, but you have an aura of danger about you. It’s as if you’re wearing a mask, keeping yourself hidden. I know there’s more to you, but I can’t see it.” As Will finishes Hannibal smiles, apparently pleased with the answer, which Will takes as affirmation it’s correct.
“Do you know what I see when I look at you Will?” Hannibal asks, staring straight at Will. Will feels his heart skip a beat, feels the intensity of Hannibal’s eyes on him, feels seen all the way to his core.
He shakes his head, “No, what?”
“Potential.” Hannibal takes a step closer to him, and Will remains rooted to the spot.
Will blinks. “Potential? For what?” He swallows as Hannibal takes another step. He can’t help but feel he’s being stalked by a predator but doesn’t feel threatened, it’s a confusing but not unwelcome feeling.
“Anything Will. Anything you want.” He says it with such certainty, Will can’t help but believe it for just a moment. He knows he’s intelligent and capable, but since his experience with the Ministry he’s really just been living moment to moment, trying to survive the onslaught of sensory input and not lose himself in the process. Will briefly lets the question of what he wants run freely through his mind. He can’t say with any certainty what he really wants, other than keeping this interesting man in his life.
The sun is now setting in earnest and Will feels a chill in the air, he has to get back for his Prefect patrol. They walk back to the castle, shoulders brushing occasionally, and Will feels more at peace than he has in a long time. They part ways at the staircase and Will turns down the corridor to do his nightly rounds.
*
Will is in the last leg of his patrol and turns around the corner when he hears an odd sound. Right as he clears the corner, he sees a flash and his attention goes there, trying to reconcile what he is seeing. In that moment of confusion, he is knocked to the floor from behind. He turns his head to see his attackers and catches a glimpse, but they all have hoods over their heads and Slytherin scarves (of course) tied over their faces. Great just what I needed Will thinks. He has to give it to them, he’s caught so many students in their attempts that they have adapted to his blind spots. His empathy is good and his wand draw time above average but if he doesn’t see them coming, he’s just as vulnerable as any other student. Will tries to scramble up but is pushed back down and feels a harsh kick to his ribs when he hits the floor that knocks the wind from him. All he can do is try to curl in to protect himself as the kicks keep coming. He thinks he counts three attackers but isn’t 100% sure. In a bid of desperation, he tries to grab his wand from his robe but the pain from his ribs makes the move unsuccessful. Once it’s clear Will isn’t going to be able to retaliate if they let up, the attackers run around the corner, escaping, leaving Will gasping on the cold stone floor.
Will shifts, pushing himself towards the wall and gets a sharp pain for his effort but endures it with gritted teeth. Once in a seated position, he takes in the situation, recreating the chain of events. He sees the remnants of what he suspects is a Whiz-bang from Zonko’s Joke Shop, that’s what the flash was. Now that his adrenaline is fading, he feels the pain more, a sharp pain on every inhale. He tries to stand but on his first attempt the pain is so strong he grunts and slumps back down, breathing heavily. He’s mentally preparing to try again when he hears footsteps approaching, and is surprised when Hannibal is the one to turn the corner.
Hannibal spots him immediately, drops whatever he was holding and kneels beside him. “Will? Are you okay? What happened?” He feels Hannibal’s hands moving over him, first tilting his face up to the light, turning his head from side to side, pushing his hair out of the way. It feels better than it should, his fingers leaving a tingling trail behind them and Will can’t help but close his eyes at the tenderness he feels.
“Some guys jumped me as I came around the corner. Chest hurts when I breathe.” At that Hannibal’s hands move to his abdomen, gently prodding and feeling, leaving a tingling in their wake despite being over his clothes. He gasps as Hannibal apparently finds what he’s looking for, and Will recoils which only makes the pain worse.
“I think you have a broken rib. I can take you to Madame Pomfry...or if you want…I can heal it for you myself.” Will looks at Hannibal’s face and disbelief must show on it because Hannibal elaborates. “I’m in training to become a healer with Madame Pomfry.” Will takes that in and thinks. He’s heard horror stories of untrained wizards trying to mend bones with disastrous outcomes, but if he goes to Madame Pomfry, he will have to report the incident and he really doesn’t feel like doing that right now.
Will nods. “Okay, yes, you do it.”
Hannibal looks him directly in the eye, as if he wasn’t expecting that response. “Do you trust me Will?”
Will meets his gaze and holds it as he says, “Yes, I trust you.” Despite knowing him for less than 24 hours, Will realizes it is true. He distrusts nearly everyone but for some reason he trusts this man he knows next to nothing about.
With that, Hannibal pulls out his wand, aims it at Will’s abdomen, and with a swish and flick utters “Bracchium immendo” with a look of severe concentration on his face. Will feels a pull in his chest, then hears a pop followed by a jolt of discomfort, but realizes instantly it doesn’t hurt to breathe anymore. Will senses he may be able to move now and shifts to sit up straighter, picking up his glasses and pocketing them.
“Okay?”
“Yes, I think so. Thank you.” Hannibal offers Will his hand and Will takes it, feeling that tingle again, allowing Hannibal to help him up. He grunts in pain a little as he gets himself upright, noting that Hannibal has put his arm around him, supporting some of his weight. It feels intimate somehow.
“Can you walk?”
Will takes a step and winces without Hannibal’s support but it’s bearable. Hannibal notices and puts his arm back around him.
“Allow me to help you back to your dorm. Later I can send you something to help with the bruising and pain.”
Will nods. Without letting go of Will, Hannibal pulls out his wand, points it at the supplies he was carrying and says “Locomotor sequitur.” The boxes and vials lift and begin to follow them as they start to walk towards Ravenclaw tower, Will directing Hannibal when he is unfamiliar with the way.
“What were you doing? Before you found me?” Will tries not to make it sound accusatory, but he is curious.
“I volunteer with Madame Pomfry twice per week, usually Tuesdays and Thursdays. She asked me to go get some snake fangs, billywig stings, and wolfsbane. I have a note from her if you need it, Prefect Will.” Hannibal says this with a smile, teasing, knowing Will won’t ask for it.
“That’s not necessary, healer Hannibal.” Will teases back, the banter coming naturally. Will smiles, an occurrence happening more often lately. He wonders if this is what making friends feels like. He finds he rather likes Hannibal’s company. “She must be preparing for the Quidditch tryouts next week.” Hannibal looks at Will and raises an eyebrow, apparently not following Will’s train of thought, so Will continues. “Every year during Quidditch tryouts a ton of kids get sent to hospital wing after being knocked out, either by a bludger or falling off their broom. I imagine Madame Pomfry will need a lot of Wideye potion, hence those ingredients.”
Hannibal smiles wider, impressed, not used to having things explained to him but not averse to it either. Will’s logic is sound and Hannibal thinks he can see how Will’s empathy combined with his sharp mind can allow for leaps and connections to be made that could certainly help an unsolved murder case. Maybe others find it disconcerting but Hannibal is intrigued by how Will’s mind works. “Well if that is the case, thank you for the notice, I shall review the concussion protocols thoroughly before next week.”
They reach the door to Ravenclaw tower and Will knocks on the eagle door knocker. “What has an eye, but cannot see?” it asks. Before Will can answer, Hannibal has spoken.
“A needle.” The door swings open and Hannibal walks them inside as if it’s perfectly normal to enter another houses’ common room and steers Will towards a blue tufted chair by the fire. Will has to hand it to Hannibal, despite his Slytherin robes, he moves with confidence and authority as if he has every right to be there. Only a few other students are in the common room and a quick glance shows they all have stopped whatever they were doing and are staring at Hannibal with shocked expressions. Will is not surprised, Ravenclaws are sticklers for rules and it is technically against the rules for Hannibal to be in here. Will suspects it is only his status as a Prefect that keeps them from saying anything unless a logical reason forces them to.
Hannibal places his hand on Will’s shoulder and Will looks up at him as if they are the only two in the room. The firelight flickers across Hannibal’s face causing him to look, Will thinks, simultaneously beautiful and ominous. Hannibal’s voice is lower than before, “I’ll send my owl soon.” Will nods, feeling that intimacy again, his skin alive where Hannibal’s hand is on his shoulder.
“Thanks…for everything.” Hannibal removes his hand and turns to pick up the supplies that have been hovering behind them the whole way. Will imagines he could see the outline of where Hannibal’s hand was, he feels marked, branded.
“You’re very welcome Will. Good night.” And with that Hannibal leaves and all eyes in the room turn to Will but no one says anything. After a few minutes of warming up by the fire, his hand over the spot Hannibal’s hand was on his shoulder, Will goes up to his dorm room and changes for bed, moving gingerly. He lifts his shirt and looks at his abdomen. It doesn’t look as bad as he thought it would, some pink and light purple marks, but he suspects it will look worse tomorrow.
Once in bed, Will hears a tapping on the window. He opens it and in flies a beautiful owl that drops a small tin along with a jar and an folded piece of parchment with his name written in elegant script. Will grabs opens it. It reads:
Dear Will,
In the jar is star grass salve you can spread on any particularly painful areas. The tin contains bruise removal paste, although it may be too soon to use it tonight. Both have an exceptionally long shelf life so feel free to keep them for future use (although I sincerely hope you won’t need them). Please let me know if there is anything else I can do to aid in your recovery. I look forward to our next meeting. Sleep well.
Sincerely,
Hannibal Lecter
Will smiles as he reads the letter. He looks forward to their next meeting too. Will sees the owl is still perched in the window frame, as if waiting to be dismissed. He grabs a bit of parchment and a quill, quickly penning back a response.
Hannibal,
I look forward to our next meeting as well. Thank you for today, despite the injuries, I can’t recall a day I have enjoyed more recently.
Will
Will feels bold as he writes it, something he probably wouldn’t say out loud but can’t help writing the words before he loses his nerve. He secretly hopes his words warm Hannibal the same way Hannibal’s did for him. He folds the parchment, writes Hannibal’s name on the outside and then realizes he doesn’t know how to get the owl to take it. Will has never had an owl of his own and has not had many occasions to correspond with people. Is the message tied to the owl’s leg? Or is that muggle carrier pigeons? He can’t remember. Will didn’t pay attention how the owl deposited the items when it arrived. Deciding he has to try something, he unfolds the note, rolls it up, and ties it with a spare bit of twine. Will then approaches the owl, attempting to tie the note to it’s leg. Before he can get even remotely close enough, the owl nips at his hand painfully, nearly drawing blood. Will retracts his hand and narrows his eyes at the owl. The owl narrows its eyes back at him, then flies into the room and swoops down. He nearly hits the floor, because that owl is big and those talons look sharp, but as it descends, it snatches the note from his hand, and flies out the window. Will rushes to close the window and rubs his finger the owl bit, shaking his head with good humor he usually can’t muster. What a day.
With that done, Will sits back down on his bed, draws the curtains, and opens the star grass salve. It’s texture and color remind him of a cross between aloe vera gel and Vaseline, and the smell reminds him of lemon grass but slightly more…pungent. Not unpleasant though. He scoops some out and rubs it over the most tender area, the right side of his chest over his ribs. Within moments he already feels the pain receding, then pulls his shirt back down and wipes his hand on his pajama bottoms. At that moment he hears other students coming in to get ready for bed. Will puts the tin and jar in his drawer and then picks up the letter intending to do the same but stops. He feels silly but can’t help himself, as he opens the letter again and smells it. It’s barely detectable but it has a faint scent of that indescribable expensive smell he now associates with Hannibal. Will smiles, puts the letter away, and falls asleep easier than he has in a long time, no nightmares to be found.
*
When Achilles returns, Hannibal is surprised to see him clutching some crumpled, tied parchment. Hannibal unties it, reads it, and smiles, surprised at the affection he is developing for Will, inconvenient but not unwelcome. Hannibal looks over to the bunk nearest to him where Francis Dolarhyde is sleeping. Hannibal has always had a strong sense of smell, and tonight he smelled Francis’, Crabbe’s, and Goyle’s scents on Will, no doubt they were the attackers. Holding the parchment in his hand, a plan starts forming in his mind.
*
Wednesday
The next morning, Will checks his abdomen and it is quite mottled in bruises, but the pain is near non-existent. He grabs the bruise removal paste and rubs the yellow cream over the whole area. It smells slightly of almonds he discovers, and his stomach growls anticipating breakfast. As he gets ready, Will wonders if his life is at a turning point, if one person can really change one’s life so much. He isn’t prone to hoping, for hope is a dangerous thing that often leads to disappointment, but he can’t completely push the anticipation of seeing Hannibal again out of his mind. Will catches his reflection in a mirror and sees the silver glint off his repaired glasses. He can’t help but see the symbolism in it, the color that Ravenclaw and Slytherin houses share, a visual representation of how his life has been noticeably altered the way his glasses are, just by having met Hannibal.
Will walks down to breakfast and can’t help as his eyes scan the Slytherin table for the fine dark blond hair, and tells himself he’s not disappointed when he doesn’t see Hannibal. As he sits down at the Ravenclaw table and eats his breakfast, Will feels a few pairs of eyes on him from down the table. Evidently even Ravenclaw’s intelligence doesn’t prevent them from gossip, and word of Hannibal bringing an injured Will into the Ravenclaw common room has become cause for speculation. Will feels tendrils of curiously from every direction and eventually has enough of it and gets up to leave. As he is leaving, he passes Price and Zeller coming in to sit down. Price stops him mid-step, and says, “Will! What happened? Tell me everything!” Will shrugs him off and keeps walking, earning a curious eyebrow from Bedelia as he passes the end of the Ravenclaw table. As he leaves, he scans the Slytherin table once more and again doesn’t see Hannibal, so he heads back to the dormitory to grab his cauldron for Potions class.
*
As Will arrives at the Potion’s classroom, he has a small moment of dread as he remembers that Potions is always sat two to a table. Whoever you sit with the first day you’re likely stuck with the rest of the year. At least everyone has their own cauldron, but he’s never had a desk partner he enjoys. He’s noticed they tend to fall in one of three categories: inane chatter, cheating off of him/letting him do all the work, or pestering him about his empathy/gift. He scans the room as he walks in and instantly realizes it’s a double class, Slytherin and Ravenclaw, as he sees the green ties around the room. At the back of the room he sees Hannibal seated at a desk and his breathing falters as he sees Bedelia standing nearby talking to him. Will starts walking their direction without really having decided to do so, figuring even if Hannibal has Bedelia for a partner at least he can sit somewhere in his vicinity. He is surprised to realize that spending a year near Bedelia is not deterrent enough to keep him away from Hannibal. For a moment Will wonders what would be a deterrent and no answer readily presents itself.
Hannibal’s eyes meet his as he approaches. A second later so do Bedelia’s and Will has to fight the urge to roll his eyes, readying himself for whatever crap Bedelia wants to give him, especially considering their last conversation regarding Hannibal. Surprisingly, Bedelia stays silent, although her body language is saying loads. She is leaning into Hannibal’s personal space on the desk and licking her lips occasionally. It’s obvious she’s in flirtation mode which apparently takes priority over needling Will, although Will has to admit seeing her throwing herself at Hannibal does needle him, although he doesn’t want to look too deeply into what that means at the moment.
As soon as Will is in earshot, Hannibal turns his full attention to him, slight smile on his lips, “Good morning Will, I saved you a seat...” Hannibal pushes out the chair next to him with his leg, “…if you are amenable.” Anyone else doing that would look ridiculous, Will thinks, but Hannibal isn’t anyone and Will is in, hook line and sinker. Bedelia’s face behind Hannibal contorts to something akin to disgust as she ceases leaning on the desk, and Will has to suppress a laugh. Hannibal eyes him waiting for a response, eyes questioning Will’s expression, both hopeful and wary, and Will is overcome with gratitude and pride.
“Yes, of course, thanks.” He rounds the desk behind Hannibal, giving a pointed look to Bedelia as she has to step away to accommodate him sitting down. Bedelia’s face shows multiple emotions, mainly shock, contempt, and irritation as he passes her. “Good morning Bedelia,” Will says, unable to keep the gloating tone entirely out of his voice.
“Good morning Will,” Bedelia replies evenly with no real feeling behind it, and having lost interest, turns to find a seat without so much as a goodbye. Hannibal looks from Bedelia’s retreating form to Will, eyebrow raised in silent question. Will watches Bedelia as well, anyone else would have their tail between their legs but Bedelia walks tall and proud, not showing her hurt for anyone. She ends up sitting with a stoic Asian Slytherin Will recalls is named Chiyoh. Nearby he sees Price and Zeller setting up and on the other side recognizes the flash of red hair as Freddie Lounds with a pretty Slytherin he thinks is named Abigail.
“I take it you two know each other,” Hannibal says.
Will looks back to Hannibal who is looking at him like he is a particularly interesting puzzle. “Yeah Bedelia and I are well acquainted,” he says darkly.
“Ex-girlfriend?” Hannibal guesses and Will laughs a little louder than he meant to, drawing the looks of some students nearby.
“No, no, definitely not. It would be giving her too much credit to call her my mortal enemy. We just rub each other the wrong way, have since day one, even before my reputation. I guess you could say she was ahead of the trend.”
Will begins unpacking his cauldron and supplies. Hannibal’s stuff is already set up, so he watches Will and raises an eyebrow at Will’s shoddy cauldron and bottom-shelf supplies. Feeling Hannibal’s stare, Will looks from his supplies to Hannibal’s, which are top of the line and look brand new. The contrast between the cauldrons is particularly striking, Hannibal’s is immaculate and shiny and Will’s has veins of cracks held together with welding, is rusted in places, and the lightness charm wears off daily. Will is used to being poor so this discrepancy doesn’t bother him as much as it once would have.
“Will, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but what happened to your cauldron?” Hannibal goes to lift it to inspect it further and comes up short as the lightness charm Will placed on it this morning has already worn off, it’s getting shorter Will mentally notes. Will pulls out his wand and casts it again, all while Hannibal is looking at him aghast. Hannibal picks it up and inspects it with a frown.
“It’s the same cauldron from when I started at Hogwarts, and even then it was second hand. My family didn’t have any spare money, so when I started here the staff scraped together supplies for me. My parents are muggles, my mother died when I was young. And my father… let’s just say he’s not the most stable person. Alternates between working on boat motors and drowning in whisky. Had some good memories hunting and fishing with him when he was sober, but the past few years he moves around so much I don’t even know where he is half the time. Every summer I have to borrow an owl to find him before end of term so I know where to ask for a train ticket to.”
Hannibal looks more and more gobsmacked as he digests this wave of information, he opens his mouth several times to say something and then apparently changes his mind, as if not knowing where to start. “Borrow an owl?” is what eventually comes out.
“Yeah,” Will unconsciously brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Usually the school lets me borrow one.”
Hannibal’s thoughts seem to gel into a response, but at that moment Professor Snape walks in and no further conversation is had during class, although Will feels Hannibal’s gaze on him periodically. Once class is over, and Will has proven to Hannibal that yes his cauldron does actually work, they walk out of class together. It’s a novel sensation for Will, walking with someone, and he can’t deny it’s nice. Somehow having Hannibal nearby helps him drown out the sensory input coming at him from all sides, it’s like having a rudder or a focal point to keep him steady.
Without realizing it they end up walking into the Great Hall together for lunch and Will realizes glumly that they must part ways here. Hannibal seems to have another idea though and when Will stops midway between their tables, Hannibal gently nudges him to continue walking towards the Ravenclaw table. Will isn’t sure what is going on but trusts Hannibal to see where this is going. He sits down and then Hannibal sits down next to him, between Will and the end of the table, mostly out of view of the other Ravenclaws. Hannibal reaches out to fill his plate and looks to Will expectantly to do the same. Automatically Will grabs whatever is in front of him (bread roll he mentally notes) and continues to look at Hannibal sitting next to him. Hannibal meets his gaze and asks, “Problem?” His body language indicates he could leave to the Slytherin table and automatically Will’s hand reaches out to grab his forearm, holding him in place.
“No, no problem at all,” Will says and feels himself smiling. Hannibal smiles back as Will removes his hand, and they eat in companionable silence. A few seats down they hear Price loudly relaying the recent gossip: evidently three Slytherins were found this morning suspended over the fountain in the courtyard naked with the word “rude” written on their chests, the cold water lapping at their feet and bottoms. Apparently, the heads of house are trying to figure out who did it but so far they don’t have any leads, and the three boys claim they don’t remember anything, although are unharmed. He says rumor is Freddie Lounds got a picture before they were taken down.
As Will hears this he takes a breath and looks at Hannibal who has an overly innocent look on his face. The wheels are turning in Will’s head and his intuition tells him that not only is Hannibal somehow responsible, but that those three are the ones who attacked him last night. It also clicks into place that Hannibal was not present for breakfast. Hannibal looks back at him inquisitively, waiting for Will to speak, continuing to eat his lunch, seemingly unconcerned. Will debates what to say as he looks, and finally lands on, “Really?”
Hannibal continues to eat, not looking ashamed in the slightest, if anything he looks slightly smug. “I don’t know what you are talking about Will,” but Will thinks he catches a wink, “although I can’t say I have any sympathy for them. Rude people are no better than pigs and would have more value as meat than what their actions bring to society.”
Will laughs and says quietly, “I don’t need anyone to fight my battles for me Hannibal,” as he picks back up his fork. Will can’t deny the flutter he feels in his chest at the thought of Hannibal…what, avenging him? But he’s not a damsel in distress that needs saving.
Hannibal sets his fork down, looks Will straight in the eyes, and says seriously in the same quiet tone, “Of course you don’t. But certainly even a Prefect such as yourself can’t control if you inspire others into action on your behalf.” Hannibal picks back up his fork and smiles. Will smiles back and feels his world tilting but doesn’t mind one bit. Throughout his life Will hasn’t had many people looking out for him, so the fact that Hannibal, a man he just met, has decided that he cares about Will enough to, for lack of a better word avenge Will, touches him deeply. He wonders what it says about him that his favorite gift now is three naked men humiliated in his honor. He’s always known he’s somewhat fucked up, but maybe he’s found someone just as fucked up as he is. The thought brings a smile to his face and he turns back to his lunch, which for some reason has never tasted better.
*
Will is delighted to realize that both himself and Hannibal have Alchemy together after lunch. His delight is short lived however when the second he sets foot in the classroom, Professor Dumbledore sends him to see Headmaster Crawford. Will sends Hannibal an exasperated look as he leaves. Nothing good ever comes from meeting with Crawford.
Crawford’s office door is already open when Will arrives and Crawford is at his massive desk. “Good afternoon Will, sit down.” Will does as requested, waiting to find out what fresh hell this is, although if he’s honest with himself he has an idea. “Will have you heard about the three boys?” And there it is. Will nods. “Do you have any idea who did it?”
Will takes a breath and the lie flows smoothly out of his mouth “No sir.” He is surprised to find he doesn’t feel any shame or guilt; he keeps waiting for it but it doesn’t come.
“Alright well I need you to look into this, and let me know of anything suspicious. Anything Will. We can’t be having things like this happen on campus…” Will mentally wonders if Crawford would care if this happened elsewhere, only caring that it can make him look bad. “I’ve already gotten owls from the students’ parents and they are not pleasant Will. I need to get a lid on this and I’m counting on you. Report back when you have something.” This last part is said as a dismissal and Will stands up to leave, the light catching on his Prefect’s badge, and he wonders not for the first time if they made a mistake giving him this.