Chapter Text
‘Time has branded them and fettered they are lodged in the room of the infinite possibilities they have ousted. But can those have been possible seeing that they never were? Or was that only possible which came to pass? Weave, weaver of the wind.’ —— Ulysses
It was always a pleasure to speak to the learned, Hannibal thought as he spoke to his great-aunt Elda Elmose, a highly acclaimed historian and charming witch. Being expelled from Durmstrang did mean he could no longer access the school’s admirable collections of rare books and manuscripts, as well as the intellect of some of his more distinguished tutors. But to Hannibal, it wasn’t a great loss. Having moved in to Godric’s Hollow two days ago, he was now engrossed In the rich well of knowledge and history that the quaint English village had to offer. He revelled in the freedom that Durmstrang, despite being one of the more permissive schools, had deprived him of for years.
Hannibal took another sip of his Earl Grey, listening intently to Aunt Elda’s musings over the political tit for tats in the Wizards’ Council in the 15th century. He never appreciated the vulgar, inelegant ways in which they scrambled to conceal their ugly greed. They coated their crude desires in wrinkled, cacophonous layers. He despised them. But he had to learn, had to know the rules of the game. That was how he’d achieve his vision.
He only dismissed the name Will Graham as a passing reference. Aunt Elda mentioned something about him visiting. About him being an extradordinarily bright young boy. ‘Hannibal, you won’t believe it!’ Hannibal had known plenty of ‘bright’ boys and none of them lived up to the expectation. He politely nodded, and proceeded with his burning questions for the historian.
If only he knew then how much that name would ensnare him.
Will Graham - kind, polite young gentleman, a bit awkward, but good at heart. This was what almost everyone said about him. Those who had a chance to actually talk to him would know his sharp wit and exceptional empathy carried their sting. People had always pitied him for having lost his father so early, so much so that they usually failed to notice the notes of impatience in his icy blue eyes. Now, to add to that pile of unwanted sympathy, was the fact that he lost his other parent and had to take care of two younger siblings. Matthew and Ariel. He told himself he didn’t mind. He knew he loved them, he knew he could never bear to leave them behind. He didn’t mind at all the loss of his free time. He even managed to forgive how discourteous people were, poking at his pain with invasive questions they thought were so considerate and sympathetic.
Winston nuzzled up to his hand, half asleep. With a smile, Will fondly stroked his favourite Puffkskein, and returned to cooking. The smile slightly faded as he reminded himself of what was to come this afternoon. Socialising. As if he wasn’t busy enough. But Elda had always been nice to him, so he was obliged.
As Hannibal opened the squeaky wooden door, he stumbled into the mesmerising beauty of Will’s eyes. Fiercely blue, with a kind of clarity and splendour that Hannibal had never witnessed before, and traces of delectable darkness flickering underneath. Was it resentment? Was it despair? Hannibal adored beauty whenever he saw it. And then, Hannibal had a vision.
A kiss, painfully intimate, desperate, precious.
But before Hannibal could see more, feel more, Will broke the eye contact and lowered his eyes, as if he was scorched by the sheer intensity of Hannibal’s gaze. As if he saw something extraordinary, too. Intrigued, Hannibal held out his hand and kept his tone amicable. ‘You must be Will. I’m Hannibal, a pleasure to meet you.’
Will blinked a few times, and managed a smile. It was most likely out of politeness, but Hannibal was pleased as Will’s hand briefly held his. ‘Welcome to Godric’s Hollow, Hannibal. Elda has told me all about you.’
’I’m sure she has.’ Amused by his shyness, Hannibal winked at Will and invited him in, noting the hints of red that tinged the tips of Will’s ears. Aunt Elda had just finished making hot chocolate, the aroma intertwined with the smell of English rain and cedar wood. What an exquisite afternoon. Will’s face brightened at the sight of the old lady, who pulled him into a tight hug and muttered, ‘oh, look at you, you sweet boy!’ And insisted that he sit down and have a full cup of that chocolatey goodness. Hannibal only smiled.
Taking the seat next to Will’s, Hannibal gathered what information he could from the small talk between the two. Hogwarts. Poffle, puffleskein hair is all over his flannel shirt. Parents gone. Younger siblings. Lonely. Ambitious. Angry. In pain. How beautiful, and how familiar. It almost felt like looking at one’s mirror, but with the addition of milllions of blossoming possibilities. He was more vulnerable than Hannibal. More penetrable.
Which was why Hannibal couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed when the older boy declined his invitation for a walk in the forest, citing his siblings as his excuse. Suprised when, with Aunt Elda in the kitchen and unable to hear them, Will whispered, cruelly, ‘you know…I don’t find you that interesting.’ Did Will smirk?
To which Hannibal lightheartedly replied, ‘oh, you will.’
Too obvious, Hannibal. Will thought as he returned to the warmth of his home, his spells working to prepare the ingredients for today’s dinner. Elda told him Hannibal was born a Seer, and Will knew at that moment that Hannibal saw something. Will didn’t like the way he looked at him, like he was an object of interest, a prey to toy with. Not that Will was fond of eye contact anyway. So he kept his distance, he could sense the velvety darkness Hannibal exuded. Arrogance, talent, a bitter past, a propensity for violence. Ah, and he was alone. Desperate for company? Whatever it was that Hannibal wanted, Will knew he couldn’t give to him. Will had Matthew and Ariel to take care off. He couldn’t risk anything.
Maybe, he was worried he’d risk giving in himself. He found proof when Ariel tilted her head and asked, ‘what’s on your mind, Will? You’re different.’ Perhaps he was a little too fond of the Danish accent, and the maroon in those eyes. Perhaps.