Chapter Text
CHAPTER 3
Alleys and Counter-Alleys
Will didn't quite know how he felt about Hannibal.
Or, more exactly, about Hannibal's latest exaction. The days at the Burrow had been passing by, slowly and leisurely, at the pace of a summer Will hadn't enjoyed so far, and, with them, their worries and questions were being taken away. So much so that it was easy to ignore why Hannibal and Will were together now. And even easier to forget that Will was disapproving of the situation.
He didn't know for sure if he was angry at Hannibal. It was obvious that his friend had been pushed against the wall, though neither Dumbledore nor Will had realized it at the time. Hannibal had acted according to his nature, and Will couldn't blame him for it. He was even relieved in some ways. Firstly, because Hannibal could have done far worse – he could always do far worse, that was one of the few immutable truths of the Universe – and secondly because Will felt more at ease the closer Hannibal was to him.
His friend was a worrying soul, but distance didn't keep Will or anyone any safer therefore he preferred to keep the Monster under the light of his close attention and surveillance.
But Lily's sister had died, and Hannibal had been reckless, compromising once again his fragile person suit. They were nearly out of school, and they had been able to leave behind most of their skeletons, Will couldn't deny that having Hannibal ruin everything for the sake of his twisted values would piss him off much more than what would be wise.
But, on the other hand, he didn't dare to bring it up again with Hannibal. He felt like, despite their reunion, it was still a sore spot of bitterness for his friend and he feared that more could be reproached to him if they were to dwell on it. Will didn't have much choice but to let the incident go. He had not asked about what Dumbledore had said about it, nor had he asked if Hannibal had left any incriminating evidence behind. He had said nothing at all, only relying on the trust he had in his soulmate to satiate his doubts.
As he was lying on the bed they shared in the room of that Percy brother, he was detailing the back of his boyfriend who was sitting at the desk, leaning over some paper of his. Hannibal had resumed his days as he used to lead them, as if neither their separation nor the death of Lily's sister had taken place at all. Only his exacerbated thinness and Will's caution were telling of the past events still looming over their mind.
"Still angry at me?" the Empath asked, both his hands behind his head as a makeshift pillow.
"Despite my best efforts, I have never been good at nurturing anger toward you," Hannibal answered without taking his eyes off the work that was absorbing him so completely.
He had not asked what he should have been angry about and hadn't dismissed Will's incertitude about an eventual hard feeling.
Hannibal was no liar, and he was the first to express his emotions, at least to Will. But that didn't mean he hadn't been angry at some point.
"Are you angry with me?"
This time, it was Hannibal who had asked the question.
"Despite my best efforts, I've never been able to completely rid myself of the anger I have for you since the first time we met," Will answered truthfully.
"Fair enough."
Hannibal turned around, his fond smile barely concealed. He put down his quill and stood up from his chair before crossing the room to sit down by Will's side, on the bed.
"Where have you been?" he asked after a minute of contemplating the visage of his soulmate. "While I was there, where were you?"
"Here and there," Will shrugged. "Most of the time, I didn't even know where I was exactly. Apparently, there was a problem with the Black house."
"Yes. Their house elf ratted it all to our magical friend."
Hannibal's eyes lingered on their wands on the bedside table and Will guessed who their ‘magic friend’ was.
"Do they know about her?"
"Who is that 'they'?"
"I don't know. Dumbledore?"
"I don't think so. Not yet. He will figure it out, eventually."
"Voldemort?"
"He must have understood that something has happened to her. She was too loyal to him to simply disappear like that. Though, wherever or not he believes she is dead, and that you killed her, I can't tell."
Will sighed. They were leaving more and more stains behind them. A spreading trail. Was this his life now? More and more skeletons until there were simply too many for them to mean anything anymore?
"What about our other friend that we left in the lake?"
"Professor Dumbledore does believe that Grawp took a bite off her."
"Finally, a win for you. About time."
Hannibal didn't say a word, but Will could tell the remark had profoundly vexed him. Even though it was nothing but the truth. Dumbledore had come on top of most of their confrontations, whether or not Hannibal was willing to acknowledge it. Umbridge was their first true victory over the old clever Headmaster.
"What's gonna happen to Hagrid?"
"He was not found guilty of the murder. But he was deemed responsible for the Giant. He will never teach again."
"That's awful..."
"That is just."
"How is it just?"
"He wasn't punished for the murder he did not commit. I will remind you that I am not the one who brought that Giant in the Forest. He is. Ultimately, the only crime he is being punished for is one he indeed committed."
"If it hadn't been for us, no one would have ever known about Grawp."
"Are you saying that a crime undiscovered is no crime at all? Here is a neat logic that I will make sure to remind you of at a future time."
"Yeah, you're so clever..." Will rolled his eyes while half-heartedly pushing his boyfriend away.
"I happen to be, indeed," Hannibal smiled before resisting the weak push and leaning forward to kiss Will's lips.
For a moment, they simply looked at each other, taking in the other's presence and enjoying the slow yet ineluctable return of their complicity. Then:
"What will happen after that?"
Will's mind was often turned toward the future, lately. Maybe he was in the right period of his life for that. After years of having been diagnosed with none.
"After what?"
"After this year. Next summer. You've taken Dumbledore by surprise, and you had him rushed to a solution. But next summer, if we are once again separated, who will you kill?"
"About next summer..."
"Yes?"
"There was this little idea of mine that I would have shared earlier, if I had had a means to contact you."
"Just speak already."
But before Hannibal could say a word, a voice interrupted them from the first floor.
"Hannibal! Will! We're leaving!"
"Shit, I've nearly forgotten about them!"
They were supposed to go to Diagon Alley today, to buy the school supplies for the year to come. Will had to admit he was not unhappy with that plan. He had remained locked up inside all summer and craved the fresh air he would get there.
"Hold that thought," he said, getting up the bed and fetching Fang's leash from under the bed.
"It is not going anywhere," Hannibal assured him before following him outside the room.
Diagon Alley was very different from the Place Cachée, Will realized. He had never been to the British hidden avenue, but he had thought he would recognize it for having seen it all before. Maybe with narrower streets, and more colourful and less carefully standardized shops, but he had thought that he would find there the same crowd, the same chaos as at its French counterpart.
It couldn't be less true. His predictions about the streets and the shops were accurate but the crowd and the chaos were absent. As if the place had been deserted. Most of the shops looked closed, and they were so few people in the streets that Will could hear his steps echo around him. On the sad grey walls, posters had been plastered, showing the pictures of various people, some wanted for hideous crimes, others for having simply disappeared mysteriously. Most probably, executioners and victims were sharing the same portions of stone in a twisted sense of irony. The kind Hannibal alone could enjoy. And Will too, when he was in a good spirit.
Fang was walking closely by Will's side, his tongue hanging from his mouth, his nostrils trembling with uncertainty. He had suffered from the isolation even more so than Will, as he was used to having the whole of Hogwarts ground for him to run and play. He didn't have much freedom here, Will keeping him close to him so as to not lose him in that unfamiliar place, but it was still better than the succession of closed rooms he had had up until now. However, even the dog could feel something was off with the place.
"What happened?" Harry asked, confirming that it was indeed not a usual situation.
The boy was walking a few steps ahead and had asked the question to the Auror with the magic eye who was accompanying them today.
"People are afraid," the man simply said. "They don't want to be outside."
"There have been a lot of disappearances," Mr Weasley told them, looking at the succession of closed doors. "Not many people want to take the chance, now."
"I can't blame them," Ron said, detailing one of the shops which had all its windows broken and its door lying in pieces on the cobblestones.
Will tightened his grips both around Fang's leash and Hannibal's hand. The place reeked of death and despair; it was nearly overwhelming.
"That's an unfortunate year to start a business," Hermione said, "Fred and George must be disappointed."
"Not at all, actually," Mrs Weasley said with disbelief, as if she wasn't trusting her own words. "Apparently, it's going very well. That’s what they say, anyway. They are part of the very few shops that are still open and they have a lot of clients every day."
"People need to laugh," Werewolf teacher said with a gloomy tone that didn't fit his words at all.
Will really should be learning their names, but he couldn't bring himself to care enough.
"Madam Malkin's open," Ron said while pointing his finger at a sign on their right.
"Perfect. You all go there while we are getting your books. Here, Ron, the money for you and your sister."
"We're getting new robes?" Ron asked.
"Yes, Charlie's old one won't do anymore."
"You're sure, mum," Ginny asked with a frown.
"Yes, don't worry. Quick, quick."
Will knew that kind of situation all too well. His father could have never afforded tailor-made robes, and, though he hadn't cared much himself, he could easily understand the mixture of joy and guilt in Ron and Ginny's eyes.
“Mum,” Ginny said, “we don’t need…”
“I’m telling you, Ginny,” Mrs Weasely interrupted before her daughter could finish her sentence, “Will, give me the dog, I don’t think he will be allowed inside. I will take care of him while you can’t.”
“Thanks, ma’am.”
He gave the leash to Ron’s mother and Fang licked his hand before walking away.
"Let's go," Harry said, "there's no one for now."
They all followed him into one of the very few opened shops of the area.
Madam Malkin was a small witch, with a nervous posture though Will couldn't tell if it was her norm or a result of the current situation. She welcomed them quickly and didn't waste a second before closing the door behind them, whispering a protective charm under her breath. Only once it was done did she turn toward them with a pale smile.
"It's for Hogwarts, isn't it?" she asked.
"Yes, Ma'am," Ron nodded.
"Six complete sets of uniforms?"
"I will opt out, thank you."
They turned toward Hannibal who had said that with a polite smile. Will wasn't surprised. He could guess that his boyfriend was the kind to be faithful to his tailors and to choose them carefully, according to an extensive list of ridiculous criterias. Madam Malkin's shop was not a place he was willing to shop in, and no one would possibly be able to force him.
"You already have them?" Hermione asked.
"I will figure them out, do not worry."
He then found an isolated chair, out of everyone's way, and sat down, ready to wait patiently.
Will was the first to go, with Ron and Ginny. It didn't take much time, as Madam Malkin seemed to know every gesture by heart. She was certainly used to working at an insane pace for an unimaginable number of clients a day, especially this close to September, and she didn't waste any second. It had nothing to do with the literal hours Will had spent at Maison Capenoir, last year, and in barely ten minutes, he stepped down his stool, carrying the different pieces of uniforms that had been made for him.
He let Hannibal pay for them, and he had sat down by his side to wait for Harry and Hermione. However, as they were near the end of the fittings, the door of the shop opened on well-known silhouettes.
Will had never given much of his attention to Draco Malfoy. He knew him, of course. Had some classes with him – though he had dropped potion early during the last year – and knew that he was Harry's archenemy, maybe more so than Voldemort himself. They had exchanged a couple of words, a month ago, and Draco Malfoy had sworn eternal revenge, but he had yet to uphold his promise and Will wasn't too worried about it. Therefore, he didn't even care enough to stand up when the other student entered the shop, though Harry jumped at once, and Hermione, Ginny and Ron tensed accordingly.
Draco had changed over the summer, not in a dissimilar fashion to Hannibal. Though less extreme, the changes were of the same nature. As if something at the end of the last year had marked the definitive dissension between the past and the future and that, more so than grown up or toughen up, Draco Malfoy had become more of an adult.
Will had never seen the woman by his side, apart from the pictures hanging on the walls of the manor he had blown up a few minutes after seeing them. Narcissa Malfoy, as he knew she was named, was quite different from the photographs he had seen. Older and weaker, there was a nervousness and a dread behind her cold eyes that weren't there in the pictures. It was skilfully hidden, and Will didn't know if anyone but him had spotted it, but he had. And he could tell that that mother was afraid.
However, at the sight of the other clients in the shop, her features tensed in disdain and anger.
"What are you doing here, Potter?" Malfoy asked right away, his grey eyes stabbing Harry's with an unhidden disgust.
"What do you think?" Harry replied coldly. "Buying my outfit for your dad's trial, of course."
Will had not really followed the news during the summer but even he had been made aware of the disgrace of Lucius Malfoy. The man had gone overnight from the hero who had lost his house and risked his life in a fight against Death Eaters to being one of them on the run. His trial in absentia had been a very public business as a way to show to the wizarding community that rooting out corruption and dealing out the retaliations were a priority of that new Ministry.
Will wasn't too moved about it. He didn't care much about the Malfoy family. The son had made threats against him and Hannibal back in June, but the idea was so laughable and absurd that Will failed to take them seriously or to consider them as worthy of his emotional investment.
"You watch your mouth, Potter! Next time, he won't miss you."
Draco was livid, his lips pinched and his eyes shining with hatred. Harry had hit a sore spot; they were all aware of that.
"That's only the third time he tried and missed. I guess he is just as much of a failure as his son."
Not unexpectedly, Draco pulled out his wand at once, quickly followed by Ginny and Harry.
"Come on!" Madam Malkin tried to bring back some calm. "Put those wands away, there is no need for any of this!"
Will got to his feet, in case a fight was to actually break in front of them, but Hannibal stayed seated, his eyes going from Harry to Draco with an unashamed amusement and a hint of eagerness.
"I would advise you to put your wands away," Draco's mother said, her hand on her son's shoulders, her eyes threatening Ginny and Harry. "If you so much as touch a single hair on my son's head, I will have no remorse reuniting you with that lost friend of yours."
Ginny’s grip on her wand tightened, her eyes shooting anger, her teeth grinding from the forceful control she was exerting over herself to not let that mention of her best friend get to her.
"Mrs Malfoy, please!" Madam Malkin tried again.
Since her entrance in the shop, Will had had the feeling that he had seen that feminine face behind Draco somewhere other than in a family picture. But now, with her cold expression of pure relentlessness and the veiled threats behind her clear eyes, he knew where he had seen her before.
The mother had the exact same features as the late Bellatrix Lestrange. And Will remembered distinctly the name Narcissa Black side by side with Bellatrix Black on the genealogical tapestry he had spent a night studying during the Easter break.
"Why don't you try it here and now?" Harry asked. "So that you can go cell hunting ahead of your husband's life sentencing?"
Despite his wand being drawn and ready to fight, Harry seemed relaxed. He wasn't anxious, barely tensed, obsessed that he was with hurting the Malfoy family in any way.
Will could help his good friend with that.
"How's your sister?" he asked to everyone’s surprise.
The two Malfoys, caught up in their confrontation with Harry, hadn't even looked once at their corner of the store and were only now noticing Hannibal and Will's silent presence by their side.
Once her surprise overcome, Narcissa Malfoy realized the meaning of the question that had been asked to her and frowned at once, on her guards.
"Who are you?"
Despite her question being directed at Will, her eyes kept drifting toward Hannibal sitting behind him, the worrying shadow, and if he was the sole real object worthy of her attention. Will was eager for her to learn better.
"He's the one I told you about, Mother," Draco said, and Will wondered how much he had told her. "Lecter's mudblood."
At that sentence, her eyes snapped back to Will, something akin to urgency shining behind them as she instinctively stepped between Draco and Will.
That was a wiser reaction, Will thought.
"What do you know about my sister?"
"What should I know about her?"
Will was fully aware of Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry in the room with him, and knew he should play that conversation while keeping both his audiences his mind.
For all he was supposed to know, Bellatrix had fled the Ministry after the confrontations, and, in all likelihood, she had found her way back to Voldemort.
"Tell me what you know!" Narcissa repeated, progressively losing her calm and composure, now that her mysteriously missing sister had been brought up.
Will shoved his hands in his pocket. With the tip of his fingers, he could caress the cold crystalized blood of Bellatrix Lestrange, forming his wand. His eyes didn't waver from Narcissa Malfoy, however.
"I just know one thing.”
Will could see her breathing pick up, in expectation of what she was about to learn.
“I just know she ran like the little bitch she didn't know she was when she found it in her to touch my boyfriend."
Though Madam Malkin gasped at his words, Narcissa didn't waste a second on misguided outrage. She pulled her own wand out, gripping it so tightly her fingers were as white as her face, and before anyone could register it, a black spell was flying through the store, aiming right at Will's chest.
The boy didn't even try to counter it. He knew it wasn't necessary. It wasn’t as if he was left unprotected. A fraction of a second before it was to hit him, the black lightning crashed into an invisible wall in a disappointing hiss, like a flame nipped by two wet fingers.
Hannibal stood up behind Will with a long sigh.
"Mrs Malfoy! You can't..."
But all ignored Madam Malkin.
Understanding that Hannibal had stepped in, Narcissa tightened her grip on her wand, her free hand searching behind her to make sure Draco was still unreachable.
Hannibal smiled at the impulsive need to shield the son.
"Ah... Here it is," he said in a voice just as calm as Will's had been. "That eagerness to protect. To care in the face of danger. It reminds us both of something, doesn't it? A shared moment in a dark basement."
Narcissa didn't answer but the way her lips pinched, Will could guess that, unlike him, she knew what Hannibal was talking about.
"Tell me, Cissy" Hannibal continued, "that beautiful maternal instinct that you showed twice, is it something that you always had in you? Or was it something nearly... counter-human to you?"
If Narcissa had been enraged before, that last sentence, whatever it was supposed to mean, drew the worst reaction out of her. Will had no idea what Hannibal was referencing, but, whatever it was, Narcissa knew. And she feared it, even more so than anything else that had been brought up, up until now. That word that Hannibal had emphasized clearly and unapologetically, it meant something to her, and it was something terrible.
"Don't you dare to..." she struggled to formulate, "if you come anywhere near my son, I'll..."
"Well, we're gonna spend yet another year together," Will pointed out, not needing to understand Hannibal in order to roll with his game. "So, there's that, I guess."
Her eyes went from Hannibal to Will, as if she was linking them both with the threat Hannibal had made but none but her had understood.
"If you hurt him..."
"Why would we?" Will interrupted right away.
He didn't say that he wouldn't hurt Draco. He was simply advising Narcissa to wonder what reasons he would have to hurt his son.
However, to Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry, it certainly sounded like Will rhetorically pointing out he had no reason to go after the Slytherin boy.
"Draco, we are leaving."
"Mother, they..."
"Now," she snapped at once, grabbing his son's arm to force him toward the door with her.
Before exiting, her eyes met Hannibal and Will one last time, and they were both aware that any harm done to Draco Malfoy would be answered with retaliation.
Once the door had been closed, an eerie silence settled in the shop.
Before it was interrupted by Ron Weasley.
"What the hell was that?!"
"You all, you are done here, I want you to exit my establishment right away!" exclaimed a very angry Madam Malkin, pushing Hermione and Harry toward the door.
A second later, they were all in the deserted street, all their thoughts still on what had just happened.
"What is our next stop?" Hannibal politely wondered.
"Fred and George's shop and... no but like seriously?! What the hell happened?"
"You didn't pay attention?" Hannibal asked Ron.
"I did, but I don't understand what it was all about. What about her sister?"
"Her sister's Bellatrix Lestrange," Harry pointed out. "Sirius told me."
"I just asked what about her," Will shrugged. "We were already speaking about family, anyway. And we have as much news about Lestrange than we have about Lucius Malfoy. I wanted to see if her sister was as much of a sore topic as her husband."
"Why did you say she ran?" Hermione asked.
"Because she did. You didn't notice cause you ran ahead but since I was behind you, I can tell. She ran away."
Or, more accurately, she had tried to. Before Will had caught her a second later.
"I'm guessing she is back with her dear dark lord," Harry spit. "Those two really found each other."
"What does counter-human mean?"
As could be expected, Hermione had kept her eyes on the most important words she had heard today. She had been able to tell at once what the real deal was, and Will had to admit he wanted to have an answer to that too. Even though, in his case, he would have preferred to wait to be alone with Hannibal before broaching the topic.
"Mmh?" Hannibal hummed innocently with a small, unaware smile.
"You said counter-human."
"I did, indeed."
"What does it mean?"
"It means something that goes against human nature," then, after a beat, "Doesn't it?"
"You mean... unnatural?"
"I guess I do. I must have confused my English with my Latin."
How shamelessly hypocritical. Will would remember that very moment the next time Hannibal would feel righteous enough to lecture him about lying.
The explanation, however, seemed to convince Ron and Harry who began to walk up the street toward their next destination. On the other hand, Will noticed the frown on Hermione’s face, but she didn't add anything and, eventually, she followed her two friends. Will knew her questions were far from answered, however.
"For how long your brothers had had that plan to open their own shop?" Will asked Ron and Ginny to prevent the silence from encouraging anyone to ask further questions.
"I don't really know, it came as a surprise, to be honest. We just thought they were loud and chaotic, we didn't know they had any plan with it."
Will didn't know much about Ginny's older twin brothers. They weren't in any of his classes, had left the Quidditch team before he had integrated it and Will had never gone out of his way to get to know someone. Yet loud and chaotic indeed seemed like accurate words to describe the two infamous pranksters.
"You've seen them since the last time at Hogwarts?" Harry asked.
"They went to the hospital every day to see me," Ginny shrugged. “Spent whole afternoons there.”
It was obvious from the dismissive nature of her tone that she had no desire to recall her time at the hospital. And everyone got the message loud and clear.
Thankfully, the scene in front of them arrived as a welcomed distraction.
Much like its owners, the storefront of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had nothing discreet about it. Compared to the other shops around, Weasleys' place was the only one standing out thanks to the vivid colours of its magenta walls and orange timberwork. Its windows were illuminated by never-ending fireworks behind them, exploding in dozens of lights and shapes attracting the focus of every passer-by of the otherwise sad street.
It reminded Will of the constant fireworks that had haunted Hogwarts for a week prior to the disappearance of Umbridge, as a parting gift from the twins. It seemed to be their trademark but, judging by the sheer dimensions of the store, they had to have other things going as well.
Will regretted stepping in the second the door closed behind their group. The inside of this store was everything the outside street was not: crowded, busy and noisy.
The space that had seemed reasonably large from the outside seemed ridiculously tiny once inside, cluttered to its brim, as it was indubitably welcoming more than it physically could.
The alleys of the stores were cramped with shelves, stands, racks crumbling under too many objects of all shapes, sizes and colours. There was nowhere the sight could rest that wasn't of a bright and vivid hue scratching the eyes and hammering the skull. Many objects were based of smells, and all of them, the pleasing ones, the funny ones and the worrying ones, would blend and blur in a suffocating mixture of overcharged and indiscernible scents that would leave an aftertaste to linger on the tongue and the back of the throat.
Will tried to push through it as he walked forward but, when they all split to go where each one's curiosity would bring them, things got drastically worse. Isolated in the middle of the crowd, Will wasn't sure where the exit was anymore, and he could slowly feel in his bones as if a trap was ineluctably closing on him. But, worse than that, was the crowd itself. With his short stature, Will couldn't look above other people and was literally drowning in an ocean of bodies crushing against him in waves. At first, he tried his best to dodge around and stay out of everyone's way, but in the narrow and congested alleys in between shelves, it was virtually impossible. Most clients were happy to push their way to the section of the store they wanted to reach and there was not enough space to step aside anyway. And the pushes would invariably send him against more unknown bodies, creating shivers of disgust and anguish each time he was taken by surprise by a contact he hadn't been able to foresee.
Will tried to cross his arms against his chest, in an attempt to put some distance between the world and him, but that was of very limited efficiency. He tried to make his way back to the door, but since he was dodging rather than pushing, his path was the result of the motions around him rather than his own will, ending up locked in a loop of steps back matching each step forward.
Will hugged himself more tightly, to no end. The general overwhelmness was worsening his senses, and now, even his own shirt was scratching his skin, his own breath was echoing inside his head and the heat of his body felt like it was on a continuous rise.
However, it wasn't the crowd, nor the smell that really sent him spiralling but the endless, nerve-wracking noises. The whole store was screaming in his ears. Unpredictable detonations around him were keeping him in a perpetual state of distressed startlement. The people around him were chatting away so loudly that Will felt like their pieces of random English he couldn't understand were drilling through his eardrums. He had to clench his fist around the fabric of his sleeves to prevent himself from punching in the mouth the closest passer-by to finally make them shut up. Ultimately, Will had to choose between dealing with the unwanted contacts and the debilitating loudness, and he chose the latter, bringing both his hands over his ears and pressing as much as he could, both to keep the noises out of his skull and to feel the controlled pressure against it.
That was only once he closed his eyes as tightly as he could that he felt a hand grabbing his elbow and dragging him forward. Will stumbled for a couple of steps before being able to keep up. The grip guiding him through the crowd was doing so with confidence as if, by being a part of it, it could travel within it freely and Will, relieved to at least be in motion and step out of the maddeningly still loop, let himself be guided against the flow of bodies and noises.
Ultimately, he opened his eyes to see the exit door a few feet away, a dark halo of relief in this overly bright and tumultuous world.
Breaking free from the hand gripping him, he rushed forward, pushing out of his way two witches who had just entered. He shoved himself shoulder first into the door and finally stumbled into the street, free from that hellish overwhelmness.
In contrast, the street was darker and more silent than he remembered but Will felt as if he had brought the chaos with him, the memory of the sounds pounding inside his head as loudly as the sounds themselves, his clothes made of sandpaper still scraping his skin.
He was about to sit down right where he was, in the middle of the street, but the hand was back on his elbow, preventing him from falling down.
Will looked up and realized without surprise that Hannibal was by his side, his eyes expressionlessly detailing their environment. Without a word, he guided Will toward another side of the street, a small recess leading to a narrow stair and a more isolated and shadowed parallel alley where the Empath, out of everyone's way, could freely lean against the wall.
"Sorry..." Will felt the urge to whisper.
Hannibal didn't answer. He knew better than to produce any added sound.
Slowly, Will let himself slide down the wall until he was sitting on the street. Through his shirt and pants, he could feel the coldness of the stones numbing his skin, desensitizing it to the scratching and the constriction. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on that growing numbness, shutting down every other information his brain had been attacked with. Progressively, he began to notice that, once the echoes of the former noises were being ignored, nothing was left at all. Will couldn't hear the constant footsteps of passers-by walking down the alley or even the wind whispering between the high chimneys above their heads. The lack of ambient noises was telling him that Hannibal had probably casted a spell isolating them from the rest of the world.
"Sorry," Will muttered again despite himself.
"Don't."
Hannibal's voice was low and of an unwavering steadiness, resonating like a white noise in the back of Will's mind. His face was blank and unmoving, his eyes unreadable, effectively blocking Will's ignited Empathy, sending back signals as white and soothing as his voice.
Will sighed and, crossing his legs in front of him, he turned on his left to sit in the same sense as the stair, resting his feet two steps below him.
"Their store really sucks," Will said with an unamused smile, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the greyness of the stones under him.
Hannibal seemed to consider the steps for a second before finally sitting down by Will's side.
“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked cordially.
Will hesitated for a second, carefully considering the idea. The stone and the shadow had cooled his skin and he couldn’t feel as much against it anymore. Slowly, he nodded, ready to tell Hannibal to back off if it turned out to be more than he could bear.
In a controlled and predictable way, Hannibal leaned forward, putting his arms around Will, first lightly, their weight barely noticeable, and when Will let his head fall on his boyfriend’s shoulder, Hannibal tightened his embrace, effectively driving a wedge of flesh between the Empath and the rest of the world. That was more bearable than Will had feared. The heat of Hannibal’s hug was warming him up at a pleasant pace, slowly bringing some moderate sensations back, while promising him he wouldn’t be assaulted by any of the crushing threats that he had met in the store. Will closed his eyes, breathing in that familiar perfume of zests let loose in the wind, hearing the steady, unwavering beating of that heart he knew so well. He focused only on what his senses could capture of Hannibal who was forming the whole of his current environment. Finally at ease, he let every other thought out of his mind.
For a long time after that, Will remained silent. He had felt the urge to apologize and explain, but Hannibal had accepted none of these two interactions and Will could now enclose himself in silence and in his soulmate’s embrace, which was all he truly wanted. Hannibal matched his quietness diligently, and the two soulmates remained there, in each other’s arms, letting the coldness of the shadowed alley numb their skin where they didn’t have the touch of their lover to protect it.
Will was not unacquainted with that kind of situation. That familiar overwhelmness. He had known it before. In depth. It had been a major problem of his as he was growing up. And it had been one of the first symptom that had led to his diagnostic. It had been his closest companion for most of his life, he knew how to deal with it. How to avoid gazes to not get stuck in other people's brains, how to stay in the periphery of groups to not be dragged into their energy, how to flee from crowds where noises and touches were such a common currency. However, he couldn't remember a single incident of that sort since he had met Hannibal.
The strange, foreign boy had quietened the whole world the very first time they had met. The void behind his eyes, the latency of his power, the silent ring of his words, Hannibal was an antiworld of his own, one that had soothed his senses, in lieu of his morality.
Will hadn’t even feared overwhelmness since they had met, not in that fashion anyway. Maybe emotionally, or even magically. But his senses had been the least of his problems, so much so that he had entered this place - one he would have never come close to, three years ago - without a worry in his mind.
Though he was not unfamiliar with it, what had just happened had taken him by surprise.
"It had been a while since the last time."
He felt the urge to say something. Not necessarily to explain, since Hannibal wouldn't have it, but at least to word it. His voice, echoing against Hannibal’s neck and chest, was coming back to him, as if an answer to his own thought.
"I don't think we knew each other then," Hannibal stated.
Yet he had reacted to it as if it was something they already shared. And maybe it was. Hannibal knew Will too intimately to have to witness in order to know.
"I don't know why today," Will said, his eyes detailing Hannibal’s skin that was slightly pulsing over his jugular.
"It was a terribly noisy and disorganized store."
"Yeah, but still. Didn't know it would still make me feel like that. I thought I was past that."
"Why would you be?"
"I don't know. I’ve changed a lot since I met you."
"You did. But power and agency don't mean insensitivity. Quite the contrary, as a matter of fact."
"You're one to talk. You're not the most sensitive guy I know."
"I am very sensitive, Will. My sensitivity simply lies in another bed than most."
Maybe. Still, Will had some trouble associating that singular sensitivity of his with power. No matter how many times he had been faced with that undeniable fact. The second he lost control of himself, it didn't feel like power anymore, simply like stabs in his brain.
After a while and once he was feeling more in controlled again, he slowly detached himself from Hannibal, nearly reluctantly, and looked around.
"What's that?" he asked after a while, pointing at the stair and the path to which it led.
"Knockturn Alley."
"Never heard that name. It's part of the Diagon Alley shopping thing?"
"Yes. And no. A variation, let's say. It is also a shopping area, but for less respectable goods. Knockturn Alley welcomes shops in need of greater discretion and more selective clientele."
"Can we see?"
"Of course. It is a shopping street."
Will didn't mind strolling into darkness for a while. The light of the day and the noises of life could wait for now. He still held some reproach against them.
Hannibal stood up and, extending his hand to Will, he helped his friend on his feet. They then both walked down the stairs and the alley after them.
If Diagon Alley, in its brighter days, was everything like the Place Cachée, then Knockturn Alley was its negative. The street, narrow, tortuous, with irregular cobblestones, was simply not made to welcome many people at once. Will and Hannibal formed the smallest group possible and, each time they would cross the path of another duo, they would fill the street to its brim and have to skilfully dodge each other.
They couldn't see the sky at all, the shops' higher floors often built partly above the street, leaving the pavement in a constant darkness. Despite the fact that they were in the middle of the day, complete portions of the street were lit with oil lamps and, the few times the sky was visible in between the old wooden buildings, it looked strange and morose, too shy to truly pierce through.
The people were also different than in the main alley. None were strolling and letting curiosity and leisure guide their aimless paths from storefront to storefront. For starters, there were very few shops that actually had a window display, instead hiding the nature of their goods behind closed doors and dangling signs. Ultimately, there were only two types of people on that street, Will realized. The few outdoor sellers were the first one, lurking in the recesses of the street, calling for them from the shadows, shooting promises as they were approaching and insults as they were continuing their path. The second type was the customers who were walking from shops to shops with hurried steps. They knew where they were going and for what purpose, leaving them with no time to waste on the street. Unlike the sellers, these people would not interact with Will and Hannibal, quite the contrary, always avoiding their gaze and often hiding their head under hoods or scarves.
"Is it illegal to be here?" Will wondered, feeling that the leisure of their stroll and the display of their faces were at odds in that alley.
"To be here, no. To buy here, it depends on what you buy exactly. And to whom."
"There's legal stuff here?"
"All shops have a façade of legal goods in case of control. But no one is here for them. Buying on Knockturn Alley is not illegal, but there are few legal things that you will be able to buy here."
"You've been there before?"
"Yes. Last winter break. To replenish my potions ingredients. It is actually one of these few legal things you can buy. There are numerous ingredients that can't be obtained legally in the wild but can be sold legally in a store. That kind of goods, you find them on Knockturn Alley."
Their stroll had brought them to a part of the street with older and bigger shops than what they had seen previously. The buildings there seemed to look down on others with the disdain of elders, and less street sellers could be found here. It looked to Will like the birthplace of the street, with its noblest and best-established names gathered together.
"Here is my favourite shopping place, Diagon and Knockturn alike."
Will turned around to see what Hannibal was pointing at. It was a tall and grim building, like the others, with its grey front and its dusty windows that completely obscured the view. A grinding sign on a rusty rod was displaying the name of the store in tired letters.
Cassandra's Tales
"What does it sell?"
"History."
Without any prompting, Hannibal walked to the door, opened it and stepped inside. Will hesitated for a second.
“You won’t find here any of the torments you found in the Weasleys’ shop,” Hannibal said, encouragingly.
Will sighed then followed.
The shop looked exactly how Will could have guessed from the outside. It was higher than it was wide, with shelves of warped wood that had to have been brown at some point of their history but were now grey of dust. No sunray could pierce through the windows and the heavy curtains that protected them and the few oil lamps casted such dim light that it was hard to truly see the goods in the ambient darkness. The silence around them was absolute and their steps making the wooden floor creak under their weight was the only sound disturbing it.
As he was detailing the objects around, Will found himself puzzled by the exact theme of the shop. He could see mismatched items, some necklaces and gems, a couple of furniture, old music boxes, and even a living spider under a bell jar, a white castle of webs around it. There were no more than twenty objects or so around them, yet none of them made sense.
"What do you mean, they're selling history?" Will asked, walking to the jar to have a closer look at the living being.
The eight eyes stared back at him angrily.
"Most of the shops around here sell magical artefacts. That was the original aim of Knockturn Alley. Borgin and Burkes, The Sorcerer's Shelf or Morgan and daughters, to name only the most famous, are more or less the same shops. However, this one specializes in historical artefacts. No common objects here, no Hand of Glory, no Shrunken Heads, no cursed candles. Only unique items that have gone through the centuries and have brought back with them a heavy history."
“You don’t buy stuff here to use them. You buy just for the sake of having them.”
“Yes, that is the idea.”
"What's this guy's history?" Will asked, pointing at the spider.
Hannibal walked to them and leaned forward to detail the inhabitant of the bell jar.
"It is a Maledictus," he said right away, without the shadow of a hesitation.
"What's that?"
"A carrier of a blood curse that will progressively turn them into an animal. I don't know who this person was before, but it used to be a human being. I am guessing of noble extraction or else it wouldn't have a place in this selective shop."
Will avoided the eight angry eyes at once after hearing that, an uneasiness settling in his gut.
"Is it still... human? I mean inside. Like... in its brain. Can it understand its situation?"
Hannibal's smile answered for him, and Will turned away to never look back. He had no desire to empathize with any of that. It could end up being far too relatable.
"You wanna buy something? Because, let me tell you, we’re not having a human pet spider."
"I figured. And no, we are just having a look around. I wanted to show you around. I assure you, it is an interesting place. Come with me."
Hannibal guided Will to another corner of the shop. Here, on the wall, a large painting had been hung. At first, Will had simply thought it was here to decorate the place and hide the stains on the wall, but he thought better of it once he realized how ugly it actually was.
Thought as a portrait, the canvas showed a silhouette of something that may have been human at some point. Will could definitely spot a head, but it was so disfigured and inhuman that he wasn't certain what he was looking at. It looked like the face had begun to dry and rot, the flesh underneath melting to the point of letting the skull protrude through it. The hair, white, thin and dead, was spurting from the minuscule head like long broken spider legs. The grey skin, infected by old age and fungi, was so loose that it was falling from the shrivelled face and forming a floating bag under the shin. It looked exactly like an ill-fitting mask made out of someone else's face.
"Charming," Will commented. "Really ties the room together."
"Do you know what this is?"
"A portrait?"
"What kind of portrait?"
Will tried to detail it more closely, but he couldn't see anything else but an ugly face looking back at him from beyond death.
"I'm supposed to know?"
"It was the eponymous object of a muggle book."
Now, that rang a bell.
"Yeah, that portrait's story... With the ageing guy. Can't remember the name."
"Dorian Gray."
"Yeah. That guy. So... That's Dorian Gray?"
Will tried to see something human and alive in the portrait but failed to do so.
"Not exactly. Not by that name, at least. But it is a portrait enclosing a witch’s or a wizard's ageing."
"It's not a common thing, is it?"
"It is the unique occurrence of such a magic feat. However, the portrait is so old and the face so unrecognizable that no one knows whose portrait it is."
"You mean, the person in the portrait is still out there."
"Yes."
"Maybe they died another way."
"The portrait is still ageing," Hannibal stated, his gaze detailing the art with appreciation. "Whoever they are, they are still alive and beautiful, sharing their days with their fear of ever seeing their own portrait."
Hannibal's eyes were shining with pure glee at the mere thought of that fate, the rare liveliness of his face contrasting with the dead skull he was watching.
Will didn't share Hannibal's joy. He could see why his friend was artistically pleased by that gothic horror, but Will found that fate to be a profound tragedy.
There was nothing human left on that portrait and he suspected that it was the same for the original person.
That specific line of thought brought by association another thought in the forefront of his mind.
"Hannibal?"
"Yes?"
"What does counter-human mean?"
"I already answered that question."
"You answered Hermione. Not me."
For a moment, Hannibal simply continued to observe the portrait in silence, as if he was considering the idea of not answering at all. Which was a very unusual behaviour for him. Ultimately, he decided against ignoring Will and gave a more sincere answer than the one he had given Hermione.
"It is the translation of an adjective that qualifies a specific place."
"What specific place?"
Once again, Hannibal remained strangely silent, certainly choosing his words with an extra care.
"Hannibal? What place?"
"The Counter-Human Archives."
"What's that?"
"A place much like this one, except its artefacts are not on display."
"It stores dark objects?"
"Each country has its own way of managing its darkness. The Ministry in this country has secret departments. We caught glimpses of some of them, back in June. The US wizards have facilities. In Lithuania, we have protected archives, guarded by appointed wizards."
"Why did Malfoy react so badly to it?"
"The objects of these archives are not studied, like they are here. They are kept aside and used by the Wizard King in case of need. They are a looming threat over the head of the King's enemies."
"Hannibal... Are you the Lithuanian King?"
Hannibal, finally distracted from the portrait, laughed at once at the mere idea.
"No, Will. I assure you. I am many things, but not the Wizard-King."
Will still felt like there was something Hannibal was purposefully keeping silent. He wouldn't offer Will outright lies, but there was something missing for sure. Omission had always been Hannibal’s sin of choice.
"Then why was Malfoy scared, if you're not the one meant to use them?"
"Because even if I won't use these archives, Cissy knows they reflect my abilities. It was simply an allegory of other tools, those at my disposal. She knows I am no schoolboy, she could simply use a subtle reminder."
No. There was something else. But Will knew that, the more he asked and pushed, the deeper Hannibal could bury his seeds of confusion. Better to keep his suspicions to himself for now, and let Hannibal unravel his threats in due time.
"I see," he simply shrugged. "I guess it worked. Though don't go acting all weird and all around the others."
"Says the one who mentioned Bellatrix in front of everyone."
"Yeah... I see your point... Anyway, let's go."
Hannibal's eyes lingered one last time on the portrait, certainly taking a mental picture of the art on display, he then walked toward the door, but he didn’t leave without bowing his head at the human spider, to wish it goodbye with the distinction required in educated company. The pleased irony behind that gesture was obvious and the spider’s eyes shone with anger. Will rushed behind Hannibal to not be left alone in front of the silenced human being.
"Is that painting a Horcrux?" Will asked, once they were back to the street.
"No," Hannibal answered. "Old age is being locked away, nothing else. And is not an Horcrux any displaced soul. An Horcrux, by definition, is a receptacle welcoming a fragment of a soul. Not a complete one. Not everything concerning souls is to be named an Horcrux. It is not a broad, fit-all term."
"Sorry, didn't want to disrespect the word. I thought... Wait... Isn't that...?"
Three familiar silhouettes were walking ahead of them.
"Yes," Hannibal nodded.
"Hey" Will called out. "Guys!"
The three silhouettes turned around, and Will was able to say for certain that it was Hermione, Harry and Ron, who had just been interrupted in the middle of their lively yet whispered conversation. As soon as they recognized Will and Hannibal, they stopped to wait for them.
"Funny," Ron mused, "each time you disappear for more than a minute, we find you in the sketchiest of places."
"You mean the place where you three currently happen to be too?" Hannibal pointed out.
"Fair point, mate."
"Where were you?" Harry asked. "I wanted to warn you, guys, but I couldn't find you anywhere in the store. We had to leave without you."
"Warn us about what?" Will wondered, ignoring the question altogether.
"It's Malfoy. He is a Death Eater."
"Harry thinks he is a Death Eater," Ron corrected. "But as I was saying just before you arrived, You-Know-Who would have no use for a prick like Malfoy."
"Why do you think he is a Death Eater?" Will asked.
"Harry saw him walking down the street, toward Knockturn Alley," Hermione told them with more precision, "and we followed him. He went to Borgin and Burkes, and talked about a cupboard there. At some point, he showed his arm to Burkes, and Harry believes he showed the mark of the Death Eaters... But Harry, Ron's right. What would be the point of recruiting someone like Malfoy? He is sixteen."
"Voldemort tried to recruit Will last year," Harry pointed out. "And he was younger than Malfoy is today."
"Will is an Empath. You-Know-Who needed his abilities. Malfoy doesn't have any abilities apart from telling everything to his father."
"Maybe that's about that," Harry exclaimed. "Maybe, with his father on the run, he is made to do something instead of him."
"His father is on the run, not dead. He can still do whatever his master wants him to do."
"Nothing that involves being in the open. Malfoy can come here, his father can't."
"Harry, I really don't think Malfoy is that much of a danger. I know you hate him, but that doesn't make him a Death Eater."
Hannibal and Will had remained out of the conversation, not having witnessed any of the events that their three friends were talking about.
Will didn't know what to think. It wouldn't be such a surprise to learn that, following his father's footsteps and his family's natural leaning, Draco had joined the ranks of Voldemort and his minions. But Hermione and Ron were not completely wrong. What point would someone like Draco serve? He hadn't struck Will as someone gifted with any uncommon ability. He was good in class, and a decent duellist, but nothing that could be of use to someone like Voldemort who played in another category altogether. The only specificity that Will could see in Draco and no other Death Eaters was that Draco, unlike Voldemort himself, had access to Hogwarts.
And that was something Voldemort could indeed crave for.
"Listen," Ron interrupted, "debating whoever is or is not a Death Eaters can wait. But we should go back before my parents start to freak out. Malfoy's gone anyway, there is no need to move in here. I’m not too fond of the neighbourhood."
They all agreed and began to walk up Knockturn Alley to find their way back to Diagon Alley.
But Will was still thinking about what had just been told to him. If Harry was right, then a question needed to be asked. How badly could end the presence of a Death Eater inside their school?
Certainly not as bad as a pair of zealous Cannibals.
There was probably nothing to worry about.
At the very least for Will and Hannibal.