Disclaimer: Credit to NBC for their wonderful production of Hannibal. All I wish for is another season! Credit also to Thomas Harris for his books creating the characters in the first place! And rights to J.K. Rowling for Harry Potter of course.
Also, I give an honourable mention to Isys Luna Skeeter. They wrote a single chapter and I was inspired by their idea to create my own chapter and continue that into a story. So, whilst this is all my work, I give credit to that person for the idea of Hannibal finding Harry, and thank them for inspiring this!
Rated M due to violence & cannibalism.
Even in the cupboard, which possessed an absence of any light, I could see the blood on my hands. I could see it with clarity. Visible when every atom of light was pulled away and shut outside the door. It was like a vacuum sucking everything away just leaving me alone with guilt covering my hands. The crimson colour was even there when I closed my eyes. It traced along the cracks in my hands, and in-between left a rotting pink colour. Rivers of blood trickling along the crevices in my skin. It was on me but it was also on my bed, on the faded covers that once belonged to Dudley. On the bonnet of a train, smudged across the characters face creating a distorted image. Everywhere I looked there was blood.
Everything was tainted – like Uncle Vernon used to say, but now it was true. 'Don't play with Dudley's toy Harry; it's not yours, you'll get it dirty.' 'You've tainted it, by God, you've ruined the whole thing." I washed extra-long that night, hoping to get rid of all the germs that belonged to me. Maybe then he'd like me. Looking back, I know how naive that was. He was wrong - I hadn't done anything to the toy. Dudley does more bad when he throws it at me or tries to snap it. All I did was touch it.
My present surroundings were tainted though... Just not by me again. Truly, they were tainted by him. Vernon's blood, Aunt Petunia's blood.
Everything was twisting and warping in my mind; rivers were running around me and it felt like the collapse of a large iceberg was going on inside me, crashing and tumbling down.
"Harry." I turned to see a man stood at the entrance to my cupboard. I had been so lost in my thoughts I had not heard him arrive. He looked sharply at me, as if assessing before stating-
"Tell me what happened."
"I... I didn't mean for this to," I stumbled, "to happen. They got hurt. One moment I was here and next I was in the living room and they were both hurt. I know it was me. It has to be." My nervous account meant I had now rubbed blood into hair from anxiously scratching my scalp.
"It has to be?"
"It always is." He watches me, knowing I have more to say. "Bad things happen to people I'm with. There's something wrong with me. I really am a freak."
"You're not a freak," he interrupted.
"I'm not?" I asked slowly.
"You were just scared. Scared and alone."
"I'm with you." I replied softly, rubbing my hands on my jeans, begging the colour to go away. "Who are you?" I asked.
"Hannibal." he said firmly, holding out a gloved hand to me. I took it and he led me to the kitchen where he helped me onto the counter so I could wash my hands. Meanwhile he found a washcloth to carefully wipe the blood from around my mouth. I watched him doing so and found his stoic expression confusing.
"Are you scared of me?" I inquired.
"Should I be?" he responded monotonously, altering the otherwise bemused question so it conveyed no certain emotion. I didn't answer him then, for I knew I did not need to. It was evident why he should fear me but clearly he did not. In fact, it was quite the other way round. I did not know why this man was here or if he had come to take me away yet I was telling him what happened and letting him help me.
"Now, let's get you some clean clothes, then you're coming with me."
"I'm in trouble. This is bad." I admitted, watching the orange and brown tiles beneath my feet.
"No – not at all. In fact, I am proud of you. You were so brave – to stand up to your parents."
"They're not my parents," I told him, scratching my cheek. "They're my Aunt and Uncle. My parents died in a car crash when I was a baby."
"Ah," he murmured, before removing his gloves and stretching a new, dry pair on.
"I killed them." I whispered, watching him.
"Yes. I know."
"Not my parents! My Aunt, and Uncle." He nodded wisely.
"So why aren't you arresting me?" I asked bluntly.
"I'm not from the police." he smiled.
"Then... Where are you from?"
"I'm from a long way from here. I met your Uncle on a business trip once, when I was in the area, and was just coming to pay him another visit."
"Oh.." I whispered, gnawing at my cheek. "I'm so sorry," I began, starting to cry, "I've killed your friend."
"You are jumping to conclusions," he told me, "I was not friends with your Uncle. Honestly, he was quite rude to me."
"I- I didn't just kill them," I stumbled tearfully. "I don't remember what happened... But what I do know is that I found myself sat by the bodies of my aunt and uncle and chewing on something. Chewing!" I nearly shouted this. It was hammering inside me besides the iceberg and the rivers. I looked to Hannibal, expecting him to look horrified. Instead he wore an attentive expression and his eyes seemed dark, pupils wide and black. I whimpered, screwing my face in guilt and feeling utterly disgusting.
"I'm a monster, aren't I…" I whispered, curling my arms into myself. He took my face in his hands and held my attention, stroking the back of my neck in a comforting manner. Then he spoke-
"No. I know what monsters are. You're a victim." He offered an arm to me to help me down and I clung to him, glad to feel someone alive and breathing and warm.
"Do you have something you can change into?" I quickly pushed on a new t-shirt, glad to be rid of the sticky top that had been clinging to my stomach.
"Anything you want to bring?" he asked, looking around my cupboard.
"Am I leaving?" I inquired wobbly.
"You're coming to stay with me for a while, at my house." he replied.
"Umm… just these." I murmured, grabbing the toy knights from my shelf. As I walked out I nearly slipped on a pair of woollen socks on the floor. I picked them up and hugged them to me before looking to the man, ready to leave. He pulled a funny face then offered his hand to me, and we left together. I rubbed my running nose with the socks but he frowned at this so I stopped. With that, we stepped out of Privet Drive.
"Goodbye." I whispered to the house before turning, trying to focus on the shadows of the street and not think about the people in the living room, or about my red, deep red hands. We climbed into a silver car and I couldn't help but stop to feel the smooth, cold leather beneath me. It was like the cooling feeling of placing ice on a hurt, so I held my hands to it, hoping it would have a similar effect.
"Seatbelt on, Harry."
"Mm? Oh, yeah." I stretched up to reach the buckle and pulled it across me; The belt was harsh and pushed a straight line into my neck. As the car pulled away, I was shocked at how smooth it felt – nothing like a rickety journey in the Dursley's car.
"Where are we going?" I asked, trying (but failing) to really see over the bonnet of the car.
"My house. It is a long journey – try and get some rest." I lay against the cold seat and, with everything that had happened, found I was suddenly exhausted.
Hannibal wasn't joking when he said he lived far away for when I woke up again it was bright with morning sunlight… and we were still in the car.
"Are we nearly there yet?" My voice was crackly with sleep and I coughed it clear a bit.
"Not far now," he encouraged, keeping his eyes on the road and allowing a little peak to me to see I was awake. I resorted to watching him drive. It was certain he knew I was staring but he didn't scold me so I remained doing so. His silver hair fell in a few silky strands across the side of his face and he looked like he had been awake for a very long time. In his face were strong cheekbones and I felt my cheeks, hoping to find a similarity in my appearances but I could not. It seemed cheekbones were something I must add to my wish list – I was sure it was something Dudley would be jealous of. If I ever see Dudley again. He was staying at a friend's house the night before… Normally I would say "poor friend, stuck with him for night," but after what has happened I know I should be saying "very lucky Dudley. Safe and sound."
"Ah," I cried, clawing at my face, scratching down and leaving little red lines.
"Harry." Hannibal raised his voice, and I knew he wanted me to stop, so instead I curled them into fists and pushed them into my chest. I was crying heavily, heaving with it, and my mouth and nose were dripping. It felt like every part of me was in pain, and my heart felt heavy and hard like iron within me. My whimpers turned to cries turned to screams.
"Harry, Harry look at me." Hannibal tried but I was so deep in my thoughts that I barely heard him. It was only a few moments later when I felt someone holding me that I realised he was there.
"It's alright, it'll be okay," he told me certainly.
"No it won't." I cried, my throat dry and my collar soaked from crying.
"Shhh…" is what I hear then, again and again until it is the only thing I could hear. That and the sound of cars on the road beside us: An urban lullaby. "Don't worry Harry, I will protect you. You are safe now."
"Thank you," I told him, hugging tightly before letting him walk round to his side of the car and drive again.