Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Chapter 58

The Dangerous Lure of Going Too Far

      Neville was tired of being relegated to the background of every story he was a witness of.

      It was true that he had never wanted to be a hero and never wanted to be a front stage actor. From a young age, he had accepted that, whatever it was that was making sometime impactful, he didn't have an ounce of it in him. Perhaps it was something about the fabric of his core, or perhaps it was a quality of the character that he was missing. In any case, he knew he would be the kind of boy — and then the kind of man — that would always 'just make it'. Quite often he felt like, in the gazes being laid on him, there was always that tepid surprise.

      'He is here too... I wouldn't have bet.' That was what he felt people were thinking about him. Even before his First Year. On the day he had received his letter from Hogwarts, there had been that collective reaction in his family. They hadn't thought he would have reached that far.

      For just as long as he had had that feeling about his life, Neville had been at peace with it. It wasn't as if he had any wild dreams or any grandiose project. He was fine with just being all right. Or so he had thought.

      He still didn't want to be a hero. Still had no interest in being a front stage actor. But he was now realising that his ambition was pallid and weightless in the great scheme of things.

      Neville was now acknowledging that he didn't care so much about what he was, and much more about what he wanted to do. A war was at their door, or so he had been told. And Neville, who had never wanted to become anything, knew for certain there was no world in which he was not a part of that story. He simply cared too much.

      He knew he would not be one of the powerful wands who had joined the castle in the last few days. His grandmother was thrice the warrior he would ever be. He also knew he was no strategist and no leader. They already had plenty of those. But he had stopped using those facts as excuses. He would bring strength to the fight. There was no way around it.

      As soon as the Headmaster's speech had been finished, the day before, Neville had started wondering what he could do. Harry, Ron and Hermione all seemed very busy, always talking among themselves, whispering and throwing glances around. Apparently dealing with matters they didn't want Neville's help on. The teachers were all absorbed by their tasks and so were all the adults Neville knew and who had gathered in the school when the castle had been in need.

      But there was something else Neville had thought he could work on. Something he had been thinking about during the whole year. It was Neville's sincere conviction that he had found a source of potential the school had yet to exploit.

      And he meant by that the Room of Requirement.

      He had discovered that place the year before, when Harry had shown it to them and offered it as a place for the D.A. to train, away from the Ministry's reproving eyes. The D.A. had been dissolved since then. No more training, no more progress, and no more feeling like a part of something bigger. And, he had never hidden it, Neville had missed it very much.

      He had returned there. Often. Maybe a bit too often. He had trained on his own. Had sat down on the steps and had thought. Had remembered. He had also explored the room. Shaping it through his requirements, testing its potential, its limits. And when the Headmaster had talked about a siege, he had thought about that room right away. Wondering what it could bring to their side during that difficult time. And he thought there was indeed a lot it could bring.

      He had wanted to try it on his own, before anything else. He didn't want to make a fool of himself by claiming absurd benefits but now he knew for certain he was onto something, and he needed to share it around.

      That Tuesday morning, on the second day of the siege of Hogwarts and after a night of trial and errors, Neville walked out of the Room of Requirement with the firm intent of being of use to the world.

      His cheerful though grave momentum was promptly interrupted however.

      Indeed, the moment he crossed the threshold and stepped into the corridor of the Seventh Floor, a back suddenly appeared right before him. Out of nowhere, it erected itself as an obstacle on Neville's path and, if Neville was determined, it didn't mean he was dexterous, as those were two very different skills.

      He slammed into the obstacle head first and fell back, stunned by the surprise and the impact. The back in which he had bumped was pushed forward by the abrupt contact but, steadier than Neville, it remained straight and turned around, revealing a well known front.

"Oh, Hannibal!" Neville exclaimed, rubbing his nose. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you at all."

"That is quite alright Neville. No harm done."

"You appeared from nowhere. I could have sworn the corridor was empty a second ago."

      Hannibal, who was one of the only students who still bothered to wear the Hogwarts uniform, looked around for a second, detailing the direction from which Neville was coming from. Which had to be the direction Hannibal was coming from as well, as both boys had had their back at the same portion of wall.

"Are you coming from the Room of Requirement?" Hannibal asked, looking at the stones which, a second ago, had been a door.

"Uh, yes, actually. And you?"

"I was there as well."

"You were in the Room of Requirement?... I didn't see you there. I spent the night there and I didn't see anyone at all."

      Neville hadn't needed a big space for his attempts and he had kept the room reasonably small. He would have seen it if there had been anyone in the corner. Not that Hannibal would ever have any reason to hide anyway.

"Perhaps our requirements brought us to different rooms," Hannibal stated. "I didn't see you either."

"Oh, you must be right. I'm guessing, if we're not asking the same thing, we're not given the same room... Fascinating! Do you believe we are in the same place but we don't see each other or do you think we're not close to each other at all and..."

      Neville forced his mouth shut. There was a non-negligible chance that Hannibal had absolutely no desire to talk about the magical theory behind Hogwarts architecture, and that Neville's questions were just annoying him.

      And Hannibal looked somewhat tired also.

"Sorry," he sheepishly smiled. "I don't want to bother you."

"You are not bothering anyone, Neville. Do not apologise."

"It's just that this room is fascinating, don't you think?" he exclaimed.

      Oh, he was doing it again. He really needed to tune down his enthusiasm.

"It is," Hannibal answered, polite but clearly not as ecstatic about it as Neville was being. "Now, it is a worthy topic of conversation, that is for certain, but sadly, I need to go to the Great Hall for breakfast."

"Yeah me too. I mean, not for breakfast but I hope I'm gonna be able to find Professor McGonagall maybe. Or any teacher at all."

      Heading towards the same direction, the two boys naturally turned around and began to make their way toward the great staircase.

"What were you doing in this room, by the way?" Neville asked as they were passing by a series of empty frames. "Are you training there?"

      If so, Neville wanted to train with him. It was never too late to learn a couple of useful hexes.

"Not training, no. I have found a very lovely cabinet there. I am working on repairing it."

"A... cabinet? Why are you interested in it?"

"I like its aspect."

"Oh... I see."

      Hannibal had always had a strange sense of priority and urgency. It was just like him to care about furniture on the verge of war.

"What about you?" Hannibal asked. "You said you spent the night there. Not so fond of dormitories anymore?"

"Nothing to do with that. I was doing some tests and I got caught up with what I was doing. Didn't see the time fly by."

      Right now, he was carried by the energy of enthusiasm, eager that he was to share what he had found. But he knew that, once the information would be shared and trusted into other, more capable hands, he would crumble from exhaustion.

      Would it bring forth a specific feeling to go to bed with the knowledge of having accomplished something? It had to. Neville couldn't wait to find out how it would feel for him.

"What kind of test kept you so thoroughly entertained? Working on new spells that require some isolated space?"

"Not really, no. But I'm working with a new type of magic."

      They had reached the staircase and Neville caught Hannibal's glance, as the Hufflepuff boy was obviously made curious by those words.

"Do you want me to tell you about it?" Neville asked.

      It was no secret. He wanted his findings to be known and learned from. It was for all of them to use.

"Please, do," Hannibal answered. "I am always interested in new types of magic. What is this one made of?"

"Well..."

      Neville had no idea. He knew about the uses and the working, not the fabric. But Hannibal was not truly asking what the magic was made of , was he? It was made of whatever it was that was the making of magic.

"I don't really know that but it is not what matters."

"No?"

"No. It is what it does that should interest us."

"I will try — and manage, I am sure — to bring my interest there. What does it do?"

      That, Neville could answer.

"So, if you want the whole story..." and he did not ask whether or not Hannibal wanted it but surely he did so Neville gave it away, "... this year, I've spent a lot of time in the Room of Requirement. At first, I wanted to practise the spells Harry taught us last year. I didn't want to lose the habit. But, you know, it can be hard to train on your own and I got distracted. I started to wonder about the room. It gives us what we require, right?"

      Neville marked a moment of silence, to allow Hannibal to answer. Hannibal didn't do so for a few steps, simply looking at Neville but, when it became obvious his input was expected:

"Right," he placidly said.

      Not yet excited. But it would come.

"So, I started wondering... what if we have more complex requirements, you know? We need space, it gives us space. That's one thing. We need dummies, mats and the likes, it gives us that as well. That's another thing already. Just how far can it go? Have you ever wondered?"

"No. I do not have many requirements. So? How far can it go?"

      Neville's smile couldn't be contained anymore

"Pretty far, it turns out! So, first, I thought of objects. I required expensive items, rare artefacts, that kind of thing. Just like that, without trying, do you believe it would work?"

      Hannibal thought about it for less than a second.

"My assumption would be that it can recreate every non-sentient, non-edible object that would not be unique. As long as it remains contained within the room that is."

      Neville tried to hide his disappointment at Hannibal's accurate answer. It had taken him... a little more than half a second to figure that out.

"Uh... Yes. You're right actually. It can create a lot of stuff, like very powerful racing brooms or even rare objects you can't even find on Diagon Alley. But not everything. I took a book from the History of Magic section of the Library, about powerful objects through the centuries. I wanted to try. I could create a lot of them but nothing that only existed in a too limited amount. And no food. How did you figure that one out?"

"Transfiguration, limits, that kind of matter. Where did you go from there?"

      They were walking down the stairs. It was an odd thing to see all those liveless frames around. Hogwarts corridors seemed worryingly empty. It was only now that one could realise how crowded that area of the castle usually was, actually. Always hundreds of eyes to watch and hundreds of ears to listen.

      Now, Neville was alone with Hannibal.

      Not that he noticed, enthusiastic that he was about the conversation.

      And even if he had noticed. What would that have changed?

"I was very happy with everything I could conjure and I thought we could use that. Always helpful to have artefacts like that. But, as you said, it turns out we cannot take them out of the room. So it greatly limits what we can do. Of course, we could use that if we were to bring the fight into the Room of Requirement but then the enemies would be able to use it as well. So, not that much of an advantage anymore."

"Unfortunately, not indeed."

      And then they were reaching the best part.

"But I thought: surely I can do other things. So, tonight, I tried giving more complex precisions. I already knew it could do a lot. Like how we can ask it to hide us. I thought we could use it to keep the younger ones safe if we are attacked. But it can do so much more, Hannibal. You have no idea. Did you know, for example, that we can ask for the exit door to lead to the Dungeon instead of the Seventh Floor?"

      This time, Hannibal seemed sincerely surprised. Yes, surprise looked moderate and nearly even polite on his features but, compared to his usual reactions or lack thereof, it was quite noticeable. Neville was galvanised by that expression.

"Yes! Or the Astronomy tower. Or even the Quidditch pitch! And that's when I had the idea... I required for the Room to create an exit that would lead outside of Hogwarts. It created a tunnel, I took it and after a few minutes of walking, guess where I was?"

      Hannibal waited for the answer.

"Hogsmeade."

      And that was what Neville had spent his night figuring out. That was what he was now running — or walking — to tell McGonagall about. There was a siege no more.

      Hannibal stopped in his tracks.

      Finally, truly surprised.

"You went to Hogsmeade."

"Yes!"

"Tonight."

"Yes!!" Neville was no longer able to control his excitement. "And I can go back! Whenever I want!"

      Hannibal was not resuming their walk.

"I didn't stay there," Neville admitted. "Didn't even venture. I don't know where the Death Eaters are and I don't want to appear in the middle of their ranks. But yes, I was at Hogsmeade. I could have walked to the train station. We have a way out!"

      Neville knew the plan was not to desert the castle. But surely it was an advantage that could be used. They could send the children — he meant the younger children — away. They could get allies in or attack the Death Eaters on both sides.

      There was so much it could do! It had the potential of deciding how that whole war would end.

      That was what Neville could bring to his side of the conflict.

"What do you think?" he asked Hannibal.

      He didn't want praise or even acknowledgement. But Hannibal would be the first person who would get to be excited about it with him.

      Hannibal didn't get excited.

      Had Neville ever seen him excited, as a matter of fact? Perhaps it was a feature of his personality. But even compared to his usual, extremely calm standards, Hannibal was quite reactionless. The surprise having died down, there was not much happening on his face at all.

      Hannibal was thinking. Neville could say so from here. The Hufflepuff boy was deep into his wonderings. Certainly slowly realising all the ramifications of Neville's finding.

      Neville gave him all the needed time to understand what needed to be.

"That changes... some things," Hannibal said after a moment. "It has a lot of potential."

"I thought so too."

      Hannibal brought his hand to his face and, with the tip of his fingers, he began to rub the skin of his forehead and on the bridge of his nose. It looked like he was trying to dissipate the tiredness embedded there.

      When he straightened up and looked at Neville again, nothing of it had changed.

"I wished I could have a slow day but who loves those?"

"I am on my way to tell McGonagall about it."

"Yes. I suppose you are. Would you, however, lend me a few minutes of your time, while we are both here. I will give them back to you. There is something I would like to show you and tell you about."

"Uh, yes. Of course, you have all my attention. What is it?"

"Please, come with me. It is not far."

      And it was not far indeed.

      Leaving the empty staircase, Hannibal turned toward one of the doors leading to the fourth floor, on the level of which they had suddenly stopped. Hannibal walked up a few corridors leading to the east wing, then, at some point, he walked into a classroom that Neville didn't know but which still appeared to be in use. Rune Study, apparently, if the writings on the blackboard were anything to go buy.

"Yes, I remembered the light was good," Hannibal commented, looking at the bright sun outside.

      Still low on the horizon, it was not yet hidden by the rain of curses. The light was strange however. Dulled in a way. Having to cross all the layers of defensive charms, it had lost a lot of its shine.

      Hannibal walked to one of the windows and turned around. He opened his palm and conjured there what seemed to be a small sun. Not a ball of blinding light, no. Just a little yellow orb that, resting on a conjured napkin, looked like a stylized version of the celestial body.

"What is it?" Neville asked.

"A piece of candy. For you. I made it myself."

      Neville frowned, but he still joined Hannibal where he was now leaning against the windowsill, his hand stretched before him, his palm offered and welcoming.

"Uh... What for? I mean thanks, but..."

"Simply to thank you for indulging me and following me here."

      That was a little strange.

      But Hannibal was a little strange.

"You don't have to thank me for that. If you want to show me or tell me something, I'll always come with you and listen. But... thank you."

      He took the candy from Hannibal's hand. It tasted good and was quickly melting on the tongue. He knew Hannibal made butterbeers and entire meals to make his way into people's hearts. Neville hoped the boy didn't believe it was needed with him.

"Why did you want me to come here?"

      Hannibal, looking over his shoulders, had his eyes on the sun. He detailed it for a moment and, after some time, he raised his hand before him. Magic left his palm and, quickly, something changed in the room.

      Or perhaps outside of it.

      The sun that, from Neville's perspective, was right behind Hannibal, began to shine brighter. Its light poured into the room, bathing it in a golden glow.

      Neville immediately squinted, his eyes too sensitive for this bright light.

      Hannibal had not moved and he was now a black silhouette superimposed on the vivid background of sunlight.

"What are you doing?" Neville asked, his eyes tearing.

      He tried to bring his forearm before his face to offer some shadow to his gaze, but he felt Hannibal's warm hand on his wrist. Gently holding it down.

"We need to have a word," Hannibal said. "About that wonderful finding of yours."

      Neville was willing to have all the words Hannibal wanted. But what with the light?

      The moment he was having that thought however, the light became dimmer. Tamer and more natural.

      The room was back to what it had been a second ago.

"What was that about?"

"What was what?"

"The light and... and..."

      Hannibal had raised his hand and the sun…

      But Hannibal's hand wasn't raised. Neither his left nor his right. None of them were. And none of them were on Neville's wrist. They were by Hannibal's sides. Exactly as they had been a moment ago. They had not moved.

      Then what was it all about? Why had it looked like the sun had suddenly…

"You do not plan on sharing that piece of information with Professor McGonagall."

"Hannibal, that was very weird, I saw..."

      And it started again. Much more abruptly, much more painfully, the light was back. This time not a glow but a flash. Stunning Neville's thoughts in the middle of their process.

      There was a second one.

      And a third.

      No…

      No, there wasn't.

      Neville could have sworn there had been but now it was gone, and nothing in the room had changed.

      What in Merlin's name was that?

      Just his imagination.

      It was a very clear, very deeply rooted thought, on the back of his mind, that was saying those words.

      Just his imagination.

"This is a finding better kept to yourself for now," Hannibal was saying.

      One sentence out of a flow of them.

      Hannibal had been talking and Neville had not listened, distracted that he was by... by what actually?

"Sorry, I missed that. Can you repeat?"

      Hannibal repeated. Or so Neville guessed. But he couldn't hear a word.

      His thoughts were so loud. So numerous. All over the place and yet none were where he wanted them to be. They were a constant noise of random wonderings.

      But he knew Hannibal was talking. For, sometimes, the words his friend was saying and the words Neville was thinking would match and collide. Superimpose on one another. But, as soon as the two words would echo with one another, they would both fade away, Neville unable to tell what Hannibal had said and what he had thought.

      But Hannibal was speaking. For his lips were moving. His lips... His face... There was something wrong. No. Nothing wrong. Everything was right. Everything was normal.

      It was normal that, from time to time, Hannibal's face would turn black, covered in shadow. It was normal that it would flicker as if a source of light right behind him was flickering as well.

      All a trick of Neville's imagination.

      Perfectly normal.

      Neville had to focus on what Hannibal was saying. He was so terribly distracted, with all those thoughts pushing each other around under his skull. But he had to focus. He didn't want his friend to believe he was not listening. Worse, to believe that he didn't care.

      So Neville forced himself to keep his eyes on Hannibal's. To look with intensity, unwavering. To not blink. He wanted to convey the care and intention he wished he could have.

      Hannibal needed to think Neville was listening.

      He couldn't look away.

      His eyes were tearing under a light that was not here.

      He really couldn't look away.

      His head was on fire, something was breaking inside, but he had to look .

"Neville? Is everything alright?"

      Neville blinked.

      Several times.

"Yes. Why wouldn't it be?"

      Now, that was weird.

      Had he just fallen asleep?

"Yes. Why wouldn't everything be alright indeed?"

      Merlin, Neville had really lost himself far into his thoughts.

      He had missed everything Hannibal had said.

      He looked around, slightly confused. Nothing was out of the ordinary. It was all as it had been, a second ago, when Neville had entered the room and had been given a nice treat by a good friend.

"Why did you want to come here?" Neville asked.

      Was there anything of interest in this classroom? If so, Neville couldn't spot it. It was just a classroom. Like every other.

"I simply wanted to take some time out of our day to breathe some air and get some light," Hannibal said. "It is important, Neville."

      Neville smiled. It was just like Hannibal.

"You are really not worried about anything," he said. "I used to hate it when it was about the exams but now... It's really reassuring to have you by our side, Hannibal."

"I am glad if I can bring any comfort at all. Where do you plan on going now?"

"In the Great Hall."

"What for?"

      Oh…

"For breakfast."

      He was not hungry, but for what other reason would he want to go to the Great Hall.

"About the Room of Requirement," Hannibal said.

      Neville winced, ill at ease. There was a latent headache toward the back of his skull.

"Yes. Uh... I don't really want to talk about it again."

      Was it rude? Probably.

"Sorry. It is simply... I feel like it would be best to keep it to yourself, if you know what I mean."

      Why had he said it to Hannibal in the first place? It was a secret.

"Of course. I won't say a word."

      Relieved, Neville nodded. Hannibal always understood.

"Did you have anything else to do here?" he asked.

"No. We may go."

      Hannibal walked away from the window. And Neville immediately noticed that there was something wrong.

      He had not noticed it before because, facing the rising sun, Hannibal was shrouded in shadows but, as he walked away from the direct light, Neville could have a better look at him.

      Hannibal was livid. His features drawn, his eyes hollow, he seemed worryingly exhausted. Big purple circles were underlining his eyes, and his breathing sounded laborious. Though quiet, his chest was rising and falling rapidly. His lips appeared darker from the lack of air and the extreme paleness of the rest of the face.

"Hannibal? Are you alright?"

"Yes. Perfectly."

"You don't seem like you are. At all."

      Passing by him, Hannibal squeezed his forearm, reassuringly.

"Your mindfulness is moving Neville. But I assure you, there is absolutely nothing for you to worry about. Everything is fine. Let's resume our morning."

      Neville thought there were many worrying things but, as Hannibal was telling him that everything was fine, that conviction grew in his mind. Echoing something in the depth of his brain.

Yes. Everything was fine.

      Reassured, he followed Hannibal outside of the classroom.

      It was a beautiful morning. Neville wondered what he would do with it.

      Yes, there were the constant attacks. And the threat of war. There was the imminence of extreme violence. But the sun was bright and everything was fine.

      Perhaps he could spend some time in the greenhouses today. He didn't know if Professor Sprout had much time to dedicate to their inhabitants lately. He could alleviate the teacher's load by taking care of the most sensitive plants there. Yes, it was a good way of helping the school, Neville thought. He would go there this morning.

"Hannibal, what do you plan on doing today?" he asked, as he and his friend were walking down the stairs to get to the ground floor, for what they hoped would be a solid breakfast. "There are so many possibilities, now that the classes are cancelled."

      Neville didn't get an answer. Simply silence. Frowning, he looked on his left. Had he not been heard?

      Hannibal was still by his side. His eyes fixed before him.

      He was really pale.

"Hannibal, are you alright?"

      The question, asked for the second time, was unpleasant on Neville's tongue. There was no need to ask it in the first place. He knew the answer.

      Everything was fine.

"Hannibal?"

      Hannibal didn't answer.

      He closed his eyes.

      Then, slowly, so slowly it seemed nothing short of a caricature, his legs gave up on him.

      Hannibal collapsed.

      And, as everything was alright, Neville did nothing to stop his fall down the stairs.

      Will didn't run to the infirmary.

      He walked to it, peacefully.

      He couldn't afford to let his thoughts and feelings be known. They had entered the stage where weaknesses couldn't be acknowledged anymore.

      Thus he didn't run. He kept his worry and his anger to himself. When the Gryffindor Head Girl had come to inform him about what had happened, he hadn't reacted to the news. He had simply put down his fork and had walked out of the Great Hall in silence.

      He had warned Hannibal. Again and again. But his stupid, infuriatingly arrogant boyfriend just couldn't stop himself. He always needed more. Hannibal was fundamentally opposed to the concept of having limits and it was endangering everything.

      Will promised himself that he would make this 'I told you so' the most painful and passively aggressive one that had ever been said by a human mouth.

      Once before the doors of the infirmary, he took a second to close his eyes and breathe.

      He could easily manage his anger and frustration. His worry, however... Hannibal, who was foreign to that concept, had no tool that Will could copy in order to handle it. He just had to sit with his own anxiety and curse Hannibal's boundless ego for them.

      Everything would be fine.

      It was Hannibal. It was Will. They were not in danger. They were the danger.

      With that conviction well in mind, Will opened the door.

      He guessed which bed was Hannibal's right away, from the faces gathered around. It would seem he had been the only one not to rush to the kind Hufflepuff's bedside. Harry, Ron and Hermione were already here, along with Neville, Ernie and Hannah.

      Once they heard Will’s footsteps, the visitors all turned around in his direction and, noticing him, those of them who were between him and his boyfriend stepped aside to give him access to the bed.

      Hannibal was lying there.

      Which, in itself, was not a sight Will was finding unsettling. He had often watched Hannibal sleep. He was always baffled that someone so omniscient, so constantly aware, could sleep seemingly so soundly.

      This time was no different. Hannibal was lost to a deep unconsciousness.

      Though, as he was getting closer, Will could sense a feeling grow, and it was an unsettled one indeed. The kind that he had never gotten, when watching over Hannibal's rest.

      It was not something he could spot or name. Simply something he somehow knew. Hannibal's unconsciousness was not purposeful. Even less so deliberate.

      And seeing something that was outside of Hannibal's control was fundamentally disquieting. For fundamentally illogical.

      Will reached the bed.

      Hannibal's face was a painful contrast of colours, between stagnating blood and lack thereof. Blue and purple ecchymosis were bruising the left side of his face while the right side was livid, its whiteness nearly cadaveric. He didn't seem feverish or otherwise agitated, but his breath was short and quick, especially so to an ear as used to its depth as Will's.

      Will extended his hand and rested it on Hannibal's bruised cheek, feeling the warmth of the blood trapped underneath the skin.

"He passed out while walking down the stairs," Neville told him. "It was an impressive fall, but Madam Pomfrey says there is nothing broken."

"He just needs a lot of rest," Hannah added, trying her best to be reassuring. "Apparently, it is an overexertion."

"Do you think it is the N.E.W.Ts?" Ron asked. "I mean, 'Nastily Exhausting' is in the name."

"He never got any true rest after them," Hermione said.

      Without being prompted, Ernie stood up from the chair by Hannibal's bedside to let Will have it. Will gestured for him to keep it but the Hufflepuff prefect insisted, stepping away to leave him more space.

      Will sat down on the chair. Naturally, without having to think about it, Will's hand found Hannibal's forearm that he squeezed softly.

      He was a bit annoyed at himself for loving such a frustrating being.

"I should have offered my help," Hannah said, mostly to herself.

"Your help for what?"

"I don't know. Anything. I didn't care enough. I should have noticed he was unwell."

"You cared enough," Will said tiredly. "He would have politely refused your help. Trust me, if he had wanted to rest, he would have found a way to do it."

      The problem was not rest. Finding them beautiful, Hannibal always admitted his exhaustion and eventual pains. He was not one of those to hide them away, like nearly everyone else currently around Will would.

      No, Hannibal's problem was that he was absolutely useless at resisting lures. If there was something of interest or with any potential of entertainment, of course Hannibal would go for it. Will was willing to believe Hannibal had pictured an act of magic that would be amusing or meaningful to perform, had realised that it would push him over the edge, but had been fully unable to resist the urge.

      And to think Hannibal believed himself to be a being deprived of any pattern and thoroughly unpredictable.

      They were incredibly lucky that Dumbledore couldn't morally afford to create the kind of bait that would hook his attention. Otherwise, they would have lost the war two years ago, before even starting it and in a rather pathetic fashion.

"What was he doing?" Will asked. "When he passed out."

      What manner of entertainment had pushed him down the stairs?

"Nothing in particular," Neville answered. "We were just heading towards the Great Hall."

      Will doubted nothing had been happening. If he were to interrogate Neville, about where they had been exactly as well as the topic of conversation, he was confident he could figure out what act of magic may have been performed by his boyfriend. But he didn't think it was a good idea. If it was something Hannibal had hidden, he didn't want to bring anyone's focus on it. He would ask Hannibal when he would be back.

"Must be the N.E.W.Ts," Will concluded.

"And I thought the O.W.Ls were already an ordeal," Ernie said, nearly as pale as Hannibal. "Do you know if anyone ever died from the N.E.W.Ts?"

"Hannibal is not dead!" Hannah exclaimed.

"No. But Hannibal is not like us. What about normal wizards?"

"I survived," Will pointed out. "You will be fine."

      Before Ernie could do what he was doing best — which was to say pour over them his endless academic anxiety — Madam Pomfrey, visibly in a rush as well as in a very bad mood, burst out of her office.

      Dishevelled and with dark circles to match Hannibal's, her apron was covered in all kinds of stains. From the suddenly opened door, thick volutes of dark, smelly vapours were following her. With the conflict upon them, Madam Pomfrey was certainly busy brewing draughts after draughts. All her many cauldrons had to be boiling to create that dense a smoke, Will thought.

"Enough with all the babbling," she said, having no time for anything beyond working and indulging her bad mood. "My patients need some peace and a lot of rest!"

      There was no other patient but Hannibal, but the overworked Healer was in no state to realise that. Or perhaps, she was putting on the behalf of the empty beds her own obviously desperate needs.

"Out, all of you."

"But... our friend..." Hannah tried.

"I am limiting visits," Madam Pomfrey said, frankly annoyed by their peaceful conversation. "No more than one or two of you at once and only if you are able to remain quiet ."

      Without consulting each other, everyone naturally reached the conclusion that Will was the one who was meant to stay and, without a word but with matching sulking expressions, they all began to walk away, leaving the infirmary.

      Only Hermione remained behind a bit longer.

"Will," she whispered, glancing at the door behind which Madam Pomfrey had disappeared again.

"Yes?"

"May I stay for a bit?"

      Will nodded and Hermione walked around the bed to sit down on the chair on the other side, facing Will. Then, once seated, she took her wand out and cast a spell. She didn't use any word to accompany her flick but Will immediately recognized the effect of a silence spell.

"She heard a vague whisper and she decided to get angry," Hermione said, glancing one more time at the door leading to Madam Pomfrey's office. "I know it is a stressful time but taking it out on others doesn't make anything easier."

      She put her wand back in the ample pocket of her robe.

"Now, we can speak without bothering her," she concluded.

"Your nonverbal magic is remarkable," Will told her, impressed by the ease and power of her spell. "You must have worked hard on it."

"Thank you," she said. "I did, yes."

      She didn't blush at his compliment. She didn't grow soft at the mere idea that someone could notice her effort and skill.

      She had grown a lot since last year. Will was happy for her.

“I hope Hannibal will be able to get some rest.”

      She was still talking quietly, despite the silencing spell, mindful that she was of her friend’s sleep.

“He has no other choice now,” Will pointed out.

“That is a way to look at it…”

      She waited a few seconds before continuing on a fully different topic. 

"I wished to talk to you about that, actually," she said. “Not rest, about what you said after my silencing charm.”

"About nonverbal magic?"

      Will was not that good with it. At least not for conventional spells.

"No, about work. But..."

      She glanced at Hannibal, biting her lips.

"Now is not really the best time," she said. "I am sorry, Will. It is unfair to bother you with this when..."

"It is perfectly alright Hermione. Hannibal will be fine, I am not worried."

      He was worried. But not about matters he could share with Hermione.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"I simply... I followed your advice, you know? About growing my strengths."

"You told me, yes. With Lady Murasaki. But then, you didn't speak about it anymore and I thought you may not want to share it all that much."

"It is... It feels special, you know? Truly special. Harry, Ron and you two are my best friends but, what I have with the girls,... I don't know. It feels like such a strange experience and I know it is something precious."

"Bonds often are, for better or worse."

      It was a very general, very noncommittal common place that Will didn't need any creativity to come up with.

"I didn't want to keep it a secret..."

"... You just wanted to keep it intimate. That's fine, Hermione. I really don't mind. It wouldn't even be my place to mind. And neither would it be Ron's or Harry's."

"Yes, I don't feel guilty for anything. But we continued to train. Through the year. We learned a lot about magic and we can do things I wouldn't have believed were possible for us. The other day, Parvati made tears blossom into flowers and Ginny conjured confusion into their scent. We can do beautiful magic, you would be impressed."

      Even though she had gained in pride, Hermione was not one to boast, Will knew this about her. He had no doubt that she was not lying but, beyond that, he was guessing she had a reason to be telling him that.

"Through the year, I nearly forgot why I was even doing that. It was just... fun, do you know what I mean? Just fun to gather. It nearly feels like we can do more powerful magic when we are all together, trying around, and it was simply a very nice time every single time. But now, with everything that is happening... I guess reality was always around the corner."

      Hermione toyed with a corner of the blanket before her for a few seconds, time for her to gather her thoughts. Will could tell — and feel — that the topic Hermione was now talking about, her studies and practice with the other witches, was something dear to her, bringing forth a lot of emotions. And even though they were all very positive, it didn't mean they were much easier to share or to organise behind a logical conversation than the regular negative ones. And disorganised logic was a foreign concept to Hermione.

"The thing is, we worked so hard. And we came so far. For that moment. Now is the time where we are supposed to use everything we have learned during the year."

"Yes, I think this is true for everyone. The upcoming days will be our time to put our best and strongest self forth."

"How can I use that? How can what we've done make a true difference? That is what I am thinking about a lot lately. I feel like we have a lot to bring, but I don't know how to bring it."

"Well... during the final battle would seem like a good time. We will need every bit of power we can get."

"Yes. I am guessing you're right..."

      Hermione didn't need Will to tell her that. It was obvious to absolutely everyone in and around the castle.

      It was not what Hermione was truly wondering about.

"What is it, Hermione?"

"What do you mean, what is it?"

"You know well when it will come to a use. You're not wondering about that, are you?"

      Hermione bit her lips. She was not.

"It is not so much the ‘when’ that is puzzling me," she admitted.

"It is the ‘how’," Will effortlessly finished for her.

      She slowly nodded, without a word. Not certain her thoughts were the kind that could be voiced.

"There is a lot that we can do," she said again. "But, often, it is hard to know what is right to do. When it is just us, there are no consequences, no one is hurt. And thus, it never feels as... impactful as it really is."

"Impactful?"

      Hermione appeared to find it impactful enough, if what she had just said to Will was anything to go by.

"You mean dark."

      Will was not asking. He was letting her know.

"We are not doing anything like what the Death Eaters and Voldemort are doing!" she exclaimed, defensive despite herself. "Not since..."

"Not since?"

"Well. I told you about the Acromantula already. It was either that or death. But then, when we came together again, after the events, we realised that none regretted what had happened. We wished it could have gone any other way but none of us thought that it would have been better if... if we hadn't relied on bad magic."

      She had hesitated for a split second before using 'we' as the caster of that supposedly bad magic. Listening to her carefully, Will didn't believe that everyone in that 'we' had used any forbidden spell. But they apparently all felt united behind the action. They were one in that way.

"We continued to gather and to train after that. And we learned a lot about forms of magic that would be frowned upon. And, most of it, I would never want to use it. But some other parts... It is not so much that I like that magic. I actually prefer most lighthearted rituals and spells. But I keep wondering..."

      Will waited for her to get her question out of her thoughts. He knew it already but Hermione could use their sound in her ears rather than on her mind.

"Lady Murasaki said that dark magic depends on our own values and that we have to develop them on our own. And, with time, I found out that what seemed dark to me was everything that was hurting people. It may sound simplistic, and perhaps there are more complex layers to it, but I don't mind using spells that don't hurt anyone, even if they are forbidden. But there is one problem with that."

      She was still toying with the corner of Hannibal's blanket, her eyes on her fidgeting fingers.

"What if not using a hurtful spell ends up hurting more people?"

"Which is what happened with the Acromantula isn't it? If you hadn't done it, there would have been more painful consequences."

"More painful to us. Not more painful to Mosag."

      It took Will a second to remember that Mosag was the name but ultimately, Hermione didn't dwell on that matter.

"That is the thing. We will be in the middle of a battle. There will be death on both sides. And we are fighting for the rest of the country as well, for, Hogwarts taken, nothing will stop Voldemort. It will happen. There is no way around it. I will be faced with that choice. If, at one point, I have to decide between killing someone or letting them kill a friend... what am I supposed to do?"

      Will didn't believe that it was a choice for most people. Having thoughts clearer than their instinct was a rare feature in humankind.

"What do you want to do?" he asked, as he would not make that choice for her, nor did he want to influence it one way or another.

      Puppeteering was Hannibal's hobby. Will was only an occasional practitioner.

"I don't want to do anything. I don't want to fight a war either, yet here we are. I don't want to kill, but I don't believe I will feel any less guilty if someone else is killed when I could have prevented it. I... I still dream about Luna, sometimes. Even more so since the attack on the Ministry."

      Hermione had seen from up close what arriving too late felt like. Acting too late was every bit as bad.

"Ultimately, in battle, you will often be defending yourself," he pointed out. "Most would acknowledge that this is natural to fight back then."

"Except that, I and the other girls have reached a bit further than 'defending ourselves'. We have trained for it, learned magic for it. It doesn't feel like such an instinctive reflex of survival when you have worked on it thrice a week for months."

"No, indeed, I’m guessing."

      Will couldn't offer much. He knew why Hermione was asking him and not any closer friend. From all the friends she had around here, he seemed to be the only one able to accommodate complex morality. Hermione still believed he was a good person. And that alone, the idea that a good person could also have practised dark and powerful magic, was opening new horizons of conscience for her.

      But Will was pretty certain that Hermione would never be able to sit comfortably in his seat. She had a stronger, straighter backbone than he.

"If, in the final battle, there is something that I can do that would make a difference, a true difference, do you think it will be worse to do it or to not do it?" she asked.

      And it was the heart of what she had been wondering about for, Will guessed, quite some time now.

"As often with that kind of question, it depends. On a lot of things. None of which can be predicted."

"Yes. I thought as much."

      She had wished for a clear answer but had not expected it. She was too clever for that.

"However, I think it is important for you to know exactly what you are willing to lose," Will added. "Perhaps it is a conversation to have with the other witches with whom you're learning. It will be better for everyone if, before the battle, you are all aware of what is worth what sacrifice. It will not prevent remorses but it may help with regrets."

      Hermione finally let go of the blanket and, with a sigh, she rubbed her tired eyes.

"You are right," she said. "We will soon meet again, and we will talk. We have always meant this to be something serious. It is time we decide exactly what we want to do with it."

      She stood up.

"Thank you. For having listened to me."

      All the conclusions she had reached with him, she could have gotten there on her own. But hearing them out of her skull had undeniably helped her give them the strength they deserved.

"Don't thank me. It is not a chore than to listen to you."

"And, for Hannibal..."

"He will be alright. Now, off you go."

      Will needed to be alone with his idiotic boyfriend.

      Hermione hesitated a fraction of second but Will gently shooed her away, insisting once more that not only Hannibal would be fine but that her presence by his side wouldn't bring much to him anyway.

Hermione accepted his argument and, with one last thank, she exited the infirmary, mindlessly dispelling her charm with a gesture of her hand and leaving Will alone with Hannibal.

      Well.

      Time to dwell.

      He needed a word with Hannibal.

      He closed his eyes.

      And he took a long breath.

      A façade.

      A façade of…

      A f…

      The access was not the easiest.

      Will had dwelled on sleepers before, but Hannibal's mind was more distant still than a sleeping one. Quieter.

      Will focused, putting his whole effort.

      A façade.

      A gothic one.

      The image was getting clearer in his mind.

      He just needed some more effort.

      A cathedral standing alone in the middle of empty lands.

      Hannibal's mind, with its towers, its spires, its pointed arches and its stone traceries.

      A renaissance core around which a fanciful gothic aesthetic has been built for the sake of many whims.

      Will knows that cathedral and its altar well. By heart even, quite literally.

      By soul.

      But something is different.

      Something is wrong.

      No lights seeping from the door gaps, no glow behind the windows.

      No bells chiming and no vague hymn echoing in between its walls.

      The cathedral is closed. Its cult on halt.

      Will doesn't need to knock.

      He has no self.

      No lock and no wall can stop him. 

      He crosses the door without opening it.

      On the other side, the familiar hall.

      Not familiar, no.

      Eerily foreign.

      All the candles have been blown.

      There is no draft running from one alcove to the next.

      No life in the cathedral's belly can be guessed from its entrance hall.

      Everything is frozen. In suspension.

      The dust is in the air, not falling down nor flying up.

      The shadows have stopped moving, their bodies twisted in the middle of their contortion.

      Nothing is moving. Nothing is living.

      There is no point.

      The hall is empty.

      The ruling spirit has retreated deeper under the ground.

      Will tries to reach for Hannibal.

      For a moment, he fears to find him in the cave.

      He knows it is somewhere Hannibal cannot safely go. Let alone retreat.

      He uses his fear as his trusted compass and floats through the walls, from frozen room to frozen room, toward the recoiled trace of life.

      The corridors are silent.

      The whistling steam of trains of thoughts cannot be heard in the distance anymore.

      Nothing travelling from one station to the next.

      Will's disquieted fear dissolves when he arrives where he needs to be however.

      A door, and a beam of light falling from its keyhole.

      In front of it, Hannibal's golems, ordered in a neat row.

      They are not moving, but they are breathing.

      Guarding.

      Not against Will however, and he crosses the door.

      It is not the cellar. Nothing that mould has affected.

      Hannibal has been purposeful with his retreat.

      Clever with his last run.

      Will now stands in Hannibal's gallery of spells.

      His own private museum where all his ongoing curses are proudly displayed on the walls.

      He has a frame of mindfulness for each of them.

      Some portions of the walls are burned, from violently dispelled or broken charms. Some others offer to the sight landscapes drawn with faded paint, all the colours made dull and pallid by the lack of care and interest.

      Will recognizes some of the pieces.

      The glass moon and stars now broken but still revolving.

      Tobias talking of travels and disappearances.

      There are more than he doesn't know though he can guess them.

      He finds a portrait of Narcissa Malfoy, her head within her hands, as black mist seeps out of her.

      Neville staring at the sun, in fresh, wet paint.

      What he doesn't find is Hannibal himself.

      Or, more exactly, he doesn't find enough of him.

      Hannibal is everywhere.

      In the light.

      In the paint.

      In the magic feeding the curses and the laughing muse inspiring them.

      But, greatly weakened, he has decided to put every crumb of his power and will in the feeding of his web of spells.

      Hannibal doesn't think anymore.

      Hannibal doesn't perceive.

      He cannot talk to Will nor can he listen.

      Hannibal is estivating.

      And will be until he has enough power to reconquer the rest of the cathedral.

      Until then, no whistling train and no plot weaving

      Will is on his own for now.

      With the myriad of enemies Hannibal has brought to their door.

      Fuck.

      Back to himself, Will brought his head between his hands.

      He wished it could be throbbing with instincts and emotions but it was not. It was empty.

      The only reason why he didn't curse aloud was that it would do nothing to improve his situation.

      He had told Hannibal not to weaken now.

      He had told him they needed to remain together.

      But Hannibal hadn't resisted the lure. Will had the feeling that, if their downfall could have been foretold from the start, this fatal flaw would have been mentioned.

      He sighed, trying to formulate some beginning of thoughts.

      There was no point in blaming Hannibal for now. He needed to remain focused and efficient.

      What would Hannibal do next, if he could?

      Probably stir the stew.

      How was Malfoy doing?