...Hi?
It's been a while hasn't it? Oops.
Well, while I can't promise the next chapter will be posted soon (I've got too many other fics - on ao3 - that kinda have my focus right now) I'm not done with this one yet. It's not abandoned and it's not on hiatus. I'm just working on it inbetween my seven other current fics.
Also, I'm not a doctor and I have very little knowledge of the American health care system. Please ignore the mistakes. We'll just pretend it's all part of my plan, hm? ;)
Enjoy!
Will sat in the depressing waiting room, waiting for the doctor to come out of the door and tell him what was going on with his daughter.
He still saw her small form every time he closed his eyes, seizing. Her tears and fright. The ominously flashing lights. The way her eyes rolled back and her too-little body trembled in ways it hadn't ever done before.
It was burned into his retinas- the horror of it.
This, today, should have been a routine check-up. Her headaches concerned him but never would Will have thought something like this could have happened. It worried him. If this had something to do with the magical side of Rosie's heritage than they wouldn't be able to help her here. At least, that was what he feared.
With his head in his hands, Will tried to get the image of his little girl out of his head, so small and still in that too-big hospital bed as she was taken through the doors down to where they would perform the operation.
How had it all gone so wrong so quickly?
"Mr. Graham?" A familiar accented voice inquired politely, tone calm and cultured.
Will felt an immediate stab of annoyance at how in control the man sounded, control Will himself had long since lost. Still, he quickly sat up. Straightened his shoulders and turned to face the man who'd been with his daughter while Will was slowly going mad in the waiting room. It was sadistic, having to wait for news in these rooms.
"Dr. Lecter?" He affirmed, eyes falling upon the high cheekbones of the approaching surgeon and staying there. He'd changed into clean scrubs before coming here, and Will wondered if that was a good sign or not.
The hospital dramas his fellow cops back in Louisiana liked to watch while on desk duty had not prepared him for this reality.
"Mr. Graham," the man repeated, stepping towards him. "I was the surgeon leading the surgery on your daughter, a Miss Roselyn Willow Graham."
The Head Surgeon of Johns Hopkins Hospital actually, Will deduced instinctively. Not usually one to bother with pediatrician care, but something about his daughter's case had caught this stately man's attention.
Too high strung to be bothered by the faint air of condescension around the doctor, Will swallowed his natural instinct to snap back something sarcastic.
Rose. His Rosie.
"Right. How is she?" Will asked curtly, not needing his empathy to know something had happened. There was something in the lines around his eyes that told him that.
Not grief though, nor defeat.
The tension in the good doctor's shoulders told him something unexpected happened but the satisfaction in the lines around his mouth told him a story of victory. Yet his mind was a closed book to Will. He could see the cover, but no words.
But it was enough.
No matter how well this Dr. Lecter schooled his face, Will knew. Will always knew. Something had happened.
"There were some… complications with your daughter's treatment." The man said calmly, maroon eyes lifting to meet his. Will had difficulty looking away from that unique color, but to his surprise he didn't fall inside the other man's mind like he usually would.
There was a wall between their minds.
"Issues?" He blurted as the words pierced through his surprise, shooting upright and on his feet. "What happened? Is Roselyn okay?"
Dr. Lecter tilted his head as he watched Will panic. A faint, barely noticeable curiosity about him that Will instinctively misliked.
It was unsettling.
Like how a cat looks at a mouse, waiting for the right moment to swat it.
"Mr. Graham," The surgeon repeated, tone chiding. Will bristled, sensing the condescension of the man in front of him.
His expression remained perfectly polite, but Will still read it clearly from his face. Because just because he couldn't see the words inside, didn't take away the fact the title was as clear as day in the slightest downturn of that mouth.
He might not fall into the mind of this man like he often did with human beings, but he could still read him. Something he suspected might be as unusual for Dr. Lecter as his closely guarded mind was for Will.
"Stop it." He blurted out, wincing when the condescension made place for intrigue. "And stop that too. You look at me like you want to cut me open and see how my brain works."
Dr. Lecter smiled, a mere stretch of the mouth before it disappeared again behind that blankly polite mask that seemed to be the doctor's default expression.
Will tensed at that smile, once again feeling not unlike a mouse caught in the gaze of a snake. A predator. He'd profiled many killers in his job as a professor at Quantico, and he recognized something in this man. Something was not quite right here.
Dr. Lecter was not quite right.
But then again, neither was Will. Too many killers in his head, as his dad used to sigh. And besides, doctors were always a separate breed.
They had to be, to be able to do what they did. One had to be a certain type of person, to have a certain drive. And to be the best, well, Will was sure Dr. Lecter had quite the mind indeed.
The surgeon met his eyes, calm and if he read it right, the slightest bit amused.
"If I may be so bold," he stated, seemingly unconcerned by the nervous wreck Will was. "Are you the same Will Graham who wrote the monograph on determining the time of death by insect activity?"
Will held back a groan, rocking on his heels. A doctor. One who had treated his daughter, and who was currently his only source of information, was asking him about the monograph he'd published some months ago.
What. The. Hell.
"And what if I am?" The words came out somewhat more defensive than he intended, but Will blamed the stress of today's happenings for that.
Dr. Lecter smiled, a thin stretching of the lips. "Then I would compliment the author on the compelling piece he wrote. It was an interesting read, well-researched and quite eloquently written."
He felt himself flush at the sincere compliments, and cursed his pale skin. "Thank you."
The strangled-sounding, blurted out words were all but eloquent, but Will got the feeling the doctor thought him charming. He flushed deeper, strangely flattered and very much uncomfortable by that realization. Usually people just found his churlishness off-putting and rude.
Not that Will cared.
"My daughter?" Will asked, no, demanded. He didn't care that the other man thought him attractive or even charming, many people thought his looks to be worthy of a second look (though being found charming was unusual. Will was a snarky asshole to anyone not his daughter and he knew it). He didn't care about the well-crafted mask this man wore like a bespoke suit.
Really.
He needed to know what happened to Rose. That was it. He just needed to know his little girl would be okay.
Will closed his eyes, just for a second as he carted a hand through his already messy curls. Dr. Lecter's gaze followed the movement, a predatory gleam in those maroon irises.
Will saw it, and fought not to freeze. Keeping his stance relaxed as he casually removed his hand from his hair, he tried to radiate the indifference he felt for whatever was happening. Because no, just no. Agent or not, he was here for Rose. Not to catch a killer, or whatever secret the doctor was hiding.
The surgeon blinked, and the predator was folded neatly behind his mask. The moment passed quickly, but he would remember it.
"Mr. Graham," the ashy-blonde doctor began again after clearing his throat and softening his posture. "The surgery was a success. Your daughter is currently resting in the recovery room."
A weight fell off his shoulders, and Will smiled. "Thank god."
Dr. Lecter blinked at the sight, an expression on his face that would be uncouth gaping on anyone else, but was just a mild surprise on his.
"What did you find?" Will questioned, leaning forward with an intense look in his blue eyes.
The corner of Dr. Lecter's mouth turned the slightest bit down, drawing Will's gaze as he cleared his throat, "We found an unidentified substance in young Roselyn's scar."
Will tilted his head, brow furrowing. "A substance? Not a fragment or anything?"
"No." Dr. Lecter said, lowering his voice. "A dark oily substance leaked out as I made the first incision, and while it could be contained in the equipment we use to suck up blood and tissue and such, it was peculiar."
One of those vacuum thingies, he understood. He had seen them used before.
Will blinked, stupefied. "What? A substance and not a parasite or anything?"
How was that possible?
"No." Dr. Lecter mused, eyeing him intently. "What came out of Miss Graham's forehead was not something I could call natural. Parasitic in nature perhaps, but not natural."
Will's brows furrowed. "I don't understand."
Magic. It had to be magic.
Once again he cursed out the person who'd left Roselyn on his doorstep without even leaving a way to contact him. Because surely magic people had some kind of health care? Will couldn't imagine that if they had a school they wouldn't have some kind of hospital or maybe even a goverment.
Which meant that the people who'd left Rose with him, without ever even propely talking to him, had acted - in his opinion- with criminal negligence.
Anything could have happened to the toddler while Will slept, unaware of the baby laying on his doorstep. She could easily have toddled away, or been eaten by a predator.
Albus Dumbledore had a lot to answer for.
Dr. Lecter hummed, a deep, soothing noise that calmed his racing thoughts. Will scowled, disturbed at his reaction. He didn't want to be soothed like he was a child throwing a tantrum, he wanted to find out what the hell was going on with his daughter.
"There is little in your daughter's medical history about her earlier years." The man continued calmly, eyes ever so watchful. "What can you tell me about her scar, Mr. Graham?"
Will flexed his hands, and noticed how the other man's eyes followed the movement. There was something in that maroon gaze, something considering.
He knew more than he was saying.
"She, she," Will began haltingly, rubbing a weary hand over his jaw. "Rosie got it the night her mother and stepfather were killed, I think. From what I was able to find out, the incident happened back when my daughter was around fifteen months old."
"You think?" Doctor Lecter frowned. He looked decidingly unhappy at his vague answer.
He sighed, glaring at the ground. "Yes. Rose's existence was a surprise to me, her mother never told me she was pregnant though I suppose we only knew each other for a few days, let alone exchanged contact information."
Doctor Lecter's brow rose and Will flushed.
Clearing his throat awkwardly, he stubbornly continued on. "Anyway, she only had a letter and the blanket she came in when I found her on my doorstep. Most of what I know I found out myself."
And that wasn't much.
The letter had given him a place to start looking. The papers in England reported a gas explosion happening around that time in a little village named Godric's Hollow, but what happened to his little girl was no gas explosion.
The letter from Albus Dumbledore said they'd been murdered and Will believed that to be true. His once-lover and her husband had been murdered, but the why was something that bothered him. That whole letter bothered him.
The surgeon blinked, and on anyone else Will would have seen some unflattering gaping or perhaps a gasp, but with Dr. Lecter the only sign of his surprise was the slight slackening of his mouth.
"That must have been quite the shock." He said slowly after a moment of silence.
Will barked out a laugh. "It really was."
"How old was she?" Lecter questioned, and he frowned, impatience and fear warring inside him.
"She was eighteen months old when I got her." Will answered, lips twitching when he thought back on that time. How frantic he'd been, and how quickly that little girl had become his whole world. "Dr. Lecter, please, tell me, what happened to my daughter? Is she okay? Can it be healed?"
Lecter stepped closer, and Will caught a whiff of fancy soap and something masculine and woody, like warm oak.
"Tell me, Will," he asked, voice a low murmur. "What do you know about Horcruxes?"
Hannibal Lecter the eighth watched the scruffy man carefully take the hand of the little witch, pulling his daughter carefully up to rest on his hip.
The move spoke of an easy familiarity, like it was something they'd done a thousand times before and it made something close to longing flash through him.
Once upon a time it had been Hannibal who carried a young girl on his hip like that. Hannibal who had the sparkling eyes of an adoring child fixed upon him.
Mischa.
He would see Will Graham again. The knowledge he held, the knowledge of the Wizarding World and thus his daughter as well, ensured that. And well, the hospital really wasn't the place for a talk, now was it? He had the weary father's number, written hastily on a blank piece of paper.
Perhaps Will could be lured into a nice private dinner. Hannibal would love to cook for him, but he suspected that the man wouldn't be so easily convinced to visit him at his home. He certainly wouldn't leave his daughter out of his sight for a good long while, though perhaps dinner would be possible if he invited the both of them.
He would have to work slowly then.
A parent was always more challanging to charm than a person without children. Roselyn would always come first in Will's eyes, but possesive as Hannibal was, he couldn't blame him for that. A young child as charming as that little girl was a both delight and honor to raise.
Hannibal's brows furrowed, startled by his quick attachment to the two.
Over little Rose's head, Will's haunting blue eyes met his. Hannibal waved his goodbye, smiling calmly as not to startle the already tense man.
Will gave a tight nod as Rose waved back, quickly focusing on the little girl clinging to him.
His hands twitched for a pencil, the urge to draw the handsome young man and his tragic but angelic looking daughter strong. They looked like a modern version of Madonna and Child, and Hannibal fingers itched to capture the beguiling image.
It was the day after the operation and Miss Graham had recovered well from her surgery. Suspiciously well, though Hannibal had known to expect it. After all, magic changed things.
And little Roselyn was certainly magical.
Her eyes alone, vivid green as they were, signaled the magic in her blood. She had been blessed by the healing rate of a powerful Wix. And with the leech had been removed from her scar, the formerly swollen mark was healing well. Soon there would be no scar gracing her forehead at all.
Closing his eyes, Hannibal smiled.
Both father and daughter had rooted themselves in his mind, and within his mind palace a painting formed.
The beauty of them both intrigued him, but it was the father's charmingly grumpy attitude and intelligence that truly caught his attention. Will was bright, much brighter than he'd have first expected. Though the fact his daughter was one of the more powerful witches he'd ever met didn't make them any less interesting.
And Roselyn Willow Graham was very powerful indeed.
He'd felt her power as he cut into her soft flesh, hers, and a power that was older than his young patient. That one had been fiercely protective, maternal even as it looked into his soul and judged him worthy of helping her daughter. It'd felt like he was surrounded by a thunderstorm, the heavy scent of ozone that was his patient's power flooding the sterile room. Should she survive, little Rose would grow up to be a formidable witch.
It had been a long time since he felt such power.
He wondered from which family she came, if perhaps she had an as rich magical legacy as Hannibal had. She almost had to, with how brightly she shone. Will too might have a magical ancestor somewhere even if he was a mundane himself.
The man had something special about him, an uniqueness that intrigued him.
Hannibal clucked his tongue, exasperated with his own thoughts. It had been a long time since he'd been in the presence of someone as magical as young Miss Graham, and it'd clearly put him off guard.
Hannibal was a squib.
It wasn't something that grieved him, or infuriated him. It just was. He'd been born into an ancient Lithuanian magical family, though the magic had long since abandoned their line. They'd retained their family seat and all it entailed.
The knowledge remained.
The library of his ancestral home had been awe-inspiring once. The knowledge contained in those ancient halls were the result of generations of Lecters adding to the truly impressive collection. From the Darkest of Arts to the Lightest magic conceivable, the library of House Lecter had it all.
Magic or not, knowledge was power.
And power was something Hannibal understood very well.