What If…

Title: What If…
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
WordCount: 1.3k
Rating: PG
Fandom: Hannibal Extended Universe / Harry Potter Series
Pairing(s): Hannibal/Harry
Prompt: For “Emily Peacock” : “Harry Potter / Hannibal Crossover”

Warnings: Major AU, Lily is Alive, James is Alive, Harry has siblings, Mischa is alive, Hannibal and Mischa are Beauxbatons students, Harry is not the Boy who Lived, is there even a Boy who Lived?, James is a bully, Harry’s siblings are bullies, Hannibal loves Harry Potter

Harry was gawky, awkward, and only marginally good looking in the right light.  He was unfortunately a fourth year and eligible to attend the Yule Ball, which his best friend Ron Weasley constantly reminded him.

“Oh, Hermione, you’re a girl,” had been Ron’s latest ploy to get himself a date to the Yule Ball.

It hadn’t gone at all well.

Harry didn’t have a date, no one had asked him and didn’t think he was going to manage to ask anyone. He’d written home to his Mum (he wouldn’t ask his Dad—never), and she had written back that he should be his wonderful self.  He didn’t feel all that wonderful.  He felt like he had two left feet when he was on the ground, having been too intimidated to try at Quidditch like his dad wanted when he was just five (his dad and his friends circling above his head on their brooms).

“You’re Harry, no?” a crisp, accented voice asked, and Harry looked up, to see the most gorgeous Beauxbatons boy looking at him with a polite expression.

Quickly pulling himself together, because he knew that as a Hogwarts student he was an ambassador for all of Britain, he nodded his head quickly.  “Yes.  Potter—Harry Potter.  Can I help you with something?”

The Beauxbatons student smiled, as if to himself, and answered, “Yes.  Hannibal Lecter. It is a pleasure.”

Harry wasn’t certain what to make of that, so he just stood there and waited.

Lecter, as the student called himself, seemed to be anticipating a response of some kind, but it was frankly beyond Harry.  Should he say, “that’s nice?”  That seemed polite enough, if not a little flippant.  Instead, Harry shifted his weight onto his left foot and tried not to let his green eyes go a bit wide behind his glasses.  Hermione said it made him look adorable, if a little vulnerable.  He didn’t want to look vulnerable—ever.

After a few moments, he seemed to give up on waiting for a response, and Lecter then asked, politely as ever, “Are you enjoying the tournament?”

No, no he wasn’t.  Harry rather liked dragons, finding them rather majestic creatures, and didn’t like seeing them used for sport.  Of course, he couldn’t say as much.  That wouldn’t be very sporting.  Of course, something must have showed on his face, because Lecter’s face softened.

“Where I grew up,” he murmured, his accent thickening to something a little different than French, “we had wild dragons.  I do not like to see them in small enclosures, either.”  His full mouth formed into a bit of a frown and Harry looked up at him, green eyes wide and blinking behind his glasses.

“I didn’t know they had dragons in France.”

At this Lecter chuckled a little.  “My sister Mischa and I grew up in Lithuania,” he admitted.  “She’s at Beauxbatons, being too young to attend the Tournament.—Do you have any younger brothers and sisters?”  He let the question hang politely and Harry thought of his sister Rose who was sporty, popular, and probably just Lecter’s type.

“Oh,” he admitted.  “Rose.”  He scratched the back of his head nervously as he tried to figure out what Lecter wanted.  Finally, deciding it was inevitable, he admitted, “She’s only a third year, and I think she has a date, but I can introduce you if you want?”

He didn’t look up at all at Lecter, not wanting to see the open admiration his sister always brought out in boys, and didn’t quite understand why his gut was churning, when a soft hand landed on his shoulder.  At this, his eyes peeked out from beneath his fringe, and he saw Lecter looking down at him fondly.  Then strangely, as if by magic, Lecter admitted: “That will not be necessary.  I merely meant that I miss my sister.  I should like her to be with me.”

Confused at the sudden relief he felt, Harry nodded.  “France isn’t so far away,” he tried.  “There are letters.”

“But they are never the same as conversation,” Lecter admitted quicky, leaning into Harry’s personal space with a smile.  “Mischa is much younger and not the most faithful of correspondents.”

Harry thought of Charles, his youngest sibling, who was just a first year, and how his mother was always writing Harry with questions for him.  Harry spent half his time tracking down Charles and his friends with his mother’s lists of questions, and he found it irksome.

It was then that he realized that Lecter was still standing close to him—and still smiling.  “Why the move?” he asked, grasping for a subject.  When Lecter seemed momentarily confused, he asked, “Most Lithuanian students would attend Durmstrang.  You and your sister attend Beauxbatons, so you must have applied to attend—or moved.  A move seems more likely.”

A grin crossed Lecter’s face, showing his sharp teeth, but Harry didn’t find it threatening.  Instead, it made Lecter seem only more attractive, and Harry’s stomach did a flip before tightening low down in his belly.

“You’ve done your homework,” Lecter complimented.  Before Harry could respond however, he admitted.  “Our parents died.  Mischa and I now live with our uncle in Paris—hence why we attend Beauxbatons.  It is a good fit for Mischa, and I do not dislike it.”

Harry nodded, processing the information.  “I’m sorry.”

Lecter bowed his head, accepting the sympathy.  “It was many years ago.”  He then paused before saying, “I was hoping to ask you to the Yule Ball, but a pall of sadness has overcome our conversation.”

At this Harry blinked and then he blinked again.  Immediately, he thought of what Uncle Sirius would say, and then he discounted it because Uncle Sirius would be the one to say it.  Then, he blurted out the second thought that came into his mind, “I’m rubbish at dancing.”

Lecter grinned and stepped into Harry’s personal space.  “Are you asking for help to practice?”

Harry blinked as he was startled before suggesting, “Yes?”

Of course, Lecter’s grin only got wider.

Backpeddling, Harry babbled, “It was meant as a warning—for your feet.  Most people, including my sister, think I’m a waste of space.  I thought I should warn you as no one’s told you yet.”

The grin on Lecter’s face dimmed a little and he admitted, “Miss Potter did tell me when I inquired after you earlier this week.  I discounted her opinion as sometimes sisters hold unreasonable opinions of brothers and I did not deem her intelligent in the slightest.  I trust my own eyes, Harry.  You captured my attention at the First Task.  You were worried for the dragons—and your empathy captivated me—and I haven’t been able to look away from you since.”

“I—”  Harry’s throat seemed to suddenly become dry and he licked his lips, not that it seemed to help much.

“I hope you still wish to attend with me,” Lecter stated formally.  “I should very much like to become your petit ami.”

Harry’s eyebrows scrunched together, recalling his French.  “Boyfriend?” he breathed out, a little confused.  “Really?”

“Yes,” Lecter agreed lightly, coming up and closing the distance between them, taking Harry’s left hand.  “We can start out by my teaching you how to dance.  I’m sure your education has been lacking in that regard.”

Confused and with butterflies in his stomach, Harry decided to not care that Ron was going to yell when he found out and he looked up at Lecter smiling, “What did you say your name was again?” he asked, having forgotten.

“Hannibal Lecter XIII,” Lecter—Hannibal—responded back smoothly.

Little did Harry know that that one conversation would change the trajectory of his life forever.

The End.