Tasty Thoughts

Le plat principal - Boudin Noir - part 2

Harry noted that the boudin noir was surprisingly delicious. The spicy flavor with cloves, thyme, and marjoram was something Harry had not eaten before, but the doctor had managed to create it without effort. The salty but complex flavors were perfectly balanced with the crispy potatoes- which Harry absolutely could not call chips - and the confit red cabbage, making the skinny boy struggle not to wolf down the dish in an almost beastly manner.

The main course was eaten with as much gusto as the starter, and even the conversation was as smooth as the wine that Hannibal had served. The doctor showed an astonishing amount of restraint and self-control during the conversations with the boy. Harry could feel and see in the little flashes in the warm cognac-colored eyes that Hannibal wanted to know more about him, but let the conversation flow over safe topics such as the perception of art and music. When Harry looked around halfway through his main course- the speed with which he had devoured half the dish was alarming- the darkness around them felt warm and intimate. The large dining room was dimly lit, shadows flickering against the intricate tapestries that lined the stone walls. A fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm but ominous glow across the table, the lavish centerpiece a rich shadow. Harry sat silently, his hands folded in front of him, his gaze absent. Though the conversation flowed smoothly from topic to topic- Hannibal's skill, no doubt- the warmth of the room and the meal caused him to become almost melancholic and lost in thought.

Hannibal sat elegantly, a slight smile on his lips, his eyes watching Harry with great interest. The air was thick with unspoken tension, but strangely inviting.

"You seem lost in thought, Harry," Hannibal said, his voice smooth and controlled. "Death often makes us wander the corridors of our own minds."

Surprised, the green eyes flickered upwards and seemed to find the cognac-colored ones flawlessly. Harry was certain that Doctor Lecter was a muggle, Legilimency was out of the question. Perhaps he wore his grief and especially his guilt clearly visible on his face and his feelings were easy to read. However, the older man's penetrating eyes made him want to share his secrets. That these secrets would be cherished.

Harry nodded and managed a faint smile. "It's just... hard. Sirius was more than a godfather; he was family and for a long time my only way out. I keep thinking about what he would have said, or what he would have done... What would he think of me?"

Hannibal tilted his head, a flash of understanding flashing across his face. "Loss is a delicate ingredient- sometimes bitter, sometimes sweet, depending on the way it is prepared." He gestured gracefully toward the half-consumed dish: Boudin Noir, a rich, dark black pudding that seemed to reflect the shadows in the room.

As they ate, Hannibal watched Harry intently, the silence stretching comfortably between bites.

"You know," Hannibal began in a low voice, "I once found myself in a similar state- questioning, searching for meaning amid chaos. An old acquaintance of mine used to say that sometimes the most exquisite flavors come from the most unexpected sources." He paused, a subtle smile curling his lips. "He was describing a dish, but I believe he was talking about life itself."

Harry looked up, intrigued. "What happened to him?"

Hannibal's eyes glittered with a hint of nostalgia. "He disappeared one winter's night, leaving behind only the faint scent of spice and darkness. Some say he became something else entirely- something beyond the reach of the ordinary senses."

Harry chuckled softly, a wry smile playing on his lips. "It sounds like he's become a legend, or maybe a monster."

"Maybe," Hannibal muttered. "Or maybe he's just embraced his true nature."