Taking Back the Crown

by JCMorrigan

Mozenrath. Archibald Snatcher. Roman Torchwick. Mad Madam Mim. Yzma. The Huntsman. Wuya. Ayam Aghoul. Their mission: take over the multiverse, or look fabulous trying. Rated M for swearing, steamy implications and VERY bloody battles. Contains slash and het shipping.

90. Nocturnally Active

A/N: So. Kingdom Hearts III is out. That feels like my cue to say a few things. First of all, this fic is still an AU from KHIII. There will be things from III that I will be incorporating, especially in the later acts, but this fic effectively replaces that entire time period and goes a different direction. Vexen should stand as the biggest example of that so far, and it will continue in that spirit. More importantly, however, it takes me kind of a long time to finish video games. I haven't even had a chance to acquire III, let alone play it. I do not, however, intend to hiatus this fic until I finish. I will forge ahead like a complete and total idiot and write a fic set largely in the KH universe WHILE PLAYING THE CURRENT KH INSTALLMENT. So there might be some things that turn up that are hilarious in hindsight if you managed to finish the game before I do! (Please do not post spoilers in the comments, at least for a few months. That would not be good for me or for anyone else passing by who hasn't played and manages to see the comments before enough time has passed.) If I do put anything in this fic that is a KH spoiler, I will make an announcement regarding that in an author's note. Oh, also, warning for some torture inflicted upon a character - stay safe, readers!

...

Mozenrath had required everyone's presence in the auditorium, having promised the reveal of his new and improved plan that this time was guaranteed not to accidentally bring the apocalypse upon the entirety of known existence. The white-hot lights shone down upon him as his associates filled the seats of the front rows, the other founders front and center.

"I'm sure you're all wondering the next step in our plan," he began. "After all, it has unfortunately become apparent that we've spent months of work chasing a goal that was actually worse than worthless. Work that included me getting amnesia, all of us having to band together to slay a literal god, and nearly getting obliterated in enemy territory. For nothing." He was already feeling the tension building in his brow, and he had the sense that a vein might actually have been visible all the way from the back row. Forcing himself to calm down, he continued: "That is why we're going back to basics. No back doors. No cheats. We're taking the territory we want one at a time. And we're doing it in the old-fashioned invasion way. We certainly have the numbers and the skill to pull off some lower-level dominations. Of course, you're probably all thinking: lower-level domination isn't our style. That's where you'd be right." He flicked his wrist, turning on the slide projector. "We're not just going to rush into this blindly."

"That's how you get turned into rats," Roman piped up from the front row.

Mozenrath ignored him. "I have a plan that will net us a more than suitable base of operations as well as a method of uniting a multi-world empire under the WHAM ARMY banner. If we're going to pull this off, I'm going to need participation from every single one of you. Which makes me incredibly glad Demyx is no longer part of our association. Now, watch and be impressed."

He loaded the slides he'd prepared into the projector, flicking to the first one.

"This – "

He quickly turned to check that the slide was right-side up. To his relief, it was. It depicted a sprawling city of old-fashioned marble architecture, with a glowing mass of light overhead; this light was surrounded by a host of massive stone faces.

"This is the lost empire of Atlantis," Mozenrath began. "Now, some of you might be thinking that you know Atlantis, or that it was a legend on your homeworld. Well, I'm here to break the news that you're absolutely wrong. This is not your pathetic shadow of an Atlantis. This Atlantis puts every other parallel version of it to shame. There was an Atlantis on my world as well, and this is one that the Ethereal would have had a much harder time putting underwater. Granted, it IS underwater, at the end of a subterranean labyrinth, but the circumstances surrounding its sinking are complex at best. There's yet to be a cataclysm that rivals it. Well, some people argue for the Keyblade War, but really, it's no contest. This Atlantis is incredibly advanced, with a magic-technology fusion provided through a godlike power source known as the 'Heart of Atlantis' that connects to a series of crystals that are then used to power the empire's vehicles, devices, and life force. Those who possess the crystals are effectively immortal, so if you're making any sort of comparison to Atmosian technology, I'm going to have to ask you not to demean Atlantean crystals that way. The Heart is…closer to a runestone, but in possession of a consciousness of its own."

Several hands, including Jack's and Snipe's, went up.

Mozenrath sighed. "A runestone is a massive gem that powers a sizeable landmass and connects to that world's natural forces, allowing those who can interact with said stone to alter the weather, the state of the plant life, and even the survival of the people."

The hands went down.

"Atlantis would be a perfect place to start building our empire," Mozenrath went on. "It's conducive to our magical knowhow, it will provide us with almost endless resources, and it's actually filled with civilians we can make bend to our will and serve our every need. Not to mention its defenses. The Heart doesn't take kindly to threats. Penetrating the Atlantean border without permission is nigh impossible, and if you manage to make it past the magical walls, the Heart will simply vaporize you, which is perfect for dealing with whenever Maleficent or Sora comes to call. However, I'm sure some of you can already spot the flaw in the plan."

"That there's nothing stopping that glorified lantern from vaporizing US," Yzma pointed out.

"Precisely," Mozenrath responded. "Which is why we have to take steps. First of all, if we're going to run an invasion on a nation this large, Heart or no Heart, we'll need strength in numbers."

He magically advanced the slide. "What we'll need – "

He quickly checked to make sure this one wasn't upside-down either.

Upon assuring that it was not, Mozenrath declared, "What we'll need is like minds. Those who will either work WITH us or FOR us. While I'd prefer to fill out our ranks with sorcerers possessing clout, we may not have that many options to pick from, especially when you factor out how many of them have already sided with Maleficent. However, there are a few names that stand out as potential recruits. Beyond that, Dr. Hämsterviel has observed many worlds and come up with a list of hardened criminals who are more or less compatible with our goals. In short, people to do our grunt work. Some have superpowers. Some are skilled in other areas. If we can convince even half of the people we've staked out to join our cause, we'll be in a much better position to take on Atlantis. And, given the size of the empire, there should be no qualms about splitting the spoils. Just so long as everyone's aware that if your name isn't in the acronym, you don't get the throne or any associated territory."

The slide depicted silhouettes drawn from rough estimations of the descriptions Hämsterviel had given Mozenrath of the rogues he'd been keeping an eye on. The shapes were strange to behold, causing the audience to wonder exactly what sort of roommates they could be expecting.

"But that still doesn't answer the big question," Mozenrath continued. "How are we going to get into Atlantis without the Heart disintegrating us on the spot? To get that answer, I'd like to ask you to look back on our history with Maleficent. At first, I wasn't at all keen on using a plan she technically thought of, but the more I think about it, the more I think I'll just be satisfied with plagiarizing her idea and doing it better."

The slide switched to a black-and-white rendition of Goab. "When I was amnesiac in Fantastica," Mozenrath explained, "I happened to observe several of Maleficent's henchpeople – " A quick check to make sure the slide was right-side up. " – collecting the sands available there. Now, I didn't make the connection at the time, since I was rather occupied with the loss of knowledge about my entire life, but being a practitioner of Black Sand magic, I should've seen the big picture right away. If you're skilled in sand magic, you know that different colors produce different effects. Usually, witches or sorcerers of the sand specialize in one color. Black suits my purposes just fine. However, collecting an entire rainbow of sand and arranging it properly would allow you to cast a high-level reality warp. The kind of warp where, say, four Guardian Spirits of Light would be transformed to Guardian Spirits of Darkness. A low-level warp might switch the lives of two people and fail to affect animals, but a high-level warp could effectively rewrite an entire world. It's almost a shame Maleficent never put it to better practice than that stunt in Hyrule, unless there was some incident I don't know about, and, frankly, don't really care about. Where this gets relevant to US is when it comes to the Heart of Atlantis.

"After all, the Heart is devoted to its people, particularly the royal family and friends thereof. Its mindset is to eradicate any threats to those people. It knows who it likes. If we were able to change reality with the sands, however, we could effectively swap out its idea of who exactly it's supposed to protect. Suddenly, the royal family by birthright is seen as invaders, and the WHAM ARMY is seen as the ruling class that needs to be defended at all cost from said invaders. We are now under the Heart's protection, and anyone who tries to stop us? Well. They'll get a taste of their own medicine, now, won't they?" A broad smirk.

"There is, of course, one problem," Mozenrath continued. "When Maleficent's goons raided Goab, they also destroyed it. Permanently." A flick, switching slides to a view of a thick forest. "I've conducted some brief recon, and it does unfortunately seem that – " A quick check. " – when those idiots did whatever they did, it broke the desert. The land is now permanently the Night Forest. Meaning we have no easy resource for collecting sands of every color at once. That's where we have to get creative and do a little legwork. Fortunately for you, I've taken care of the intellectual part. As always." A rapid-fire flicker through multiple slides. "I've taken the liberty of documenting a catalog of worlds on which deserts of various colors can be found. Harvesting the sands will be a considerable time commitment, especially if Maleficent decides to turn any MORE of our potential resources into Night Forests, but – "

"MOZENRATH!" Zevon cried out suddenly, stretching his hand into the air. "CALL ON ME!"

Mozenrath turned to glare at Zevon, grumbling, "This had better be good, Zevon."

Zevon rose from his seat, giving his throat a loud and dramatic clear. "In my travels around the worlds," he proclaimed, "I have discoverated many resources for dark sorciery. I have seen worlds where the ingredienteds for magical concocreations are commonersplace, even the most rariffic – "

"Get to the point, Zevon," Mozenrath sighed.

Zevon fired Mozenrath a smirk equally as smug as the one Mozenrath had given his audience not a moment ago. "I know a place where you might be able to PURCHASIZE all colors of the sands."

Mozenrath softened his expression, raising his brows in interest; "Go on."

"I have often visitated a place that specialitizes in materialistics for Dark magic," Zevon explained. "On its nativite world, it is relegulated to witches and wizards, and every enterance to this realm is guardified by magic. However, if one who is NOT magical, a 'Muggle,' so to speak, uses a magical point of entrification, one such as myself can still walk its streets and take advantageon of what it has to offericate. After all, money is money no matter where it's spent. I am speakering, of course, of Knockturn Alley. I frequence Knockturn for the materialistisms used in my potions, and I've become familiarated with both shopkeepers and regularations alike. While I usually travel by bean, if you transleport us both there using a Corridor of Darkness, I can give you the grand tour. I cannot guarantify that we will find the sands, but if any hive of villainity has them prepreparated for us, it's Knockturn."

"Hmm." Mozenrath turned this proposition over in his mind. "Change of plan, then. Zevon, you'll be my guide to this 'Knockturn Alley.' If we don't find what we're looking for there, we revert to plan alif. But this could save us time in the long run. Well done, Zevon."

"AS ALWAYS!" Zevon bragged before taking his seat.

The moment Zevon had said the words "Knockturn Alley," Rémington Smisse had been struck with a connection. He knew something about Knockturn Alley that Zevon and Mozenrath obviously didn't. Because of this, moreover, he knew he could shortcut this plan to work exactly as Mozenrath wanted, but only if he were deceptive and diplomatic about it. He also knew he had to act fast. If any of the involved parties knew the extent to which he was pulling strings, he could find himself in hot water.

Quietly, he slipped out of the auditorium, his black clothing helping to conceal him under the dim lighting. Grany watched him leave, an implicit agreement passing between the two that if Rémington's sudden absence should go questioned, Grany would cover.

"The rest of the plan stands," Mozenrath went on. "We collect the sands, we loose them on the Heart of Atlantis, we beat Atlantis' military into submission, and we assume the throne. But wait! It doesn't stop there!" He broke into a smile that was simultaneously very smug and very gleeful. "After all, did I not promise an empire that spanned worlds? Did I not promise an accumulation of SEVERAL territories? You're all wondering how I could possibly make that a reality. After all, if we have to constantly travel from world to world, either by Corridor or by ship, in order to keep tabs on the entirety of our domain, that wouldn't be convenient. Which is why we're not going to do that at all. We're GOING to connect every territory we acquire to Atlantis by enormous portals that will function as gateways between our kingdoms, uniting everything we take into one continuous landmass."

The slide switched to a diagram that resembled a minimalistic spiderweb: a central circle with threads emanating from it, connecting to other circles that obviously represented worlds. Mozenrath checked this one only to recall that he'd designed it to be symmetrical in all directions, so it really didn't matter if it were upside-down or not. "This is a rough idea of what I'm picturing," he explained. "You see Atlantis in the center, and around it, a ring of worlds connected to it via portal. While the worlds technically remain separate, you could find it feasibly possible to walk all the way from point alif over here – " He gestured to a circle near to him. " – to point beh up there by passing through Atlantis." Now he pointed roughly to the circle furthest from the origin point. "And all without exerting any effort besides that needed to walk the distance. But how are we going to do that? It's actually quite simple. Though I'm counting on Spicer and Herb Overkill to put together the device that will harness the energies needed to maintain the portals, we'll actually need very few materials to generate said energies. For one…"

The slide switched to a depiction of a cube. "This is the Tesseract," Mozenrath explained. "No, no, I don't mean the simple shape of a cube, nor do I mean the method of inter-world travel powered by thought. I mean THE cube that provides THE method of inter-world travel. Those in the know are aware that the Tesseract is more than just your ordinary magical artifact. It's actually a primal force of the multiverse: a compact distillation – " He'd almost forgotten to check this slide. It was fine. " – of space itself. Of course, those who are in the know are few and far between, which is all the better for us. The fewer people realize what the Tesseract REALLY is, the longer we can hold it without being contested for it. To put it in the most rudimentary terms, the Tesseract is capable of creating a portal between any points in existing space. Put to work for us and amplified, it will be able to hold open the gates I described that connect our territories.

"Of course, there is the matter of acquiring the Tesseract in the first place." The slide switched to a depiction of a kingdom of grandiose architecture, a civilization that, from first glance, seemed to rival Atlantis in beauty and power. "It's changed hands a few times in recent years, but somehow, it always seems to end back up in the vault of – " Check. " – Asgard. Dominion of gods. Not Hades' crowd: different gods. Odin, Thor, Loki…you know the rest."

Hands went up.

"And if you don't, I'm not going to bother explaining them to you."

Hands went back down.

"Stealing from the gods is going to be a difficult mission," Mozenrath admitted. "The last person I knew who actually pulled it off turned out to be a traitor whose entrails I want to rip out for assisting in turning me over to Maleficent. I just think it would make the victory all the sweeter if, just before I tore his esophagus out of his neck, I could see the look on his face when I told him that he might have managed to steal the Olympus Stone, but the WHAM ARMY brought home the Tesseract itself. Therefore, in honor of letting those who would get the most satisfaction out of lording that title over him get to do exactly that, I'm assigning the theft of the Tesseract to Roman Torchwick, who will select his own team to carry out this mission – and before you say anything about your grievances with Demyx, Snatcher, you and I both know that you're going to be Torchwick's first pick."

"Hell yeah, you are," Roman muttered as he held his fist out to Snatcher at the exact time that Snatcher held up the palm of his hand toward Roman. They looked at each other for a moment before Roman reminded Snatcher, "No, this is the thing where you do the thing – "

"Right, that," Snatcher muttered, curling his own hand into a fist and knocking it against Roman's knuckles.

"As I understand it," Mozenrath went on, "Torchwick has a particular need to lead a mission anyway, which doesn't bear recapitulating."

Roman had confided in the other founders about his deal with Garfield, Peter, and Harley; he had also let Neo in on the turn of events. It was agreed upon, however, that it wouldn't go beyond that circle. After all, there were still those who held ill will toward Roman for having caused that schism to begin with, and bringing up the current state of affairs might reopen discourse. It was best not to say anything until the mission had been completed and the relationship of the wayward trio to the WHAM ARMY officially labeled – though no one really completely trusted Mim not to let something "accidentally" slip, especially to Irmaplotz, who was still incredibly sour toward Roman over losing Garfield. Mozenrath had, however, put her off slightly by threatening that if any loose gossip got traced back to her, none of the WHAM ARMY would do anything to her in retaliation, which struck Mim as absolutely no fun; why sabotage a friend if that friend wasn't going to wage war with you over it after the fact?

"The Tesseract won't work to permanently hold several gates of the size I find desirable open, however," Mozenrath continued. "I'm envisioning gates a Gummi ship could pass through if need be. On its own, the Tesseract has the raw power, but not the focus. It would be wild and unpredictable. We would need something to divide it. To combine with its energy to create something stable. Something changeable if need be. The Tesseract will give us exactly the MAGIC we need, but in order to harness it properly, we're going to need a second item: something that's pure SCIENCE."

The slide flicked to depict a sphere etched with circular patterns of varying size. "This is the map of Captain Nathaniel Flint," Mozenrath explained, "a famed and ruthless pirate in a large bay of space called the Etherium. Flint is of course long dead, but his map was built to be a little more indestructible than he was. The Etherium is a world that encompassed countless planets, and Flint based his operations out of one central celestial body that he named 'Treasure Planet,' so named because it was actually an enormous hollow mechanism designed to contain a hoard of riches so vast, it literally made up the planet's core. And before anyone asks, the entire hoard was blown up along with the planet, so no, we can't steal it."

This invited several audible groans. Mozenrath half considered telling them about the legend of Flint's interdimensional treasure caches, but figured that was best left secret unless he wanted his entire army distracted from their goal completely.

"Here's the thing about Flint," Mozenrath went on. "The man was advanced for his time. He managed to design his map to work in concert with his planet's mechanism for several purposes. One was, of course, to find the way back to Treasure Planet when stranded a distance away. Treasure Planet was strategically chosen, location-wise, and it isn't easy to find if you don't know where you're going. Or…wasn't, anyway. Now it doesn't exist at all and can't be found by anyone. The more important function of the map, however, was to act as a catalyst for a teleportation system. When combined with the planet's mechanism, the map was able to open a door that would lead anywhere Flint had programmed into its database. I'm sure you see where I'm going with this." A sudden thought; a check. Right-side up. "The map can be retrieved and reprogrammed. We can duplicate the mechanism. The Tesseract will actually cut out a lot of the more intricate parts of the formula, leaving us with a relatively simple design. But wait! I said Treasure Planet was destroyed, didn't I? And the map just happened to be there when it happened. Pity. But then again, I ALSO said Flint built that map to be indestructible. And it is."

The slide switched to show a frieze of debris floating in space: the remnants of a heavenly body exploded. "Flint built that map to withstand a supernova," Mozenrath explained. "It's still there, somewhere in the wreckage of Treasure Planet. All we have to do is enter the Etherium ourselves and chart our own course to it. Oh, if only we had some sort of guidance to find the way, since the only map is at the destination! It sure would be nice if we had some kind of compass that would always point the way to what we asked it to find! Oh, wait. We do. The Etherium will be – " Check. " – my mission. I will select a team of my own to assist me in crewing the ship that will lead to the map. You'd think this would be the easier job than stealing an Infinity Stone from the gods, but I know better than to make an assumption like THAT at this point. After all, both Maleficent and Sora know how to figure out exactly where we're going, and they or their friends are going to show up at at least one if not both of our objectives. Because I was so looking forward to THAT happening again."

He forced himself to regain composure. "So, in conclusion, before we even begin our assault on Atlantis, first, Zevon and I will investigate Knockturn Alley to find out if we can procure the sands there or not. Then, after we've pinned down the sands, Torchwick and I will gather our teams and deploy to Asgard and the Etherium respectively. We'll take possession of Flint's map and the Tesseract. I'll then collect as many new recruits as we can get. Once we have the sands, the teleportation devices, and the numbers, we march on Atlantis. We rewrite the Heart of Atlantis to accept us as its overlords, we dominate Atlantis, and we build the portal network into its structure. From there, we set our sights on whatever territory we want, and whatever we conquer, we open a portal to on the border of Atlantis for easy travel. From there, we take the multiverse one kingdom at a time." The slide projector was powered down. "Any questions?"

Snipe raised his hand. Mozenrath rolled his eyes and muttered the word "Predictable." Then, more audibly: "All right, Snipe, what part of this was lost on you?"

"So, uh, remember that part when you said 'This is the lost empire of Atlantis'?" Snipe recalled.

"That was at the very beginning of my presentation," Mozenrath said dryly, fearing where this was going, "but yes."

"Everything after that," Snipe told him. "Didn't get a word of it. Too confusing!"

Mozenrath stared blankly at Snipe for a solid half-minute before backhanding the slide projector to the ground and storming offstage.

...

The mood in the Pelekai household was just beginning to die down off celebratory and move into normalcy. Stitch was back; this was reason to be all the more thankful. Things were looking up – granted, aside from that one terrifying day that the sky had gone black, but Kokaua Town had suffered very little damage from Maleficent's temporary reign.

Now that life had settled down, Nani Pelekai had declared a family movie night. Lilo had insisted on watching something scary, and as much as Nani had done her best to shield her little sister form gore, that somehow hadn't stopped Lilo from finding back doors to watch the entire Wasp Mummies series. Nani settled for picking out a film that relied more on suspense and the occasional jump scare than onscreen violence, and Lilo was satisfied.

Nani laid out several trays of film-watching snacks; Lilo and Stitch sat on the floor while Jumba and Pleakley took the couch. David Kawena, Nani's loyal companion, joined Nani on the floor on the opposite side of the table from Lilo and Stitch.

What followed was a two-hour cavalcade of Lilo remarking on the clichés the protagonist fell prey to, Jumba deciding how he would have upgraded the antagonist to make him more deadly, Pleakley insisting he wasn't scared one bit before immediately being frightened to the point of screaming bloody murder and latching himself to Jumba, and Stitch laughing maniacally during the chase scenes.

"Good to have everyone back, isn't it?" David whispered to Nani as he plucked a handful of popcorn off the snack table.

"You have no idea," Nani whispered in return.

The film ended, and it seemed a good time had been had by all except one.

"I was NOT scared by a cheap production of a completely imaginary scenario that could have been completely avoided by a person with common sense," Pleakley insisted. "I'm just saying that boarding up the windows IN GENERAL is a good precautionary measure to take in case of…things happening!"

"We're not boarding up the windows," Nani said firmly. "…Again."

"It's all right to admit to being scared," David assured.

"Well, I'm NOT!" Pleakley argued, not convincingly.

Lilo whispered to Stitch, "I think next movie night, I should pretend to be interested in musicals with elaborate costume design. It'll be easier on him."

"Ih," Stitch agreed.

"Is no need to be afraid," Jumba stated. "Whatever could have come through windows will not get far. I will not let it."

"NO ONE and NOTHING is going to come through the windows," Nani insisted. "At this time of night, no one's even going to get near the house!"

That was, of course, the cue for a very loud knock at the door that caught Pleakley off guard and sent him into a yelping leap; Jumba instinctively put out both arms, catching and cradling him.

"I'll go see who it is," Nani sighed as she headed for the entryway.

"NANI, DON'T!" Lilo cried. "THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I YELLED AT THE PROTAGONIST FOR DOING! YOU'RE WALKING RIGHT INTO ONE OF THE DEADLY CLICHES!"

"This isn't a movie, Lilo!" Nani argued. "We're not fictional characters! It's probably just some tourist whose car broke down."

All the same, Lilo, Stitch, Jumba, Pleakley, and David crowded behind Nani protectively, ready to spring into action and protect her from the intruder.

Nani opened the door to behold a sight that definitely wasn't a tourist seeking automotive assistance. One of the two men who stood before her was tall and broad, dark-skinned and dark-suited, his head bare of hair. Even in the dark, he wore a pair of sunglasses that obscured his eyes. The man beside him was even taller and broader, approaching 23 feet in height with a muscular frame to match. He, too, wore a dark suit, though his was less of the black-jacket-and-tie variety and more similar to a tight-fitting uniform. His skin was a deep gray color; his head had a certain fishlike shape to it.

"Cobra Bubbles?" Nani said in confusion to the first man. Then, craning her head upward, "And Captain Gantu?"

"Nani Pelekai," Bubbles responded, nodding his head slightly. "And family."

Lilo put up her hand and waved excitedly from the hall behind Nani; "Hi!"

Gantu dropped to a knee in order to get closer to Nani's level. "We have come on a directive from the Galactic Council," he explained. "It is of the utmost importance."

Nani shook her head. "I'm sorry," she told him, "but I'm still trying to get used to you being on our side now. Let alone you two working TOGETHER."

"Completely understandable, given our history," Gantu replied, and though he tried to sound indifferent, his tone betrayed his regret. "However, this is a severe matter."

"It's a good thing you're all assembled," Bubbles observed. "We needed to speak with all of you." He shifted, and though his eyewear prevented anyone from seeing exactly where he was looking, David somehow knew Bubbles was glaring directly at him. "Or at least MOST of you."

"We have received a disturbing report," Gantu explained. "It seems Jacques von Hämsterviel has escaped from maximum-security detainment."

"HAMSTERVIEL GOT OUT?" Lilo cried.

Stitch gave a frightened exclamation in Tantalog.

"That's bad!" Pleakley cried. "That's REALLY bad!"

"Furthermore," Gantu went on, "our intelligence has reported that he has gone completely off-world. Not just into space, but across interspace. And while this last bit is only rumor, there are those who have said he has allied with other wanted criminals from between the worlds."

"Does the term 'WHAM ARMY' mean anything to you?" Bubbles asked.

"WHAM ARMY?" Lilo repeated. "Why does that sound familiar."

"Hmmm," Stitch mused. "WHAM…ARMY. Name silly."

"Silly, yes," Jumba recalled, "but no laughing matter! Was name of organization that unleashed powerful data replicants of warriors upon us at Radiant Garden after taking hostages!"

"Oh, yeah!" Lilo cried. "THAT'S where I've heard that name before! With not-Bridgit and the guy with the fake version of Jumba's accent!"

"They almost KILLED us!" Pleakley cried. "And now you're telling us HAMSTERVIEL'S WITH THEM, TOO?"

"As the captain said," Bubbles reiterated gruffly, "we can't prove a connection at this stage. However, with Hämsterviel at large, we will need to take steps to prevent him from causing more harm than ever before."

"The simple fact we had to admit was this," Gantu related. "The Galactic Council has never truly been successful in apprehending Hämsterviel or putting a stop to his plans. Somehow, all of YOU managed to thwart him at every turn. You succeeded where a highly trained military failed. And, being on the receiving end of the thwarting, I would know."

"That's why we're putting you on a mission," Bubbles stated. "Lilo Pelekai, Nani Pelekai, Jumba Jookiba, Wendy Pleakley, and Experiment 626 – "

"NAME STITCH!" Stitch insisted.

"And Stitch," Bubbles corrected, "will be responsible for taking up a station in a better vantage point to observe potential activity from Hämsterviel. We can't predict where he's going, but we know one place he's been, and it seems to be a magnet for trouble."

"Transportation has been arranged," Gantu announced. "You will depart for your new homeworld in the morning."

"Wait, wait, WAIT!" Nani cried, waving her hands frustratedly. "Are you LOLO? You're telling us to just…pack up our things overnight and move to a whole new WORLD?"

"I know it seems drastic," Bubbles stated, "but trust me when I say everything has been taken care of. Most importantly, you'll be together. Not only do you function better as a unit, but we're well aware that you need each other."

"Even me?" David asked hopefully, though he already knew the answer; Bubbles had never said his name.

"No," Bubbles said sternly. "Not you. The Pelekai family taking an extended 'vacation' is explainable to the general public. You disappearing with them would arouse suspicion. Besides, we evaluated your performance in prior incidents, and the results weren't pleasing."

"So you want us to just…leave David behind," Nani repeated, "and everyone else here we care about."

"The relocation should be temporary," Gantu assured her. "If there are no incidents, you will be brought back home in a matter of months. If there are, then you will handle them and be brought back home at their conclusion."

"And how many MONTHS is a matter?" Nani asked.

"It's really not that many in the grand scale of things," Gantu assured her.

"HOW," Nani repeated, "MANY?"

"Er…six?" Gantu said sheepishly.

"SIX MONTHS?" Nani cried.

"By, uh, this world's time standard, anyway," Gantu said, even more sheepishly.

"WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?" Nani cried. When neither Gantu nor Bubbles provided an answer, she proceeded to the next question: "WHAT ABOUT MY JOB?"

"Your vacation notice has been filed and approved," Bubbles told her. "The town where you're being relocated has multiple employment opportunities, but your station should provide for your needs regardless."

"WHAT ABOUT LILO'S EDUCATION?" Nani yelled. "WHERE IS SHE SUPPOSED TO GO TO SCHOOL?"

"She will learn from the others at the station," Bubbles stated.

"OUR HOUSE?" Nani argued.

"Will remain under constant surveillance," Bubbles assured, "and kept from any and all harm. You will find it in the same state you left it in when you come home."

"I don't know who you think you're kidding," Nani growled, "but we're NOT GOING."

"We're not?" Lilo said disappointedly.

"We're not!" Pleakley cried joyfully.

"And I don't know who you think you're addressing," Bubbles told her, "but you don't have a choice in the matter."

"Erm, actually," Gantu brought up, "there's nothing we can do to MAKE them go. Short of restraining them and forcing them into custody, that is, and that would not only be a direct violation of our orders, but rather unfriendly, don't you think?"

"I hate to say," Jumba broke in, "but if truly is matter of inter-world security, and we are last line of defense…would not be very good thing at all to refuse."

Pleakley sighed. "I don't wanna get wrapped up in a big mess involving a bunch of evil villains, but it would be the right thing to do."

"Please, Nani?" Lilo begged. "It'll be a real adventure! Please please pleeeaaaase?"

"Pretty please?" Stitch added.

Nani turned back to the others with a sigh. "We JUST got reunited as a family," she reminded them. "We only just all came home."

"And you'll still be a family," David reminded her. "Just because you won't be in this house doesn't mean you won't be at home. You'll still have each other."

"But I won't have you," Nani reminded him. "And you won't have me."

David shrugged. "I can wait. And you're tough. You don't need me. Just think of me if you find yourself surfing some interdimensional ocean wave."

Nani sighed, returning her attention to Bubbles and Gantu. "All right," she relented. "We'll do it."

"WOO-HOOOOO!" Lilo whooped.

"YES!" Stitch cried.

"Where is this 'station' anyway?" Nani asked. "Like a space station?"

"Not quite," Bubbles informed her.

"It's more like a castle," Gantu explained. "The world is called Radiant Gard – "

He didn't get to finish. "WE'RE GOING BACK TO RADIANT GARDEN?" Lilo cried, eyes and mouth widening with excitement.

"TOOKIE BAH WAH BAH!" Stitch yelled, grinning toothily.

"Now that's something I can actually get behind!" Pleakley remarked.

"Will be good to catch up with new friends there," Jumba added.

"Well, I guess this is my chance to learn what the hype was about," Nani admitted.

"The ship will arrive where Gantu's craft used to be parked by the waterfall," Bubbles explained. "Be there by seven. You have until then to pack up, rest up, and say your goodbyes."

Nani stole a quick look back at David. They would have many goodbyes to say, all right.

"And, er, before we leave, if you could tell us your favorite sandwiches?" Gantu requested. "Reuben will be preparing lunches for the journey."

...

The bell of the Liminal Space's door jingled, indicating a visitor. Terminus and Hoagy scrambled for the counter, expecting a customer. Instead, Rémington strode in, cape billowing behind him as he walked.

"Rémington!" Terminus greeted. "So good to see you again."

"I don't have anything to sell today," Rémington stated.

Terminus' expression soured. "In that case, it ISN'T good to see you again."

"I'll get something, okay?" Rémington grumbled. "Keep your hat on. You made good returns off the lava gun, didn't you?"

"He makes a point," Hoagy reminded Terminus.

"Anyway, I've heard some rumors on the street," Rémington stated. "Word is, other villains are catching word of – "

"I don't know if I like that word," Terminus interrupted. "'Villains.' Are we really so bad? We are just doing business, after all."

Rémington raised an eyebrow. "Do you really believe that? Me, I don't have any delusions. I know I'm bad, and I like being bad. Anyone who thinks I'm some kind of antihero has it all wrong. If you don't think that way, give it a try. It's more fun that way." He winked.

"You were talking about something that sounded like BUSINESS," Terminus reminded him. "What was it?"

"Villains are catching word of what Maleficent did with the colored sands," Rémington explained.

"Really?" Hoagy replied. "That's weird. Didn't think anyone else was on Radiant Garden then. It was pretty big, though. Word gets out."

Rémington flinched. "Radia – "

He realized that questioning it would seem suspicious. If they thought he was referring to an incident in Radiant Garden, then that was what he was referring to. " – nt Garden is the topic of the week in the rumor mill," he finished. "Others want a piece of the pie, and they're starting to look for their own sands. The ambitious are going out to find their own sands on worlds with different deserts. The lazy are looking for a place to PURCHASE. And the most accessible outlet would be the Knockturn Alley branch."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Terminus asked.

"I think he's sayin' that we should put the little bit of sand Maleficent's got left on sale," Hoagy commented. "But that's suicide!"

"Not if we go through Cruella about it," Terminus reminded his partner. "After all, she does owe us repayment for the lava guns. If SHE wanted to use it for her own purposes, Maleficent could hardly question it."

"But if she uses it for HER purposes – "

"WE'LL be her purposes, Hoagy!" Terminus grinned. "Of course, changing reality doesn't come cheap. If we can get our hands on that sand, we'll put a pretty price tag on it. Knockturn wizards do carry fat purses, after all…"

"You never know what some people might be willing to pay," Rémington said with a nod, thinking of how Mozenrath would be ready to foot any bill if it meant one of the crucial steps in his grand plan would be fulfilled. "Anyway, it's just food for thought. Nothing concrete." He turned on a heel, cape fluttering. "I'll be back when I have something you'll have to pay ME for."

He'd just added a link to the chain and he knew it. He almost wished he could reveal his status to Mozenrath if only so that Mozenrath could never say Rémington hadn't done him any favors. Then again, Mozenrath would probably scold him for not going to get the sands himself and bring them back without the WHAM ARMY having to empty their wallets for it – right before he incinerated Rémington in one blow for selling him out to a Maleficent-adjacent agent. Better he didn't know.

...

Gothel examined herself in her full-length mirror. There was not a wrinkle to be found, nor a hair any shade lighter than deep raven. It was a satisfying sight, but not one that came without worry. How long would it last? How long did she have before her body picked up aging at a normal rate? At what age did Mozenrath bring her back to life, exactly? She hadn't yet been told of a permanent solution to rid herself of imperfections, and given the state of Yzma, she was sure any such assurance was an empty promise. After all, Gothel thought, if there were a gateway to eternal youth to be had, that woman would have used it by now. The thought of becoming anything like Yzma, physically at least, was repulsive to Gothel. How did she stand it? How did the others stand working with someone who could basically fall apart at any moment? How did Wuya actually find it desirable?

Though one could ask the same questions of Archibald Snatcher. And those questions would certainly reign supreme in Gothel's mind if she didn't have her own particular reasons to pursue him. There was, first of all, that voice, which was all but wasted on a person like him. More importantly, however, was what she'd noticed about him from the day they'd met. He was a natural born leader. They all said Mozenrath was the overlord of the WHAM ARMY, and that the other seven had equal share in making decisions, but Gothel could tell that Snatcher carried more weight than anyone was willing to admit. He could command. He could manipulate. He could change the chartered course.

Which was good, because Gothel had wanted to change course for a while now.

A knock at the door to her quarters. "Just a minute," she said, pasting on a smile for whoever had interrupted. She glided to the door, prying it open to find out that apparently, even speaking of the devil was no longer necessary; simply thinking about Snatcher was enough to have brought him to her door.

"Miss Gothel," he greeted.

She gave him a coy smile. "Mr. Snatcher."

She'd had centuries to get to know how men worked. Perhaps this particular man was immune to her charms now, but they all fell eventually, she knew. "Do come in," she invited.

He stepped tentatively into her apartment, having only come to deliver a short message and finding it rather unnecessary to pay an entire visit for this purpose. "I've a proposition for you regarding today's strategy," he announced.

"Oh?" Gothel replied, feigning interest. This was where she had to turn the tables. She'd waited long enough to get what she truly wanted. But first she would hear him out.

"Torchwick and I have discussed the matter," he stated, "and we wished to invite you along on the mission to Asgard. After all, we did operate as a well-functioning unit back in Vardaros. Your talents for manipulation could prove useful indeed."

"I see," Gothel replied. "And was this Torchwick's idea, or yours?"

"Mine, to be sure. Torchwick was more concerned with making our team fit for battle. He is speaking with Miss Neopolitan at this very moment."

"I see," she said again, nudging the door to her apartment closed. "You know, Mr. Snatcher…ah, silly me, we're friends by now. I suppose I can call you Archibald – "

"Certainly not," he replied, and his gaze was stone.

"Well, then," Gothel hissed, "forgive me for trying to be friendly." She put on a feigned pout. "And here I thought you would be sympathetic to my…well. It doesn't matter."

He knew this trick. He wasn't quite sure where it was going: somewhere innocent, somewhere treacherous. "You want me to ask what's the matter," he stated.

She knew he was on to her and rewarded him with a smirk. "You do catch on fast."

Snatcher glowered. "Don't think I haven't noticed how you've acted around me," he told her. "From accosting me in Corona all the way to a line in our improvisational games that I am growing ever more certain was NOT written on your slip. How many times must I reject your advances to make myself clear?"

Gothel backed away, moving into the kitchen, where she draped herself against a counter. "All I ever did was admire you," she moaned, "and suddenly, I'm the bad guy, even among villains."

"If you think that's going to garner you any sympathy whatsoever," Snatcher told her, following her, "you've severely misunderstood who you're talking to."

"Why do you even bother with me?" Gothel asked in a dramatically morose tone. "You turn me down at every opportunity, and you can barely stand my presence."

"Now don't go turning this into – "

"So why invite me?" Gothel went on. "Why include me at all? You don't even want me around."

"All I want," Snatcher said through gritted teeth, "is for you to cease this ridiculous simpering and buckle down to business so we can accomplish what I know we are capable of. Is that truly so difficult?"

"You don't know what it's like, do you?" She turned to face him. "Wanting someone who will never want you back."

That struck him, his heart skipping a beat. "Were you informed, or was that a lucky guess?"

Her mouth twitched; she was trying not to smile, and Snatcher knew it. "A lucky guess," she admitted, her expression still forced into a pout. At least Snatcher could be assured that was the truth; there was no one who could have given her that information. "But you DO know what it's like, then, and even more, you must know what it's like to want to regain your youth and all of your lost beauty."

She was getting closer to the nerve. "I can assure you, Miss Gothel," Snatcher growled, "there wasn't much to lose to begin with."

Well, that was a disappointment, she thought, unless he was just that insecure. She would find out if everything went to plan. "You have wanted to become young again, haven't you?"

"And WHAT does this have to do with current affairs?"

"It's all I've ever wanted," Gothel reminded him. "How much time do I have left before I start becoming…" She shuddered, and it was only partially an act.

"First you claim it's me you want," Snatcher observed, "and now it's only ever been youth."

Now she did smile. "Clever, clever. You know, it's almost like you and I really were meant to be. You know every one of my tricks. I wonder if you know what I'm about to ask next?"

"Something that will once again seem unrelated to the incredibly simple proposition I am making to you," Snatcher guessed, growing bored with her charades.

"It's just that I have a slightly more complicated proposition for you," Gothel told him. "You MUST want your youth restored, and I want mine preserved. Why don't we both get what we want?" She held out her left arm in a half-shrug.

"I can see we're getting nowhere until you've gotten this ridiculousness out of your system," Snatcher sighed, "so out with it and we'll be on our way."

"It's just that…what if we DIDN'T go after the Tesseract?" she asked. "What if we chased down the secret of immortality and eternal youth instead?"

"Then Lord Mozenrath's plan would be set back quite far," Snatcher reminded her. "Furthermore, how do you intend to go about finding such a thing?"

"With the compass, of course," Gothel said casually. "It will point us directly to wherever we need to go."

"Lord Mozenrath requires it to locate – "

"I KNOW what Mozenrath wants to use it for," Gothel said, voice hard like steel. "Which is why…" She lightened her tone, as though her next proposition were completely reasonable: "You'd have to tell him we've switched targets. HE can go to Asgard for the Tesseract. WE can sail the Etherium to find the map of whatever-his-name-was. At which point we simply…don't."

"You are suggesting outright SABOTAGE," Snatcher told her sternly. "I won't stand for it, I won't endorse it, and I certainly won't CARRY IT OUT."

"Because Mozenwath is youw best fwiend?" Gothel taunted. "I KNOW you want what I want. I knew it the moment I saw you. The moment I saw…" She gestured with her left hand. "All this. I knew you would UNDERSTAND."

"You would compare YOUR problems to MINE?"

"You've only had fifty years to get old," Gothel reminded him. "I've been undoing it for hundreds upon hundreds of years. Anything you've been through, I've been through ten times over."

"I think you underestimate EXACTLY what I have been through, Miss Gothel."

"Tell me honestly," Gothel cajoled. "Do you or do you not want your lost years back?"

"Miss Gothel, I refuse to – "

"TELL ME."

Her sharp, biting words caught Snatcher off guard. He knew he could lie. He also knew that wasn't how things worked around here. "Yes," he replied, "I do. But not enough to sabotage the goals of this operation."

"And you're the one who can make it happen," Gothel insisted. "It's the other thing I could see about you at once. You're the only one who could talk Mozenrath into making the switch. He would believe you. And if you asked something of him with enough ferocity, you'd get it. Roman? Neo? Their little trio of mental cases or whatever's going on there? Would all fall in line to you, and once they learned what we were REALLY after, they wouldn't question it, so long as you were at the helm."

"So that's what it's been," Snatcher stated. "You saw in me a route to your immortality. It was never an attraction in the conventional sense."

"Well, I wouldn't say NEVER," Gothel admitted. "One lends to the other, you know. Once I knew how much you'd understand and what you could do to help me – the both of us, really – it did make you alluring in a way that you otherwise wouldn't be."

"The answer is no," Snatcher snarled. "And furthermore, you are officially disinvited from the Asgard operation. I'll give you a chance to change your mind about this before I consider whether your behavior will need to be reported."

Gothel sighed. "I had hoped to have more time to work on you," she admitted. "But my time is running out."

"You realize you could just as easily wait for the Atlantis invasion, then – "

"Oh, wait for Mozenrath to fail spectacularly a second time?" Gothel cried in frustration, gesturing feverishly with her left hand. "Wait for him to hop from world to world gathering resources only to find out that he's led us into ANOTHER death trap, or that his brother is waiting to stop him AGAIN? I don't have the time, and neither do you. This is what we BOTH want."

"It's treason."

"We're the bad guys," Gothel cajoled. "Treason is what we do. Now tell me you truly would rather go on an entire wild goose chase than to take a few moments out of Mozenrath's time to get back all of those decades you wasted chasing a hat that was never meant to be yours?"

Now that got Snatcher thinking. Not about committing treason, but about exactly how much time he had wasted when he could have short-handed his quest and done things Mozenrath and Roman's way. Worthless years, spent never learning a lesson that had been taught to him so quickly simply by meeting the right people.

Gothel saw the uncertainty in his eyes. She had him; she was sure of it. Any moment now, he would give in –

She hadn't counted on anyone entering who had simply no sense of etiquette about knocking on doors. The voice came casually, almost playfully lilting into the kitchen shortly before its owner did: "So, are we ready to rock and roll or what?"

Both Gothel and Snatcher looked to Roman in surprise.

"Not gonna lie, I'm pretty stoked for this one," Roman admitted.

"On second thought," Snatcher told Gothel, "I'd rather you not join us on our mission at all."

Gothel was taken aback. "But you – "

"No buts about it," Snatcher grunted. "Torchwick, Miss Neopolitan, and our wayward three are all we will need."

Gothel glowered at him. "This isn't over."

"It is as 'over' as you choose it to be," Snatcher informed her. "As all you've done is propose an idea, I am willing to let it lie and not make a fuss. No one need know. Take it any further, and Lord Mozenrath will be quite interested to know what you've been thinking. I would keep the fate of Mr. Young in mind, Miss Gothel."

Without another word, he turned and strode away, Roman joining him. "So, uh…is there a REASON we're down by one now?" Roman asked.

"Yes," Snatcher told him as they exited the apartment, "there is. I will inform you, but you MUST swear to let ME handle the situation. There's no need to get anyone else involved or act hastily."

"All right, you got it."

"I'm serious, Torchwick. No taking matters into your own hands."

"I'm cool, Archie. I GOT this. So what happened?"

Gothel was left to consider what had just taken place. She was convinced she'd had Snatcher on her line. How could he have refused the promise of youth regained? What had broken his interest?

Roman Torchwick. That was the answer. As soon as he'd appeared, Snatcher had shifted gears. That had always been the case, hadn't it? Snatcher had sway with everyone. He could get whatever he wanted out of the group at large. But Roman was the person who had power over him. Roman was the one who could get what he wanted from Snatcher, and the one who held his chain. If Gothel wanted Snatcher to be the bridge between her and her goal, she would have to make sure Roman wouldn't be a problem.

Shrewd as Snatcher was, the only person Gothel could consider her equal, he hadn't thought to think about why her right hand had been kept firmly behind her back, where it clutched the handle of a steak knife she'd picked up when she'd moved into the kitchen. She replaced the utensil in its drawer. He hadn't pushed her that far yet. But if he was determined to make her the bad guy, even among villains, she had quite the experience in doing that.

...

The Corridor emptied Mozenrath and Zevon out into a brightly lit street, shops with charming architecture lining each side. People in colorful robes traversed from shop to shop, carrying magical items of every sort.

Upon getting an eyeful, Mozenrath proclaimed, "I hate it."

"That is because we're in the wrong place," Zevon informed him. "This is Diagon Alley. It is pretty detespicable. This is where GOOD people do their shopping for magic meant to FIGHT evil. We want the other side." He craned his head around, taking note of the gables and angles to decipher his location. "Follow me. We're not that distanceted from where we want to be."

Zevon took off at a brisk pace, and Mozenrath followed, deciding to put his trust in Yzma's son. Along the way, he stole glances at the storefronts, peering into the windows. On display were potion bottles and flying broomsticks, lunar globes and crystal balls. A bookstore even seemed to have some volumes that twitched as though alive. "On second thought," Mozenrath decided, "ignoring the garish aesthetic, it actually looks like there could be useful things here."

"Diagon Alley has its time and its place," Zevon scoffed. "I've found more than one useful trink-knack here. But this is the shallow end where the children play. We're going to the deep end."

"Malapropism aside," Mozenrath observed, "that was actually a decent metaphor."

"My metaphormoses are ALWAYS decencied," Zevon replied.

Mozenrath had nothing to say to that.

Zevon's sense of direction was true, and in a matter of moments, he'd brought Mozenrath to a district where the mood had changed almost violently. The buildings here were taller, looming, more angular, with walls of solid brick rather than charmingly painted wood. Fewer pedestrians walked the streets, and those that did wore black, as though everyone who shopped here wanted to show solidarity.

"Welcome to Knockturn Alley," Zevon introduced, holding his hands out to display the sight before him.

"I actually feel welcome here," Mozenrath stated, rather awed.

"Business has gone down since the Wizarding War," Zevon informed him, "but there's just enough traffic here to keep everything afloating."

"There was a wizarding war?" Mozenrath asked, genuinely curious.

Zevon led on, Mozenrath walking behind eagerly; the former related a brief history. "On this world, there was a wizard named Voldemort who wanted to become immortalitized and force all Muggles to be subservicing to wizardkind," he explained. "He enforciblated the idea that magic is might. He was a true role model for evil. He had hundreds of followers, though only a small inner circle. But of course, whenever a great villain rises, a bunch of HEROES have to show up to stop him. People who wanted things like equitality and were bothered by his seriousal killing stood against him. The two sides clashed in a final battle at a wizarding school. Voldemort experished, but not before taking down so many of this world's heroes in hilarifying ways. You would have admirated him; I know it. After all, I certaintily do."

"Interesting," Mozenrath observed, "given that you, technically, don't have any magic of your own outside of those potions."

"I have POWER," Zevon asserted. "I'm no ordinancery Muggle. I'm a hundred times smarter and more evil."

Mozenrath was about to make a retort, but it occurred to him he didn't really have a handle on how intelligent Zevon actually was. The malapropisms only suggested that he didn't have a grip on language. The potions he brewed, however, suggested at the very least an excellent memory. "How do you come up with the recipes for your potions? Through research or experimentation?"

"Both," Zevon answered, "as well as knowingledge of the effects of variousgated ingrediences. Once I know what something does in three different recipations, I can predictate what it will do in a fourth."

So he was sharper than he seemed after all. Mozenrath could respect that.

"Now that the good guys won," Zevon went on, "fewer people want to be associative with Voldemort. But the bravadous still come here to remember that Dark magic lives. If Voldemort isn't going to be the one to use it, someone else will."

"Someone like me, you mean."

"Exactingly!" Zevon replied. "You're perfectionate to fill his shoes! Not just on this world, but every world!"

Mozenrath hadn't realized just how much Zevon admired him. That was a boost to the ego. "Are there any current competitors coming from this world?"

"Not that I know."

"No ancient evils of the past who everyone believed were past their prime who want to reclaim the title?"

"There was only one Dark wizard who ever rivaled Voldemort's level of power on this world," Zevon spat, "and he was an overrated HACK who couldn't put together a coherive plan or deliver a rousable speech without sounding drunk."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Though if you were wondering about potentialized recruitmentations for the WHAM ARMY," Zevon went on, "it will be difficable to find someone who isn't completely loyalismic to Voldemort to this day. The WHAM ARMY will be a hard sell."

"So I'm competing with a dead man for attention. That just figures."

"I do have one contact here who just might fit the bill, however," Zevon continued. "Someone I deal with regulaturly. Someone I know I can trust. Someone who – "

He halted in his tracks. "Someone who is RIGHT THERE!" He pointed ahead, where a young man, no older than nineteen, with pale skin and almost white-blond hair had exited a bookshop. "MALFOY!"

The youth flinched, turning away to pretend he hadn't noticed Zevon.

Zevon picked up the pace, chasing after his supposed comrade. "DRACO MALFOY!" he cried out. "IT IS I, ZEVON!"

Draco, as it seemed his name was, hurried on without paying Zevon any attention. He found himself forcibly halted when Mozenrath teleported directly in front of him.

"Now, is that any way to treat a friend of yours?" Mozenrath said mockingly.

"Who do YOU think you're supposed to be?" Draco spat.

"Let's save that for the grand reveal, shall we?" Mozenrath replied coyly. "First of all, I want to know about your relationship with Zevon."

Zevon caught up by then, clapping Draco on the shoulder. "Draco Malfoy!" he repeated. "My old confidential!"

"We're not bloody FRIENDS, Zevon," Draco hissed.

"Same old Malfoy," Zevon chuckled. "He gets like this every time. It's always 'I don't want to be seen with you' and 'You draw too much attention to me' and 'Brewing potions doesn't make you a wizard.' But he always comes through to help me find exactingly what I need."

"So I can make you GO AWAY," Draco insisted.

Mozenrath couldn't hide a chuckle. "I like him," he declared.

"I'll ask one more time," Draco spat. "Who the bloody hell ARE you?"

"I am Mozenrath," Mozenrath replied. "An ACTUAL wizard. Though I do prefer the term 'sorcerer.' 'Wizard' sounds just a bit too…basic for what I do. I'm here on business, and if Zevon says you're the man we need, then you're going to help us find what we're looking for. Which isn't a request, by the way."

"A sorcerer," Draco sneered. "More than a wizard. If you're so special, go on and prove it."

"Gladly," Mozenrath replied with a smirk.

He cast his right hand out toward the street, and a geyser of blue energy erupted from it, blowing the cobblestones out of place. Higher and higher the fireworks of magic reached, flames now flickering to surround the column. Then, all at once, it froze into a tower of ice that branched like a kudzu vine.

Draco gaped for a moment before saying, hushed, "You cast that without using an incantation."

"Which is a big deal?" Mozenrath replied.

"Of COURSE it's a big deal," Draco told him, trying to sound condescending through his poorly-disguised awe. "Only the most powerful wizards can – " Realization hit him, and he scowled at Zevon. "You've brought him here from one of those other realms you're always going on about, haven't you?"

"Guilty as charged," Zevon admitted. "Mozenrath is a good friend of mine. And he's looking to take over every world there is."

"According to Zevon," Mozenrath recapitulated, "there's some sort of power vacuum in this world as far as Dark magic goes. He was also about to tell me how you were somehow involved. The implication was that you were one of the few people here who wasn't undyingly loyal to Voldemort."

Draco bristled at that. "What do you want to know for?"

It was too soon to spring the offer, especially since Mozenrath didn't yet have a grasp on if Draco was fitting for his reserves or not – though he did admire the young man's sharp attitude. "Just call it curiosity," Mozenrath told him. "Finding a fellow user of Dark magic who I respect is always pleasant. Which isn't to say I respect you just yet."

"You haven't given me a reason to earn your respect, either," Draco pointed out.

"Point taken," Mozenrath replied. "You've seen what I can do, or at least a taste of it. Now I want to know what you can do. Obviously not cast a spell without a verbal incantation, but…"

"LOTS of things!" Zevon boasted. "He's studied how to cast the Unforgivable Curses! He knows spells that would disremember – "

"STOP PUTTING WORDS IN MY MOUTH, ZEVON!" Draco snapped.

"Unforgivable Curses?" Mozenrath repeated. "That sounds promising. Anyone who can cast a curse bad enough to be called 'unforgivable' gets marks in my book."

"You don't know what the Unforgivable Curses are, do you?" Draco asked.

"No," Mozenrath replied. "Enlighten me."

Draco never could pass up a chance to boast. "There are three," he stated. "The Imperius curse, which allows you to take over someone's mind and bend them to your will. The Cruciatus curse, which puts them in a state of blinding pain. And the Killing Curse. I can cast all three, something not many wizards my age can claim."

"Though he's still working on actually executiving the Killing Curse," Zevon brought up.

"I DON'T NEED YOU TO HELP ME, ZEVON!" Draco snapped.

Mozenrath sighed. "DON'T tell me you're squeamish about killing."

"I'm not SQUEAMISH!" Draco insisted. "I was one of Voldemort's Death Eaters! I was in his inner circle! I nearly burned Potter alive in Fiendfyre!"

"Then what happened to make you back down from casting the Killing Curse?" Mozenrath asked coyly.

Draco bristled. "Voldemort asked something of me I wasn't ready to handle," he grunted. "He decided the hour and the circumstances under which I would take my first life. That's why I'm no longer loyal to him. I cast him aside during the Battle of Hogwarts and stood with those who opposed him."

"Oh." Mozenrath rolled his eyes. "So you joined forces with the heroes." He turned to stalk away.

"Where are you going?" Zevon called after him.

"To find someone who can help us and is actually dark-hearted," Mozenrath called back. "No one who pals around with freedom fighters."

Draco scowled, not wanting to leave that sort of impression on the stranger. "You know NOTHING about me!" he argued, hurrying to catch up with and walk alongside Mozenrath. (Zevon followed close behind.) "Since the war ended, I haven't fit in anywhere! Magic is might, but those who believe that are diminishing, and I can't speak my mind without being regarded as a pariah! But those who do still believe it want to resurrect Voldemort's cause, not start up a new one! After how I was used, I refuse to pledge loyalty to that man ever again, even after his death!"

Which, all considered, wasn't too far off from how Mozenrath felt about one certain Destane. He halted, turning to look Draco in the eye. "So," he asked, "are you a killer, or aren't you?"

Draco tensed. "I'm not," he replied, "YET."

Mozenrath thought it over. "Well, come to think of it, neither is Spicer. You wouldn't HAVE to be a murderer, I guess. Just so long as you didn't get in the way of the rest of us doing it. You'd be helpful in other ways."

"Helpful for WHAT?" Draco asked. "Are you sizing me up for something? Are you RECRUITING me?"

"You want someone to start up a cause that isn't related to Voldemort," Mozenrath reminded him. "Take a wild guess what I'm doing."

"And that cause would be?"

"Conquest," Mozenrath replied. "You didn't think Zevon was serious when he said I was looking to rule every world, did you? Well, he was, and I am. And I'd say 'magic is might' is a pretty core statement to my philosophy, though I'm not anti-Muggle by any means. After all, some of my closest friends don't have a lick of magic to speak of. That's a disclaimer, not a defense."

"I'm aware," Draco replied. "After all, you're allied with ZEVON."

"I'm looking for power," Mozenrath stated. "Plain and simple. Well, with the caveat that it's power to do whatever evil my friends and I desire. It ranges from petty theft to revenge and beyond. And honestly, from what little I know about you, it sounds like power is what you need. A way to get back on top without subscribing to Voldemort's terms."

"Only replacing them with yours," Draco answered, "if you're implying what I think you are."

"I would call you astute, but really, I wasn't subtle," Mozenrath remarked. "You could help us. We are gathering numbers for a rather ambitious takeover, after all. The more magic users we have, the better. And mind control and torture are both useful skills we could utilize."

"There's more than that," Draco blurted. "Sectumsempra. A dismemberment curse. One I learned because it was used on me. After that, I made sure to know it so I could use it on anyone else who tried it after."

"Now, that's good," Mozenrath commented. "Really, you have a lot of useful talents that would blend well with our goals. Of course, you'd have to play nice with Zevon, but we could put your living spaces on opposite sides of the empire."

"And who says I'm going to go along with someone I've just met?" Draco balked.

"I seem to recall you saying you didn't fit in with anyone here," Mozenrath reminded him. "Or was that an exaggeration?"

Draco thought it over. There were his parents, though lately he'd felt distanced from them, having realized how much his father had groomed him into being a second coming of himself. Not that Draco wouldn't have turned out as proud as he did nonetheless, but he didn't appreciate having been forced into a mold from such a young age. He'd only become a Death Eater in the first place on his father's orders, and though his father and mother both were trying to make it up to him, it was hard to forgive. His mother had apparently gone to great lengths to protect him; it was a shoddy apology as far as he was concerned. Why keep him in the dark? Then there was the ghost girl at the school he'd attended – a strange confidante he'd made whilst preparing to deal the killing blow Voldemort had assigned him. Not very much of a long-term friend, given the way she was confined to the bathroom she haunted in a building Draco would likely never set foot in again. Besides, she shared almost none of his ideals: just the same feeling of not fitting in anywhere, though back in those days, you wouldn't have expected that of Draco, looking at the shallow entourage that surrounded him. Of that crowd, he spoke to none anymore. One was dead, one had little value beyond a lackey to threaten his enemies, and the rest had either cast their lot with the Boy who Lived or simply gotten tired of Draco.

"My family is one of the oldest clans of pureblood wizards in the world," Draco informed Mozenrath. "The Malfoy name carries a reputation. A Malfoy has power in this world." Though in a post-Voldemort era, it was rather the wrong sort of power. "Whatever cause I join has to be worthy of a Malfoy."

"I suppose I can't ask you to make the decision now," Mozenrath sighed. "And it would be equally stupid to decide for you after knowing you for…has it even been fifteen minutes? I'm just giving you an option. What I need NOW is a guide to Knockturn Alley." His lip curled; saying it out loud, he'd only just realized the pun. He'd thought moving out of the Seven Deserts would mean a decrease in terrible puns being used as proper names. At least it wasn't worse than "Ayam Aghoul"; nothing ever could be. "Zevon and I are looking for a shop that sells one incredibly particular magical item. I was hoping you could give us a shortcut."

Draco nearly asked what it was he would get out of the deal when he realized he didn't care as much as he expected to. Against his better judgment, he did feel as though this Mozenrath actually did understand him – much as Mozenrath admired Draco's sharp tongue; the two were recognizing themselves in each other. And as much as an annoyance as Zevon could be, he was an annoyance Draco had gotten rather used to, and at least someone who still liked talking to him – and, more importantly, listening to him talk. Perhaps it was worth getting to know Mozenrath a little more and spend some further time with him. This was the most positive interaction Draco had experienced with anyone, including his own family, in weeks. "All right, then," he resolved. "What is it you're looking for?"

"Multicolored sands," Mozenrath replied. "The type with which an experienced magic user can change the very fabric of reality."

Draco nodded. "I haven't seen anything like that," he admitted, "but I've never gone looking for it. That's strong magic. Only a handful of shops will have something that specialized."

"And you're going to show us that handful!" Zevon cried.

"Just follow me," Draco barked, turning down a side street. "We're doing the most obvious first."

"I think I know exactingly where we're going!" Zevon cried as he scurried afterward.

"Well, Malfoy," Mozenrath muttered as he brought up the rear at a reasonable and dignified pace, "impress me."

Draco brought the pair to a quite large storefront with dingy glass windows that only hinted at the silhouettes of items inside. "We'll start here," he declared.

Mozenrath's eyes flitted up to read the sign above the door; apparently this shop was called "Borgin & Burkes."

"Of COURSE!" Zevon cried. "They have all kinds of rarifies!"

"Let me do the talking," Draco commanded. "Borgin and I know each other to a point. He's a stubborn old man, but I know how to get what I want out of him."

"No promises," Mozenrath stated. "After all, this IS my operation."

"And this is MY world," Draco reminded him. "You've never set foot here before today."

"Once again," Mozenrath admitted, "point taken."

He still hadn't really verbally relinquished control to Draco, but Draco figured this was the best he would get and opened the door anyway, leading Mozenrath and Zevon inside.

This shop was as enticing to Mozenrath as a candy store might be to most. Glittering jewelry lay on cushions, each marked with a warning sign that forbade visitors from touching it with bare skin. There seemed to be an entire wall of murder weapons, from blades to ropes, some of which had obviously seen use and were caked with blood. Packs of cards and colorfully painted masks radiated magic. One display case even featured bones Mozenrath was certain were human, calling to abstract and forbidden arts.

There seemed to be no shopkeeper in sight. Draco made to search the old man he'd mentioned out, but Zevon beat him to the punch by yelling, "BORGIN! WE'RE HERE FOR BUSINESS!"

Surprisingly, the voice that responded from the back room did not sound like it belonged to an old man at all. "I'll be there in a second!" it cried, and Zevon and Draco's expressions immediately soured. Neither of them had wanted to deal with this particular circumstance today.

Mozenrath, of course, was blissfully unaware: simply curious about the disconnect beween the voice he'd heard and Draco's description.

His curiosity grew when a young man, perhaps in his very late twenties, emerged from the stockroom, dusting his hands of a powdery gods-knew-what as he strode onto the sales floor. "All right," he declared. "What can I – " He cut himself off with an audible groan. "Of course. It's YOU. I'm surprised you managed to pronounce the word 'business' right, honestly."

"The feeling is mutuated," Zevon growled.

The shopkeeper rolled his eyes. "If I call you an 'idiotcile,' will you finally figure out what the word means?"

Mozenrath looked this man up and down. The first thing he noted was that the shopkeeper was actually very attractive – tall, slender, a head of dark and curly hair with a light dusting of facial hair. Sea-green eyes that pierced, even from that distance. Though he wore black, Mozenrath could see the hems of his robes peeling back over bright crimson boots, giving the ensemble a kick of character.

Of course, those were all things Zevon and Draco had noticed about this man at first, too, on Zevon's first excursion here. It was all ruined when he had started talking.

"I thought you said we were dealing with a stubborn old man," Mozenrath stated, perplexed.

"I was talking about Borgin," Draco seethed. "Who I'd HOPED we would be dealing with today."

"Shut your mouth, Old Money," the young shopkeeper snapped. "I don't need you getting all holier-than-thou on somebody who might actually have a clue." He stepped closer to Mozenrath, examining him. "I've never actually seen you here before. It's not really promising that you showed up with these two, but I'll withhold judgment."

The first order of business was figuring out exactly what Mozenrath was dealing with. "So you're not Borgin. That makes you Burke."

"Grandson of Caractacus himself," Burke confirmed. "Took the old man way too long to figure out he wasn't fit to run the place anymore. Now I'm just waiting for Borgin to get a clue."

"NO!" Zevon barked. "IF YOU GAIN FULL OWNERAGESHIP, YOU LOSE OUR LOYALITY!"

"Ooh, that would be such a loss," Burke said sarcastically; Mozenrath couldn't help but notice the way he lisped ever so slightly on his S's, turning them into soft "sh"s. If he'd met this man before having become involved with the Huntsman, he might actually be flustered.

"I take it you're not well-liked," Mozenrath observed.

"No, he is," Draco and Zevon groaned in unison.

"I actually have connections all over Knockturn," Burke confirmed. "I'm a pretty easy guy to get along with. Just not if you're either one of them."

"People only fawn over you because you learned legilimency at thirteen," Draco seethed, "wrote your own curses from then on, and refused to tell anyone else how to cast them."

"And because you're attractivating!" Zevon added. "…I mean, because they THINK you are! Because you're NOT!"

"A man who writes his own curses," Mozenrath stated. "Now, that's impressive."

"Don't FALL FOR IT!" Zevon cried.

"Are you FLIRTING with him?" Draco groaned.

"Oh, God damn, will you two stay out of this?" Burke groaned.

"I haven't seen him do anything worse than call you idiots," Mozenrath added, "which I do regularly. Now let me handle my own affairs BY MYSELF."

"So much for needing my help," Draco muttered.

"Are you, by the way?" Burke asked. "Flirting with me."

"I'm a taken man, sorry to say," Mozenrath replied.

"Huh," Burke replied. "Kinda too bad. What's your name, anyway?"

"I am Mozenrath," Mozenrath said proudly.

Burke blinked once in surprise before saying, "Well, THAT sounds like a cluster of syllables made up by someone who only had a vague idea of what a Middle Eastern name sounds like."

This removed any and all desire on Mozenrath's part to learn Burke's first name, so he resolved he simply wouldn't. He still did want to do business with the man, however. "I was hoping we could do business," he stated. "Maybe you have what I'm looking for."

"Well, that all depends on what you're looking for," Burke replied coyly.

"Sand," Mozenrath replied. "Sand of many colors. The kind a sorcerer can use to change reality."

"So you're a SORCERER," Burke said derisively. "Might I ask what a self-proclaimed SORCERER wants the sands for?"

"Do you HAVE them?" Mozenrath asked.

"No," Burke replied. "I don't. I am still curious about what you want SAND for."

"Oh, nothing special." Mozenrath smirked. "Just rewriting the magical defenses of a world so that I can dominate it with my interdimensional team of conquerors and build a multi-world empire off that base. You might have heard of this team, actually. Does the name 'WHAM ARMY' ring any bells?"

Of course, Mozenrath had no indication that news of his actions had reached this world yet. Still, with the traction he'd been getting, he figured he might as well try. If Burke had heard of him, surely he'd be impressed.

Burke stared at Mozenrath un utter incomprehension for a moment before saying, "RAGE."

"Rage…?" Mozenrath repeated.

"Yes," Burke confirmed. "Rage. The kind you feel when you think for once you actually have someone COMPETENT working with you, and then they drop a bomb like THAT on you. I don't know why I didn't see this coming, actually. THAT was the bar." He pointed back at Zevon and Draco. "I should've known you'd be on their level."

"I don't think I like what you're implying," Mozenrath replied. "I'm going to conquer an empire whose magical defenses were rated as impenetrable. I'm going to spread my reign throughout the multiverse. Though I suppose this sounds far-fetched if you haven't been exposed to the concept of other worlds – "

"No, I know there are," Burke interrupted. "It's been a topic of discussion among Knockturn for a while. Just…thinking of YOU trying to singlehandedly dominate all of them. You do know that's not how power infrastructure works, right? You can't just wave your hand and spirit someone off a throne. I don't care HOW many magical workarounds you have for their defenses. You have to go about it like a smart person. You need strategy. Years of buildup. An ideology you can put followers behind that isn't just 'I'm going to take over the world like a villain from a Muggle cartoon.' I know what I'm talking about here. Politics is the most ADDICTING drug, and I've watched the rise and fall of world leaders and splinter factions alike. And none, NONE of the successful ones got anywhere by walking into a shop, asking for a magic cheat code, and blowing up all their problems like that would actually stop them from coming back to bite you in the arse."

"I never said I was doing it alone," Mozenrath growled.

Burke's jaw dropped. "Don't tell me. Malfoy? ZEVON? One of them is from one of the most overrated wizarding clans that ever existed. Malfoys only mean anything because of old money they didn't have to work for. It's capitalism at work. They're gaming the system. They don't have any actual TALENTS to bring to the table. AND ZEVON. IS. A. MUGGLE."

"It isn't JUST them," Mozenrath snarled, now feeling particularly defensive. "The WHAM ARMY – "

"What kind of a name is THAT?"

"IT'S AN ACRONYM," Mozenrath yelled before continuing. "The WHAM ARMY is a contingent of skilled sorcerers, warriors, manipulators – "

"Oh, don't tell me. More Muggles."

"Skilled Muggles who don't NEED magic to get by," Mozenrath insisted. "People who bring valuable assets to the table."

"Oh my f – " Burke lowered his forehead in between his fingers, pressing the pads of the indexes to his temple. "Okay. Listen. You're trying to outclass Voldemort by just…cutting ALL the corners and picking the most childish objective rather than putting together a solid long-term plan."

"Actually, if you'd let me explain, I HAVE a long-term – "

Burke didn't let Mozenrath finish. "In the first place, Voldemort wasn't even original. Everything he did was just a ripoff of Grindelwald. I could predict every move he'd made because it had already been done before and BETTER."

"GRINDELWALD WAS TERRIFIABLE!" Zevon interjected.

"He means 'terrible,'" Draco clarified, "and from what I've heard, I've got to agree."

"So now you're trying to be the next Voldemort," Burke went on, ignoring both of them.

"No," Mozenrath argued, "I am trying to be the ONE AND ONLY MOZENRATH."

"But…just…have you LOOKED at yourself?" Burke went on. "That outfit is just a half-assed cry for attention. I bet you're the kind of person who still writes in CURSIVE."

Mozenrath gritted his teeth. Through them, he seethed, "You are a shopkeeper. I am the person willing to give you money. You have a lot here that could interest me down the road, but the only thing stopping me from just taking it and not paying you a single crystal is the fact that I thought we could do business together given our shared ideals. If you want any monetary gain from me ever again, you're going to start by apologizing."

"Apologizing?" Burke looked positively offended. "YOU'RE the one who needs to apologize to ME for wasting my time."

"I'd hate to be the person who thinks they have to apologize to you for SOMETHING YOU STARTED," Mozenrath hissed.

"You're getting off track on purpose," Burke accused. "The point is, revolution is coming. A single person in the middle of a crowd can divert the stream. But you have to be SMART about it. None of this overblown cartoon flashiness. 'Rewriting reality.' 'Taking over the worlds.'"

"THE WHAM ARMY IS GOING TO SUCCEED," Mozenrath screamed, fists curling and body bending into a pose of aggression, "AND YOU'RE GOING TO BE THE FIRST IN LINE TO FEEL OUR POWER!"

Burke took one solid step toward Mozenrath, his sea-green eyes piercing directly into Mozenrath's dark irises. "I look forward," he growled, "to seeing what your MILQUETOAST MORONS are going to do to me."

That was when Mozenrath snapped.

However, he didn't explode into a rage. He didn't even respond at first. He simply straightened up quietly, striding to the other side of the shop to take a standing position between Draco and Zevon. "You're right," he said softly, casually. "I am going about this all wrong, aren't I? I'm just a moron. A moron who allies with morons."

"He finally gets it," Burke sighed, turning to face the trio.

"For instance," Mozenrath continued, his voice picking up in volume, "I just can't remember the name of that spell that causes intense pain. That Unforgivable Curse. I know Malfoy remembers. Don't tell me, Malfoy. I'll come up with it. But if I don't, just wait for me to give you some kind of SIGNAL, and then give me the answer."

"It's Cruciatus," Burke sneered. "You're thinking of the Cruciatus Curse."

"I said MALFOY," Mozenrath reminded him. "Are you Malfoy? No. So don't help me. Meanwhile, Zevon, you told me all about that potion you brewed earlier. The worst one on your belt."

"I did?" Zevon said in disbelief.

"You did," Mozenrath told him, giving him a pointed look.

Now Zevon understood. He glanced behind Mozenrath at Draco, who was also finally starting to get the point. "THAT I DID! And you were IMPRESSIVED!"

"It was impressive, wasn't it?" Mozenrath replied slyly. "But, moron that I am, I forgot all about it and what it does."

Zevon fingered the bottle at his belt: a purple concoction he'd devised to give anyone who came into contact with it a host of red, itchy sores wherever it touched.

"But don't tell me," Mozenrath urged. "Not until I give you a SIGNAL."

Zevon and Draco's mouths curled into identical smirks.

Mozenrath raised his right hand, twirling the gauntlet casually. His left hand came up to its level, holding steady. "You really did prove to me that you're the smarter man, Burke," Mozenrath stated. "I can only imagine that the eligible bachelors and bachelorettes of Knockturn Alley are lining up at your door."

"Technically, this is part of London," Burke corrected. "You mean the eligible bachelors and bachelorettes of LONDON." He straightened up a bit; "And you're not wrong."

Mozenrath let his façade drop. "You're just a waste of a pretty face," he growled.

"EXCUSE me?" Burke replied. "This coming from someone who probably only got any of his so-called army in the first place because he's conventionally attractive?"

"REMIND ME," Mozenrath demanded, snapping the fingers of his left hand.

Zevon and Draco had picked up the hints perfectly.

When Mozenrath snapped his fingers, Draco flicked his wand at Burke, crying, "CRUCIO!"

At the same time, Zevon retrieved the sores potion, chucking the bottle with a cry of "BA-BAM!"

Mozenrath completed the trio, simultaneously pointing a gauntleted finger at the group's target and declaring, "Sectumsempra."

From outside, passerby could see the dark windows of Borgin & Burkes finally illuminated with flashes of blue and white light; lavender smoke curled out of the edges of the door. Mozenrath, Draco, and Zevon stepped back out into the light, the former giving a malcontented sigh. "It is SO hard to find good customer service in retail these days," Mozenrath quipped.

That brought a smile to Draco's face. There was something about dealing a horrendous fate to a common enemy alongside someone that warmed you up to him, maybe even made you beholden to him ever so slightly. "We'll move on to somewhere more agreeable," he told Mozenrath, of whom he was now rather fond. "I haven't exhausted our options yet."

The trio moved on down the street, Draco in the lead. At Mozenrath's behest, Draco opened up to talk a little more about himself: the Malfoy name, the school he'd just graduated from, the rivals he didn't know how to regard after the war's end.

Of course, to placate Draco, they hadn't killed Burke. Mozenrath had cauterized the wounds immediately. And eventually, someone, probably Borgin, would find him attached to the ceiling by the sticky blue spiderweb Mozenrath had woven, struggling against the constant pain and itching but unable to scream due to the gag.

...

"So this is Radiant Garden," Nani said in awe as she, Lilo, Stitch, Jumba, Pleakley, and Gantu walked toward the castle.

Originally, the group had been arranged with Gantu at the lead to act as their chaperone. However, that hadn't stopped Lilo and Stitch from excitedly trying to run ahead, and the others trying to catch up to stop them from getting separated from the group, and now the order was jumbled and constantly recombining. Reuben, Gantu's loyal galley officer and brother to Stitch, had remained on the vessel that had brought them all, since Gantu's job here was to drop off the agents and return to his patrol for the moment. Reuben hadn't wanted to walk all that way just to walk right back, and besides, he wanted to spice up his egg salad recipe and simply had to try out a new ingredient combo in the meantime. Bubbles had remained back at the Pelekais' homeworld; that was his area of expertise, and Hämsterviel wasn't the only issue he was dealing with, though he wouldn't and frankly couldn't go into detail on any of his alternate business.

"COME ON, COME ON, COME ON!" Lilo urged. "HURRY! WE GOTTA SAY HI!"

"IH!" Stitch agreed. "HURRY HURRY!"

"Will be moving in no matter how fast we get there," Jumba reminded them.

"Sooooo?" Pleakley asked Nani. "What do you think?"

Nani now felt like the tourist, scoping out every corner and edge of the town's buildings. "It's like something out of a fairy tale," she replied. "I'm still having a hard time believing this is all real. You'd think I would be used to anything by now, but this is something else."

Upon sighting a structure demolished from the recent cataclysms, she added, "We're definitely going to be dealing with something else, all right. Is this place safe?"

"No," Pleakley admitted begrudgingly. "It's NOT safe. It's in danger from a whole host of terrible villains! But it is where we need to be if we want to do anything about it."

"I guess," Nani said with uncertainty. She had never felt quite as capable in the department of foiling galactic threats as the rest. Despite this, she still felt incredibly protective of Lilo and Stitch; sure, they had proven they could hold their own, but they were still her younger siblings (was that the correct way to describe Stitch at this point? It was the best Nani had), and even after all they'd managed to accomplish, Nani still felt as though they were made of glass, potentially to shatter at the slightest touch from a nefarious entity. It was her job to shield them, to strengthen them. Could she do that in such uncharted waters? No, there was no question of if she could. She simply had to, no matter the cost. It was time to get involved.

Gantu's heavy knock came on the castle door. Mickey, Sadira, Nora, Leon, Donald, and Sora had all been having a chat in the foyer, which still hadn't completely recovered from the chaos that had gone down when the Brotherhood and Mozenrath had shown up at the same time to fight for the bag, when they heard the booming noise.

"I got it!" Sora and Mickey declared at the same time, running up to the heavy doors to pull them open. The other four followed close behind.

These doors were actually tall enough that Gantu didn't need to kneel to get in view; only bend slightly. "You are the Radiant Garden Restoration Committee?" he greeted.

"I am," Leon replied. "The others are affiliated."

"I come from the Galactic Council," Gantu informed him. "In response to the current activity of Jacques von Hämsterviel, we have chosen to install the agents best equipped to oppose him in your outpost."

"Hamster-wheel?" Sora repeated. "Wait a minute – that's the guy that knocked down the wall in the hourglass room!"

"You brought somebody to fight him?" Donald asked.

Stitch, now unable to contain his excitement, ran right around Gantu and cannonballed toward the spiky-haired Keybearer; "SORA!"

"STITCH!" Sora cried, catching the blue experiment in his arms and spinning him around happily. "I MISSED you! I heard you had a whole big adventure here while I was gone!"

"Oh, nooooo," Donald moaned. "Not him again!"

Stitch blew a loud raspberry in Donald's direction.

"You tell him," Sora encouraged.

"SORA!" Donald lamented. "I THOUGHT YOU WERE ON MY SIDE!"

Lilo burst into the room shortly after, seeking familiar faces. "NORA!" she cried. "WE'RE BACK! AND WE'RE GONNA STAY THIS TIME! FOR SIX WHOLE MONTHS!"

"Aaaaaall RIGHT!" Nora cried, crouching and putting out her hand. "Gimme five, fellow weird girl!"

Lilo smacked her hand a hard high-five, prompting Nora to leap into the air and whoop.

"I was going to ask about these agents," Leon told Gantu, bemused, "but it looks like we already know each other."

Gantu had stepped back to let Jumba, Pleakley, and Nani into the room. Sadira gave a gasp, running at Pleakley full tilt. "PLEAKLEEEEEY!"

"Whoa – wha – " Pleakley was caught up in a forceful hug. "SADIRA!" His tone betrayed that he was flustered from being caught off guard, but it quickly melted into a smile and a laugh. "Am I ever glad to see you again!" His thin arms wrapped around her.

"Is just me," Jumba asked, "or did castle get makeover since we were last here?" He glanced at the dents in the walls. "Is interesting style. Very avant-garde."

"That's no decoration!" Donald huffed. "That's from VILLAINS!"

"Villains who had no finesse," Jumba critiqued. "Not like me, of course. Always conduct evil in clean ways that result in minimal collateral damage."

"Doesn't that, like, undermine the whole point of being evil?" Nora asked, tilting her head. "Don't the bad guys usually WANT to break everything?"

"Just don't question it," Nani sighed.

Leon looked to Nani. "So you must be Lilo's older sister," he deduced. "Your name was Nani, right?"

"To my knowledge, it still is," Nani replied. "And you're…?"

"Leon," Leon introduced. "We'll be glad to have you on board. The Committee could use some extra hands, if you're willing."

"We can't just put them to work right away!" Sora insisted, setting Stitch down. "What about time to chill and hang out?"

"I actually need to find a job as soon as I can," Nani admitted.

"Don't worry about that!" Mickey assured her. "We can take care of everythin' for ya here! You're our pals!"

Nani wasn't quite sure what to make of this declaration. After all, she was the only one who hadn't actually made friends among this group; had she yet earned the title of "pal"? "Thank you," she replied, "but I still wouldn't just want to stay here without earning it."

"Like I said, the Committee could use a hand," Leon told her. "We were talking about setting up a delivery route to bring meals to the people still settling in after the destruction. Help us out with that, and you'd get monetary compensation."

"That sounds up my alley!" Nani replied. "Wait a minute. What DESTRUCTION?"

"A lot happened since you fellas were here last," Mickey stated. "We'll have time to talk about it later."

"I'll leave you to your reunion," Gantu stated. "I have a patrol to return to. I will, however, be checking in periodically for a status report, and you may call me for assistance with anything."

"That's real swell of ya!" Mickey replied. "I don't think we got your name! What was it again?"

"Captain Ace Jaxon Gantu," Gantu replied, "of the Galactic Armada."

Mickey's expression suddenly soured. "Gantu, huh?"

This mouse must have been wronged by him in his days of working for Hämsterviel, Gantu supposed, or perhaps even earlier than that. He felt a twinge of regret, not even knowing what he had done to upset Mickey.

"Can I talk to you alone?" Mickey asked, voice sterner than usual.

"Errr…" Gantu felt quite sheepish. "Yes. Outside would probably be best."

"Let's go." Mickey brushed past him, heading out.

There were many days when Gantu liked being big. It gave him a commanding presence; people listened to him when he spoke. Everyone had to literally look up to him. If he wanted something done, it would get done with little to no argument. This was a power he had abused in the past and was learning to let go of. However, sometimes, being bigger than most of the people around him simply made him feel awkward. The size of accommodations such as doors and low-ceilinged rooms aside, he knew he would always be stared at, and there was nowhere he could hide when called out; he had to stand in everyone's view and take whatever he was given. As Mickey, so small – even more so than the humans – led Gantu a short distance away from the castle doors, Gantu felt this awkwardness descend. Whatever sins he had committed, he could not hide from the mouse. He had to let them stand, painted on a broad canvas of his skin.

When Mickey finally turned to face him and said, "So you're Gantu," Gantu knew he had something to answer for. "I've heard about you."

"M…many people have," Gantu said sheepishly, his confidence faltering. Once, he had never wavered, always carrying authority in his tone and his mindset. That was before those three years when everything, simply everything, had happened to him, breaking him down and building him back up again. His emotions shone through, now. And though that was an inconvenience at times, ultimately, he believed it was for the best. Now he could be himself, and others could see him as he really was. There was less distance between him and those he once called his inferiors. "May I ask what you've heard?"

"I heard about the way you treated a friend of mine," Mickey responded sternly. "Her name was Aqua. Master Aqua."

Gantu had only known one person with that name. "Oh," he realized. That hadn't even been among the worst of what he'd done, but still he felt the sting of guilt. "That…would be a problem. I didn't treat her fairly at all." His voice became softer. "Nor her friends Ventus or Terra."

"WHAT?" Mickey cried. "You met Ven and Terra, too?"

Gantu was surprised Mickey hadn't known that. "Well, yes," he explained. "All around the same time, actually. I assumed they all knew each other, having carried the same weapon and hailing from the same planet, or at least belonging to the same species. Yet they arrived in sequence, and I don't believe they crossed paths once under my watch."

"Oh." Mickey hung his head. "That musta been after that real big fight they had." He sighed. "I was hopin'…well, never mind!" He looked up, straight up at Gantu, who was trying his best to meet Mickey's gaze without shying away. "You tried to seriously hurt Aqua, and now I don't have a doubt in my mind that you tried to do the same to Terra and Ven!"

"All four of us wanted the same thing," Gantu admitted. "To keep the peace. I was blinded to that by my methods of going about it and my own need for glory. I should have fought alongside them, not against them." He paused. "Is that…all you heard about me?"

"Well, yeah," Mickey replied. "Is there something ELSE I should know about?"

"Yes," Gantu replied. "What you know isn't the half of it. I…I know so much about Hämsterviel because I was his right-hand. I spent three years working for him, delivering him Dr. Jookiba's experiments to use as biological weapons…"

Mickey's jaw had dropped.

"But that's behind me now!" Gantu insisted, his voice picking up volume. "I've given it all up! Nothing Hämsterviel OR the Grand Councilwoman could have offered me is as important as what I truly want!"

"And what DO you want?" Mickey asked.

"…Friends," Gantu admitted, "and family. And not the kind to help me carry out doing bad deeds. People to, well, you know…laugh with. Spend time with. After watching Lilo and Stitch and the way they talked about their ohana, I…I became a little jealous."

"Didja get that in the end?" Mickey asked. "The friends and family you wanted?"

Gantu sighed. "Only one. And I couldn't ask for better than Reuben. But still…it seems it isn't for me. So I've decided to help them instead. If I can't have an ohana of my own…I can at least make sure someone else does." He paused. "Beyond that, I have returned to trying to bring peace to the galaxy, but…in a new way. Less playing by the rulebook and more looking at what's in front of me. And less fixation on elevating my own position."

"It sounds like you really learned," Mickey observed.

"I hope I have," Gantu replied.

"You think ya changed?"

"I truly, truly hope I have."

Now Mickey smiled. "I know a lot of people who made big mistakes," he related, "and they made up for it later. Riku, Ienzo, and Lea all did really bad things, but once they figured out that wasn't who they really wanted to be, they're some of my best friends!"

"I would hardly classify three years of aiding and abetting a known galactic warlord as a 'mistake,'" Gantu stated.

"Yeah, well, you'd be surprised what the three of them did," Mickey replied. "I can't really say, 'cause that's not my business. But their story isn't too different from yours, from the sounds of it. And it looks like Lilo, Stitch, and their family trust ya now!"

"They do." Gantu smiled. "I've actually become rather fond of them."

"Maybe one day, they can be your family, too!"

"It may be too late for that," Gantu sighed. "Let us return to the matter at hand. You knew Aqua, Terra, and Ventus well. I would like to offer them a formal apology. Is there a time I can speak with them?"

Mickey went silent, hanging his head.

Gantu put the pieces together immediately. He had seen the three Keybearers such a long time ago; anything could have happened, and Mickey's expression told him what. "No," he said in a hushed tone.

"They fell in battle," Mickey confirmed.

Gantu was silent a long time before saying, "My deepest condolences. They were true warriors. Aqua in particular fought with honor."

Mickey flinched. "Oh, no, they're not DEAD!" he cried, which gave Gantu a spark of hope. "They were just…lost to the Darkness. And I only know where Aqua is…but not how to get her back out." He steeled himself. "I'm going to figure it out, though. I'm gonna save all three of 'em. They're my friends, and I'm not givin' up on them."

"When you do…" Gantu replied, "tell them I am very sorry for what I've done to them. How I acted."

"You can tell 'em yourself!" Mickey insisted, face lighting up with a broad smile.

Gantu found himself bearing his own smile. "I will." He shifted to a more serious expression; "I should leave you to business. Or lack thereof, as the case may be. As I said, contact me if you need to."

He turned to walk away, aware that even his lightest steps thundered on Radiant Garden's cobblestones.

"Oh, uh, Gantu – "

When Mickey addressed him, Gantu craned a look back over his shoulder. "Yes?"
"Be sure to tell the one person ya got how special he is to ya," Mickey stated. "You just never know when it might be too late."

"Then I will," Gantu promised, and after finally departing the castle grounds, he made good on that promise.

...

The Liminal Space's Knockturn Alley branch didn't see much traffic. After all, though it wasn't a proven fact, it was rumored that the proprietors and staff were at the very least of mixed heritage between wizards and Muggles; it was suspected that they were, in fact, all Muggles. Of course, since they were able to enter Knockturn, they obviously had enough magic to qualify for owning the property, though the sort who populated Knockturn frequently schemed as to how to get such "undesirables" off their turf. Terminus' assistant at that branch, the similarly magic-less Lena Gogan, had apparently doused five arson attempts, killed a whole batch of flesh-eating slugs that somehow got loose in the stockroom, and broken the nose and wand alike of someone who'd tried to use the Killing Curse on her. That was what Terminus liked about Lena: she was crude but tough. Not to mention they'd had a common enemy, once.

The tension was almost enough for Terminus to disband the Knockturn branch – but whenever someone did come into the shop, they found Terminus' inter-worldly wares rare enough that the cash register would fill after one customer. A customer who would hopefully take a few days to notice which of their purchases were true treasures from between the realms and which were clever forgeries hand-painted gold by Hoagy on a rainy afternoon.

Terminus had dismissed Lena for the day, choosing to run the counter alongside Hoagy. The main shop in interspace was closed for business at the moment. Terminus thought back to the Vale branch and only briefly wondered whether his part-time cashier for that shop had made it out of the collapse alive. He decided he didn't care. He never had liked Gavin; the man just didn't know how to plan for the future. Not to mention he had no sense of showmanship. Neither did Lena, but at least she was interesting.

"It's been too long," Terminus announced. "Rémington was just making things up to get us to abandon the primary outlet. No one's coming here looking for the sands!"

"It's only been a few hours!" Hoagy argued.

Terminus rolled his eyes and went back to spinning a Remembrall on the counter out of boredom. At least it remained glassy at his touch. A rare day it would be that he would have forgotten anything important on his itinerary.

This branch, like the primary outlet, had a bell situated over the door. When it jingled, Terminus' attention was caught; he tensed like a cat ready to spring. He took assessment of the trio who had entered the shop. One of them, he knew. Draco Malfoy was as close as he could get to a regular. One of them he thought he had seen with Draco more than once. The third was a stranger – or was he, truly? Terminus' eyes were drawn to the man's right hand, which was encased in a deep brown gauntlet, and his left hand, which was bare. That was the tip-off. Terminus then realized the physical description matched, and he knew exactly who he had on his hands. The revelation nearly dropped his jaw.

" – Mudblood ownership," Draco spat, "but it's the last place I can think of that would stock the sands."

"We can tolerancate that!" Zevon replied.

"Of course you can," Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. "YOU'RE A MUGGLE."

"This had better be good," Mozenrath grunted. "If I find out I came all this way for nothing – "

"You hardly came for nothing," Draco reminded him. "You bought a trinket at every shop we stopped at since Borgin & Burkes."

"THERE'S USEFUL MAGIC HERE," Mozenrath argued, only realizing after he said it that he'd proven Draco's point.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen!" Terminus stepped out from behind the counter. "Why fight when we can be spending Galleons at a fine establishment such as this?"

Mozenrath glanced around at the sagging, creaking boards. The toll of the would-be saboteurs had left this branch in a much sorrier state than the primary outlet. "I don't see how this is a 'fine establishment,'" he stated, "but if you have what I need, you just might change my mind."

"And what are you looking for, my good sir?" Terminus asked, smile wide. Keep it together; don't show him your surprise that it's him you're dealing with.

"Sands of many colors," Mozenrath replied. "The kind that, in the hands of a capable sorcerer, can change reality. And yes, I am dead serious, and if you question that, you'll be lucky if all I do is take my business elsewhere."

"Oh, I don't doubt your intentions," Terminus said pleasantly. "Not at all. What exactly are we planning to change?"

"Taking down the magical defenses of a very well-guarded empire," Mozenrath explained. "The first of many territories that will fall to me and my allies. I don't suppose YOU'VE heard the name 'WHAM ARMY'?"

"'WHAM ARMY'?" Terminus pretended to consider. "Hmm, it doesn't…oh, yes, yes! Of course! That is a rising name on the horizon! I've heard the gossip regarding…oh, what was his name? Clever, brilliant young man. Powerful. Started with 'M.'"

"Mozenrath?" Hoagy supplied.

"Yes, yes, Mozenrath!" Terminus declared. "Are you saying you're actually lucky enough to WORK for him?"

"Work for him?" Mozenrath made a derisive noise in his throat. "I AM him."

Hoagy knew the act; he immediately bowed. "It's a real honor, sir!"

Terminus bowed deeply as well. "We're quite fortunate that you decided to bless us with your presence."

Mozenrath felt his pride swell until Draco whispered into his ear, "Laying it on a bit thick, aren't they?" That popped the balloon; Mozenrath now recognized it as blatant giveh-licking.

"Enough flattery," he said flatly. "Do you have what I'm looking for, or do you not?"

If any of Maleficent's forces knew Terminus had exchanged finances with Mozenrath, Terminus would surely be dead. That was what made this so thrilling. "It just so happens I do," Terminus stated.

He opened up a locked drawer beneath the sales counter, bringing out the bottle of the only remaining sands salvaged from Maleficent's operation – attained with Cruella's help, of course. The colors were striated in the bottle, red atop green atop blue atop violet. The bottle itself had a long neck protruding from a round base. It was set atop the counter with a mild, glassy thud; Terminus kept a warning hand on it.

Mozenrath's eyes widened. "And you can guarantee me that's real."

"How could I forge sand?" Terminus asked, which was a legitimate question. True, there were probably dyes that could do the job, but this was clearly not a case of such.

"How much are you asking for it?" Mozenrath inquired.

Terminus smirked, recalling Rémington's implication that people were willing to pay hefty sums for this power. And here he had Mozenrath himself: no small fry when it came to luxuries. "That's where this gets interesting."

"I just want the number."

Terminus said it.

Mozenrath blinked. "I'm not sure I heard you right."

So Terminus repeated it.

The Brotherhood's ransom offer was chump change in comparison. Terminus was actually asking for more than Mozenrath could spare recreationally, all for one bottle. "Is that…as much in munny as I think it is?" Mozenrath asked Zevon.

Zevon translated the exchange rate from Galleons to munny, and Mozenrath's arithmetic hadn't been off.

Mozenrath didn't dare admit he didn't have the funds. "You realize you're asking a steep price," he told Terminus.

"You realize you're asking for something that can rewrite reality," Terminus replied.

"I don't think I like what you're charging."

"I don't think I like your attitude."

Mozenrath scowled. "In that case, I'd rather not pay at all."

He reached for the bottle.

Terminus was quick; he removed his own hand, pressing a button to activate a crystal-powered device beneath the sales counter. He may not have possessed magic within him, but he'd become rather literate in using magical implements. The bottle was surrounded with a glowing blue-and-black forcefield, resembling a deflection shield shot through with slowly moving chains of barbed wire.

Mozenrath's hand collided with the shield, resulting in a shock dealt to him and no progress made toward the bottle. He tried again, with the same result. Then he attempted telekinetically pulling the bottle through the forcefield from the inside; this yielded nothing.

"Should we REMINDER him of anything?" Zevon asked.

Mozenrath was sorely tempted. However, a thought occurred to him. "Fine," he told Terminus. "Keep your asking price. We'll return when we're ready to pay for it."

Terminus was rather perplexed by this set of circumstances, but he decided to roll with it. "Shall I set it aside for you?"

"See to it." Mozenrath turned to exit. "We'll return in a matter of days. Zevon, Malfoy, let's go."

Confused, Zevon and Draco exchanged a glance, then followed Mozenrath right out the door.

"He's one of those big-time villain types, y'know," Hoagy reminded Terminus. "What if he just told you to set it aside so nobody else could have it, and he ain't never comin' back?"

"No one else will be able to MATCH that price," Terminus argued. "We'll put it back on the sales floor if he takes too long, but I want to see where this goes first. If he comes through, we'll be RICH!"

The pair looked to each other and cheerfully chanted, "IT'S MONEY, MONEY, MONEY BY THE POUND!"

Outside, Zevon and Draco fell into step on either side of Mozenrath. "I see what your plan is!" Zevon cried. "You're intentioning to double back, sneak into that store, and STEAL it when they aren't looking!"

"No," Mozenrath replied calmly. "My plan is to purchase the sands when we have enough money to do it."

"I don't underhend," Zevon responded.

"I can actually plan long-term, you know," Mozenrath explained. "This allows me to kill two birds with one stone, proverbially speaking. We wanted to collect allies. But how do we know if they're worth their salt? A lot of our candidates are criminals and thieves. That's why we test them out by having them collect money and valuables for us. We get enough cold, hard crystal to pay for our sands the easy way, and we get proof that our forces are actually competent."

"IT'S BRILLISPLENDENT!" Zevon cried.

"Though, on the subject of allies…" Mozenrath turned to look at Draco. "You don't have to prove anything. I'm willing to give you a free pass, just because I like your attitude. This is a one-time offer, though." He smiled enticingly. "Speak now or forever be the Death Eater who didn't belong."

Draco only needed to give it minimal thought. "You'd better not make me bloody regret this."

"Any goodbyes you need to say?"

"No," Draco spat, thinking of his parents. "Let them figure it out on their own."

"Then," Mozenrath declared, "welcome to the WHAM ARMY."