Author's Notes:
ughhhh god idk. Political shenanigans? My brain is actually melting right now. I think I completely rewrote every sentence of this chapter while editing. Do you think Lucius knows anything at all about basic highschool science? I assume he also dumped all his stats into charisma and only knows enough about math to maintain control over a vast family fortune. He really would be BFFs with Kronnis if this story went in a slightly different direction.
Half of these characters are probably clinically insane so like, honestly, take absolutely anything they say or think with a grain of salt.
Beta read by Circade.
Their carefully planned schedule had turned into a complete mess. Having spent the weekend reviewing textbooks together, they were now attending a mix of first and second-year classes, many of which conflicted with both each other and the third-year electives.
The Emperor had tried to draft a replacement, going through several different iterations and combinations. The final product only survived to the ripe old age of five minutes old, perishing in a horrific accident when Kronnis helpfully pointed out that by next week they might have moved on from first-year classes entirely. Papers crumpled up and thrown through their rooms – and the Emperor called him dramatic – a vaguely democratic decision had been reached to revisit the problem at a later date.
As a result, they spent Monday attending classes by the seat of their pants.
In Transfiguration, students each selected an animal from McGonagall's dubiously-sourced menagerie. This fantastical zoo soon turned into a horror show – the classroom hosting furred snuffboxes, breathing pincushions, buttons that skittered across desks on six legs too many, and slippers that squeaked when worn.
Flitwick spent his class teaching the second-years engorgement and shrinking charms, allowing them to practice on apples until one was hit with both spells at once and subsequently exploded. He'd thought it great fun and awarded points for creative thinking, but to Kronnis – spared from having to take a bath thanks to a quick casting of Shield – the lesson was clear. Every spell was dangerous in the wrong hands.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was… well, it went. Somewhere. The textbook was the same for all years, so they hadn't bothered reading ahead, opting instead to follow along with whatever chapter Umbridge assigned the class. Hopefully this would keep them engaged enough to prevent spontaneous naps – an insult that would set back all the progress they'd made with her.
However, now it was Tuesday, and regardless of the second-year classes available for them to attend, they had a prior commitment.
Lucius Malfoy waved them down from the edge of the Hogwarts wards. Kronnis raised his left hand in a greeting, his right currently occupied with the umbrella he had propped on his shoulder. High in the sky, the early afternoon sun was transient, unpleasantly peeking out between fast-moving gaps in the cloud layer.
The Emperor had dictated that their soiree at Malfoy Manor would begin at one.
Lucius was early. Fifteen minutes early. Just on time, in fact, since the host – acting as the transporting party – would be responsible for ensuring that the guests were brought to the venue in a timely manner. Small talk would be expected.
"For all the beauty that the surface holds, I can't say I enjoy weather," Kronnis joked with a smile.
"The weather?" Lucius inquired, his professional demeanor cracking to reveal a dry amusement that immediately relaxed the previously business-like atmosphere into something a bit more affable. He looked up to regard the ephemeral shafts of light that played across the Hogwarts grounds with sentimentality. "Is there something wrong with it?"
Adjusting the bundle he carried to more easily gesture at the sky above, the Emperor interjected. "It is fleeting – prone to shifting with the slightest wind."
"You're right that it changes quickly, but not so quickly that I'd be concerned about rain." This last comment was said with a glance at Kronnis' umbrella.
"Oh, no. This is for the sun – much worse than a little downpour," he explained. "We actually have some areas in the Underdark that develop natural showers, when the excessive meltwater and rain from your spring and fall months pass through the rock above Baldur's Gate. They're just about the only indication of seasonal change that make it through to us."
Lucius suddenly looked confused, and then skeptical. "Are you saying that you don't have seasons?" he asked, the idea seemingly alien.
Kronnis immediately realized his mistake. This wizard had little to no grasp on geology or climate science – likely stemming from a purely magical education that left no room for more mundane areas of study. Surface-dwellers rarely saw the need to venture deep into caves, much less educate themselves on their ecology.
His comment shouldn't have been groundbreaking – had Lucius expected them to experience sweltering temperatures during the summer? Or, gods forbid, did he think it snowed underground?
A correction was needed. Kronnis was not about to be at fault, should Lucius decide that this was an absurd fabrication – an indication that they were lying about their entire story. He scrambled to put together a lecture on the simple science of underground climates, dredging up memories of what drow were taught as soon as they were able to walk. The Emperor's illithid mind, vaster and swifter than that of mere mortals, beat him to it.
"None worth mentioning. This cyclical deluge of water floods the river that flows through Baldur's Gate, allowing us to plan agriculture, but it is difficult to truly consider these periods 'seasons' when compared to the severity of your own. The vast layers of rock above the city insulate it from surface fluctuations in temperature and humidity, meaning that these rarely have a significant impact on our own environment. That leaves water as the sole force of change. The Underdark is either in a period of minor flood, or one of drought."
"Ah." The sound of understanding that Lucius made was at odds with the puzzlement that still lingered on his features, as though trying to come to terms with laws of nature unfamiliar to him. "I'm afraid you'll have quite the shock in a few months – Scotland's winter isn't gentle."
The Emperor exchanged a look with Kronnis. They'd just claimed their home to possess a consistent ambient temperature, one presumably fit for habitation. Attire appropriate for freezing temperatures had no place in their belongings. "I had barely considered the need to procure proper seasonal wear," the Emperor admitted, feigning his own ignorance.
Like a shark scenting blood in the water, Lucius' eyes lit up at the opportunity, a smug smile returning to his face. "My wife has connections with Twilfitt and Tattings. It should be easy enough to get you fitted for a coat, and anything else you might need."
Back in his closet in Baldur's Gate, Kronnis already had a perfectly functional winter coat. Liberally lined with Winter Wolf fur, it was cozy and soft – designed to resist both rain and snow. Both were common in the near-coastal climate that befitted a city just a few miles from the Sea of Swords, but neither existed in the Underdark. Only having just managed to educate the wizard on underground environments, Kronnis was happy to allow him this small manipulation – a favour exchanged for their gratitude. "I'd appreciate that. We wouldn't have even known where to start looking for a tailor."
"I imagine she's waiting for us now – I'd best introduce you." Lucius offered them an arm, assuming correctly that they were already familiar with apparition.
The trip was blessedly short, a brief second of blurred vision and uncomfortable pulling behind Kronnis' navel. Gravel crunched under his feet upon arrival, and the view that greeted him was certainly captivating.
Before them extended a walkway lined with lush hedges. An equally vibrant lawn stretched on either side, framing the large manor that dominated the landscape. Some distance away, picturesque woods and hills met the sky – a uniform grey absent of the blue gaps that had swirled above Hogwarts. A shame, Kronnis thought as Lucius led them past iron gates; one or two strong sunbeams like the ones back at the castle might've added to the grandeur.
At the end of the walkway was a marble fountain, home to four beautifully wrought mermaids who poured jugs of water into the pool below. A flash of white drew his attention to the strange bird standing on the fountain's wall, its head cocked to the side as it eyed their approach without concern. It took him a moment to recognize the shape of its long tail feathers, and he had to wonder whether the extravagance of an albino peacock was a staged prop intended to impress them, or if the Malfoys truly let the magnificent bird freely roam their estate.
The clack of a door latch brought his attention to the manor. Swinging open of its own accord, the front door welcomed them. Inside, he could see that luxurious carpet decorated the stone entrance hall, and portraits lined dimly lit walls to ominous effect, their faces glowing as though ghostly apparitions.
They stepped through the threshold and were immediately subjected to a practiced and immodest lecture on the features of their host's home. Manicured hands pointed at the crystal lights attached high on the walls, recounting the exact amounts of facets hewn into each one. The carpet had been bought in Isfahan in 1589, apparently some sort of status symbol that the normal recipients of this address would find exceptional. A portrait was introduced as Lucius' father, and then his grandfather three feet over interrupted with a short word on the, ah, purity of their blood and parentage.
Kronnis played the ignorant foreigner, pretending not to have understood what the comment referenced and instead busied himself with folding up his umbrella to leave in the corner.
This did, however, bring an end to the entrance tour – Lucius rushing them to the door at the other end and instead showing them elegantly decorated hallways that eventually led to a drawing room.
Once again, no expense had been spared. A bejeweled chandelier glinted as it dangled from the ceiling. Walls of a royal purple held paintings and other artworks of varying styles and eras, the collection rivaling a gallery. The long table was ignored, although Kronnis would have liked to look at the fantastical animals that were carved into its legs. Instead, Lucius brought them to a smaller lounge by tall windows, plush chairs gathered around a coffee table that was set with cups and plates of little cakes and pastries.
A woman with platinum blonde hair stood from a sofa as they approached, prompting Lucius to introduce her with an expression of affection. "My lovely wife, Narcissa Malfoy."
She gave a curt bow, cordial smile resting easily on her face. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"The pleasure is ours," the Emperor began, before extending the wrapped bundle that he'd been carrying. Standard visitation procedure had it remain politely ignored until the guest presented it. Some things were the same no matter what world you were in. "You mentioned that a gift was not necessary, but we wished to show our appreciation regardless."
The lady of the house accepted the bundle, unwrapping it to reveal a bottle of dark red liquid, wax sealing its cork. Columns of elegant script curved over the label; the Espruar letters illegible to anyone but Kronnis and the Emperor. A hand-painted image of a cluster of grapes identified it as a wine.
Kronnis waited for the Malfoys to inspect the label with perplexed eyes before illuminating them. "It's –" he said its name in Deep Drow, clearly enunciating the click and echo-like inflections that comprised the syllables, before switching back to Common to translate. "– meaning Deepwine. The drink is fermented from a uniquely-bred species of grape that's done extraordinarily well in the Underdark."
Two sets of blond eyebrows rose, pale eyes moving to meet his own as the exotic dialect caught their attention.
He continued. "It's not my favorite – my tastes tend to lean towards sweet rosés – but a rather popular vintage regardless. I'd describe it as full-bodied and slightly tart."
"This'll make a fine addition to our collection," Narcissa replied with some additional words of gratitude, giving the bottle one last look. She then rather startlingly barked out a word that Kronnis didn't quite catch.
With a soft pop, a pathetic looking creature appeared from thin air, wringing their hands nervously. Eyes of an absurdly large size looked up at Narcissa, and Kronnis realized that this must be a house-elf.
He'd only seen Kreacher – the house-elf in Grimmauld Place – in passing, and never directly interacted with the foul-tempered creature. The glaring and muttering were off-putting.
This one had a completely different demeanor, shaking in their metaphorical boots – they were barefoot – rather than looking ready to spout vile comments if they were so much as looked at.
Narcissa's commanding tone carried over to her next words as she handed over the bottle. "Take this to the wine cellar, and be careful."
"Y-yes ma'am," they stuttered, clutching it tightly to their small frame. Another pop sounded through the air as they disappeared again, the perfect servant – unquestioning, and mostly unseen.
The pleasant smile from before returned to Narcissa's face as she turned back to them, gesturing to the lounge area. "I've had a light snack prepared to go with tea. Or, if you'd prefer, I could arrange for a cup of coffee?"
"Tea is fine," Kronnis said, taking a seat on one of the larger sofas.
The Emperor joined him, long legs crossing awkwardly next to the short table. "I will have neither," he apologized, taking a minute to explain his fabricated excuse for not partaking in drink or snack.
That awkward conversation over, Narcissa poured tea for the rest of them, explaining that the blend was imported from somewhere called India. The china set also appeared foreign, its white and blue designs unlike any Kronnis had seen so far – long creatures that vaguely resembled dragons curling across glazed porcelain.
None of the foods carefully organized on platters before him were particularly exotic – he could recognize cubed tomatoes when he saw them – but he humored Narcissa anyway as she explained what bruschetta was. Its flavor exploded on his tongue when he took a bite, toasted bread crunching between his teeth.
The Emperor's voice rang through their heads after some minutes, Kronnis now busy enjoying the delightful little cakes that had been her next suggestion. "Lucius informed us that you might have recommendations for winter attire."
"Yes, I hope you don't mind," the wizard said as he turned to his wife, whose eyes had lit up behind her cup of tea. "Baldur's Gate doesn't get the same temperatures that we do, and our guests are dreadfully underprepared for the colder season creeping up on us."
"Well," Narcissa set down her cup with a clink of porcelain against saucer, "I'm certainly glad that you came to me instead of relying on my husband. Just a few months ago I caught him almost buying the previous year's fashion – as though he didn't already have that collection in his wardrobe," she said, a playful smile tugging at her mouth.
Hints of dismay slipped through Lucius' normally aloof demeanor. Quickly hidden, he leaned back, letting his wife take the lead.
"A proper winter coat is a must-have." She eyed Kronnis in an unnerving manner. "You should avoid bright colors; they might wash out your features. Blues would suit you, perhaps a dark navy with light accents. Grey or white would complement your hair, as long as the shade doesn't blend in. Hmmm… maybe a silver? Although gold would be a good alternative, if you'd prefer a warm colour."
Kronnis looked down at the deep purple tunic that he was currently dressed in, suddenly self-conscious.
"As for you," Narcissa's intensity faltered as she made eye contact with the Emperor, who remained comfortably reclined in the sofa, amusement hidden in his mind from all but Kronnis. "…Black clearly agrees with you, are you interested in trying a hint of color? I think a slate or midnight blue accent would work – or a royal purple?" she ventured, raising a questioning eyebrow.
"I would prefer black, though I have worn purples in the past," he admitted, throwing her a bone.
Narcissa nodded, satisfied. "I can work with purple. Twilfitt and Tattings won't have their winter collection out for a while yet. How's your calendar looking for late October?"
The reminder was not appreciated. Thinking of the tattered schedule currently residing in a corner of their rooms, the Emperor's response barely concealed a morose pout. "Some time can be freed. We will need to exchange funds at Gringotts first," he said, before sudden apprehension rang through their heads. "Would you happen to be familiar with the current value of gold?"
Lucius frowned. "If I recall, an ounce of gold was worth about forty-eight galleons, back around the beginning of the year. At most, that should've only fluctuated by a galleon or two."
Forty-eight? That number seemed a bit high. The Emperor apparently thought the same. "I was under the impression that your galleons were mostly gold. Should their value not reflect this?"
"They're actually alloyed with several other metals – mostly copper, nickel, and zinc."
While this breakdown of metals was explained, Kronnis was able to complete the mental calculation he'd tried to perform during his discussion with Snape the other day.
Gold coins from Faerûn weighed nine grams, meaning that three of them added up to nearly one ounce of pure gold. They could probably expect a rough exchange rate of sixteen galleons to one gold coin, assuming that the only value their currency held was that of the precious metal that they were made of. He almost choked on the lemon scone he'd been absently nibbling when it dawned on him that he'd gifted Snape over six thousand galleons worth of alchemy reagents, and he hurriedly shoved his calculations into the Emperor's mind.
While they'd long since been able to afford one of the colorful mansions lining the streets of the Upper City, the realization that they probably had enough gold to buy Lucius' vast estate out from under him was shocking. Not that they'd want to. Living in the basement of the Elfsong was simply too cost-effective to abandon, and Kronnis had put a lot of effort into renovating the disrepair of his partner's hidden room, once they'd moved in together. Maintaining the secrecy of their home throughout all that work had almost turned his hair grey, something he was much too young for at his mere century and a half.
Now forced to hold two conversations at once, the Emperor responded to Lucius, voice tight. "Interesting. Is the visual effect a coating of some sort?"
In Kronnis' head, their exchange was not one of words, but rather a turbulent trade of emotions and thought. Calculations were checked, double-checked, and triple-checked – estimates coming up the same each time. A moment of inspiration was reeled in – bribing Fudge over to Dumbledore's side would come with its own complications, even if the Minister let monetary greed win over his lust for power. Ideas argued with each other, frantically sent back and forth while a mortified tentacle of the Emperor's mind tried to drown Kronnis' disbelief. How had the illithid let this information escape his notice?
At the same time, Lucius leaned in as though to share a secret. "Galleons are merely enchanted to look and weigh as though they're pure gold, but I can understand the confusion – most wizards assume the same. It only becomes obvious if you pay close attention to the market."
As Lucius' words about the market registered, the half-baked suggestion of liquidating enough money to simply buy up wizarding companies was stricken with disappointment. Ruining the economy with a sudden influx of gold wasn't on their to-do list, and doing so would draw too much negative attention. "Enchanted," Kronnis echoed. The idea had never occurred to him. "I see."
They must not have been doing a very good job of hiding the undercurrent of emotion that had come with recent revelations.
Growing more suspicious by the second, shrewd eyes darted between them. "What does Baldur's Gate trade with?" Lucius asked slowly.
A lie would only foster distrust – truth impossible to corral once they brought their currency to a third party of indeterminate reliability. Caught between a rock and a hard place, the Emperor tried to maintain a grip on information that might imply a market crash, should the funds of Baldur's Gate leave the Underdark. "Our highest denominations are gold coins, but copper and silver ones are much more prevalent." For commoners, perhaps. Kronnis was pretty sure that the Emperor hadn't touched copper for years.
Greed flitted over Lucius' face, while Narcissa stiffened in concern. "But you'll mostly be bringing in gold, right? You asked about it specifically," she pointed out.
"Only until a proper exchange rate can be worked out," Kronnis said, with no intention of ever spending a second to organize such a thing. "We might even end up adopting galleons as our currency to standardize with your economy."
Her posture relaxed. "Will the governing body of Baldur's Gate be subsidizing your costs abroad?"
"It was offered," the Emperor lied, seeing an opportunity to manipulate the topic of conversation to something more fruitful, "but not necessary."
"I see," Lucius drawled. "Forgive me for being… uncouth. It's clear that you are men of importance. Would it be presumptuous to assume that your influence extends beyond that of mere public servants?"
Hook, line, and sinker. Kronnis should've started taking the Emperor to political negotiations ages ago. Instead, the illithid had gotten away with sitting around at home, feeding him secrets and leverage whenever needed. He selected another small square of cake to nibble at, preparing himself to watch this back and forth.
Amusement was allowed to manifest in the Emperor's response. "You would guess correctly, though I am surprised that the question need be asked, given what we have already divulged."
Lucius offered an innocent smile. "The hints were there, but it pays to be thorough. I expect that the position of ambassador was created just for you, given that Baldur's Gate wouldn't have had any need for it until now."
"There were others lined up for our position; dedicated researchers and the like," the Emperor explained, leaning back to more comfortably spin this new web of lies. "The only reason that this project even made it past Parliament is because we offered to fund it. Duke Ravengard has the final say in all matters, but we managed the final details as co-directors. Naturally, this wealth of experience and our prior engagement in politics meant that we were his first choice when it came to deciding who to send as representatives."
Blond eyebrows rose. "It must've been costly to operate your project."
"A small fortune, in fact," the Emperor laughed, thinking on the pittance they had already spent on alchemy reagents. The sound was rare outside of the privacy of their minds, and metallically unsettling in a way that almost broke Lucius' carefully constructed mask of neutral confidence. "But the possibilities are endless. Innovations in magic, advances in technology, and international connections that could bring Baldur's Gate onto the world stage. I have never regretted the investment."
The information ignited a hunger in Lucius, clearly visible in his eyes. Researchers could be managed, worked around. But investors and politicians could be allied with. "It sounds as though you're involved in more than just this project. The funds must've come from somewhere."
"I inherited a rather extensive mercantile organization." That was one way to put it. "We run it together, but its day-to-day operations are currently being handled by capable colleagues."
"Ah, perhaps you've already given consideration to how commerce between our culture could be developed?"
"Potions are possibly the best candidates with which to build a foundation of trade. Kronnis is an accomplished alchemist, he has been looking into this further," the Emperor said, angling his body as though to leave the conversation.
The hint was obvious. Kronnis sat forward to take the Emperor's place. "Yes, the methodology behind it is well understood, and the end product can be mass-produced for transportation into foreign markets. I've already spoken with Professor Severus Snape in Hogwarts on the matter and brought samples of ingredients that we commonly use. In a best-case scenario, a potioneer might be able to completely innovate the field with the help of new reagents and collaborative research."
Lucius nodded, satisfied by the answer. "I'm familiar with Severus, he's actually a family friend. We went to Hogwarts together." And they both worked for Voldemort, but sometimes facts were better left unsaid. "Is Baldur's Gate looking to import anything specific? I'm afraid that I'm at your mercy when it comes to knowledge of your culture." He smiled, not quite demanding information, but expecting it all the same.
Kronnis pulled up a mental list of vaguely interesting things that he'd seen or heard of. "Well, we don't have anything like broomsticks – not much of a need for long-distance travel, after all – but I've no doubt that the idea of flight would take off like a swarm of bats at dusk." He allowed them a moment of polite laughter before moving on.
Presumably, the magical sweets that were popular amongst Hogwarts students would be an absolute sensation in far-away lands, so he brought them up next. Narcissa was kind enough to explain that some mysterious beans he'd heard of truly did come in every flavor imaginable, though she didn't suggest testing the accuracy of that claim. She'd sworn off the candy altogether after a mouthful of earthworm flavor, but to Kronnis, this just sounded like encouragement. Surface-dwellers shied away from the ingredients of drow cuisine, and he'd sorely missed the tastes of some of his favorites. Perhaps he'd get lucky.
When moving pictures were brought up – Kronnis comparing the Baldur's Mouth to the Daily Prophet – Lucius reminded them that the process of animating hand-crafted artwork was different from the potion that could be applied to photographs.
Paintings would need to be enchanted by the artist, he told them. Kronnis couldn't even learn the spell himself, never mind teach it to others, so he hid his disappointment and muttered something vague about looking into it when he had time. And bringing cameras with them would only work until the contraptions malfunctioned or someone fiddled too hard with the complicated machinery. Since no one in Faerûn was qualified to repair muggle technology, their local newspaper would just have to go without upgrades.
As conversation continued, the sun began to sink and a bottle of wine made an appearance. The vintage was French – a floral white with an agreeable palate. Something to sip slowly and carefully, while laughing and claiming that the self-restraint was necessary to teleport them home without incident.
The topic of magical creatures eventually came up – pets, pests, and livestock. Their sanitized version of the Underdark didn't have much in the way of noteworthy animals, but this plane was home to an assortment of interesting beasts.
"I'm still not quite sure what the differences between kneazles and common cats are," Kronnis admitted. "It sounds like kneazles are just more intelligent?"
Narcissa shook her head. "No, kneazles are more intelligent because they are magical. It's simply common sense."
Lucius nodded along, expression casual. "Yes, everyone knows that half-kneazles are barely more intelligent than regular cats. It's the pureblooded kneazles that are superior in every way."
Kronnis bounced his eyes back to Narcissa, who added, "They're very insightful, and fiercely loyal if you're trustworthy."
And then to Lucius, who said – without a hint of self-awareness, "That's right, a kneazle can be trusted, but a cat… well, you can never predict a cat. Or trust one. They're monsters who'll besmirch your home."
Watching the man shudder in distaste, Kronnis couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I can't tell if it's just pureblood nonsense rotting their brains, or if Voldemort started some sort of cult," he said to his partner, his face a plastic cast of the fakest smile he'd ever worn.
From atop a pedestal of leading authority, the Emperor hummed in their mindscape, fascinated by the way political ideals had been projected onto unrelated topics. "I suspect it to be simple pureblood supremacy. The indoctrination appears to have started at birth."
"It sounds like they're brainwashed."
A harsh laugh echoed through his mind – sudden, unexplained, and slightly out of place. Any thoughts of questioning what exactly the Emperor thought so funny were washed away by instructions that were worded as a suggestion. "You may have to break them out of it."
"I can do that."
"Lucius," Kronnis said during a break of conversation, feigning curiosity. "I was wondering about the white bird at your fountain earlier. Is that also a magical creature?"
"Ah, not quite." Lucius managed to look both smug and vexed at the same time. "It's an albino peacock. A rare bird, but mundane." It sounded like it pained him to admit this. "We have several roaming the estate. The one that you saw was Tiberius."
"It was beautiful. We don't really have many birds in the Underdark. Our poultry is mostly flightless, and we never had a sky for anything but bats to fly through. I think there might be a market for unique avian pets," he added, lying in an attempt to drag them further from the previous topic. There was no reason to import birds into Baldur's Gate, and introducing easily-lost invasive species was usually frowned upon.
"Owls would perfect. They see well in the dark and they have a use beyond their varied appearances. Our eagle owl is on the larger side, but that's perfect for carrying packages. I could bring it out if you'd like a closer look?" Lucius offered, oddly excited. "Although, I believe you've met, unless you weren't there when it delivered my invitation?"
"Oh, yes. We've met." It was becoming clear that Lucius was a bird person. He certainly didn't like cats, and Kronnis hadn't seen any hounds or pampered pups on the property. Coming face to face with the owl that he'd almost fried wasn't something he looked forward to – it might carry a grudge – so he diverted the topic again. "I was surprised to see how many students have their own owls."
"It's the only way for some families to stay in contact with their children during the school year," Narcissa said. "I suppose you don't really have boarding schools in the Underdark – or do you?"
In the Underdark, yes. In Baldur's Gate? The Emperor offered the mental equivalent of a shrug. Just as they'd told Umbridge, most of the education offered in the city took the form of apprenticeships – something not nearly impressive enough to share with the Malfoys. They decided to default to what Kronnis knew from Menzoberranzan. "The cavern that holds our schools isn't located very far from the city proper, but students are expected to live on site for the duration of their schooling – a rule that crafty children often ignore."
She laughed at the implication. "And how does the schooling compare?"
Hogwarts had its fair share of horrors, but the Ministry seemed adamant that the learning environment was as safe as it could be – probably meant to reassure the population. Thinking back on his own childhood, Kronnis figured that it wouldn't do to mention how some of Sorcere's exams involved burning students to test their endurance. Discipline was one thing, but a lot of non-drow societies frowned upon the use of torture in educational practices. "Classes were… strict – more similar to Professor Snape or McGonagall's lessons than any others at Hogwarts. The institution that my family sent me to exclusively teaches magic, but others offer the opportunity to specialize in trades or spiritual duties."
"Yes, I remember Professor McGonagall's lessons," Lucius nodded with begrudging respect. "She was always a capable witch, and our son speaks highly of Severus' class."
"You have a son? Is he currently a Hogwarts student?" the Emperor asked.
A favorable line of inquiry, this allowed Lucius the opportunity to preen and boast about his family. "Draco is currently in his fifth year. He's been the Seeker for the Slytherin's Quidditch team since his second year, and was made prefect just this summer."
"You must be proud, those are quite the accomplishments. Seeker is the most important position, if I recall?" Lucius nodded to confirm the Emperor's guess. "Once the Quidditch Cup begins we will be sure to attend. It sounds like a fascinating sport."
"An excellent idea. Quidditch should serve well to demonstrate what brooms are capable of, and the Slytherin team will put on a show you won't forget."
Kronnis chuckled. "And your opinion isn't colored by your son's position on the team?"
His comment had the Malfoys laughing along in good humor. "A father must be loyal to his son," Lucius joked with him.
"How much would such a broom cost? Drumming up interest in foreign goods might push Parliament to hasten the drafting of trade agreements." The Emperor's words may have implied one thing, but the thoughts leaking through from his mind – filled with memories of last week's trip to the Forbidden Forest – revealed that his true intention was to provide Kronnis with an alternative method of safe travel, until he was able to manage the psionics necessary for flight.
Touched by the sentiment and frustrated that a tool was necessary when his mind should've been able to accomplish the task itself, Kronnis nodded along, barely listening when Lucius threw out a ballpark figure of several hundred galleons.
Even if it wouldn't be under his own power, the idea of being able to fly again was exciting. The crutch would only be necessary for a short while anyway – the concentration needed to maneuver his body still evaded his mental grasp, but he was managing brief bouts of levitation.
If they were going to invest in a broom, he wanted the best model. Hundreds of galleons were apparently only equivalent to dozens of gold coins – mere pocket change. They could afford it.
Fantasies and calculations complete, he found that the Emperor was making plans to return to Malfoy Manor several weeks from now, from where they would then apparate to Diagon Alley. Narcissa would need to confirm an appointment with Twilfit and Tattings, and Lucius offered to show them the most respectable broom handler.
Names were then thrown around, acquaintances who had connections to various industries and organizations. Some stood out as being vaguely familiar – Kronnis remembered a letter from Lord Nott arriving just the other day. Seems they needn't organize a meeting with the man after all, as the Malfoys' planning included a group luncheon at some upscale establishment with large enough private rooms to house more than just the four of them. Invites and organization would be handled by Lucius.
Eventually, the sun's dim light threatened to vanish entirely, and Kronnis' hunger craved something more filling than scones and bite-sized cakes. The wine glass had long since sat empty and abandoned on the coffee table.
"As much as I've enjoyed our afternoon, I fear that you might miss dinner at Hogwarts if we keep you any longer," Lucius said, standing.
"It is getting rather late," the Emperor admitted, suddenly towering over all other occupants of the room as he- hmm… did he just cheat with levitation to more gracefully rise from the sofa? Lofty superiority colored the confirmation that answered Kronnis' unvoiced question. "Thank you for having us."
As they exchanged polite gratitude, Narcissa clapped sharply to summon the house-elf back into the room, directing them to clean up the table.
Leaving their servant to work with an efficiency that was deeply impressive, the Malfoys then led them back to the entrance, where Kronnis collected his umbrella and assured them that he'd be able to return without the need for side-along apparition, now that he had a visual image of their property. This explanation likely led to the incorrect assumption that his method was similar enough to apparition that he would need to be outside the wards to teleport away, as the Malfoys escorted them through the chilly air all the way to the iron gate of their walkway – apparently the edge of their wards.
When Kronnis' magic brought them back to the lawn of Hogwarts, he entwined long fingers with his own, replacing polite contact with casual intimacy. Physical touch wasn't necessary for Teleport, but he liked to pretend that it was. The press of sharp nails against his wrist and the dark gloom of evening was a temptation he would've voiced if his stomach wasn't currently making its own displeasure known.
He settled for the affectionate amusement that rang through his head like laughter, almost overshadowing his question. "So? Anything interesting in Lucius' brain?" he asked, skipping right over the need to check whether the wizard had cottoned onto their deception. It was clear that he'd still felt a need to brown-nose.
"I suspect that Voldemort is consolidating power abroad," the Emperor replied, leading their return to the castle, "given that he has yet to respond to the owl that Lucius sent."
"He's acting on his own, then. I expect that his business buddies are all Death Eaters?"
"Correct. The most politically cunning and well-connected of Voldemort's followers. He knows many others," the Emperor said with the cheer of someone who'd just pulled off a dangerous heist, pushing the names that he'd overheard into Kronnis' head, "but did not deem them suitable company. A shame about Nott – it would be best to avoid entangling our finances with Death Eaters, if it can be helped. His medical firm had promise." Disappointment was tangible, but other opportunities flooded their mail every day.
"You're right, it's usually a bad policy to get business partners arrested. Or mysteriously disappearing them," Kronnis added vindictively, thinking of the recent reports of muggle disappearances – news that was widely brushed off as 'muggles being muggles'.
Whenever the Daily Prophet heralded these missing person's cases – usually as a footnote in the half-page dedicated to keeping wizards up to date on mundane happenings – the faces of Minerva and Snape tightened.
Yesterday, a visit to Snape's office had cleared up the mystery. The wizard had made a distasteful face at the line of questioning, giving a vague answer on how Voldemort had always allowed followers to target muggles when the mood struck. He didn't know who was responsible, but the revival of the Dark Mark had likely emboldened some of the vile cowards who'd hidden in the shadows for years.
They had names now, and presumably the Emperor had caught glimpses of faces as well – Lucius had run through quite a few 'associates' before settling on the group that he planned to introduce them to. It would be poetic to start disappearing them, just like they were doing to muggles. Gibbon and Macnair sounded like prime candidates, apparently reveling the most during raids and too uncouth to be considered polite company.
"Arrested is better," the Emperor scolded, having followed his line of thought. "Mysteriously disappearing purebloods will bring the Ministry's scrutiny, and Macnair somehow managed to land a job with the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. Killing him would be like kicking a hornet's nest. Not to mention that Yaxley works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He could easily manipulate investigations in Voldemort's favour."
"We'll just have to get Yaxley first." Kronnis joked, his mind having already conceded the point.
He couldn't see the Emperor's face, but he had the distinct impression that his partner had just rolled his eyes. The sigh ringing through his mind was evidence enough.
The Emperor clearly wanted to draw this out, probably to get his claws into as much of the market as possible before awkward questions piled up and forced them to backpedal their story past what was believable. Kronnis thought it made more sense to go after Voldemort's assets as soon as possible, but today's meeting had been remarkably fruitful, advancing almost all of their goals. They could allow this conflict to remain in the shadows for a while yet, and the Emperor could play his games – Kronnis didn't like the idea of working for free, after all.
"Anyway, onto more important matters," he said, his tone heavy with exaggerated criticism. "You really didn't look into an exchange rate at all until now? What if our money was worthless here!"
"Gold is never worthless," the Emperor pointed out with a huff. "If needed, we could have leveraged other assets, or bartered with unique items. I assumed their currency was wrought from precious metals, leaving us on roughly equal footing."
"Gods. If I'd known, I would've made a bigger deal of the samples I brought Snape – and told him that he could've been making actual gold hand over fist if he sold potions to us!"
The Emperor shook his head, dismissing Kronnis' trivial failure. "No, it is better that he declined our offer. He is a professor and a spy, hardly a combination that allows one to dedicate time to capitalistic pursuits. We will find a potions master better suited to our needs."
They separated to a more professional distance when they arrived at the castle, joining the crowd that ambled its way to dinner. Given that wizarding society still rang with questions regarding the cover story they'd just barely managed to scrape into something plausible enough to pass muster, it would be too risky to also face inquiries on their romantic entanglement.
It only took Kronnis a minute to realize that something was off. The volume of whispered words that constantly permeated the air in Hogwarts was the same as always – a now-familiar low babbling that faded easily into the background – but barely a single pair of eyes rested on them for longer than a second.
There was new gossip in the school, and it wasn't even about him! Were they already yesterday's news?
The focus of the uneasy energy appeared to be a small, framed paper hung up outside the Great Hall, at a height where no one should've been able to read it. Kronnis was sure that this specific wall was bare but for architectural stone flourishes the last time he'd walked by it.
His curious mind brushed the surface thoughts of those closest to him, finding the answer just as the Emperor intruded on his own to report his findings.
"It appears that Umbridge has been rather busy today. We will have to commend her appointment to High Inquisitor."
This chapter almost. ALMOST. Had Kronnis getting drunk at the Malfoys' and walking back into Hogwarts inebriated. Could you imagine? Wish that was me tbh.