Author's notes:
This is plot interspersed date night, in my opinion.
I'm going to start doing 3 weeks between updates regularly so I have time to draft more stuff. Editing this... I'm going to have nightmares. Don't know how professionals do it with full books. I'm just hoping that I don't contradict myself too much throughout this story lmao.
Beta read by Circade.
"Where," the Emperor started, eyes narrowed at the jingling bag of coin Kronnis had returned with, "did you get that?"
His answer came from a smile that was sharp with delight. "I found it."
Tentacles hovered respectfully in the shadows of bright, yellow glee, their overreaching tendencies kept at bay by lighthearted banter and jest. The Emperor's next response was a simple statement, infused with suspicion and a demand for a proper explanation. "You did not."
"You," Kronnis said, now sporting a provoking smirk, "are not the only one with investments."
A touch too far and just a hair too soon – his brain shivered as the Emperor suddenly and predictably descended upon his memories, wrangling them like a fisherman hauls a squirming net full of fish into his grasp. Snatching hands quickly found and wrapped around the part of Kronnis' conversation with Harry that he hadn't freely shared with his partner. Connected to this were his activities just a few minutes ago – sticking his hand into the hollow foot of a suit of armour to retrieve the loan he'd asked Harry to hide for him. "Ah. Commendable."
High praise. The words were curt, but infused with glowing approval.
The Emperor had already accepted that they would have to visit Hogsmeade with nothing to spend on oddities or resources that caught their eye, too proud to beg Dumbledore for local funds and waiting patiently for the Malfoys to send news of appointments in Diagon Alley.
Trading favor for favor with Harry, Kronnis had neatly circumvented that. He'd secured enough money for lunch and light shopping, and Harry had, in effect, hired the services of two very capable mind readers – even if he hadn't exactly intended his request to be transactional in such a manner.
"Only ten galleons?" the Emperor then criticized. "I was unaware your reputation had fallen so low."
"Our reputation," Kronnis reemphasized the part of the memory where he'd promised that they'd both be helping the boy, "if you're going to use this to call me cheap. I didn't want to ask too much of Harry in case he decides it's not worth it to come to us with problems."
The Emperor didn't quite laugh, his response more similar to a bubble of affectionate mirth. He did very much enjoy the companionship and comradery that came with close collaboration – being reminded by his partner in crime that he was wanted, just as he was. "Does he truly believe Umbridge would spy on him?" he asked, stepping away from the wall of Hogwarts' main entrance to follow Kronnis out the grand double-doors, having waited just inside.
Kronnis' hands pocketed the bag of coin and pinned his umbrella under an arm to close the buttons of his outer jacket – last year's fall fashion, and the only coat he possessed that might not look suspiciously like a winter parka. The umbrella's canopy was unfurled above him once he finished. "He doesn't think we'll find anything, but on the off chance that she really is sending someone to keep an eye on him, he figured he'd want a heads up."
They passed a line of paper-clutching teenagers and gave Filch a friendly wave, receiving only a scowl in return. Out of earshot a minute later, the Emperor resumed their conversation. "Who could she send that would not immediately be suspected? Every student knows better than to speak of rule bending within earshot of Filch, and most teachers leave any room she enters."
"She could be paying off a student, or maybe she's coming down herself to stand behind the pub and listen in."
"Please, you think she would trek through this?" The Emperor gestured contemptuously to the flecks of white that had begun to fall from a grey sky, dusting the valley with a warning of winter.
Kronnis, having upturned his collar to protect against gusts, smiled into the fabric of his coat. "It's not that cold."
"You had to go fetch a jacket."
"Jealous that you don't have one, huh?" Glaring eyes met his own.
He'd offered to fetch a second one for the Emperor, but they both knew that what snugly fit Kronnis would look decidedly undignified on an illithid's frame. Tucked away in a corner of their rooms, the Emperor could have donned his armor – it at least shielded everything but his arms from wind – but the presence of such an intricately malicious design in the luggage of an ambassador would probably raise a few too many questions. It was ridiculously elaborate for casual wear, anyway.
Kronnis offered his umbrella, selflessly surrendering its protection. Its handle was immediately seized and raised above the Emperor's head, sheltering his thin tunic from the inevitable slow soak of frozen precipitation. The things one did for love, Kronnis thought as wordless gratitude warmed his soul and snowflakes dusted his hair.
Several faster-walking groups of students passed, freed from Filch's inspection, and the spire-like chimneys of Hogsmeade appeared over the hills sooner than expected. The streets were busy with teenagers and businesses hawking wares to attract this rare surge of shoppers through open doors. A storefront displaying a sickening amount of sweets greeted them first, and several residential houses down was a theatrically bright building advertising jokes and pranks.
The Three Broomsticks looked like a good place to eat, across the street from a small bookstore that was surely worth a quick investigation. Kronnis commented on a dizzying stack of cauldrons that teetered high above rooftops, and the Emperor pointed out a blindingly pink tea shop, second guessing his assumption that nothing in Hogsmeade could drag Umbridge out of the castle in this weather – it looked like it had been designed just for her.
All the way on the other side of town was the Hog's Head, a pub nowhere near as welcoming as the Three Broomsticks, and the meeting location Harry had passed along. Persuaded by Hermione to teach defensive magic to other students and sensibly afraid of Umbridge's retaliation, he'd wanted to ensure the secrecy of his club. Nothing much anyone could do about Hogwarts' notorious propensity for rumor-propagation, but shutting out potential malcontents wasn't that bad an idea.
Kronnis led the Emperor to slowly meander on the side of the road, aimless and unobstructive. A couple more steps allowed them to confirm the presence of Harry's mind, clustered with more people than a pub of that level of filth should reasonably expect to host.
Linking his mind with the Emperor's and Harry's, Kronnis watched from the sidelines as his partner reached out, his whisper honed to a softness that wouldn't startle the boy. "Hello Harry."
Faint relief settled some of the anxiety buzzing through Harry's head, and he responded with thoughts that bounced back and forth between this new conversation he'd found himself dragged into and the short argument he'd been having with Hermione about the sheer amount of people she'd invited along. "Hello! …are you in the pub?" he asked, scanning its regular patrons as though any one of them might be illusioned illithids.
"No, we are outside." Best to keep their involvement separate. "Is there a store in the area for us to duck into?"
There was a pause, and Harry unknowingly shared a mental map of the area as he pulled the relevant information to the forefront of his mind, the answer clear to them before a response was even formed in his head. No wonder the streets were emptier in this section of town. "…I don't think there are any shops around here?"
"I see. No matter." Judging by the way the arm not holding an umbrella's handle was clutched coldly across the Emperor's midsection, it very much did matter. "We will remain nearby and inform you immediately if we find anything of note in the minds of your audience."
Connection severed and conversation concluded, spirited grumbling now replaced the calm façade previously projected by the Emperor. His head swiveled in search of a protected alcove to eavesdrop from, eyes narrowed in annoyance. Kronnis began doing their actual job – peeking into the heads of every individual in the pub, looking for any sign that they weren't here out of a genuine interest in learning defensive magic from Harry, or to drink a pint or five of butterbeer.
Dragged by his shoulder to a suitable alleyway between the Hog's Head and its closest neighbor, he'd already made it through two people before the Emperor joined his efforts.
Spending the next half hour sifting through goals and motives was incredibly entertaining. Rumors and questions lingered in the backs of minds, running circles around worries of passing exams and concerns about the cleanliness of the pub's drink glasses.
Was You-Know-Who really back? Would Ron live up to the legacy of the previous Gryffindor Keeper? Could the bartender be convinced to sell firewhisky to minors? Did the Emperor conceal garlic under his veil, just like some man named Quirrell was said to have done with his turban to ward off vampires? For that matter, did Baldur's Gate have vampires?
The mind of the girl who'd thought this up quickly devolved into increasingly unrealistic images of unearthly handsome men; teeth sharp, skin pale as alabaster, and hair suspiciously resembling Kronnis' own. Well, she wasn't too far off. Combine Astarion and Cazador and the result might look similar.
Screening the surface thoughts of the bar's patrons also gave them a disjointed play-by-play of the happenings within. The topic of Cedric's death was immediately brought up by one of the more skeptical students, a less-than-stellar start that frustrated Harry to the point of raising his voice and almost walking right out. Not a great way to inspire confidence in one's willingness to teach and lead.
It was only thanks to a young witch from Ravenclaw, her thoughts concerned that Wrackspurts had infested the pub, that the meeting was brought back under control. Her pointed mention of Harry's accomplishments throughout the years sparked interest and tales of his adventures impressed the crowd. A little too much, as Harry then had to calm their excitement with a short speech on the reality of war and heroism, one that Kronnis caught snippets of as he flitted from one mind to the next.
"…sounds great when you say it like that… this stuff, in real life, is not like school… make a mistake, just try again tomorrow… but when you're a second away from being murdered, or watching a friend die… you don't know what that's like."
The changes his words wrought on the minds of his audience were tangible between Kronnis' fingers. Hair-raising and motivational. Galvanizing and foreboding. The best time to learn to protect yourself was now, before you encountered a situation where it was too late to practice. Not only did the threat of You-Know-Who seem more tangible than ever, but Hogwarts students had already faced a myriad of other dangers that they'd previously felt helpless against – a legendary monster that petrified students, hordes of dementors lurking the grounds, and a crazed madman breaking into the castle.
All these reasons and more now inspired these students to look up to Harry, burning commitment replacing the mild curiosity that had brought them here. Kronnis was so impressed by how Harry had turned the meeting around that he didn't even care that Harry had spoken passionately and publicly about Voldemort's return – the exact opposite of what they'd pleaded him to avoid several weeks ago. It had worked out, after all, and Umbridge wouldn't ever hear about it. Not a single mind in the pub had any intention of selling Harry out.
It was somewhere amidst this absent musing that Kronnis suddenly noticed a new wave of thought, swimming with imaginative names to write atop a sign-up sheet.
"Oh no, no, no, he can't call it that," he moaned, pushing the Emperor to give Harry some rushed advice. "If Umbridge ever does find out she's going to use it as an excuse to try him for treason."
Their reaction was too late – the words 'Dumbledore's Army' were already being scrawled atop Hermione's enchanted paper, and the first student signed their name.
"It could have been worse," the Emperor said after some seconds. "He could have picked Fred's suggestion of 'The Ministry of Magic are Morons Group'."
That one was only worse because it might have driven Umbridge into a homicidal rage. "And here I thought they were doing a decent job of being subtle," Kronnis grumbled.
Students soon dispersed in small groups, the pub's doors opening with forced pushes and then slamming shut once caught by the wind. The Emperor, shivering frame pressed into Kronnis' side, again reached out to Harry's mind, washing away the last of the boy's worries when he confirmed that their silence during his meeting indicated a lack of malicious surveillance.
What he left out was the fact that Dumbledore had sent a spy – Mundungus Fletcher, disguised in the corner of the pub as a witch wearing a veil and apparently more trustworthy than Kronnis and the Emperor, who he could have easily given the responsibility to instead.
"You spoke well," the Emperor continued on in Harry's mind. "There were some who were afraid to side with you against the Ministry, but your speech secured their loyalty."
Harry expressed his thanks, though he thought the Emperor's concept of secured loyalty a bit gauche, already viewing the members of his club through a lens of friendship. Tactful enough to avoid actively commenting on it, he moved on to his next concern. "Do you know a place we could use to practice?"
Sure, ask the people still regularly getting lost in the Grand Staircase for suggestions. They might've wandered the fifth-floor corridors for hours last week if Harry himself hadn't previously shown them how to navigate castle's shortcuts. "Your fellow students should be able to recommend better ideas than us. Regular classrooms will not do – you are correct in fearing retaliation if Umbridge discovers your defense group."
A fantastically inspired idea suddenly crossed Harry's mind. "Could we not use your-"
"No," the Emperor sternly interrupted, immediately shooting down the prospect of letting students throw destructive spells around in their private rooms. It probably would have been the last spot Umbridge ever searched, but they were private for several very good reasons, not to mention the fact that even Kronnis himself was banned from casting spells in the vicinity of the Emperor's ledgers. "And I doubt any professors would let you use their offices, either."
"Well, thanks again – we'll figure something out," Harry pivoted, focusing back on the physical world to excitedly speak with the remaining students.
That was one situation handled. Kronnis felt how nearly the entirety of the Emperor's attention now honed in on Mundungus Fletcher, with whom they had newly unfinished business to settle.
Every minute spent waiting for him to leave further chilled the Emperor's mood, and when the wizard finally did slip out through a back door that connected to their alley of choice, he found himself face to face with a towering figure, purple eyes glowing ice-cold behind hood and mask. The little backwards bounce he did at the sight was incredibly funny.
"Blimey! Nearly scared the pants right off me," Mundungus gasped, clutching his chest and tearing off his own veil to better catch his breath. "Thought you were the Dark Lord 'imself!"
Did Voldemort regularly walk around with an umbrella? Something to ask Dumbledore, perhaps. "Cute disguise," Kronnis remarked from where he'd leaned against the wall, letting the pub's steep roof and some boxes of storage protect him from the elements while he waited for his partner to finish intimidating Mundungus.
The wizard only barely titled his head to look over, unwilling to let a known predator out of his direct line of sight. "Figured that if it works for 'im," Mundungus jerked his head in the Emperor's direction, "it'll work for me – not that I've got as much to hide."
"Mundungus," the Emperor's called attention back to himself, his voice carrying a hint of threat. "While I do appreciate the initiative, I think it best if you refrain from hinting at any further knowledge of our business to your… associates. One or two connections can be managed, but tying us to any additional illicit activities threatens our reputation."
"Got it, yeah," Mundungus nodded vigorously. "Just figured you might like some opportunities thrown your way, busy as you are."
"Good. Laurel and Jettie should be prepared to pay you your consulting fee in a few weeks. I will put in a good word when we next meet."
Greedy eyes lit up. "Oh? Lucrative business, eh?"
"It has potential."
Mundungus looked expectant, but no further insights were forthcoming. "Alright, I get it. Can't tell old 'dung everything, huh. Dumbledore's pretty stingy with details too. Good luck with… whatever you're up to in town." He turned to leave, peeking around the corner to see if the coast was clear.
"Mundungus," the Emperor called again, pulling the man's head back into the shadows of the alley. "You forgot your veil."
"Ah." Stout fingers hurriedly rewrapped the fabric around Mundungus' face. He then departed, slinking off to the edge of town.
They waited a moment longer for the street to empty before going in the opposite direction, back to where warm shops and freshly cooked food awaited. The Emperor's steps were urgent, and though Kronnis had long since shoved his hands into his pockets, he was beginning to loose feeling in his fingers.
A proper pub was their first destination – the Three Broomsticks was obviously much more popular than the Hog's Head, and the preferences of locals were a recommendation best listened to.
Inside, dim light provided by wall-mounted lamps relieved the perpetual squint that had protected Kronnis' vision against the blinding cover of snow transforming the landscape. Walls that had been painted white decades ago hung with placards and antler mounts, filled all the way to the tall ceiling. A fireplace across from the bar, roaring back against the drafty whistle emanating from old window frames, was immediately scouted as the Emperor's favored place to rest. Unfortunately, all the tables in that half of the room were currently occupied.
No matter, they could wait at the bar while Kronnis ordered some lunch.
"Didn't know we'd be receiving a political visit today," the barmaid said as they approached, her blonde curls swaying as she wiped the counter. "What'll it be, boys?"
"A shot of firewhisky if you've got it," Kronnis started, "and whatever the lunch special is – so long as it's warm."
She snorted, reaching into a cabinet behind the bar. "'Course we have it, no self-respecting bar doesn't." The bottle she pulled out looked exactly like the one Sirius had kept stashed in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. A careless slosh of its contents filled a small glass, excess alcohol pooling on the counter to add another stain to its well-seasoned surface. "I'll get you a hot plate of shepherd's pie from the kitchen."
He slid a galleon across the counter when she reemerged from the back, receiving in return a handful of silver coins and a steaming plate of a golden baked… pie? Casserole? Whatever it was, it smelled good, and the first bites were hardy and flavorful. He chased them down with his shot of firewhisky, burning deadened nerves back to life. Acute jealousy simmered in the back of his mind as the Emperor spared a moment to eye the empty glass with consideration.
"You could probably order one with a straw," Kronnis suggested, hiding a laugh behind another bite of shepherd's pie. The mental image accompanying his words was immediately dismissed with a miffed scoff.
A few minutes were spent making small talk with the barmaid – Madam Rosmerta, as she introduced herself – before a mental nudge and a hand on his shoulder pulled him away to where a table reasonably close to the fireplace had just been abandoned by a pair of wizards.
The Emperor's tall form practically melted into his seat. One could be forgiven for thinking that the hard, wooden chair was comfortable, given the way his body relaxed from the tense posture the cold had curled it into. In truth, this pub could use better seating.
To keep nosy patrons at bay, Kronnis muttered nonsense in Deep Drow, the movement of lips projecting a pretense of private conversation. Occasionally, he'd intersperse this nonsense with poetic phrases of passion and lurid suggestions, the sentiments like a ripple of whispering kelp just below the waves of his mind, or the sudden splash of breaching cetaceans. To investigate these, the Emperor would have to abandon his survey of distant lands, set down the sea-captain's spyglass he'd been using to steal strangers' secrets, and look down the hull of his ship to unravel the murmurs of Kronnis' affection.
Tragically, this game wasn't to last. Kronnis ate his meal slowly, dawdling to prolong their stay indoors and give himself more time to compose his latest poem on the allure of illithid hands. The fire kept his food from cooling to an unappetizing temperature, its sweltering heat just on the cusp of being uncomfortable.
Not so for the Emperor, it seemed. With folded arms and crossed legs, he'd actually almost drifted off once their conversation fell into a lull. Subtle kicking corrected the forward lolling of his head before a normally disciplined mind could lose control of expertly hidden tentacles. Perhaps they should move on.
Swallowing the rest of his meal, Kronnis mentally poked his partner's still-fuzzy consciousness until it was sharp and bristling. "Let's go, I know you were eager to scope out that bookstore."
Reluctant feet uncrossed and shuffled to stand, resenting the motion and dreading the cold that awaited just a few steps away. The gusts had slowed, but the snow was a stark reminded that winter still loomed in the near future. Trudging now, they made their way to Tomes and Scrolls across the way, a bell above the door announcing their entrance.
The shopkeep was only too happy to assist, sneaking in a few questions about Baldur's Gate as he led them around to recommend books on history and spellcasting theory. Lickarn's Complete Herbology Calendar appeared useful, and the Emperor pulled out a dense volume titled Taking it to the Next Level: the Ministry's Guide to Lawful Business Operation.
Pointed questions about the full range on magic used by wizards revealed that only five books directly covering the dark arts could be found in the store. The first three were manuals on minor jinxes and hexes, the fourth a guide on items that countered common dark spells, and the fifth an encyclopedia on dark creatures around the world. Disappointing finds, but better than nothing.
Kronnis paid with most of his remaining galleons and the Emperor took responsibility for the hard work of carrying a stack of books around.
Outside, they retraced their steps in the direction of Hogwarts. The Emperor stepped to and fro, displaying more fancy foot and floatwork than Kronnis had ever before witnessed. He danced between inattentive teenagers to approach shop walls, peer through display windows, and then annoyedly shift his stance to avoid shuffling groups of boots and robes. Their new books mimicked the movements of his twirling fingers, levitating out of the way of traffic and into the best positions to block chilling winds.
Honeydukes was at the end of the street, the last store on the way out of town and a sugar-coated trap, luring students in with colorful sweets to divest them of their remaining allowances. Thronging with loitering and snacking patrons, it was the third eatery of Hogsmeade. Kronnis abandoned the Emperor – illithids did not eat sweets, apparently – and made his way through perpetually swiveling doors to spend his last handful of coin.
Immediately beset by smells of licorice, peppermint, candied fruits, and more, he was grateful that drow weren't very sensitive to strong scents. Sounds too, for that matter, as the windows outside hadn't quite been able to showcase the true headcount of the noisy teenagers gathered inside. Sightwise, it was a feast of color and movement – not only did humans swarm the aisles, but most of the signage had been enchanted to swirl and fly through the store, advertising Ice Mice and Chocolate Wands.
Standing almost a head above everyone else in the store, Kronnis felt distinctly out of place as he made his way over to a display of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. This sentiment earned him a mildly sympathetic but mostly mocking laugh when the Emperor picked up on it from the other side of the store's walls.
A girl in a nearby group of staring children, clearly having determined that the poor foreigner needed a warning, tore him away from a mental argument on just how many packages he was dropping into his basket. "The sign isn't lying about how many weird flavors those come in."
"That's the appeal, isn't it?" he replied absently, moving down the aisle to where a large sign advertised Cockroach Clusters. Deciding that they were probably the closest he would ever get to the candied crickets of Menzoberranzan, he grabbed a handful. "Trying something new?"
The group exchanged looks. "Those Chocolate Frogs might be a safer bet," she suggested, pointing at an entire wall of stacked pentagonal cartons. "They're really popular."
Kronnis read the sign and immediately dismissed them. "We have chocolate in Baldur's Gate. Is there anything here that's really unique?"
"Unique?" A boy with a green scarf laughed. "Mate, you've already got the Cockroach Clusters. The only thing weirder than that are Exploding Bonbons and Blood Pops."
Blood Pops? Skimming the boy's mind showed that the product actually did taste as advertised. Not a sweet then, technically, and perhaps something that the Emperor, who guzzled blood by the scalpful, would allow in his mouth. Disagreement failed to manifest in Kronnis' mind – practically a gold star of approval. "Where are those at?"
"Down the next aisle – they're just gag gifts, though," the boy called after him as he thanked the group and squeezed past another pair of students, beelining a path to a stand of red lollipops. Adding one to his basket, he spared some time to snicker at the incredibly unrealistic depictions of vampires and bats adorning the display before making his way to the clerk.
His purchases earned him a few curious and perturbed stares that were honestly quite rude. Really, they were the ones selling blood-flavored candy and sweets made of cockroaches. No need to judge someone for buying your products. Bad salesmanship, that was.
Very politely elbowing his way back through the door, Kronnis returned to his partner's side. The Emperor then immediately set out for Hogwarts, fantasies of a warm castle hastening his stride as they struggled up an incline so lengthy that it transformed nightmarish days of climbing the Grand Staircase into a fond memory.
A ridge soon separated them from the village's windows, and the Blood Pop was immediately handed over, slid under the Emperor's veil, and then brought into his mouth by a stealthy tentacle. It only lasted two minutes before crunching signaled its sudden demise, the taste of blood triggering strong muscles to clench and tear as though popping open a skull.
"Authentic?" Kronnis asked as the Emperor fished the lollipop's stick out from under his veil.
The mental equivalent of smacking lips met his mind, the phantom taste of sweetened iron along with it. "Incredibly so. I have to wonder on the source of its ingredients. The hormones are real enough."
"It must come from livestock." Surely the Ministry hadn't allowed the casual sale of human blood to slip past product regulations.
"They have diluted it with sugar and water but I do believe it to be human, rather than pig or any other such substitute."
Turning that statement over in his head, Kronnis narrowed his eyes and glanced over out of the corner of his eye. "And you'd know what pig's blood tastes like?"
The Emperor paused. "That is not what I said."
"Well, you implied it."
"Did Astarion's constant complaints about the inferior quality of vermin not make it clear that humanoid blood is uniquely revitalizing? I thought you paid attention to the discussions you shared whenever he popped into your tent for a snack."
He was deflecting now, and though his tone was rigidly neutral Kronnis knew that jealousy simmered behind carefully selected and slightly insulting words. "Come off that. You've had your teeth in my skin more often than he has," he said, inching closer so their arms brushed as they walked. "You never answered my question."
The Emperor heaved a centuries-old sigh. Kronnis regretted coaxing this sordid story forth as soon as the first words of admittance left his partner's metaphorical mouth. "Ansur tried several alternatives during his crusade to find a cure for ceremorphosis. We saw some level of success with pigs, but the shape and thickness of their skulls were… difficult to work with." Demeaning, was the word the Emperor's mind clearly wanted to say. The images that slipped through were shameful and clumsy. Inelegant, in the way illithids hated. From the shadows, a bronze-scaled face watched swine and monster wrestle to the death, lips pulled back in disgust and eyes briming with tears of horror and loss. "Something he did not quite understand. Or did not wish to hear me complain about."
Kronnis' first instinct was to insult Ansur in the Emperor's defense. "I'd never make you eat a pig," he said instead, swallowing his own insecurity to respond to a man who'd purposely refrained from speaking ill of the dead. Whose head still thrummed with the affectionate memories of an ancient man, his years of sail and adventure just a restless dream away. "And if you want to complain about the empty-headedness of your meals, I'll listen as long as the sun circles Toril."
"It was the hard-headedness, actually," the Emperor said with newfound humor and a smile in the squint of his eyes. "You would be surprised by the intelligence of pigs."
"Regardless," Kronnis waved away the correction, "I think you're perfect the way you are. Even if you do sometimes take important documents to bed, or play word games with our friends to avoid questions." As he deflected to more casual topics – an apology for pushing into sensitive memories – he felt the Emperor's heartfelt affection slide towards gratitude and mirth. "Did you know that Karlach has started asking me if she should expect to play aunt to a 'litter of tadpoles'? What am I even supposed to say to that?"
"Tell her you will eat them."
Sharp laughter erupted from Kronnis' throat. "She's seen me shove enough of them into my eye socket to know that would be a lie."
"Tell her I will eat them," the Emperor suggested next.
"Tell her yourself!"
"They are very nutritious," he continued, ignoring Kronnis' demand. "I am surprised you never thought to try one. You had quite the excess."
"I might not have developed these abilities if I'd just eaten them all," he countered mentally, earning himself an appreciative glance. His next statement then brought out oddly defensive sentiments. "I'm sure they taste horrible anyway, else they'd be a delicacy in Menzoberranzan."
"Menzoberranzan would never have gotten its hands on them. Illithid tadpoles share a pool with a colony's Elder Brain."
"A sneaky group of drow might've been able to steal a bucketful here and there."
"This sneaky group of drow would have been detected immediately and received their prize in the form of ocular insertion," the Emperorclaimed, unwilling to let this insult to illithid skill go unchallenged.
Kronnis knew a lost battle when he saw one. "Agree to disagree, I think," he sniffed, an imperious jerk of his head dislodging clumps of half-melted snow from wet, limp hair.
He was then forced to pull his hands out of his pockets to accept the forceful return of his umbrella's handle, freeing the Emperor's long fingers to sweep the rest off his head. "You should consider a hat. Gladrags had a lovely selection."
"Did you not see that thing in the window? It was a lumpy sack of fish scales," he replied, his face expressing great distaste.
"I think it would have looked rather fetching," the Emperor joked. "The latest fashion from London, I believe the sign said."
"I don't care what people in London are wearing! Maybe I'll just get a hood like y-" Kronnis strangled a shriek, jerking away to complain about the freezing fingers that had brushed against his skin. "You," he said with displeasure, wielding a glare like a shield to keep them at bay, "need to get some gloves."
The offending hand was raised in surrender, the Emperor's response ringing like an amused chuckle through his mind. "You think wizards make gloves in my size and shape?" Boney joints curled to emphasize their inhuman qualities.
Kronnis eyed the digits for a few steps. Spider-like and capped by nails manicured to a perfect tip, Illithid hands were rather difficult to fit into human-shaped gloves. Cloth wrappings had sufficed in the past – Baldur's Gate never did get much snow. "If not, I'm sure Twilfitt and Tattings will add pockets to your coat. Or Figaro could work something out, given measurements and a bribe to keep his mouth shut," he mused, barely registering the casual touch of an arm settling around his shoulders as he tried to picture the coverings that the Emperor's hands might end up in. He was torn on whether gloves might be a disappointing sight whenever he stole a glance, or if an additional layer to peel off might instead be erotic.
"I would hope we have no reason to spend this much time outdoors in the future. One visit to Hogsmeade should be enough."
"Weren't we going back to the forest sometime soon?" Kronnis asked, turning his head to look up at the Emperor and ready to combat any change of plans. A little bit of snow would not stop him from roasting spiders.
"Yes, of course." Flimsy and distracted, the promise didn't quite sound like the perfectly polished words of misdirection that the Emperor occasionally employed against him. An afterthought, at best. Deciphering the exact intention behind his partner's words, however, was an exercise in futility, his mind carefully coiled like the sheen of a snake's scales as it prepared to strike.
As Kronnis glared suspiciously into eyes colored by flashes of roguish malevolence, glacially cold fingers slid into the collar of his jacket and curled around the back of his neck. Gasping, he instinctively jammed his shoulders up to his ears, unsuccessfully trying to dislodge the uncomfortable grip. "Let go!"
"I think I have found a better solution," the Emperor laughed, plainly thrilled by his reaction and completely ignoring his demand. "You are warmer than any glove will ever be."
"People can see us!" Indulging in flirtatious harassment was one thing, but the Emperor, a man who hid behind mask, illusion, and the rewriting of witness' memories, was dangerously close to engaging in public indecency. If his fingers were an inch or two longer, they might've encircled Kronnis' entire neck.
"There is no one else on the path, and the umbrella blocks you from Hogwarts' windows."
That was a flimsy excuse. "I'll throw it away. I'll smack you with it."
The Emperor called his bluff with the confidence of a man who already knew that he'd won – the affront in Kronnis' tone had faded as fast as the dissipation of the temperature shock. "I think you will remain as you are."
"I take back what I said earlier, you're horrible," he whined, trudging on with a commanding hand guiding his steps. "You could've waited until we got to our rooms."
"Our rooms are at the end of a five-minute walk through the castle. I would not have gotten the same reaction."
"So you're getting off on torturing me in public? Well, you're going to have to let go now," Kronnis declared, pausing once they reached the main entrance, "or I'll find a witness and take you to court for assault. I hear they use the threat of Azkaban very liberally here."
"Very well." The prospect of a heated building clearly appealed more than further teasing. Sharp nails sent shivers down Kronnis' spine as they lifted from his skin.
The entrance – abandoned between meals – turned out to be empty, leaving him free to rudely shake the slush from his umbrella. If the Emperor just so happened to be standing in the splash zone, well, that was simply unfortunate timing.
In the privacy of their rooms, they discarded the stack of books in a corner and Kronnis' bag of sweets on the desk. His jacket, heavy with melted snow, was tossed onto a hook. He turned just in time to see a flash of mauve as the Emperor's damp tunic was peeled away from his body and hung over a chair to dry. The view of muscles twisting under thin illithid skin was beguiling, its wet sheen highlighting ridges and divots. Reaching out, a long and elegant arm summoned something from the bathroom. When Kronnis next blinked he was greeted by a fluffy towel, eyes that squinted into an enchanting smile, and tentacles now free to express affection.
"Is this supposed to be an apology?" he asked, face unimpressed as his partner moved behind him to towel his hair dry and undo mussed braids with careful fingers.
"Is it working?"
Yes. "I think you missed a spot."
Warm breath huffed a laugh on his neck. "This would be easier in bed. More comfortable too," the Emperor whispered in Kronnis' thoughts.
"Very transparent. Do you want to sleep in damp blankets later?" he rebutted, maintaining a stoic mental barrier against rising arousal and resisting the urge to absently stroke the jumble of tentacles cascading down his shoulders.
"Take off your pants."
"Oh, you think you're so smooth. This is pathetic. This is the worst seduction attempt I've ever seen. You think I'm going to let those cold hands anywhere near me?"
Ghosting his fingers over a waistband that imprisoned painful stiffness, the Emperor's response oozed triumph. "You, are the worst actor that I have ever seen."
Kronnis gasped, holding back a laugh. "You take that back."
"I did not miss the poem you were composing in the pub," the Emperor rudely deflected. "The one about my hands. You were stuck on their allure, I believe?"
"You weren't supposed to listen to the half-finished stuff."
"How could I not? Your thoughts were bewitching."
Always a smooth-talker, this one. Strong encouragement eventually coaxed Kronnis to recite the line in question, promising no judgement. "A grasp that weaves a sly allure."
"A dance of strings, webbed and pure," the Emperor continued promptly, his following silence expectant.
Kronnis understood now – this was to be a game. Inspired by fingers that hadn't ceased their feather-light touches, he whispered the first descriptions to pop into his head. "Silken touch, mesmer's art."
An encyclopedia of prose was carefully considered for the Emperor's response, his hands slowly sliding their way up Kronnis' chest to press covetously against neck and collarbone. The eventual completion of their poem was said with a push that hooked the edges of their consciousness together. "Mind and heart to never part."
Mind flayers, Kronnis would tell his companions when they next half-jokingly criticized his choice of partner, were surprisingly romantic.
They ran into McGonagall on the way to dinner. In between light conversation on their opinion of Hogsmeade, she eyed Kronnis with a raised eyebrow until he realized that he'd never fixed his hair after the Emperor had dried it. Carding fingers through tousled strands until they somewhat resembled their usual state, he almost missed her comment regarding the new History of Magic professor.
"-her qualifications?" the Emperor was asking.
"Professor Tonks was rather diligent as a student. I imagine she'll do well in a teaching position."
Tonks – perhaps someone related to that girl with the strange talent for changing her appearance? It was nepotism to hire the families of fellow secret society members, but Dumbledore's decision was probably warranted, in this case.
"Binns is still floating around the staff room," McGonagall continued. "I'm not sure if he's realized that Umbridge dismissed him. She shouted at him the other day when she saw him resting on one of the sofas. Tried to remove him from Hogwarts, but Dumbledore made it clear that only the headmaster has the authority to banish in individual from school grounds."
Kronnis suddenly wondered if he was allowed to lounge around in the staff room, apparently ground zero for staff drama. "Has Professor Tonks made it to Hogwarts yet?"
McGonagall nodded. "She'll be taking over lessons on Monday. Any later and the Ministry would have appointed their own candidate."
In the Great Hall, an extra chair had been pulled up at the staff table to accommodate an additional human – Binns only ever attended meals if he happened to absently float through the walls on his way through the castle. Sitting in this chair was a woman who could only be professor Tonks, a middle-aged witch with prim posture and aristocratic features that reminded Kronnis of Narcissa. A pureblood, most likely, though he couldn't recall seeing her last name in any of the pretentious genealogies he'd skimmed. They'd have to introduce themselves another time, as her seat was already surrounded by other staff eager to make her acquaintance.
McGonagall split off in the opposite direction when they reached the staff table, unwilling to join them in the empty seats surrounding Umbridge, who acknowledged their presence with insulting and uncharacteristic distraction. The announcement of a new professor didn't capture her attention either. She didn't bother glancing over when Dumbledore silenced the hall to introduce professor Tonks – Andromeda, her first name was – to hundreds of curious faces.
The Emperor performed a quick investigation, sharing his findings with sharp annoyance. "She knows about Harry's defense group."
Kronnis' knife cracked through the chicken bone he'd been trying to separate meat from. "What? How?" These questions were rhetorical – he was already worming an eye into her thoughts, joining his partner's observations.
Umbridge was plotting. Smug thoughts rolled around her head, apparently convinced that she'd uncovered and thwarted Dumbledore's plans. Not even an hour ago had she sent a hastily written letter to the Minister, requesting the creation of a new educational decree that would disband all student organizations and give her the power to expel anyone she found violating this new rule.
He carefully dug deeper, searching for the source of her actions and knowledge. A memory swam through her surface thoughts, and four hands worked together to ply it loose from where her dangerously attentive mind clutched it tight. They experienced it in silence, watching through her eyes as she stood on the open balcony above Hogwarts' main gate and spied on figures returning from Hogsmeade. When Harry and his friends wandered through, their voices echoed around the courtyard, discussing where they might hold practice sessions for stunners and disarming charms. Mental hands then let the memory slip back into the dark waters of her consciousness, tampering unnoticed.
The Emperor's disappointment was mirrored in Kronnis' own mind, upset by Harry's inability to maintain a low profile and the fact that they'd spent half an hour standing in the cold outside the Hog's Head for absolutely no reason!
Reaching out to share the news after indulging in a bout of frustrated sighing, the Emperor policed his voice to a silky and delicate neutrality – the only thing saving Harry from scathing admonishment was the fact that he was a fifteen-year-old boy, and not an experienced spymaster. "Harry," he started, calling the boy's attention away from blissful fantasies of spellcasting. "Umbridge has discovered your plan to teach defensive magic."
Shocked accusation immediately formed as Harry's response. "I thought you said no one overheard us!"
Uh-uh, this was not their fault. Straining neurons to project his own words, Kronnis pushed away the remark that the Emperor had been about to give. "Did you, perhaps, on your way into the castle, discuss how you needed a meeting location to practice spells? At a volume that might've been overheard?"
This summoned forth a memory now tinged with guilt, granting a front row seat to the event from Harry's perspective. Dread set in when his loud-mouthed mistake was realized.
"She has no actionable evidence," the Emperor reassured him, "but a new educational decree will ban student organizations as soon as the Minister completes the paperwork. You will be expelled if caught – not even Dumbledore can circumvent these laws."
"I don't care. I'm not going to let her tell me what to do," Harry declared, his voice turning confrontational and his foolhardy intentions clear. He was already too attached to Dumbledore's Army and would not discard his little rebellion at the first sign of trouble. Especially not at the suggestion of a pair of overbearing authority figures. Kronnis pulled his partner aside before an irritated response could lose them Harry's trust and confidence – the Emperor had always hated risky side-quests.
Truth was, they did have the power to intervene – if it came down to it. Not in a legal sense, mind, but if Harry got caught then they might have to bail him out with some delicate memory rearrangement or a teensy bit of mind control, before Umbridge could throw him out of Hogwarts' protective wards and right into Voldemort's waiting wand.
"You are free to do as you like," the Emperor reluctantly conceded upon the conclusion of their private whispering. "Personally, I think the risk of expulsion too great, but so be it. If you wish to break Umbridge's rules then we shall do our best to distract her until our interference becomes obvious."
Harry seemed pleasantly surprised by their lack of dissuading efforts, though his reply surfaced from a sluggish and bitter fog of resentment, birthed from their frequent use of exclusionary sidebars. Nothing Kronnis could do about that, unfortunately. At least the emotion was his own, and not influenced by the fragmented soul embedded in his mind, sleeping deeply for weeks now. "How are you going to do that?"
Evading the question – they didn't yet know – the Emperor projected one last response before retreating from Harry's mind. "Leave that to us. You still need to find yourself a meeting location, safe from Umbridge's prying eyes."
The rest of dinner passed in a haze of annoyance, Kronnis angrily sawing away at the rest of his half-eaten and now cold chicken thigh. When he'd let Dumbledore and Sirius manipulate him into bodyguard services it had been under the assumption that he'd be fighting off Death Eater assassinations, not playing tug-of-war with Umbridge over Harry's status as a student.
One day, I will have the Emperor take a vacation where he can sip drinks on a beach and get a sunburn. He'd probably peel horribly. I've got a bucket list somewhere, and though I haven't managed to get a straw into his mouth yet, I feel like a lollipop is half as good.