Lies and Deceit Again, My Dear?

by PortentProxy

Politics and schmoozing. Kronnis thought he was going to have a little adventure, as a treat. Turns out he's just living a slightly different version of the past 5 years he spent as the Hero of Baldur's Gate, rubbing elbows with dukes and lords. At least the Emperor is having a great time, and the Forbidden Forest has giant spiders to fry.

16. Chapter 16

Author's Notes:

Don't mind me, just sliding this in here a little bit early. As a treat. Any sane person would have figured out a way to cut this down, or in half, but all these scenes were fun and there was no way for me to evenly split it up. You will simply have to suffer through 13k words.

This chapter goes places. So many places, like Hogwarts, and Diagon Alley, and. Well. Actually that's it. But its still a lot!

Beta read by Circade.

---

Just as predicted, Monday morning saw a new educational decree nailed to the wall outside the Great Hall, banning all student organizations.

The Quidditch teams almost rioted, rushing to the High Inquisitor so she could approve their reformations in time for the Inter-House Quidditch Cup. Study groups disbanded with dismay, and a girl at the Ravenclaw table wailed dramatically upon realizing that the Gobstones club was being shut down. Flitwick's normally kind face held an unusually vexed expression at breakfast, glaring at Umbridge from the other side of the staff table. Not even his Frog Choir had been spared.

The Emperor had taken one look at the chaos and turned right around, citing a need to track down their returned History of Magic textbook and marching to the library. Kronnis, who still possessed a mortal need for breakfast, was left to find a politically neutral seat, settling between Trelawney and Pomfrey. Today, Umbridge's vicinity was not the place to be.

"You look remarkably hale," Trelawny commented, the full force of her bug-eyed stare focused on him rather than her plate of scrambled eggs.

Kronnis raised an eyebrow. "Should I not be?"

"Your future is one of misfortune and mortal injury. I have seen it."

This was why he'd stopped attending her classes. "Maybe I'll choke on this toast," he said, draping a slice of ham over his bread and taking a bite. Disappointingly, it barely even tasted of meat, only exacerbating a craving that he'd hoped to satisfy with salted pork.

Undeterred by his dismissal, she pressed on in her airiest voice. "Have you had any strange dreams? Visions of death? Of love? Both at once, perhaps?"

"I don't dream," he lied.

Trelawny scoffed. "Everyone dreams. Fate has simply seen fit to blind you of her plans. To regain her favor you must make the same sacrifice as Odin – pluck out your eye and be rewarded with wisdom."

Raising his eyebrows, Kronnis sincerely hoped that she wasn't telling anything like this to impressionable students. Personally, he liked his eyes right where they were, thank you very much. Ethel's tadpole removal payment of one peeper, removed and replaced, had been staunchly refused, and he'd immediately rolled off Volo's surgery bed when the man had flourished a gigantic needle in the direction of his face. Only additional tadpoles had been allowed to mess with his eye sockets – the first had made it through without ocular damage, so where was the harm?

Trelawney's words might've been more ominous if he knew who Odin was supposed to be. Just as he considered vindictively plucking the information out from behind her gaze, perhaps with a bit more force than strictly necessary, a voice from his other side interrupted.

"Sybill!" Pomfrey hissed, leaning far enough into his personal space to endanger his goblet of pumpkin juice and addressing the now innocent-looking Divination professor. "Did I just hear you suggest self-maiming as a solution for this poor man's lack of dreams?"

"It was hyperbole." Trelawney lowered her gaze, muttering. "What would you prescribe?"

"A cure for dreamless sleep doesn't exist, and it isn't a condition that necessarily needs fixing." She paused. "Well… I suppose there's the antidote for the potion of dreamless sleep, but that's for patients who've drank more than the recommended dose." A frown was directed his way. "You haven't been self-medicating, have you dearie?"

"I was only exaggerating," he admitted with a sigh. "I rarely dream, is all."

Pomfrey nodded. "That's perfectly normal. You seem like you've been in fine health during your stay-" She was watching? "-but if you ever feel under the weather please don't hesitate to come see me in the Hospital Wing. People do get sick sometimes, travelling abroad."

"Thanks, but you're right – I've felt fine so far, and-" Kronnis looked down at his plate, where he'd seen movement. "What are you doing?"

"Counting your crumbs," Trelawny replied, wrist bangles bouncing as she tallied each tiny scrap of toast. "You have eighteen, which reduces to nine – the end of a cycle, associated with death or transformation."

She'd just made that up, surely. "Those are only crumbs," he argued, shifting his grip on the half-slice still in his hand and dropping another couple onto the plate below.

"Numerology is a highly advanced form of divination."

"I see." Kronnis' eyes roved the table, desperately looking for a way out. Chatting with McGonagall and Sinistra, Professor Tonks was still at breakfast – he wasn't yet late for her class. There was a large gap of empty chairs on the other side of Dumbledore, but Umbridge no longer sat at their center, having wandered off at some point. A shame, he could've claimed urgent official business and left to speak with her, reputation be damned.

On the other side of Trelawny sat Snape, reading today's paper. The headline proclaimed some nonsense about how the Ministry's reforms at Hogwarts were already seeing great success, the appointment of a new professor worded as though Fudge had personally assessed and decided on the best candidate. More importantly, Snape's plate held a pile of forgotten beans – easily countable and exactly opposite Kronnis' seat.

He opened his mouth, raised a finger, and tensed his legs to prepare for a swift escape from the table, intending to point Trelawney's attention away from him. This plan never saw fruition, as a screech and a thump heralded the arrival of a large and intimidating post owl. Its eyes scanned the table before settling on his face with a familiar glare.

Wearily reaching back over to the plate of ham, Kronnis carefully tore up some slices, trading them for Lucius' letter.

"You don't have to feed them," Pomfrey mentioned from the side. "It's bad for them, actually."

"Is it?" he asked, tossing the owl an additional strip.

"Owls aren't designed to eat processed food," she explained. "They're supposed to hunt mice, squirrels, and such. Some get a little dependent on human scraps and lose the motivation to hunt, and then they start to put on weight." The stern glance she leveraged in the owl's direction made it sound as though she was lecturing it, rather than him.

"Right, no more ham and bacon." Fighting a smile, Kronnis turned away from beseeching avian eyes to peel open the wax of the letter.

The note wasn't very long, only passing along a date and time for their appointment at Twilfitt and Tattings and suggesting an earlier departure to first stop by Gringotts. They'd have to skip Thursday's Transfiguration and Defense lessons to make the trip.

Claiming the matter urgent and waving Lucius' owl off, he used the letter to excuse himself from the table, contrite apology on his lips and an extra slice of buttered toast snatched as an afterthought. Eating in the halls was against the rules, but as a foreign dignitary he was above the law.

---

"You would not believe the morning I've had," he grumbled when the Emperor, re-loaned textbook in hand, joined him at the back of Professor Tonks' classroom, having made it past Umbridge at the front of the room and through half-empty rows of small children.

" Oh?"

"Trelawney is a hazard to this school. She told me to pluck out my eye because I said that I didn't dream!"

The Emperor blinked. " Why did you lie about your dreams?"

"She just wanted some narrative to interpret," Kronnis dismissed, waving his hand. It was nice of his partner to allow the indulgence of venting, rather than simply retrieving the information from his head. "I wasn't going to give her anything she might start a new rumor with. But that's not the point – who says something like that!"

" She never did appear the most socially adept of Hogwarts' staff."

"Right, and then she started counting the crumbs on my plate."

" That…" his response trailing off, the Emperor's mind twisted in confusion.

"Yeah, I thought that was weird too. Lucius saved me, believe it or not." Pulling out the note, he handed it over. "Though, I wouldn't have needed saving if you hadn't abandoned me."

The Emperor's eyes didn't roll – they were too busy reading – but it was a close thing. " Through word or magic, I have witnessed you escape many an uncomfortable situation. Your guise of helpless ignorance will not work on me."

Kronnis sniffed. "You want me to be rude to people here? Throw my weight around?"

" Next time, try twisting her thoughts to simulate a change of interest, or a sudden realization of forgotten errands," the Emperor recommended, his mind simultaneously submitting a reconsideration of their plans for the week – they could skip a research session in the library to attend tomorrow's Transfiguration class in place of the one they would miss on Thursday.

This mental suggestion received an absent stamp of approval – Kronnis would never think to argue with his partner's schedule. Verbally, he then expressed disapproval of the Emperor's incredibly boring problem-solving methods, whispering about the genius distraction he'd come up with and never had the chance to execute. Professor Tonks slipped in at some point, noticed only when the soft rasping of chalk against blackboard drifted through the room. The left side of her board quickly filled with acronyms.

She'd already introduced herself and was about to do the same with the course's restructured syllabus when a group of late-arriving Hufflepuffs tried to sneak in, probably used to a teacher who didn't care to monitor the consciousness of his students. "As I was saying," she continued after giving them a warning, "This year I'll be covering the earliest historical records of the wizarding world-"

"Are you going to teach us about Merlin?" a child blurted out, just barely heard over newly excited murmurs.

Umbridge's quill scratched, but Kronnis could tell that Tonks was holding back a smile, unruffled by the interruption. "Not until next semester. You'll have to wait until we cover the founding of Hogwarts – Merlin was one of its earliest students." Another uproar of whispering had to be quelled before she could get back on topic. "For now, I want to make sure that you all have a solid grasp of how today's wizarding world came to be. Our cultures, our laws, and yes, eventually I'll teach you about the famous witches and wizards on the backs of your Chocolate Frog cards."

The lesson that followed began with a crash course on the International Confederation of Wizards, Tonks writing the organization's full name next to its corresponding acronym at the top of her blackboard. Half an hour later, she finished explaining the broad strokes of its formation and moved on to tap the next jumble of letters, asking if anyone could explain what the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was.

One boy raised his hand to suggest that it was the most important law the Confederation had ever signed into effect, while a girl seated in the back of the class muttered darkly about how it was the only thing keeping wizards safe from muggles. Another student was called upon to give a nervous answer about how it was the only internationally enforced law, bringing all the world's magical governments together in cooperation. A bit of a naïve view, but not entirely untrue. Kronnis and the Emperor had done enough personal research to know this much, at least.

A rousing debate on the Statute's merits and drawbacks dominated the last quarter of the lesson, reluctantly cut short when Tonks ran out of time. She assigned an essay on the timeline of the Confederation's history and dismissed her class, receiving mostly positive inspection feedback from Umbridge before the High Inquisitor had to rush off to teach her own lesson.

Staying behind, Kronnis and the Emperor approached Tonks once the room had emptied.

"Andromeda, please," she said, amusement twitching on her lips when the Emperor addressed her formally. "My daughter appears to have claimed our last name for herself." A glance was directed at the closed door. "She and Dumbledore have told me a lot about you."

Her words carried substantial implications. A quick check showed their initial assumption mostly correct – Dumbledore had slotted a trusted individual from the Order's fringes into his empty teaching position, fully inducting Andromeda into his organization's confidence. Tonks Jr. was very excited to be working with her mother, both of them now serving in vaguely similar roles.

Retreating from where he was piggybacking on the Emperor's intrusion of Andromeda's rudimentary occlumency shields, Kronnis responded, "Only good things, I hope?"

She nodded and then shifted to address the monster in the room, her face remaining cordial as she wielded sharp words with all the warning of an animal flashing teeth at its predator. "Mostly, though there were some concerns about privacy and diet."

" It is a rather unique situation. I should hope that Dumbledore did not neglect to inform you of our assurances on these matters?" the Emperor asked, dancing around progressively less exclusive secrets and speaking as though he hadn't just broken one of those very promises.

"He didn't," Andromeda confirmed, "but I like to make my opinions clear." She let the words hang in the air for a moment before shifting back to a friendlier demeanor, moral posturing over. "Regardless, I do appreciate your presence, and I understand that your business here is rather important."

" As is yours; preventing the Ministry's hand from extending further into Hogwarts."

"So long as Umbridge doesn't find reason to remove me – she was awfully fast to fault Binns' teaching."

Kronnis gave his best reassuring smile. "Hogwarts' history of losing a Defense professor each year already looks questionable enough, from an outside perspective. Continuously sacking even more of the staff would be an incredibly bad optic."

" Fudge is dedicated to his façade of stability," the Emperor added. " Scrutinized by foreign eyes, it is in the Ministry's best interests to appear united and confident in the state of Wizarding Britain's education." In other words, replacing too many professors at once could be misinterpreted as admittance of a decades-old educational failure. One that was only being corrected because visiting diplomats might realize that your country's school was in fact not as exceptional as advertised. That it sucked. That it wasn't up to scratch and you knew this all along but didn't try to fix it until you had guests in house who were now in danger of looking around and going 'Huh. So… is this how you always manage things?'.

This wasn't quite true, Binns notwithstanding, but politics were all about appearances. The decision would be paralyzing. Delayed by hemming and hawing – easily swayed. Kronnis pointed out that Andromeda was probably not in danger of immediate termination. "Umbridge seemed satisfied enough with today's lesson."

"It was a bit slapped together, to be honest," she admitted. "The Board of Governors expected any new hires in this school year to start teaching immediately. Dumbledore probably came to me because he knew that I'd have a better grasp of history than most, growing up with pureblood tutors."

"Sounds like he chose the perfect candidate."

Andromeda gave a sharp laugh, her following words dry with flippant cynicism. "A pawn, more like. Another piece for a chess master to move around as he pleases."

" Are we not all?" the Emperor mused, hiding well the bitterness that her words had summoned. The destiny of an illithid always weighed heavily in the back of his mind – to master all, yet remain enslaved to the whims of a hive mind.

Orpheus' blood had doused the fearful flame that shied away from an elder brain's control, his power a protective shield forever anchored within the Emperor's consciousness. Embers, however, had branded trauma and resentment like scars into his psyche. He carried himself as though fearless, believing he could overcome any adversary through plot and skill. Kronnis knew this to be a cowardly lie. His partner would never test himself against another elder brain.

His own opinion was stated matter-of-factly, born from an upbringing in drow culture and a willingness to let the Emperor pull his strings. "We all play our parts. Better a pawn contributing to victory than a member of the audience, oblivious until the winner is crowned."

"The rest of Wizarding Britain really are like sheep," Andromeda commented, tearing his attention away from where he'd briefly sensed starbursts of fondness in his partner's mind. "Blindly following the pied piper until the big bad wolf comes along to eat them up."

"The pied piper?" Kronnis scrunched his eyebrows together. Scouring his memories, he came up empty. "I'm not familiar with that analogy."

She laughed again, as though he'd said something incredibly funny. "I wasn't hired to explain this particular part of history, but I'll make an exception and find you a book on folktales and children's stories. Some of Tonks' are still in storage."

Kronnis declined her offer with a rueful smile. "As entertaining as that sounds, I'm afraid we still have entire shelves to go through in the library." An endless job, one they tried their best to snatch time for whenever they could. It was also the easiest chore to reschedule in favor of meetings or classes, stalling their progress in finding any information relating to the soul in Harry's mind and the locket they'd found in Grimmauld Place.

"I'd best not keep you then, my next class is due to begin soon anyway."

She wasn't wrong. When they opened the door to leave it was to a small crowd of loitering teenagers, whispering to each other about the new professor. Wading through, Kronnis heard the comments shift as their presence registered, fresh rumors birthing as speculation spread that Andromeda was somehow connected to Trelawney's various predictions of his future. Hopefully these would combat the ones that still claimed a romantic entanglement with Umbridge.

---

Umbrella in one hand and Markoheshkir strapped to his back – he'd need its abilities in order to cast Teleport a second time – Kronnis followed the Emperor through Malfoy Manor's iron gate. Every step came with a crunch of gravel and the clinking cascade of a wealth-laden pouch, held tightly in his partner's clutches.

The front door swung open when they made it to the building itself, Narcissa greeting them in a sharp-looking coat and with a smile that was perhaps a bit too friendly. Lucius' conspicuous absence went politely unmentioned – they'd arrived a little bit earlier than planned, after all.

They matched Narcissa's energy as they waited, amusing her with exaggerated grievances about the season – claiming it either too bright and sunny out, or too cold. The Emperor denounced the light dusting of snow that persisted in the shadows of hedges, and Kronnis then praised its exotic nature in good-humored jest. In exchange, Narcissa shared her years of experience, predicting that Hogwarts would be stunningly beautiful in a few months, its landscape transformed by shimmering frost and a thick blanket of soft snow.

A short lull then settled. Kronnis shifted on his feet, impatient to see the busiest shopping district Wizarding Britain had to offer. Besides the long line of portraits that regarded him as though lesser and looked snobbishly down their noses at the unconcealable hints of the Emperor's inhuman nature, there wasn't much to look at in the manor's entrance hall.

The edges of Narcissa's mind, curiously and very carefully skimmed for lack of anything better to do, flickered with nervousness and a faint irritation that streaked through her thoughts like a heartbeat, growing with each passing minute. An inspired determination suddenly grew from the center of this swirl of emotion, morphing into words before it could be interpreted.

"Lucius prefers warmer weather," she mentioned casually, turning back around after casting a searching gaze at the door furthest down the hall. The words dragged Kronnis' gaze up from where he'd been inspecting his nails.

"Hmm?" he asked.

Her delivery hushed to that of someone sharing gossip. Presumably explaining her husband's current absence, Narcissa continued. "Once it gets cold like this, he has to move his peacocks into the aviary behind the manor. There's no use keeping them outside – they'll blend right in with the snow, come winter."

This must be why Kronnis hadn't seen any on their walk to the manor proper, having scanned the immaculately maintained lawns for flashes of white. Come to think of it, who actually maintained the lawn? Lucius certainly wasn't scything it down to a perfect length himself – he'd get calluses – and at least a hundred sheep would need to labor day and night to keep the grass as short as it was. The estate was bare of any grazing animals, since the peacocks didn't count.

Magic must be involved, an enviable feat that he dearly mourned his inability to replicate. The richest patriars of Baldur's Gate employed dozens of servants to keep their lawns and gardens looking half as neat as the Malfoys'. Had he returned home, this magical innovation at his fingertips, he would've found his skills subjected to a bidding war, the richest nobles tearing each other apart to secure exclusive rights to his services.

The clack of a cane against stone floors finally heralded Lucius' arrival, just late enough to miss his wife's words. He looked harried, as though he'd rushed through the long halls of his home. He was also still buttoning up a dark overcoat that matched Narcissa's outfit, clearly having only just put it on.

Kronnis narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Hadn't Narcissa implied that he was outside, wrangling his peacocks behind the manor? The Emperor was already taking action, good-naturedly brushing off Lucius' polite apologies and excavating the truth from his mind, a process that Kronnis eagerly followed as the Malfoys led them back to the edge of the wards.

They stumbled into the answer immediately, the cause of Lucius' lateness swirling through every synapse and neuron, directly relating to every friendly word he now said, every calculating consideration that crossed his mind.

Voldemort had finally written back.

His official orders commanded Lucius to curry favor with Baldur's Gate, ascertain their city's amenability with the goals of his movement, and determine if they would be obstacles in his rise to power. He'd also requested an immediate and lengthy report on everything known about the newest chess pieces on the board, as though he'd been somehow living under a rock, or perhaps just very far away from Britain's affairs.

The composition of this report had forced Lucius into lateness – one did not simply keep the Dark Lord waiting, after all, even if the order of 'make nice with the delegates of Baldur's Gate' conflicted with that of 'tell me everything you know, now'. How was Voldemort to know that his owl would arrive at an incredibly inconvenient time?

No wonder Narcissa had put on such a friendly face. " She was distracting us with meaningless gossip," Kronnis whispered indignantly as they assessed this new information, finally one step closer to Voldemort himself.

The Emperor didn't seem to care. " We must focus on our own deception," he reminded, speaking very much like he had five years ago, stuck watching Kronnis' party bumble their way through goblin camps, mountain passes, and the basements of Baldurians. " Voldemort made it clear that the Malfoys cannot afford to make a mistake. The same is true for us."

Oblivious, the subjects of their discussion offered arms for apparition, the gesture accepted amidst private bickering. Twin cracks heralded their arrival in a disappointingly mundane-looking courtyard, situated behind an unimpressive building.

"This is the Leaky Cauldron," Lucius explained, gesturing at what was apparently a pub of some sorts. Its name did not inspire confidence in the overall affair. "The front entrance connects to a street in London, charmed to repel muggles from its doors. The back leads to this wall, which is the most commonly used entrance to Diagon Alley."

Narcissa drew her wand to tap a brick, triggering a shuffling of the entire wall, stones pulling themselves aside to form a welcoming archway.

A much more impressive sight greeted them – vibrant storefronts pressing into the cobbled streets as though to snatch shoppers into their interiors. Cramped as it was, wizards had made great use of the available space.

Stands sold color-changing flowers and kettle corn spiced with cinnamon, sugar, or pixie dust. Swiveling his head, Kronnis saw a parlor advertising ice cream in fifty different flavors. An emporium displayed owls in cages – browns, reds, a sooty grey, and even one with feathers white like snow, similar to the one he knew Harry to own.

He saw a wizarding travel agency whose logo he recognized from a letter that the Emperor had dumped on him. Kronnis' response had been filled with polite promises to reach out as soon as Baldur's Gate was ready to accept visitors, and a purposefully blurry time estimate on when exactly that would be.

Even the Daily Prophet's main office was located here, next to one of the multitude of bookstores that dotted the alley. They hadn't done anything worthy of the papers recently, so today's headlines were once again about Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lied.

As their group passed a small shop selling tea, it became obvious that their presence had attracted attention. The Emperor's height stood out, and Kronnis' strange coloration drew the eyes of wizards and witches dressed in manners arguably far stranger than their own public appearances. Garish plums and burgundies seemed popular, as well as headwear both sack-like and rigidly pointy. One witch wearing a red hat thick with furs and a puke colored nightgown stared at Kronnis as though he was the freak.

All the way through the alley, crowds rubbernecked as though they'd never learned shame. Sharp, purposeful steps kept them at bay, a ward against anyone who might accost them. Small children quailed under the force of Lucius' sneer and wizards shrank from Narcissa's steely gaze. It was like having a pair of amusingly protective and possessive bodyguards, the Malfoys unwilling to share the prestige of their company with anyone else.

Gringotts soon loomed before them, its white, marble pillars splitting the street into a fork. Diagon Alley continued on one side and a dimly lit street began on the other. Observing the short creatures guarding its doors, Kronnis determined that this world's goblins greatly resembled the ones of Faerûn. Cold eyes followed their approach and entry with great interest.

The banks atrium was tiled, the tellers elevated on black, wooden platforms, and the ceiling illuminated by a grand chandelier, sparkling with diamonds and screaming of wealth. Lucius brought them past open stations to a goblin with wispy hair who greeted him by name in growling tones. "Lord Malfoy, back so soon?"

"Not for myself." Lucius waved them forward. "Might I introduce Lord Teken'rret and the Emperor, delegates from Baldur's Gate? I trust you've heard of their arrival in Britain."

"Indeed – a nation unknown to our records." The goblin – Urgock, if the embossed nameplate inlaid into the wood of his booth was to be believed – smiled in a decidedly unwelcoming manner, all teeth and shrewd calculation. "What can Gringotts do for you today?"

The Emperor stepped forward, depositing their sack before the teller with a clink. " We would like our currency assessed for its value and then exchanged for galleons."

Urgock's eyes gleamed when he opened the bag to investigate. One hand grabbed a coin and another retrieved a metal plate from underneath his work area. Tapping the two together, he listened carefully to the resulting ring. The coin was then prodded with a sharp instrument, a new dent joining its collection of scuffs and scrapes when soft gold gave way under the strength of a harder metal. Urgock placed it back into the bag before opening the fabric wider to assess its contents. "How many coins are in here?"

" Two thousand. Lord Malfoy informed us that the exchange rate for gold should be roughly forty-eight galleons to an ounce." The words were delivered in a no-nonsense tone that the teller's sharp ears immediately picked up on, predatorial consideration fading from his demeanor.

"For a sum of this size, I will need to process your funds in a private office." He snatched the sack and hopped down, walking around his booth to wave them further into the bank. "This way, please. The Lord and Lady Malfoy can follow, but they'll have to wait outside the office." Another ugly smile was sent Lucius' way, the wizard only nodding graciously, fighting to conceal irritation.

They were led down a labyrinthine series of halls, passing goblins that walked with heads held high and hands full of packages and papers. An ornate door was opened for them, revealing a room with a desk covered in scales, basins, lockboxes, and tools of metal. Urgock instructed the Malfoys to wait outside – Gringotts took privacy very seriously – and moved to sit behind the desk on a chair, boosted to meet the average wizard on equal terms.

Settling into his own seat, Kronnis watched as coins were dumped with raucous noise into a large bowl, nearly filling it to the brim.

A series of tests followed. Magnets were held over the coins, to no reaction. The entire bowl was upended into a foul-smelling liquid and inspected for colour changes, the process then repeated with water, sharp eyes watching as each one sunk to the bottom. The water's displacement was measured, carefully calculated, and noted on parchment.

Finally, the coins were weighed. Separately first, to establish an average weight, and then together, dividing the total by the amount that had been spat out by a device Urgock had used to count the exact amount of coins present. Finding no discrepancies, and being able to match their currency's density and weight ratio with a block of gold set aside for such tests, Urgock declared the value of their funds in a much more business-like tone than he'd been using.

"The current exchange rate is 47.86 galleons to an ounce of gold. You have exactly 641.98 ounces." The parchment of calculations was pushed towards them, the Emperor closely examining it. "That makes this gold worth 30,725 galleons, two sickles, and three knuts. Subtracting a processing fee would leave you with 29,188 galleons, twelve sickles and six knuts."

A five percent fee sounded reasonable, given that they were attempting to convert a small fortune. Nodding with satisfaction, they indicated that this was acceptable.

"Do you have a way to transport your funds, once exchanged?" Urgock asked. "Twenty-nine thousand galleons are not an insubstantial amount. We do sell bags and wallets with extension charms for just such a purpose."

The Emperor raised a brow. " And their price?"

"One hundred galleons. A pittance, for such a regulated commodity." The predatory smile was back. Urgock knew they'd never be able to walk out of the bank with that much money. "Extension charms can only be used for the production of certain goods intended for resale – its casting for personal use is strictly prohibited."

It didn't matter that Urgock was surely overcharging them – a bag of holding would cost an average of two hundred and fifty gold back in Baldur's Gate, sometimes even upwards of five hundred. Kronnis knew a deal when he saw one. "We'll take ten."

The goblin looked taken aback. "Ten?"

"Ten," he repeated himself.

The staredown continued for a few seconds before more calculations were added to the parchment, subtracting the cost to give them a new total of how much they were owed. "Would you be interested in opening a vault with Gringotts? We offer a great many services, chiefly among them the most secure storage in Wizarding Britain." Urgock claimed, his voice filled with pride.

Funny that this was only brought up after the offer of extendable bags. The Emperor leaned forward, requesting the terms and conditions that came with owning a bank vault at Gringotts.

A short back and forth followed, Urgock upselling various features and explaining fee breakdowns. Overall, it seemed fairly straightforward, the numbers only varying slightly in proportion to what The Counting House offered in Baldur's Gate.

The Emperor did manage to swing a discount, haggling Urgock down on the cost of operating a high security vault under the pretense of diplomatic gratitude. Kronnis didn't even know such a thing was possible, having assumed that all bank services came at fixed rates. He also didn't know why his partner thought a vault necessary.

Reconvening with the Malfoys while Urgock departed to make the exchange, Kronnis gave them the bad news – a trip to the bank's bowels would now delay their schedule. Unexpectedly, Lucius livened up when he heard this change of plans. Kronnis had thought the wizard more likely to be annoyed but pushed away his ponderings when Urgock returned, leaving this investigation to his partner. He was sure he'd be filled in later.

All twenty-eight thousand galleons – the price of their new wallets already subtracted – had been stuffed into a single extendable bag, immediately snatched by the Emperor. The nine other bags that Urgock had brought them went into Kronnis' pockets.

Now led down a different corridor, they were ushered to a cart precariously attached to a set of rails that dove steeply down a black cavern. The Emperor was very quick to step into the contraption, cramming long legs into a seat and looking as confident and unworried as a bird perched atop a crumbling tower, secure in the assurance that he could catch his own fall in the event of a lethal mishap.

Harsh and jealous words were uttered through their private connection, triggering a second of bickering when Kronnis demanded that his partner preemptively hold onto him with telekinesis for the duration of their trip. Mirthful accusations of a fear of heights were unappreciated, and defensive questioning on why they even needed to go deposit money in the vault that the Emperor had spontaneously organized for them were brushed aside without explanation. The settling of a psionic presence around his body eventually convinced Kronnis to follow his partner into the cart, knuckles whitely clenched around his staff and the railing that served as the only built-in safety measure.

Lucius and Narcissa entering the carriage with the ease of old acquaintances settled some of his concerns, and he tried to picture the familiar sights of the Underdark in place of the barren and unfriendly stone of the bank. This endeavor was hindered by the distracting realization that he definitely saw some sort of large creature deep down in the blackness below, its movement only seen by sharp drow eyes.

Before he could vocalize his concerns, Urgock pulled a lever, and their ride creaked forward.

It started slow, as though the cart itself was afraid of what was to come. That only lasted a couple of seconds. Once it passed the sharp drop just feet from where it had rested, the cart accelerated at an alarming rate. Wind whipping through his hair, Kronnis resigned himself to his fate, jamming his feet under his seat in an attempt to find a bar or hole to hook his boots through.

They went down, then up, then sharply to the left before the rail rotated to continue above them, dangling the cart above sharp stalagmites.

The roar of a troll sounded in the distance, briefly seen walking across ramparts that bridged vaults, stirred by the clattering of their descent.

Kronnis then ducked his head when a tight passage raced to meet them. He shut his eyes when gravity pulled him to the side, spiraling downwards around an immense pillar. His teeth clenched when they dropped down a shaft so quickly that he felt like his body was floating – he wasn't, the Emperor reassured him.

They crossed a deep chasm about a mile beneath the surface. Through the gloom at the bottom, Kronnis could make out the white shape of a dragon as it stalked the length of its chain. That must be another of the 'protections' so proudly touted by Urgock.

Now glueing his eyes open, he caught flashes of other pale shapes on the walls, gathered around fissures and ledges. Long limbed, the creatures were larger than the goblins he'd initially suspected them to be, although thinner and shorter than himself. Cracked lips were pulled tight across teeth as jagged and fractured as the stone they clung to. Eyes that he would have otherwise assumed blind followed the movement of their cart with ease, as though waiting for something.

Kronnis' vision was cut off when they neared an underpass, its walls filled with limestone fangs that hid a waterfall rushing to meet them. Seconds before impact, he saw Lucius shift on the edge of his periphery, the wizard's face turning to watch as waters drenched everyone on the cart.

The shock drove all further thought from his mind, a fragment of something in his hindbrain washing lose. Wind numbing wet fingers and faces, they continued on, the ordeal lasting another minute before a lever was pulled to slow their movement.

When Kronnis finally stepped out of the bank's death trap it was to newly appraising looks from everyone but the Emperor, trust not shown before having spontaneously grown from nowhere. Moving to stand before his partner to help hide the way black fabric clung to hidden tentacles, he tried to maintain the fake smile plastered to his face, its shape becoming stonier the longer he dripped.

"So, is the waterfall standard with every ride?" he asked, trying his best to sound nonchalant.

"To the lower vaults, yes," Urgock clarified, turning a few dials before dismounting the cart, Narcissa's wand drying the entire group once they were all gathered. "It catches thieves – wipes away enchantments, unveils illusions, and shakes the control of mind-altering spells." His eyes scrutinized them, appearing satisfied that they looked exactly as before. If Kronnis wasn't so annoyed he would've been impressed by the cunning trick he'd been subjected to.

" Why didn't you tell me about this?" he demanded of the Emperor, knowing that the illithid should've seen the information in the heads of all three of their companions, Lucius at least having clearly expected it.

His partner's voice was soothing and apologetic, his touch sinking deeply into its usual spot in the back of Kronnis' mind. " Our reactions needed to be authentic. They each wanted to see the effects for themselves – Lucius could hardly believe his luck when he realized that he would be able to witness us go through the charm." The man in question did currently look incredibly satisfied . "Such a test performed by an entity as respected as Gringotts is irrefutable proof that we are not illusioned or otherwise magicked to project a false image. Instead of washing away a lie, it washed away suspicions that we are running a con."

Kronnis had guessed as much from their companions' sudden change of attitude. " You planned this," he accused . "We didn't need a vault, the only reason we're down here is because you needed me to get soaked."

" If you recall, I was also subjected to the waterfall's effects."

That was true, and the risk of the water washing away his veil was a sacrifice that had likely been carefully measured. Letting the matter rest, irritation smoothed quicker than it had formed, Kronnis asked Urgock a question as they were led down a path. "Those pale-skinned creatures, are they another protection? I saw the dragon – very impressive – but they looked decidedly more… unrestrained. Do you have an infestation?"

Surprise suited the goblin, he should wear it more often. "The Erklings? You noticed them?"

Should he not have? "It was difficult to miss them, once you realize their presence."

"Wizards never do," Urgock said with a wicked smile, amusement shared at the expense of others. "They're a special breed – suited to an underground life, rather than the forests of Germany where their cousins live. We've generously allowed them to make their homes here. So long as no visitors step off the paths or stray from goblin guides, they have nothing to fear. You've got good low light vision, huh?"

"Comes with the territory of living underground," Kronnis confirmed absently. Thinking back on the fourth-year Care of Magical Creatures textbook, he remembered that Erklings were considered elvish, and hoped that no one had assumed a connection between them and himself, given what he'd claimed about his race's origins.

Lucius looked remarkably irritated during this conversation, and now cast fearful looks at the empty stone above. "You let child-eating monsters roam your bank unchained?" he criticized, lip curling at what he surely considered barbarism.

Urgock's reply was swift and vicious. "No thieves have ever escaped this level."

It was funny, how quickly that shut the wizard up. Being reminded of the lengths Gringotts went to in order to secure aristocratic wealth was a wonderful cure for arrogance.

They reached an ornate door after crossing a bridge. Sliding his nail through tumblers, Urgock unlocked it, revealing an empty room. "You can bring whatever you like in here. Trunks, shelves, cursed books – so long as it fits in the room, we won't ask questions."

Kronnis absently wondered if the bank was often used to hide bodies. With a policy like that, they were practically begging for vaults full of skeletons.

Taking several minutes to divide their funds in half, the Emperor left fourteen thousand galleons behind to maintain the pretense that they actually had a use for their vault. The ride back up avoided the waterfall, and was only marginally better in that Kronnis now felt the sensation of moving upwards, rather than falling to his death.

He blinked when strong sunlight greeted them at Gringotts' exit, having blissfully forgotten its existence for an hour. Now that he thought about it, the deeper vaults had possessed a certain homey comfort, ruined only by the terrifying trip down.

Narcissa led them back down Diagon Alley, through crowds of wizards carrying books and cauldrons to a tidy looking establishment with fashionable dresses on display.

Twilfitt and Tattings was run by an older witch named Belinda, her hair strict and her robes immaculately tailored. She was professional in her manner, and began throwing out rapid-fire suggestions on cuts and hemming as soon as introductions were taken care of.

"We'll have to match the color to your umbrella, dear," she said, holding swatches of fabric to its dark shade and then to Kronnis' face. "You're sure you don't have a preference?"

"So long as it's not bright, I trust your judgement," he responded, watching as a dark turquoise and a navy blue were compared to his skin tone.

"Come stand over here then." A wave of her wand animated a nearby tape measure when he stood aside. She let it work, moving on to the Emperor while a floating quill recorded numbers.

The entire process was more involved than Kronnis had thought it would be. Belinda brought out half-finished designs, asking opinions on collars and sleeves, on button sizes and lining textiles. Narcissa added a comment about embellishments, suggesting that embroidery be added to lapels and trims.

When he heard that Acromantula silk was an option, he decided it an immediate necessity. It came in a lovely midnight blue, shimmering in the light and adding the perfect splotch of color to the otherwise neutral blacks he'd settled on.

The Emperor ended up acquiescing to Narcissa's insistence on royal purple and charcoal grey. Kronnis pinched his lips together when Belinda held parts of the design to his partner's frame, restraining himself from mentioning that the color scheme remarkably resembled his illithid armor. It was a good look, after all.

Approving nods from the Malfoys helped Kronnis select fine shirts and trousers, padding out a wardrobe previously reliant on what Figaro considered appropriate casual wear. Personally, he didn't see much difference – the cuts of Twilfitt and Tattings still oozed opulence.

A special request was made for a hood, scarf, and two pairs of gloves. They paid a couple thousand galleons for the entire set and were then asked to wait a few hours before returning to collect the finished products.

Appointments taken care of, Diagon Alley now shone with new light. A question was asked – where to next?

"How about I show you Quality Quidditch Supplies?" Lucius suggested to unanimous agreement, nodding to a store just a few buildings down.

The shop's proprietor clearly recognized the Malfoys as they walked in, a greeting on his lips that spoke of familiar patronage. His eyes then widened when he saw Kronnis and the Emperor trailing behind Lucius, barely allowing them time to skim their eyes over a display of wooden bats before he eagerly advertised protective gloves and wind-resistant robes.

Raising a hand to ward off a Quidditch starter set, Kronnis clarified his interest. "We're looking to pick up some brooms. I have a few acquaintances back home who're interested in trying out a new method of transportation."

"Of course, of course," the man said, bringing them over to a wall that displayed models for perusal, each distinctly shaped broom clearly labelled with stylized script. "We have the finest stock in Britain, from the Cleansweep line to the latest Nimbus'. Were you looking for anything in particular?"

"Speed and handling. I heard the Firebolt is the best on the market, is that true?" Kronnis asked. Its model wasn't on the wall with the others, but in the display window at the front of the shop.

Lucius' eyebrow raised, and the shopkeep hesitated before responding. "It's true, but their price range is a bit… exorbitant. Sponsored Quidditch teams are usually the only ones buying Firebolts."

"No matter, how much for one?"

"Five hundred galleons." The man's eyes drifted back to the wall of brooms as he said this, likely looking for a suitable substitute to suggest once his customer shied away from the price.

Kronnis didn't even bother haggling – thirty-one gold coins for an impeccably enchanted magical item? The deals in this world! "I'll take one, and-" he gestured to a sleek broom resting on one of the display hooks, "how many of those Nimbus' do you have right now?"

Watery brown eyes, having rounded at the casual purchase of a Firebolt, now squinted. "T-twelve? I think."

"I'll take those too."

"…All of them?" the shopkeep asked, as though he hadn't heard correctly.

"Yes, that's only three thousand galleons, correct? Three thousand five hundred with the Firebolt."

Someone behind him coughed.

The man before him eventually nodded, apparently slow to process math. "Yes," he echoed in a strangled voice, "three thousand and five hundred galleons."

"And a broomstick servicing kit." Kronnis enjoyed the way the shopkeep's face twisted with the additional purchase.

"One Firebolt and twelve Nimbus 2001's, I'll get them from the back." The man only just remembered to grab the last item mentioned, depositing it on the counter as he scrambled past it on his way to the back rooms.

The deliberate clearing of a throat grabbed Kronnis' attention. "One hardly buys twelve brooms," Lucius said, a smile tugging at his lips. "A set of seven might be more common, as that would outfit an entire team." The words, perhaps advice, were offered a bit late.

He waved his hand dismissively. "I'm not looking to outfit a Quidditch team, we need something to draw the interest of investors." Investors in this context being nobles willing to overpay for exotic goods, or political allies due for a gift.

Exiting the back of the store, a mound of brooms met them at the counter, human legs poking out at the bottom. The Emperor waved a hand to assist before they could tumble out of the poor shopkeep's arms, levitating them into a neat row on the floor.

Illithid hands counted out their payment without complaint, the large purchase remarkably well received by the Emperor – perhaps because it would allow them further influence in Baldur's Gate. If Kronnis had frivolously spent three thousand gold coins on something back home, he'd be sleeping out in their office.

Carefully packing their purchases in one of their expanded bags allowed them to leave without two or three brooms clutched under each arm.

Several apothecaries were stopped at next, further lightening their weightless purse. The Emperor bought samples of any ingredient that was easy enough to cultivate or source from abroad. Plants were tossed into shopping baskets, but reagents such as Ashwinder eggs or Sphynx hair were avoided, their rarity making for poor candidates in experimental potion brewing. Kronnis scoured shelves for elixirs and poultices with unique effects, finding tinctures that aged the drinker or regrew bones – and even ones that removed skin blemishes!

Diagon Alley's bookstores were impressive, but they'd already been spoiled by Hogwarts' library, easily the size of all these shops combined. Kronnis still made small purchases here and there, shoving newly published encyclopedias and research papers on spellcrafting theory into expanded bags. Gale would probably appreciate those, once they'd given the texts a look themselves.

Walking past Ollivanders with a longing look, Kronnis eventually asked about the other streets they'd passed while walking down the alley.

"Horizont Alley has a few stores and a pub," Narcissa offered, "and Carkitt Market has another apothecary, a clockmaker, and a blacksmith." The other establishments she listed were hardly interesting, what was Kronnis to do with jellied eels?

He pointed at the entrance of a dimly lit street next to Gringotts, the same he'd seen earlier. "And this one?"

"Knockturn Alley?" Lucius asked casually. "It mostly caters to the Dark Arts." A notable lack of further explanation followed this statement, as though he was waiting to see their reaction.

The Emperor was not one to disappoint. " Excellent. We were beginning to think dark magic illegal altogether," he said, pivoting to walk in the alley's direction and obviously expecting everyone else to follow.

Kronnis caught the Malfoys exchanging brief looks before they joined him in trotting behind his partner. In the same tone as earlier, Lucius asked another question. "You're interested in learning about the Dark Arts?"

" Very much so. Hogwarts is rather… lacking, in this subject's education," the Emperor said, likely tentacle-deep in Lucius' mind and oozing a smugness that only Kronnis could perceive. " Nearly every other branch of magic is covered in its curriculum, but the Dark Arts have evaded our pursuit – until now."

A private message instructed Kronnis to show further interest, a plan brewing. Internally, he ticked off another point on a mental list of subtleties that they could use to further associate themselves with Voldemort's followers. It helped that they actually did have an interest – soul slivers weren't going to explain themselves, and texts on dark magic had been frustratingly elusive in Diagon Alley's bookstores.

Narcissa continued the conversation, carefully stepping around a hooded figure offering mummified bats. "Yes, I expect the Hogwarts library has long since purged any books on the Dark Arts from its shelves."

The street was full of other such miscreants, lurking in the plentiful dark corners and hawking wares considerably more questionable than what the stands of Diagon Alley had on display.

Kronnis saw witches that he would've assumed to be hags, had he seen them in Baldur's Gate. In the shadows between two buildings, he witnessed small packages exchange hands, the glint of galleons briefly flashing. A display window containing furniture made of bones caught his attention, appreciating the creativity dedicated to such a pursuit. Around the corner was a shop advertising poisons and venoms, followed by another selling candles – also poisonous.

Nodding at Narcissa's comment, Kronnis followed his partner's instructions. "That's precisely our problem – shelves bare of anything more than counter-curses. It's left a dreadful hole in our research."

Skipping a locksmith and a betting shop, the Emperor made his way to an antiques store. " This one looks promising," he declared before turning to Lucius. " Unless you are aware of any book handlers?"

"No, Borgin and Burkes should have what you seek," the wizard responded, dropping his thin veneer of ignorance to share intimate knowledge of the alley's establishments. He once again exuded the same air of untouchable nobility that had kept the public of Diagon Alley at bay, striding through Knockturn with a pride that contrasted greatly with the demeanor of some of the malcontents that skittered from corner to shadowy corner. "There used to be a bookstore, but it was shut down a few years ago – new Ministry regulations. It's a shame, really. Every year more and more of the old traditions are banned, even ones that aren't dark in the slightest."

Kronnis frowned. "That's unfortunate to hear. Dark magic itself has never been outlawed in Baldur's Gate, although we do classify our spells differently. You can cast something like Blight all day long if you want to – you'll only get in trouble if someone's hurt by it and presses charges."

The interior of Borgin and Burkes was cluttered with glass cases and displays containing all manner of curios and oddities. A shelf on an adjacent wall held a collection of old books which quickly drew the Emperor's attention. With luck, he'd find answers for at least one half of their mission.

Last to enter, Narcissa closed the door behind them, sealing them away from potential eavesdroppers on the streets. "What do you mean, you classify them differently?"

"We have eight different branches of magic," he replied, leaning in to get a closer look at a set of shrunken heads sitting in a tiered glass cabinet, each from a different creature. "Some match your own – divination, for example, and transmutation is our equivalent to transfiguration. Abjuration and evocation could be considered two sides of the same coin, if you squint. The first includes spells that protect against or interfere with other magic, while the second pertains to the summoning of energy, usually offensive magic."

Crouching lower to examine a gold-encrusted skull, he continued. "Necromancy is just about the closest thing we have to something that's truly considered dark magic, as you would define it."

"Necromancy?" Narcissa's eyebrows raised. "It doesn't get much darker than that. I suppose there are some uses, but the raising of the dead is taboo, even by the standards of most dark wizards."

Kronnis shrugged, relishing the way their attention rested on him. "In Baldur's Gate a known necromancer could walk around just like any other wizard – until they start reanimating entire graveyards of course, people tend to frown on that." He wasn't even exaggerating. Mystic Carrion didn't offer that obscure a service, and only received visits from the Fist when complaints of zombie stench piled up. Disturbing the peace was apparently worse than disturbing the souls of the dead. "I know a little bit myself, it's quite useful at times."

When he stood, dismissing the skull as a mere trinket, it was to respectful regard.

Lucius smiled, friendly and knowing. "Is this study of the Dark Arts intended to fulfill research obligations, or is it more of a personal interest?"

"A bit of both, I suppose," Kronnis chuckled, extending some trust in return, even if it was a lie. As much as he wanted to learn this world's magic, he was physically incapable of performing it.

Communicating success, the Emperor's approval washed over him as the illithid reinserted himself in the conversation. " There are some promising titles here," he said from the side. Long-nailed fingers pointed out his suggestions and then pulled them out with bursts of telekinesis, care taken to avoid touching the books with bare hands – there had been several signs in the store warning of cursed items.

The Nightshade Guide to Necromancy was first on his list, selected for Kronnis even though he had little to no interest in practicing true reanimation. Next was a frayed little book embossed with the words Maledicta Saeculorum and a seven-pointed star. He stifled a laugh when he saw a black bound text a few spines over, its title – The Imperius Curse and How to Abuse It – reminding him of the guide he'd read on resisting said curse. Wondering if creative interpretation of its instructions would transfer over to illithid mind control techniques, he encouraged the Emperor to add it to the list.

The Grimoire of Whispers: Voices from Beyond the Void might possibly deal with souls, and, oh! There was a book titled Dark Alchemy. That one quickly joined their growing stack. Midway through deciding whether an overpriced tome on blood magic was worth the price, they found their discussion interrupted by a shuffle from the far end of the shop.

"Lord Malfoy," an oily voice said, "a pleasure as always."

Turning, Kronnis eyed the weak-postured man who'd stepped out from the back rooms of the store. Stringy hair fell to his shoulders, framing an unshaven face and pale, watery eyes, their greed promising an easy to exploit personality. A crooked smile showing darkened teeth cleaved across the wizard's face. "And the delegates from Baldur's Gate, what might bring you to my store?"

" Research." The Emperor's reply was haughty, matching the tone Lucius had employed in other establishments. " Given Hogwarts' lack of material on the subject, we came here to look for an alternative source of education on the Dark Arts. I would appreciate it if these could be checked for curses," he said, levitating their selections over to the counter.

It turned out that one of them was hexed, a lingering blood-sapping spell that would slowly drain anyone who held The Grimoire of Whispers. The shopkeep, Borgin, removed it for them, and then demanded an extra fee of ten galleons for the service.

Kronnis slowly counted out coins for their purchase, listening in on the vaguely threatening conversation that the Emperor was continuing with Borgin.

" Surely this is not the extent of your inventory. I would hazard a guess that you have something special, perhaps stashed away somewhere?" The Emperor certainly knew exactly where Borgin kept the highly illegal goods, but didn't have a good excuse to start rooting through some hidden wall safe or back room.

Borgin bravely broke eye contact to glance questioningly at Lucius, receiving a confident nod. Trustworthiness ascertained through a reputable source, he then turned back to the Emperor. "I might have something, but special goods come at a special price."

Unsurprising. Kronnis respected the man for being honest and simple. Retrieving a large handful of galleons from their expanded bag, he let them clatter onto the counter, the cacophony of sound drawing all eyes to him. He held Borgin's gaze while the last ones rattled and rolled to a halt, expression neutral but for a slight upturn of his lips.

" A special price," the Emperor echoed, waiting expectantly.

Tearing his eyes away from the pile of gold, Borgin nodded. "Just a moment," he said, again showing off disgusting teeth in an expression that might pass as a smile as he darted into the depths of his shop. When he returned, it was with a small trunk that was carefully set onto the counter.

Kronnis leaned forward to take in its contents, the Emperor joining him shortly. An opal necklace lay tangled with vials that had been individually packaged in cloth, their contents obscured. Not wrapped or sheathed at all was a dagger that seemed to absorb light. It was made of an unidentifiable metal and magic gleamed in the swirls of its polished finish.

Two books were stacked on the other side, next to something Kronnis recognized from his research – a dark artifact called a Cruel Cleft. It was reminiscent of a surgical instrument, rust growing on its corners and looking painful to even hold, let alone be on the receiving end of. The cuts it would inflict were cursed to be unhealable.

At request, Borgin pulled out the pair of books, his hands carefully avoiding the necklace as he reached inside the trunk.

Disappointingly, one was a copy of Magick Moste Evile, the same text they'd found in the Black Family Library. The other was an instruction manual on creating Inferi, some sort of magical creature similar to zombies. Neither were helpful, but the Emperor forked over an additional hundred galleons anyway, disguising the true goals of their search and the frustration they both felt upon realizing that this was another dead end.

Illegal acquisitions stuffed into another expanded bag, Lucius then led the way back up to Diagon Alley and across the way to Carkitt Market, where he'd arranged a private room for lunch in an establishment called The Gilded Griffin. Its door handles were shaped like feathers, and its namesake was depicted in elegant wallpaper, enchanted to fly over vivid imagery of forests and mountains.

Guided to their room by a house-elf in a suit, they found two wizards already waiting for them in the plush chairs surrounding a large table – Corban Yaxley and Ephraim Nott, as they introduced themselves.

The former wore sweeping robes and kept his hair, almost as pale as Lucius', pulled back in a braid. Handshake strong, his mouth was set in an unimpressed line as he studied their features.

Nott, who they'd already exchanged letters with, was an older gentleman with a long beard and greying temples, the folds of his face pronounced in the overhead lighting. His stoop stole inches, leaving him shorter than Yaxley's tall and blunt figure.

"A pleasure," he began, voice raspy. "Your last notes on international supply chains were wonderfully insightful. Have you put any further thought into what sorts of import tariffs might be levied on medical goods? I've calculated some revised production cost reports and reviewed my manufacturer's ability to ramp up the output of their Dittany nurseries."

" Parliament has not yet come to a decision on tax rates," the Emperor replied, to great relief. While both of their signatures were added to their correspondence, the text of such letters was almost exclusively written by controlling illithid hands. Kronnis had no idea that the importation of Dittany was even being discussed . "Our fault, unfortunately. It is only today that we were able to make headway on confirming an exchange rate."

"Should've prioritized that, I think," Yaxley said. "You've got to get the wheels of bureaucracy moving. What've you been doing, playing schoolboys with the Hogwarts children?"

Kronnis did his best to reply diplomatically, pushing back the resentment he felt at being called a schoolboy. Not only had he had a terrible experience the first time, but he must be at least three times Yaxley's age! "We've been performing interdisciplinary research into the fundamentals of both your magic and ours. Likely the largest innovation of its sort in centuries."

Yaxley raised an eyebrow. "Is your magic really that different?"

"I suppose I could provide a demonstration," he offered, before turning to Lucius and continuing in a questioning tone," but I thought a couple more individuals were invited?"

"Yes." Lucius nodded. "The Carrows. Shouldn't be long – we're a bit early, after all."

"The Carrows," Yaxley mused. "Haven't seen them in a while. Heard they've got positions in the Ministry now. Not in the DMLE, though – I'd have heard of that."

He sounded very self-important. Perhaps letting the man boast about his position would lower the unpleasant walls around him. Kronnis asked him a question. "You work for the- was it the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

A nod and a smirk confirmed his guess. "In Wizengamot Administration Services, under Department Head Amelia Bones. As Head Administrator, I'm present at most trials, overseeing proper procedure and interpreting laws and precedents."

Oh, very important indeed. Kronnis wanted to ruin this man's career.

Any further responses were interrupted as the door opened again, admitting a witch and wizard who looked similar enough to be siblings. Introduced as the missing Carrows, Alecto and Amycus, they completed the table. When they sat, a quiet pop heralded the conjuration – or was it summoning? – of a pad of paper and a set of menus.

These had a small collection of house-designed dishes, their names and ingredients barely comprehensible to Kronnis' eyes. Rigatoni was first on the list, with lamb… ragu? in a red wine reduction – he knew what red wine was, at least – pecorino romano, and pancetta. Second was steak au poivre, and the words under it specified something about peppercorns and a cognac sauce before listing the sides – haricot verts and pommes frites. Whatever the hells those were supposed to be.

He suddenly envied the Emperor, who'd already excused himself from ordering. One of the other options, a sandwich containing wild game of some sort, appeared popular around the table, so he simply settled for the same. Conversation resumed once orders had been written on the pad and the conjured materials disappeared.

"You mentioned a demonstration?" Yaxley fixed Kronnis with an expectant look, interested despite his earlier dismissal.

Narcissa leaned forward from the other end of the table, her eyes scheming. "Yes, you said in Knockturn that you knew some necromancy. Is that something you can cast here?"

How kind of her to remember. "I could. I'd need a target though," Kronnis said, sending a suggestive smile Yaxley's way.

No one volunteered, their faces guarded at the mention of dark magic. The Emperor's dislike of where this was headed was clear in his head, but Kronnis now had to follow through. Flaking out was not an option.

Sighing at the cowardice of the room, he raised both hands to rest above the table. "There isn't much necromancy that I can perform in polite company. If you want your demonstration you'll have to watch carefully – I can cast this one on myself, but I'll only do this once."

Embracing the Weave like an old friend, a gesture of his fingers summoned a ghostly hand above his own, emaciated and rotting. Lowering it until the chill of its touch connected with his pinky, the rest of his fingers curled to prevent contact, its effects were instant. Grey skin withered and paled dramatically as the flesh underneath died. The pain was bone-deep, seeping into veins and marrow alike, a sacrifice necessary to prove both nerve and ability.

He didn't let it continue past his knuckle. A potion would reverse the damage, but he needed two functional hands to finish lunch. Dismissing the cantrip, he spoke again. "Inducing necrosis like this is dangerous if left unchecked, especially if you target anything more significant than a finger."

Amycus looked fascinated. "I've seen a similar spell. Well, read about it. It's a curse that steals vitality from the target, withering them until death."

"The Putridium curse," Nott added, recognizing the description.

"Very dark magic." Alecto eyed Kronnis with a favorable glint

He smiled back. "A family tradition."

Begrudging respect colored Yaxley's words, once he finally deigned to comment. "Yes, I believe the Prophet mentioned that you come from the nobility of Baldur's Gate? How far back do these family traditions go?"

"Centuries." Millenia. "My mother, however, favored the summoning of spiders. That's more common in drow culture."

"And your family's had the name, what was it – Tekret? For centuries as well?"

Kronnis almost rolled his eyes. "Teken'rret, yes. For as long as Baldur's Gate can remember." The only lie here was the implication that Baldur's Gate had been familiar with his family name before he ever came around to save it.

When had the city been established, anyway? Around the middle of the fourth century DR? That was just over one thousand years ago, three or four generations of his matrilineal line. A vaguely insulted voice in the back of his head corrected his calculations, insisting that the year 289 DR was in fact the first time that citizens had referred to their settlement by the name of their oh-so venerated wall-donor.

Still listening to his mental commentary, the Emperor's now indignant presence threatened to brew a headache in his brain, halted only by Yaxley's sudden address. "And you?" the wizard said, turning his attentions away from Kronnis. "You've never given a family name."

" Correct."

A pause. Yaxley's patience visibly thinned. "And? What is it?"

Internally, minds scrambled for a suitable explanation. Kronnis hadn't failed to notice that every single one of Lucius' associates carried a last name belonging to some of the few wizarding families that officially retained their pure-blooded status, never once intermingling with muggleborns. He'd just passed some sort of test, but the Emperor's status was still in the air.

" Following my family's, tradition, I discarded my given name upon reaching majority," the Emperor stalled. Could they get away with making up a name? But what?

Yaxley was not dissuaded. "But what was it?" There was another pause following this demand, the rest of the room either too unwilling to risk the ire of Yaxley to intervene in what was quickly becoming an offensively intrusive line of questioning, or glad that someone else had risked grilling the Emperor for personal details.

Schooling his features into something a little bit more polite than the haughty expression they'd contorted into, Yaxley spoke again. "Surely the family that founded Baldur's Gate isn't private enough that the populace doesn't even know their names."

There was no getting out of this, unless they wanted to start wiping the memories of everyone in the room. The Emperor came to a decision. " My name was-"

Bodies twitched, jolted, and shuddered; their cerebral cortexes unprepared for the otherworldly language that intruded upon their brains. With practice, Kronnis could have written down what the Emperor had said, but Deep Speech was so alien that making sense of its sounds would've been an endeavor of years. Truly an aberrant tongue.

Yaxley looked like he was thinking too hard, face crimped and creased like that of a human past his first century. "N'gh-" He cut off, unsuccessful in imitating what he'd heard. His pronunciation was terrible.

The Emperor repeated himself, now taking spiteful delight in the situation.

" What does that even mean?" Kronnis asked, knowing that his partner hadn't just given away some other secret name that he'd once carried. The exasperation swimming in his mind lacked the intimacy that would've implied such.

A whisper let him in on the secret. " It is simply the word for 'name'."

Laughing out loud would've been rude, considering that Amycus was now making his own attempt to sound out the word, so Kronnis instead bit the inside of his cheek to prevent any sound from bursting out of his mouth.

Having finally decided to move on, the Emperor offered an explanation to the room. " Illithid language is difficult for other races to learn. Most sounds are only replicable through psychic speech. We continue to practice the language because it is important to our culture, but we have found it easier to adopt names that other races can recognize."

The half-lie, slowly becoming dangerously elaborate, appeased the room. Expressions of bewilderment changed to ones of sympathy – the Emperor had managed to paint his plight as one comparable to the changes that wizarding culture had gone through to accommodate the comfort of muggleborns.

"Can humans be taught to use these psychic abilities?" Amycus demanded, eyes covetous.

" It is… possible." The Emperor said slowly, implying a great difficulty in the process. Unspoken was the prerequisite of a mind flayer tadpole, a suggestion that would surely be found outrageous.

"I can think of quite a few people who'd be interested in learning," Nott mused, eyes shifting to convey something to his acquaintances.

" My free time is in rather short supply, else I would offer to teach it."

Alecto smiled, inviting and sharp at the same time. "Perhaps you simply haven't heard the right offer."

" Perhaps," the Emperor conceded, his tone offering future opportunity. " But I do have official duties that I must prioritize."

"Of course," Lucius said. "This might be a discussion for another day."

Kronnis couldn't personally see the wheels turning in their heads, but the Emperor's satisfaction painted a clear picture of what the Death Eaters were thinking – this was a power Voldemort would surely wish to possess, its retrieval almost certain to be ordered as soon as their Lord heard about it.

Further small talk was cut off by the arrival of lunch. Similar to the meals at Hogwarts, plates of food simply appeared on the table, along with whatever drinks had been ordered.

A discussion on the populace of Baldur's Gate was brought up next, Kronnis confirming that while everyone in Baldur's Gate was capable of magic, some didn't pursue the higher education necessary to cultivate it. Most of the Death Eaters pulled a face at the thought that someone wouldn't have an interest in learning magic, until it was mentioned that schooling could get expensive, and families often just sent their children off to learn the wizardry needed for specific trades. Truly powerful spellcraft was left to those with the funds and connections to pay for it.

The affront on his audience's faces didn't change, but now its cause was the mention of people too poor to afford schooling. An inside joke was shared about magic remaining in the 'right hands', something about certain families being better than others.

A secret cabal of society's elite, plotting against the lower classes. This was a tale as old as time, as predictable as the seasons. Every city, state, and culture had them.

Further probing forced the Emperor to make up some nonsense, mentioning that Baldur's Gate had no interest in the business of muggles and was solely concerned with the state of the world's magical community. Satisfied, the topic was then shifted to business relations, Nott explaining his control of various medical firms in further detail, and the Carrows bringing up their ownership of a publishing house inherited from their great grandfather.

Grief was aired at the increasingly restrictive laws throttling the Dark Arts. Amycus complained that they'd had to pull yet another text on warding. Even the mention of a ritual using Red Cap blood had been enough for the Ministry to yank it from shelves and ban its publication. 'Back in my grandfather's day,' he'd lamented, 'you could buy books that actually taught the reader how to perform the ritual'.

Kronnis sympathized. Censorship was just one of the many problems they faced in their search for soul magic.

As their acquaintance grew, conversation drifted to topics of personal curiosity. Alecto pointed at Markoheshkir, asking if it was a magical focus – it was, technically – and then wondering why Kronnis hadn't used it during his earlier demonstration. He explained that it allowed the repetitive casting of exceptionally powerful and exhausting spells, meaning that it wasn't really necessary for run-of-the-mill everyday stuff. Was it something that could be reproduced and sold? Absolutely not, this baby was one-of-a-kind and he'd won it by besting the most powerful wizard of Baldur's Gate.

The Emperor was then asked if his nails were fake, or painted. Their inspection was briefly allowed until Kronnis got sick of seeing his partner's claws in other hands, changing the subject to ask Yaxley about his family tree. He pretended to be suitably impressed as a long list of names was rattled off, the mention of multiple Blacks, Flints, and Burkes speaking of some very intermingled branches.

By the time the meeting eventually dissolved, it was well past lunch. The Emperor threw a generous handful of coins on the table, using the excuse of collecting their completed wardrobes from Twilfitt and Tattings to give the Death Eaters some privacy to plot.

The trip back through Diagon Alley was short but harrowing. They were once again a spectacle, and without the Malfoys' sneers to clear a path, they found themselves dodging questions and suffering stares.

Some wizards were bold enough to introduce themselves, falling into step for a few brief exchanges and then wandering off awkwardly when the Emperor's nails – proven both real and sharp – rudely pinched wrists during handshakes. Street vendors shouted their way, asking if they'd ever tried roasted chestnuts or cauldron cakes. Witches pointed, very unsubtly following them all the way to Twilfitt and Tattings and giggling whenever Kronnis smiled politely at the next person to cross their path.

Having experienced similar in Baldur's Gate, he was already used to perpetual clouds of whisperers. It was only for his partner's benefit that he teleported them away to their rooms as soon as their packages were in arm and Belinda was thanked, Markoheshkir's golden glow briefly lighting up the inside of her shop.

" I admit, these appear well worth the price," the Emperor said, buttoning up his new coat before a mirror. Impossibly comfortable, they were enchanted against wind, rain, cold, and overheating. And, they were self-cleaning.

Kronnis rubbed a finger over the soft textures of Acromantula silk. "Figaro is going to froth at the mouth if he catches us wearing these. He'll think I'm cheating on him with another tailor."

" You are," the Emperor pointed out, earning himself a glare. " And I have never spoken with Figaro face-to-face," he continued, as though to absolve himself of responsibility. " If his feelings are hurt, it will be no fault but your own."

"The alienation of one of our best business partners should concern you a bit more," Kronnis muttered.

" Perhaps this will give you reason to better organize our wardrobe." A long finger pointed to an open closet, where bold Baldurian fashions and elegant drow designs far outnumbered the black fabric of the Emperor's disguises. Wizarding wear had been squished into a corner, Kronnis unable to find proper space for it.

"Or," he said, "I'll just ask the house elves for another closet."

Telekinesis pulled out a richly embroidered waistcoat, orange in colour and bordering on gaudy. " When would you even wear something like this?"

Kronnis snatched it back. "That was a present from Eloise Guthmere."

" That you have never worn."

"Alright, if it makes you happy, I'll take this one home when we next return."

" Oh, it means nothing to me," the Emperor said with faked innocence. " Though I appreciate the thought."

Narrowing his eyes, Kronnis threw it back into the closet. "I'm going out," he announced, sticking his hand into the Emperor's new purse and pulling out a handful of galleons. More than he needed, but whatever was left over could find a new home at the bottom of his pockets.

A heavy purple gaze rested on him and his stolen gold. " Where are you going with that?"

"I have to pay Harry back," Kronnis explained, already making his way to the door. "Are you coming to dinner later? Or will you be waiting for me here, perhaps dressed in a little bit less?"

" I have letters to answer."

That wasn't a no. Blowing a kiss before opening the door, Kronnis slipped out, his mind trying to remember which decorative suit of armor he and Harry had agreed to use for their loan exchange.

---

Kronnis talking to Narcissa at the beginning is like "How dare someone try to deceive me :(" and the Emperor is like "Please... can we stay on task."