Author's Notes:
Today we are bribing both teachers and owls alike.
The Emperor seems set against pets, but maybe he will make an exception for a particularly cute creature? Or Kronnis might just eat it.
Wait, is the Ministry up to something? Who cares, I'm busy using words like 'calcinate' and 'friable' to sound smart and get over the trauma I suffered years ago when I failed high school chemistry. Potions is just chemistry, right? But more fun and without having to calculate moles?
Beta read by Circade and Nibenay.
The Owlery was unnecessarily tall and unbelievably drafty. Armed with a handful of bacon – now cold – and an armful of letters, Kronnis poked his head above the top step. Dozens of eyes rested on him, owls of all shapes and colors sizing him up suspiciously. The feeling was mutual. None were as large and threatening as Lucius' owl had been, and some actually managed to look rather cute. As cute as you could be when standing in your own excrement and the tiny bones of long-digested vermin. Did no one ever clean up here?
"Which one of you would like to take a letter for me?" he asked, wiggling the handful of bacon and hoping they would come to him, rather than forcing him to walk over the filthy floor.
A line quickly formed on the railing, owls bullying each other for a space at the front. Kronnis was unwilling to break up a fight, knowing that the Emperor would never let him live it down if he was attacked in retaliation. And, quite frankly, he also had no intention of getting involved in the nuances of whatever social structure the strangely intelligent birds had. Turning a blind eye to the squabbling, he began tying letters to legs.
The process was awkward. He immediately realized that he didn't have enough hands to attach the envelopes and also keep a secure enough grip on the bacon to prevent theft. The stack of letters was placed on the ground with a mental apology to whoever would receive the one on the bottom. Bacon was wedged under his arm. One by one, he painstakingly sent off each owl, offering the treat once they'd suffered through the ordeal.
Watching the last one fly off with a reply declining Madam Magnolis' marriage proposal – a three-page essay detailing the wealth and assets that her family brought to the table – Kronnis hoped that the letter didn't smell too much. Or that the smell might be mistaken for the natural odor of the bird delivering it, a cantankerous great horned owl that had shoved its way in front of the barn owl that should have been the one to take the letter.
As luck would have it, he'd brought extra bacon, fearing that some might be lost to thieving beaks. One piece was offered to the barn owl, who happily flew away with the treat, and the other was torn into smaller pieces and thrown to the floor after a moment's hesitation. The Kronnis of the past had hoped that he might treat himself to the extras, if any remained.
He made his escape while the birds were distracted by the feast, lest they harass him under a misguided impression that he had more stashed away somewhere on his person.
Cumbersome task accomplished, Kronnis was relieved that no students had ventured into the tower to witness his struggle. He snatched up his umbrella from where it had been left propped against the outside wall of the tower. Protected from the sun once more, half for show and half to diminish the blinding effect that the bright light actually did have on his eyes, he marched off to the lake, opting to take a scenic route back to the castle. If he was lucky, he might witness the creature that he thought he'd seen lurking below the waters last night, and then he'd be able to gleefully shove the memory into the Emperor's brain, proving himself right.
The Underdark was an exotic fantasy for most, but the opposite was true for Kronnis. Decades back – he'd long since stopped keeping track – it had taken a period of adjustment to get over the wonder that lush forests and sunlit plains evoked. Verdant flora, unlike the neon shades that occasionally popped up in bioluminescent fungi, were a rich delicacy his eyes had devoured.
But that was a lifetime ago, for some races. The wilds of Faerûn were now normal to him – grasses and flowers the same day after day, year after year.
Humid, earthy, and filled to the brim with strange plants, Hogwarts' Greenhouses brought back hints of the fascination he thought he'd grown out of, their interiors feeling as alive as the vine waving through the air next to him. Kronnis resisted the urge to touch it. Poking unfamiliar magical plants rarely ended well.
They were standing at the back of the structure, looking over the heads of small children to where Professor Sprout explained the syllabus. Disappointingly, the actual handling of plants wouldn't happen until the following year. First year covered the common uses of plants, identification methods, the dangers involved in cultivation and handling, and – honestly, this was starting to sound a lot like a friendlier version of Snape's first lesson. Less threatening, but wow, there a lot of potential hazards awaiting these students. He eyed that vine with a bit more suspicion.
It was surprising that only a single student fatality marred the past century of Hogwarts' history, and that the culprit had been a rogue basilisk, rather than a horrific classroom accident. Actually, there was also that Cedric boy, but Kronnis didn't think that incident counted. Technically, it hadn't been on school grounds, and entering a tournament known for its death toll and subsequently being murdered by a dark lord was a different matter entirely from perishing in a potions or herbology-related mishap.
Perhaps there were quite a few maimings no one had bothered to tell them about. The presence of an on-site hospital wing did imply a certain level of necessity.
As though reading his mind, Professor Sprout moved on to an actual lesson – a lecture on Devil's Snare, a particularly murderous plant that enjoyed dark environments and strangling anyone unfortunate enough to wander into its grasp. It seemingly had no uses beyond guarding things that wizards and witches wished to keep others out of.
After promising to soon teach the students a fire-making charm that would drive away the plant if encountered, Professor Sprout eventually dismissed the class. For homework, the students would be expected to read the relevant chapter of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. Kronnis tuned this out, as he'd been done with homework for well over a century.
"I hope the lesson wasn't too boring," Sprout said when they joined her at a desk that doubled as a workstation, packing away the cutting she'd shown as a visual example. "First year always starts out a bit slow, children just want to touch without considering the consequences."
The Emperor waved away her concerns, mentioning that they planned to attend some upper-year lessons when their schedule allowed. He then moved on to a more pressing topic, gesturing to the satchel Kronnis carried. "We brought some samples from Baldur's Gate."
Delight scrunched her features into an excited smile. "Oh! Dear me, what a treat!" she exclaimed, suddenly hurrying to clear a larger space on her workstation.
Once the clutter of pots and saplings had been moved out of the way, Kronnis unpacked a small selection of the reagents that he'd bought from Bonecloak's Apothecary. "You won't find many florists or botanists in Baldur's Gate, so I had to make do with alchemy ingredients. We could try to source proper cuttings if you want to cultivate any of them. Although some – the weavemoss, for example," he warned, his finger pointed at the purple lichen, "might not grow outside of the Underdark."
"Is it sensitive to light? No, a simple darkroom could get around that. Perhaps it relies on a host species unique to the Underdark?" she guessed, eyes alight with curiosity.
It was the presence of the Weave that allowed this specific lichen to grow, but Kronnis had no idea if such a natural anomaly existed in this plane, or if areas steeped in magic would have the same effect. "It's only found in a handful of locations and refuses to grow anywhere else. We don't know why, but herbologists assume it's related to the plant's properties – an elixir made from it can temporarily increase the magical capabilities of the drinker, and the locations it grows in just so happen to have the highest concentrations of magic found anywhere in the Underdark."
Her eyebrows rose, and her handling of the plant became reverent. "An impressive effect." She carefully set it down. "Are you sure you're allowed to hand this out?"
The Emperor nodded self-importantly. "We have been afforded certain privileges in the name of both entrepreneurship and diplomacy. If weavemoss does not grow above ground, then our industry can capitalize on a new group of consumers. If it does, then we have provided Magical Britain with a gift, and an example of the benefits that come with further association."
"Isn't that pretty risky for your market's stability?"
"Our entire venture is a risk, but our economy hardly depends on a single product, and the dukes have already promised subsidies to the businesses involved in the industry, should this have a negative impact."
In truth, it didn't matter. If weavemoss was able to grow here then wizards would rejoice, and they would just have to scratch it off as a potential export. If it didn't, then the Emperor could upsell it at ludicrous prices.
Honestly, their plan involved a lot of simply throwing things at a wall to see what stuck. Performing an intensive survey of both markets was too time consuming – they had to have investments in place by the time their story fell apart, an undefined deadline that could be one month from now or five years in the future. Trust would quickly dwindle after that.
"I see," Sprout said, ruminating on the plant's potential. Her musings didn't last long, as a whole host of other unique plants sat before her. She pointed next at a slightly crumpled flower. "And this one? Its shape is familiar, is it a species of Oleander?"
Kronnis nodded. "Black Oleander. It grows near graveyards and can be used in an elixir to prevent the spreading of necrosis."
She picked it up to inspect its petals. "What a marvelous divergence – Oleander is typically toxic."
"Ah, the flower itself is still toxic if ingested," he corrected. "Only its vitriol is safe to mix into a consumable."
An appraising eye assessed him, the flower pulled away from where Sprout had brought it to her nose in curiosity. "You're quite well informed on the properties of these plants."
Kronnis gestured at the reagents on the worktable, dismissing her praise with humble words. "I've never grown any of these myself – dabbling more in alchemy than herbology – but I'm familiar enough with their effects."
"Still, more knowledgeable than a layman," she assured him with a smile. "You mentioned that you wanted to attend advanced classes, is there anything in particular that interests you?"
"Ideally information on plants with uses in potions, or other such effects," the Emperor said. "Today's lesson on the Devil's Snare appeared to be more of a warning to students than an introduction to a practical application of herbology. At least, one that we could make use of." His voice carried the amusement that his face could not show. "An infestation in the Underdark would be uncontrollable. I will need to write to my contacts in Parliament and ask them to draft a ban on Devil's Snare before any substantial trade is allowed."
Sprout chortled. "Yes, I can see how that would be a bad combination." Tapping the desk, she thought for a moment. "The third-years will be learning about Puffapods soon, and the second-years have a class on Mandrakes next week that you could attend. I'm sorry that the Devil's Snare wasn't helpful," she looked chagrined, "it usually gets the first-years excited."
"Nonsense, this is equally valuable information," the Emperor reassured her, lying through metaphorical teeth. "Determining import and export regulations was always going to be tedious work. Getting started sooner rather than later will only help expedite the development of trade."
"In that case, I could go over some other plants that thrive in peculiar environments," Sprout suggested brightly. "There are quite a few magical flowers that only bloom at night, or shrivel up in direct sunlight. The luminia duskbell, for example, is exclusively found in the shade of hollowed out tree trunks." Pausing, she eyed some of the stranger plants that awaited examination on the counter. "Actually, what sorts of agriculture do you practice? I imagine it must be difficult to grow anything underground."
Outwardly engaging Sprout in a discussion on soil fertility and the ability of lichens to grow on the solid rock of cave walls, Kronnis privately sent some discontent sentiments the Emperor's way. His partner at least had the grace to admit his conversational misstep, method acting getting the best of him.
Now they'd have to waste who knows how long on this discussion – completely useless to them, but apparently extremely important to Baldur's Gate's delegates.
Wishful thinking had Kronnis scouring the Emperor's memory of Sprout's schedule, but there was no sign that she had any conveniently timed classes coming up to distract her attention. His mediocre knowledge of agriculture and excellent skills in deception just barely saw him through the following hour of conversation without making a similar misstep.
Later that day, an unannounced visit to Snape's office only resulted in a single raised eyebrow, the professor's impassive expression twisting into curiosity as he ushered Kronnis and his bags of goodies inside.
"Where is the Emperor? I was under the impression that you two were… joined at the hip." Snape's drawl was full of implications, ones that Kronnis thought more amusing not to address, assuming a haphazard guise of ignorance.
Gesturing awkwardly with encumbered hands, he instead tried to mimic the tall pile of accounting ledgers and investment reports that Wyll had compiled for them. "He's got a stack of paperwork about yay-high to work through."
"Ah." Understanding and sympathy kindled on Snape's face. His eyes drifted to the large desk sitting in the center of his office – the only surface free of bottles and vials – where a pile of graded parchment had been abandoned. The newly added paragraphs of red ink were vibrant and scathing.
Kronnis could scarcely believe that the professor had already assigned and collected homework – the first week of lessons wasn't even over yet! Or perhaps this was the dreaded 12-inch potions essay he'd heard a lot of complaining about back at Grimmauld Place.
He brought Snape's attention back to himself, fingers letting one bag hang open to display its contents. "Anyway, I have some things for you."
The scent of cooled cinders and Acromantula remains brought a pleased smile to Snape's face, manifesting as the smallest tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Don't tell me, you've already been to the forest?"
"Better than that, we also paid a visit to Baldur's Gate." Kronnis grinned, giving the second bag a jiggle. The clinking and rustling of glass containers and packaged goods could be heard from within.
Intrigued, Snape led him to an adjoining storeroom, where shelves towered to the ceiling, each drawer meticulously labelled. The first bag was carefully upended onto a modest counter, spider jaws clattering about on the wooden surface. "We weren't able to save too many – turns out giant spiders burn really well," Kronnis apologized.
The professor's lip curled at the mess of dried hemolymph and ash that now dusted his counter. His hands sorted through the fangs, inspecting them for damage. "How many did you kill? This must be… fifteen pairs?"
"A lot more than that, there's probably about a hundred still lying around somewhere in the forest."
Disbelieving black eyes found his own. "You killed one hundred Acromantula?"
Well, that was just insulting. Kronnis felt the Emperor's mind twitch from across the castle, suddenly alerted by the surge of indignation that had seized him. Watchful eyes intruded on his memories of the conversation, followed by a careful whispering that pushed aside the words that Kronnis had been about to utter, replacing them with a slightly more diplomatic phrasing. The response that fell from his mouth was barely his own. "Whatever method your ritual used to select us in particular, it did so for a reason. I am the most powerful sorcerer in Baldur's Gate. A couple hundred giant spiders are nothing compared to defeating the chosen of a god."
Snape looked at him strangely, apprehensive eyes rapidly shifting between Kronnis' own as though inspecting something in them. A quick check confirmed that his mind wasn't being intruded upon through Legilimency. Surely Snape wasn't caught off guard by the Emperor's words – they'd barely carried a hint of ridicule. Was there something in his eyes? Kronnis blinked, which seemed to break the moment.
Maybe, after being brought proof of their exploits, Snape was realizing that they hadn't just been blowing hot air, back when they'd told stories of fights with hags, vampire lords, and gigantic flying brains. To be fair, if Kronnis met a random traveler who claimed to have ridden an Elder Brain, he would also have scoffed and dismissed the tale as exaggerated, fabricated, or hallucinated.
Back when they'd first told the Order about their previous adventure there had, of course, been some skepticism. Being unfamiliar with the existence of multiple realities – even Faerûn's simplest farmer had heard of the Nine Hells – wizards and witches had what Kronnis would generously call a narrow worldview.
The non-magical population of this plane worshipped several deities, but true evidence of their presence didn't exist – to common knowledge. Of these faithful, only the most devout would entertain the idea that gods actively meddled in the affairs of mortals to further their own goals. This information did have to be considered through a lens of bias, as wizards and witches were more inclined to revere the pure power of magic, rather than subscribing to the belief systems of muggles.
Regardless, this rendered stories of personally consorting with gods and their chosen rather unbelievable, akin to the fairy tales and bedtime fables told to children. Offhandedly mentioning Gale's convoluted relationship with Mystra had been the last straw, resulting in Kronnis being called foolish for believing in higher powers. Once it was clear that their cultures had intrinsically different treatments of the concept, he'd realized that they were at an impasse, and given up the argument.
He'd love to prove himself right, but trying to attract the attention of a god for such a petty request was exactly the sort of witless idea that the Emperor would disapprove of. And to be honest, Kronnis had no way of knowing if they'd even be able to reach into this plane, or deign to answer. Sowing seeds of doubt in the minds of the Order – not all had been so quick to dismiss his experiences as a series of unexplainable phenomena – was far more satisfying than putting on a grand show with no results.
The important part was that they'd demonstrated capable ability and a willingness to assist, and that was enough for the Order to overlook potential delusions.
And so, rather than once more challenging his claims of defeating divine champions, Snape simply nodded and changed the topic. "I suppose I should be grateful that the forest still stands," he said. "Some rather absent-minded students were telling the oddest stories this morning, of a dragon rampaging through the trees. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"
Kronnis made a face. He really needed to look up the astronomy class schedule. "Better a dragon than the truth, I suppose."
Looking down, Snape picked up a particularly burnt mandible, turning it over in his hands. "With any luck, the rumor will serve to keep simpletons out of the forest."
In Kronnis' experience, there was just as good of a chance that adventurous students would go looking for some supposed dragon, but he didn't voice that. "Right. So how does this work?" he asked, poking the curve of a fang.
"Some of these are useless," Snape began, clearing a space at the back of the counter where he then started piling the jaws that he deemed too damaged to bother with. He sent Kronnis to retrieve a strange-looking device from a cupboard in the corner of the room, best described as a wide-based candlestick. Vials were stored separately in one of the labelled drawers lining the walls. It took some trial and error to find ones that would fit into the empty candlestick.
After a demonstration, Snape put him to work. Pressing a fang to the edge of a glass tube, Kronnis angled it just so, watching as a sickly yellow fluid dripped out of a tiny hole located near its tip. The importance of the widely-flared base of the contraption soon because obvious, as without it, the force he was using to maneuver and extract every last drop from the venom glands would surely topple the entire assembly. Another fang filled the rest of the tube, and he set it aside on a rack that Snape had fished out from some other shelf.
While he filled vials, Snape carefully measured the results of their work. Larger flasks were filled with exactly one pint each, and once finished, they'd managed to fill four, with a little bit left over.
"Is that a lot?" Kronnis asked.
"It is… not insubstantial. While the total value is a bit over four hundred galleons, selling it all at once would lower the price."
Kronnis began doing math in his head before giving up, not knowing the purity of wizarding galleons. "Do you intend to sell it? I mean, four hundred galleons doesn't seem like a lot. I spent more gold pieces on the reagents I bought in Baldur's Gate."
Snape looked at him strangely. "It's an important ingredient in invisibility potions. I could use some myself, but this amount is too much for one person to exhaust before it loses its potency."
"Oh, you know, I actually brought the ingredients for our version of an invisibility potion." The other sack had been abandoned in a corner while they dealt with the Acromantula venom. Retrieving it, Kronnis set it down on the cleaner half of the counter. "Let's see…they should be in here somewhere…" He rustled through its contents, setting glass containers and wrapped packages aside until he triumphantly pulled out a box labelled 'Imp Patagium'.
"These are usually sold whole," he began, pulling out one of the limbs with a familiar touch. "You have to carefully remove the patagium from the rest of the wing, and then calcinate it to render it friable enough to crumble into ash, which is the main ingredient of the potion. After that, the rest is easy. Just mix the ash with an essence of your choice for taste – I usually prefer acorn truffle, very nutty, or sylvan stone for a hint of the Feywild – and that's it."
"That seems… remarkably simple." Snape frowned at the appendage that Kronnis was currently stretching between them, fingertips pinching the most distal phalange and the lopped off shoulder attachment.
Folding joints back together, Kronnis stowed the wing in the box it had come from. "I've noticed that too. You mentioned a few recipes in your lesson the other day, but most had at least double the amount of ingredients that I usually use for potions, and the brewing process itself sounds more complicated. I've made hundreds of potions, and I know how all these ingredients are used," he gestured to the collection he'd pulled out of the sack, "but I don't think I'd have the experience necessary to brew your potions."
The slightest hint of a proud smile cracked the professor's normally stony face. "I suspect that it may have something to do with the strength of the reagents you use. I combine multiple ingredients to tease specific properties out of them, and changing how they are prepared can have an effect on the end result – crushing a sopophorous bean is more effective than cutting it when preparing the Draught of Living Death," he explained. "These imps, would they happen to have the ability to turn invisible?"
Kronnis nodded, confirming the professor's suspicion. Looking back at the counter, he searched for some other ingredients. The package of rogue's morsel was already lying next to the sack, and a quick check inside revealed the other item he was looking for. "That's a good theory. If I make a healing potion with rogue's morsel – a common mushroom – the end result is nowhere near as potent as one made from Ki-Rin hair, which comes from a very powerful magical creature. Getting a sublimate out of this hair is a nightmare though, might as well make two or three regular potions instead of spending all your money on some hair and then melting it down into a mess rather than getting it to turn into a gas."
He unfortunately spoke from personal experience, and made his distaste obvious in his voice. "You're certainly more than welcome to try yourself, that's what I brought all this for. We figured you might be able to come up with new innovations – things alchemists in our world never would've thought of."
Lowering the vial of ochre jelly slime that he'd been inspecting, Snape fixed Kronnis with a suspicious look. "Is this a bribe?"
"I personally consider it a gift. Or the first free sample of many," he responded innocently. "But if you're interested, we could discuss business opportunities-"
"While I would be happy to study the differences between my world and yours, the extra responsibility of a business venture is not something I have time for," Snape interrupted, firmly declining the beginnings of Kronnis' sales pitch.
The stringy red flesh terminating from the back of a Beholder's iris made for the perfect prop to hold up like a lure. Kronnis gave it a jiggle. "You're sure?"
"I have responsibilities that I cannot abandon." Snape looked like he wanted to say more, perhaps scold Kronnis for not dedicating all his time to the defeat of Voldemort. That would be impolite though, as the nebulous agreement reached between them and the Order stipulated that they'd be able to research and make efforts to bring the magics of this world back to Baldur's Gate.
"Fair enough," Kronnis said. Mentally, he sent a message to the Emperor, informing him that he'd been unsuccessful in securing the professor's services. On the other side of the castle, a note was added to a to-do list. They would have to find an alternative trustworthy source of potions. "I'd hate to drag you away from grading papers. If you ever change your mind, the offer's always on the table."
At his words, a longing glance was directed at the bundle of foreign reagents, quickly schooled and covered by inscrutable features. Kronnis knew better than to assume this to be a breaking of will – back when he'd delved into Snape's head to test the shields of Occlumency, he'd sensed the commitment in that mind.
"Now," he pointed to the vial still held in Snape's hands, "I'm sure you're wondering what that slime is for…"
"Oh, how cute. Whose pet is that?" Kronnis wondered as they walked into the transfiguration classroom. A tabby cat was perched on the desk at the front of the classroom, watching early arrivals with a stern expression.
The answer was swift in his mind, drenched in mirth instead of the usual low warning buzz that would follow Kronnis' inquiries when a particular animal caught his eye. "That cat is Professor McGonagall."
His steps faltered. "Is this another joke?"
"No."
The Emperor's response sounded honest enough, but Kronnis carefully extended his mind anyway. What should've been a simple bundle of instincts and awareness did indeed turn out to be the fully formed brain of a human, complete with a wry amusement that spiked whenever a child walked into the room and blinked at the odd sight.
Kronnis struggled to keep his expression neutral, suddenly feeling like he was on the opposite end of an unfortunate incident he'd experienced during the Netherbrain crisis, when a wild magic surge in the streets of Baldur's Gate had briefly transformed him into a cat.
Intentionally buried deep in his hippocampus was the memory of how he'd sprinted away from the scene, only to be caught by the surprisingly dexterous hands of an elderly lady, her grip speaking to a lifetime of manhandling cats. She'd only had scant seconds to coo and attempt to take his captive form home with her before the transformation had worn off, leaving them both in a heap on the cobblestone street.
As the Emperor led the way to their customary seats at the back of the classroom, Kronnis' head whirled with the embarrassment of almost having begged to adopt a grown woman.
Once all the first-years had entered – stares also customary – the door closed with a click, and the cat jumped from the table to transform into the familiar figure of Professor McGonagall.
Her class ended up being similar to Flitwick's, if a bit stricter. Theory, and then the introduction and practice of a fairly useless spell to turn a matchstick into a needle. Kronnis didn't know why they couldn't just go out and buy a needle if they so desperately needed one. Memorizing a whole spell for such a mundane purpose seemed daft.
They only briefly stayed after the lesson. McGonagall, or Minerva as she bade them to call her, seemed to have other matters on her mind.
Taking place not long after Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures was their last class of the week.
Professor Grubbly-Plank was substituting for someone named Hagrid, and introduced the third-years to harmless creatures called Flobberworms. The lesson she taught while they watched the worms slowly flop around in the dirt informed him that the Ministry of Magic classified this species with a single X out of five, for 'boring'. A fair enough start for new students, but Kronnis was beginning to feel like he was being babied.
"I think I'm going to give myself homework," he whispered to the Emperor, who appeared absolutely besotted by the plump worm in his arms. When Grubbly-Plank had cheerfully held one up for the students to interact with, none had volunteered, instead making faces at the very thought.
Torn from fond comparisons with illithid tadpoles, the Emperor refocused on Kronnis' thought process. "Hmm? Oh, you plan to attend the upper year classes?"
Kronnis personally thought that Flobberworms looked and behaved more like Stilian Milkworms – a domesticated species that was fattened through a diet of rich Rothé milk. Mutters overheard between students informed him that Flobberworm Fritters were sometimes served for lunch at Hogwarts. Their diet of cabbages, however, cast doubt on how they'd compare to the creaminess of drow-raised worms. "If I have to spend another lesson watching students perform the most boring spells in the world, I think I'm going to start casting some much more interesting ones myself."
The Emperor's response was dry. "As amusing as they are, empty threats will get you nowhere."
"You think I won't do it?" Kronnis challenged, entirely ignoring Grubbly-Plank's newest tangent on the reproductive habits of Flobberworms.
"I… have faith in your self-control," the Emperor said in a wooden voice, as though he were trying to tell the world's funniest joke with a straight face.
If Kronnis didn't have a public persona to maintain, he would've thrown something at the offense. He also lacked anything to throw, but it was the thought that counted.
All he could do was plot and ooze displeasure.
Fork forgotten in one hand and The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 propped up by the other, Kronnis tuned out the din of the Great Hall. True to his word, as always, he'd decided to spend the rest of the day studying up on Charms, starting with the mystery of why some had a duration that lasted longer than others.
The Emperor was sitting in the back of his mind, absently siphoning the fruits of his labor. Fingers lazily brushed through the memories, theories, and the realizations that Kronnis had come to during his investigation. "The duration is not exclusively tied to the strength of the caster. It is possible that each spell has a different rate of decay, dependent on the extent of the change wrought upon the object in question."
"But if every enchantment has a different energy requirement, then how are they permanently enchanting things like Snitches? Maybe there's a spell that allows enchanted items to absorb ambient magic." If only Flitwick hadn't left lunch early. With only Trelawney remaining at the staff table, it seemed his queries were destined to remain unanswered.
"Did you check the index for mentions of such a spell? Or a section detailing the charms placed on the Snitch?" The suggestion would have been helpful about fifteen minutes prior.
Bewildered at his partner's uncharacteristic inattentiveness, Kronnis let disbelief color his mental tone. "I checked there ages ago! Have you not been paying attention?"
The Emperor's consciousness curled like an aggravated snake, immense coils of thought suddenly defensive at the indignity of being questioned. "I have been preoccupied."
Kronnis tore his eyes away from the textbook to look at the dark figure seated next to him, wondering what he could possibly be up to.
Nothing, as it turned out. The Emperor sat in his chair, unfocused eyes staring out at the student population rather than the page of accounting calculations that he'd brought to work on.
"What are you even doing?" Kronnis hissed in his mind. "Are you trying to unnerve the students?"
Purple eyes blinked, the presence behind them sharpening before they jerked in their sockets to make eye contact with him. "According to the newest rumors, Umbridge and Minerva had a bit of a spat earlier. I am trying to locate a first-hand account of the event. Half of these stories have already been twisted so much that they contradict each other."
Textbook forgotten, Kronnis shoved his own mental fingers into the Emperor's brain, quickly finding and piggybacking on the foremost activity dominating his partner's cognition. An invisible touch nudged information his way, helping him relive the past half hour of the Emperor's search.
Little Bianca had heard Tommy say this and that. And Tommy's mind, sitting a couple of seats down, revealed that he'd heard it from Lee Jordan over at the Gryffindor table, who had in turn heard it from Morag – attention jumped to where she was sitting at the Ravenclaw table, memories swiftly and expertly dredged – who had overheard a whispered conversation between Micheal and Richard.
Neither of those two had been in attendance at lunch, so the search had to begin anew – the Emperor tracking down yet another source, and then locating their memory of who they'd heard the gossip from, before hunting for that individual amongst the hundred or so students currently in the Great Hall.
As Kronnis' own eyes glazed over in the outside world, he sat in the Emperor's mind and now watched in real time as the quest continued. Privacy carelessly ignored, the stream of whispers, stories, and hearsay was fascinating. The Hogwarts grapevine was rich with deliciously vibrant fruit; a snack to be plucked at their leisure.
Oh? Hang on, rewind that last memory. Lavender had called the Emperor what now? Kronnis grabbed that thought and gleefully brought it back to his partner's attention, mentally making a mocking show of swooning once awareness rested on him. "Mr. Tall, dark, and mysterious, won't you whisk me away to foreign lands to be pampered as an emperor's bride?"
The reply was prompt. The threat real – although they both knew its execution had a good chance of being met with laughter. "If you are going to start this, I must make you aware that I have seen much worse things in these heads about you."
"Yes, yes, my handsome features are frequently the object of envy and desire, I've heard it all before." Kronnis responded, vanity and pride coloring his tone.
The snake struck, having remained curled around the Emperor's mind, lying in wait to repay earlier insult. "There is a sixth-year girl currently doodling hearts around your name."
His words left Kronnis squirming. That actually was kind of embarrassing. And uncomfortable. Shaking away his distraction, he focused back on the Emperor's search.
It wasn't long before the most recently located trail of gossip landed them results, the illithid triumphantly finding a student who had witnessed the confrontation between the two witches.
Watching the memory, it quickly became clear that either Harry had gone to Minerva about his detention with Umbridge, or that the Defense professor was freely handing out detentions like candy, punishing anyone who dared to speak against her. Regardless, Minerva was clearly unhappy with what she considered to be medieval punishment methods, which is what had brought about the entire confrontation.
Personally, back in Menzoberranzan, Kronnis had experienced discipline far more severe than scratching lines into his own skin. A particularly vicious flogging came to mind, mortifyingly orchestrated in front of the rest of his class to make an example of his failure to control a spell, and lasting until his throat was raw and tears had diluted the red liquid staining the tiles beneath him.
Just like the teachers in Menzoberranzan, Umbridge had taken criticism of her methods poorly. Admittedly, bringing all this up in a public hallway by the Great Hall didn't seem like the best strategy – Minerva could use some pointers on how to approach people with contentious topics. The argument had gone back and forth for some time, until animosity between the two witches eventually reached a boiling point.
Umbridge took a stand – quite literally, as she stepped up on a staircase to address those below her on the dangers of disloyalty. Questioning her methods was evidently tantamount to questioning the Ministry.
Her final declaration, concluding the spectacle, had been heard loud and clear throughout the hall. 'Things at Hogwarts are far worse than I feared. Cornelius will want to take immediate action,' she had said.
Kronnis could see the writing on the wall. Umbridge's plans, and the Minister's by extension, were moving along more quickly than they'd anticipated.
Next chapter: it is Tuesday again, and an appointment looms.