Author's Notes:
Terrible news on the length of the next chapter. Its chunky. This and a combination of Real Life things means that I'm planning on taking 3 weeks to edit it/draft chapter 22. Just so I don't go insane. If I happen to finish it early, I might just toss it out here. We'll see.
I'm also going on vacation in July so chapter 15 will probably be similarly delayed.
Beta read by Circade
They hadn't caught Umbridge at dinner – being some of the last to arrive had resulted in poor choice of seating – but an invite for a spot of afternoon tea was extended when they crossed paths the next morning.
In the interim, today's second-year Herbology class provided them with the perfect opportunity to privately discuss their approach to the Ministry's interference, given that Professor Sprout almost immediately instructed everyone in the greenhouse to don noise-silencing earmuffs. Mandrakes were today's subject of study, and even immature ones posed a danger to anyone who heard their cries.
There hadn't been enough of the plants for Kronnis and the Emperor to participate. A tragedy, really. He would've enjoyed stuffing the struggling roots into larger pots. It looked like a fun challenge, and he was sure he could do better than these children – especially that Ravenclaw in the corner who'd already been bitten four times. Kronnis couldn't hear her shouting, but it looked painful, based on the way her face contorted each time.
Regarding the Ministry, it hadn't taken much debate to come to a conclusion – they couldn't play their hand too early. Officially they were, after all, merely here to observe wizarding culture. Umbridge could enact authoritarian rules and play queen of the castle as much as she wanted, but if she started trying to expel Harry again then they'd need to have garnered enough goodwill to steer her elsewhere, preferably without wiping her mind or exercising the Emperor's enthrallment muscle.
While the illithid was confident in his ability to pull off a control subtle enough to be unnoticeable to the casual observer, he was adamant that it was best left as a final resort. Who knew if wizards and witches had spells to detect such things.
So, Kronnis thought as they departed the greenhouses and made their way back to the castle, today Baldur's Gate would give her a stamp of approval. And tomorrow? Well, hopefully the power she'd clawed together for herself would be enough to satisfy her, but he wasn't going to hold his breath. Tomorrow's approval rating would depend on what sort of nonsense she had planned next.
Umbridge's office was attached to her classroom, and had been set up with two plush chairs that faced her desk – clearly an addition made just for them. Why she felt the need to entertain them from behind her desk as though in a meeting with an unruly student, Kronnis didn't know. His best guess was that Umbridge had a pathological need for control, and that such a position scratched her brain in just the right way to satisfy the itch. It was also entirely possible that she was simply uncomfortable in their presence, the desk acting as a shield of sorts.
She herself blended right in, her cardigan almost matching the pink shade of… well, everything from the cushioned chairs to the drapes by the window. The animated images of cats lining the walls were endearing at first, but soon became a distraction – his eyes being drawn to their constant movement no matter how much he tried to focus on her person.
He almost missed the Emperor's congratulations. "- High Inquisitor."
She smiled politely in response to whatever had been said, preparing two cups of tea on the dark brown desk – one of the few pieces of furniture that wasn't a garish shade of rose or fuchsia. "Thank you. It's the Ministry's hope that we'll find all teachers competent, but due diligence must be made to ensure the best learning environment for our students."
Why was it that everything she said sounded like Ministry propaganda? Ah, now he remembered, it was because she was a stooge with an apparent inability to act as her own person.
Kronnis accepted his tea, and then almost spit it out in surprise once the taste of pure sugar hit his tongue, immediately bringing to mind the sickly-sweet poisons his House had trained him to resist as a young boy. Come to think of it, whatever substance she'd been adding to his drink had been a strangely pink colour, but he hadn't watched closely enough to properly identify it. Those cats were to blame – surely hung on the walls to throw off visitors.
The Emperor intruded on his mind and graciously answered his unasked question as he carefully held the tea in his mouth and pretended that nothing was wrong. "It is sugar. Five heaped teaspoons are a bit unusual, but if her intent is to poison you, she is hiding it well. She will, however, soon begin to suspect something if you do not swallow your drink."
This was not a suggestion, and Kronnis' throat bobbed as he obeyed. "This is lovely," he lied, "what sort of brew is it?"
"It's a simple black breakfast tea," was the answer, "the leaves are imported from abroad." Apparently, five spoonfuls of sugar were enough to completely drown out the usual bitter flavor of black tea. He'd been convinced that she was serving a white tea, or a fruity blend.
"Have you performed any evaluations as High Inquisitor?" the Emperor asked as Kronnis took another sip under Umbridge's watchful eyes, referencing the new set of powers bestowed upon her.
She set down her cup, clasping her hands together on the desk's surface before answering. "I inspected Divination this morning. When I asked, Professor Trelawny wasn't able to provide a single prediction. But," she giggled, as though thinking of a funny joke, "maybe the stars weren't in alignment."
Kronnis joined her in polite laughter. "Really? She performed an impressive reading when we attended her class – took one look at my tea leaves and said that I'll live a long life and experience commercial success from a journey," he said, tactfully leaving out the dreadful news about misfortune, death, and a scandal that was somehow still being linked to Umbridge herself. "The students were practically spellbound."
Her attitude completely turned around upon hearing this, seemingly not aware of the event until he'd brought it up. Such was the danger of being too uptight to make friends with anyone – you missed all the juicy rumors. "It's possible that I really did catch her on a bad day. A tea leaf reading, you said?" At his nod, she continued. "I'll have do a follow-up, see if I can inspect a lesson with practical work."
"If Divination is as subjective as it appears, then I suspect it impossible to force a prediction on the spot. The third-year's upcoming lesson on crystal balls might be worth a visit," the Emperor suggested, rather altruistically.
This was noted down on a pink pad of paper, and Umbridge thanked him for the information before once again regarding them with a fake smile that looked like it had been pinned in place by magic. "You know, an outside view of our education could provide insights that my perspective might miss. Have you noticed any classes that were, conceivably, a little less than satisfactory?"
Kronnis couldn't tell if she was using them to do her job for her, or if she was catering to their desires and trying to show that the Ministry was taking their education seriously. The thought that she might fire a professor just because they personally didn't like how a class was taught was a bit concerning. "We've only been attending lessons for a little over a week, so it's a bit difficult to judge-" he broke off as he felt the Emperor nudge his mind, a scheme brewing in his partner's brain.
"Actually, I find History of Magic to be… lacking, for want of a better term. We reviewed the first-year syllabus, but it appears Professor Binns only plans to cover goblin rebellions and various historical figures, in no particular order. I am sure you can understand how invaluable this area of study is, but I find the material and structure ill-designed."
Umbridge eagerly added more notes to her paper. "Do you have any suggestions for improvement?"
At the same time, Kronnis asked his partner a private question, mental eyebrows raised in silent judgement. "Are you really trying to get a professor sacked?"
The response was swift and obstinate. "He is a ghost, and has no need for a job. In the long run, this is better for the school."
Outside of their minds, the Emperor answered Umbridge's question, waving a hand as though to absolve himself of responsibility. "I am hardly an expert on your history, but important subjects such as the formation of the Ministry appear to be glossed over entirely. You should review trends in the OWL and NEWT scores to determine if students do worse in his class than any of the others – half of them fell asleep during the lesson we attended."
Muttering something to herself about disrespecting the Ministry, the movements of Umbridge's quill grew vicious, her smile now sharp and dangerous. She responded with words that promised immediate action. "I appreciate that you've brought this to my attention. We'll be sure to rectify this matter as soon as possible."
Kronnis felt as though the Emperor had just made a deal with the devil; buying goodwill by serving her a silver-plattered excuse to exercise her newfound authority. A sharp voice in his mind reminded him that this is exactly what they'd intended to do in the first place, and lacking a solid plan, the Emperor had improvised one when the opportunity arose. 'There weren't even any victims!' were what his sentiments translated to, which was only true if you didn't count a ghost as a person, dismissed the strain that a new human professor would put on Hogwarts' budget – it was impossible to pay Binns a salary, after all – and ignored the time that Dumbledore would have to waste looking for said professor.
Following this, Umbridge spent a long time quizzing them about other classes, to which they only responded with compliments. With any luck, eliminating one useless teacher would sate her appetite and spare any others from a similar fate.
When the Emperor began discussing her own class material with her, Kronnis found his eyes wandering, wisely keeping his mouth shut on the benefits of Fireballs in conflict resolution – an opinion that directly opposed her boring tangent on friendly negotiation.
Behind Umbridge's head, the myriad cats held captive on decorative plates were far more entertaining than the simplistic strategies she was droning on about. A pair of grey kittens rolled around on pink fabric, and above them was a colorpoint wearing a bow – also pink. But to the side, just above her head, was a brown tabby dressed in a scarf and winter hat, clearly unhappy with its outfit. It wiggled its head and raised tiny paws to bat at the dangling fabric, before losing its balance and falling over. This one, Kronnis decided, was his favorite.
Watching it for a while longer, the chime of a clock on her desk startled him.
"Oh dear, I'm afraid I need to prepare for my next class," Umbridge apologized, neatly gathering the notes she'd made.
Excellent. That meant it would also soon be time for Grubbly-Plank's fourth-year class down by the lake – she was covering aquatic creatures this semester.
They excused themselves, ducking out of Umbridge's office and walking through her classroom. Several students already lingered, apparently having nothing better to do than show up early for the most boring class in Hogwarts. Besides History of Magic, of course.
Closing the latest book on curses that he'd pulled from the shelves, Kronnis sighed in disappointment. "I don't think this part of the library actually has any real information on the dark arts. We should try the restricted section."
"Hmm?" The Emperor looked up from a text comparing merfolk intelligence and culture to that of wizards'. "Have you already exhausted the material out here?"
"What material?" he replied, waving disdainfully at the vast shelves surrounding them. "There are only a few guides on counterspells and the legal history of the dark arts, nothing about actual magic. I don't know why we even bothered looking in the unrestricted section – of course they wouldn't leave those books lying around for children to get their grubby little hands on."
As though the action pained him, and reluctantly shooting one last look at a diagram that compared a mermaid's brain to a human's, the Emperor stood from their table in the corner of the library. "I will request access from Madam Pince."
While he was gone, Kronnis busied himself with the task of cleaning up their mess. The books they'd collected encompassed both his own pursuit of anything that might be related to necromancy, souls, or the mind, and the Emperor's research into the Black Lake's inhabitants – continued exploration of Grubbly-Plank's lesson.
A curious glance at the diagram that had so enamored the Emperor revealed a subtle variation in the brain structures of merfolk. The temporal lobe was strangely shaped, and if Kronnis were to guess he'd say that this was related to a clear divergence in language processing. Merfolk supposedly spoke in a tongue that was only comprehensible underwater.
Madam Pince passed by with the Emperor as Kronnis reshelved the text, nodding approvingly at his organized return of her books. Soft clacking a few seconds later indicated that she was unlocking the latch of the restricted section.
He hurried over, impatient to get started. Just past the gate, the Emperor was giving her some silver-tongued story about researching topics not covered by the Hogwarts curriculum. Pince only had enough time to point them to the right shelves before she rushed away to deal with an emergency back on the other side of the gate – raised voices that argued over the sole remaining copy of some herbology text.
Cobwebbed and dusty, the rows in the restricted section were taller than the Emperor by several feet, and dauntingly full of knowledge. Kronnis would've called it criminal to lock all this away, if he hadn't just been given free access to peruse at his pleasure.
Three shelves from the back, the section on the dark arts began – texts bound in mysterious leather and grimoires thick enough that he'd have trouble holding their spines in one hand.
Claws waved down the uppermost row of books. Selected in the hopes that obscure spells or magics related to the mind might reveal clues about whatever the thing in Harry's head was, Hexes and Curses from the Fifteenth Century and Resisting the Irresistible, the Imperius Curse Explained remained hovering before the Emperor, the remainder levitated back to the top of the shelf. He then flipped them open to investigate their contents and decided to keep the second, dumping the first on Kronnis.
This was distinctly unfair. "Hang on," Kronnis held out both hands; one expectant, and the other offering back what was sure to be a boring read on outdated spells. "I want the book on the mind control curse."
The Emperor's head tilted. "Whatever for?"
"I'm sure you could fight off the Imperius with ease, but I could benefit from knowing how to resist it." He did not mention that it simply looked more interesting.
"You can review the information from my memories," the Emperor dismissed.
Kronnis suddenly felt petty. His partner's logic was sound, but he'd get a big head if he was allowed to win every argument. "Earlier, you made me read the dark arts books while you just stared wistfully at diagrams of brains. Did the author go into detail about what the grey matter of a mermaid tastes like?" he asked mockingly. "Or the texture of their thoughts?"
The books were exchanged with an air of careless appeasement, meaningless bickering suddenly cast aside. "Back home, merfolk brains are rich in minerals. The salt of their environment enriches the taste like a delectable brine, and the higher water content results in a tender quality. A sharp contrast to the often leathery and earthy texture that dwarf brains have."
Surfacing in the Emperor's mind as he said this were memories that shimmered like a hypnotic swirl of scales. Kronnis felt his own mouth salivate, remembering second-hand the vivid tastes of brackish flesh as soft chunks were greedily sucked down a foreign throat.
He swallowed back his yearning, dismissing the strange echoes of his partner's hunger and wishing desperately to change the topic before he could figure out if the craving at his core was a phantom overlap of their minds or a sick betrayal of his own body. "Shame you won't get to try any here to compare." Flipping open the text on the Imperius curse, he continued, perhaps a bit too casually. "Let me know if that book does end up having something exciting in it. I might not be able to cast any of these spells, but the spark of creativity can be found in the most unexpected of places."
An inscrutable gaze regarded him for a moment before purple eyes disengaged in search of a table. "You did well with those Scorching Rays in the forest. An excellent strategy to take advantage of how the Acromantula clumped together."
"I was inspired by Wyll's Eldritch Blasts," Kronnis explained. "Sacrificing some of the power imbued into the flames lets me increase the force of each ray."
The Emperor chose a spot at the back of the restricted section, as far away from the restless minds of children as possible. "Inventive, he said, the compliment glowing in Kronnis' mind. "I will see what I can do to find similar opportunities in this text."
Smiling, Kronnis turned to the first chapter of his own book – a brief legal history of the Imperius, filled to the brim with warnings on how casting it would result in a one-way ticket to Azkaban. "And I'll let you know if I find anything of use in here." An empty promise, as the Emperor was sure to either read through his eyes, splitting his concentration between the two books, or download Kronnis' entire memory once he finished the last page.
Concluding the week was Snape's fifth-year lesson on the Strengthening Solution – one that he'd suggested their attendance for. Cauldrons were already set up, but the room was empty except for Snape and the student he intended to partner them with. Upon seeing the blond hair on the boy's head – nearly as white as his own – Kronnis had no doubts as to whose spawn was smiling confidently up at them.
"Draco Malfoy," he introduced himself with great self-importance, his voice as snobbish as his father's. "A pleasure to meet you."
They needlessly gave their own names in turn, Kronnis asking Draco to call him by his first name before any of that pureblood nonsense urged the boy to call him 'Lord'.
Snape's drawl then cut through the room. "I expect Draco to instruct you on the proper preparation of today's ingredients and their purpose in this potion. At the end of the lesson, the potion will be bottled and left to mature until Monday."
He was about to continue, but the door to the classroom opened to admit a short, pink figure.
"Oh, I didn't expect to see you here," Umbridge said, smiling sweetly at Kronnis and the Emperor, who clarified that Snape had personally recommended their attendance for this lesson.
She then turned to Snape. The clipboard in her hands made her purpose clear, but she explained regardless. "I'm here to assess whether or not this class is up to the Ministry's standards – not that I have any doubt," she added with a little giggle, "I've heard only positive feedback."
"Very well," Snape said, visibly unhappy. "So long as you do not disturb my students. Some steps of this potion are rather… delicate."
Umbridge smiled in that condescending way that she was so fond of, appearing to accept the concession but almost certainly thinking it beneath her. With a wave of her wand, she levitated a chair into an unobstructive corner of the classroom where she then lurked like a frilly, pink mantis, head twitching to observe the organization of the shelves next to her and the grime on the floor. The scratch of her quill as she noted this information down was irritatingly loud in the otherwise quiet room.
"As I was saying-" Snape was interrupted once more when a group of chattering Gryffindors threw open the door, its wood resounding off stone walls with a careless clunk. Kronnis spotted Harry with his friends, watching as the boy's eyes opened in surprise when he saw them next to Draco and Snape, and then dismay when he noticed Umbridge in the corner.
Looking very much like he wanted to sigh despairingly, Snape ground out a few more words. "I will be wandering the class throughout the lesson, should you require anything." He then headed straight for the Gryffindors with a swirl of his robes and a sneer on his face, looming threateningly as he silenced them with hushed words.
The Slytherins that soon joined the class were not given such treatment, though their laughter as they caught the tail end of a point deduction was loud and mocking.
As the class settled in, Draco brought their attention to the table they'd be working at, setting up various tools. "The strengthening solution is considered complicated, but only because it needs to rest for several days. It should be teal when we finish today's steps," he told them, his words infused with authority and the same pride that was apparent in his body, chest puffed out by the importance of the task delegated to him.
"I have some experience with alchemy and potions back home, but it's probably best if you treat us like beginners," Kronnis said, thinking of how easy it would be to make the mistake of assuming that a method used in their plane was identical to something mentioned in the instructions for this potion. "Do you usually get the reagents ready first?"
Draco shook his head. "Some of them, but the Turkish fever berries need to be pressed with a juicer just before we add them to the potion, otherwise their fluids will evaporate." He held up a contraption that looked as though it was designed to crush fingers as he said this. "We can powder the griffin claw though, and stuff like salamander blood comes in glass vials, so it's ready to go in as soon as we need it. It's usually sold like that because it's dangerous to collect – even a single drop is caustic enough to burn skin."
As this was explained, Kronnis could see that his words matched the instructions that Snape was writing on the chalkboard – begrudgingly provided so that those who'd only skimmed the assigned reading wouldn't blow up the classroom.
Table set up and neatly organized, they were then led to a cupboard in search of the needed ingredients, the Emperor assisting when it came to collecting the precariously stored salamander's blood from a tall shelf.
Harry's eyes burned an accusing hole in Kronnis' back as they walked past the Gryffindor side of the class on their return trip, as though their association with the Slytherin head of house and his favorite student meant anything.
Back at Draco's table, the boy gave a short demonstration. "You'll want to carefully grate the claw like this, so you don't catch your fingers on the edge," he said, before handing the task over to Kronnis to complete. It was simple enough for his skilled hands, and he was quickly stopped when a small pile gathered in the bowl underneath the tool. The powder was placed on a set of scales, found a little underweight, and carefully added to until it measured exactly forty grams.
Other ingredients were chopped and ground into paste as Draco started a fire under the cauldron. Water was added, and then salts, strips of leaves, and the scales of a hippocampus. A precise movement of the ladle – held in the Emperor's steady hands – brought the colour to a dark blue. It would have to simmer for exactly ten minutes before they could add the salamander's blood.
"How many doses are produced by one standard brewing of this potion?" the Emperor asked as they waited, considering the amount of time and labor that went into it, compared to the few other potions they'd seen the first and second-years brew.
"Three," Draco replied.
"Could you increase the proportion of ingredients to double the recipe and create more in the same time frame?"
This question brought hesitation to Draco's face, manifesting in the form of a frown. "You'd better ask Professor Snape about that. We're only taught to follow these exact recipes. Changing the quantities might mean that it has to be stirred more, and I expect that you'll have to wait longer during this step." He nodded to indicate their simmering cauldron, explaining that the hippocampus scales needed time to dissolve before their unique properties could bring about an emulsification of the other ingredients. As humbled as the boy was by his inability to answer the question, his theory was insightful for someone with no experience in experimentation.
Kronnis waved Snape over, saving some poor Gryffindor girl who was currently being berated for her lime-colored potion. Repeating the question, he mentioned Draco's thoughts on the matter.
"Draco is correct," Snape said, nodding approvingly. "With more mass in the potion, the ingredients would take longer to combine." He then gifted Slytherin ten points for Draco's theories – concepts not taught in the standard textbooks – before leaving to find a new student to torment. A poor boy in the corner would likely catch Snape's attention soon, his dark orange potion boiling in a frighteningly uncontrolled manner.
Turning to Draco, the Emperor's honeyed words were casual. "You have a keen mind – some of your classmates are barely managing to keep up with the instructions on the board, and yet you are able to consider how a change to a recipe might affect other steps of the process. I see why your father spoke so highly of you."
Surprised by the mention of his father and still glowing with Snape's praise, Draco's mind didn't have time to consider how heavy-handed the Emperor's compliment was. "You've spoken with my father?" he asked, an odd mixture of startled pride in his eyes as he looked up at the illithid.
Presumably Lucius intended to tell his son at some date, but sending his eagle owl off to report to Voldemort took precedence. "Yes, we saw him just the other day. Your home is lovely."
Put even further off-balance, Draco struggled to regain his composure. "Ah, thank you." It was clear that a curiosity burned in him, one that decorum was preventing him from satisfying. "I wasn't aware that you knew each other," he ventured, eventually.
"We met at the Ministry just before the semester began," the Emperor explained. "The other day he told us how you made the Slytherin Quidditch team in your second year."
Arrogance straightened Draco's posture. "That's right, I'm the Seeker. It's a difficult position to play," he boasted. "You need fast reflexes and sharp eyes. And my job isn't just catching the snitch – a good Seeker works to distract the other team's gameplay to keep them from scoring."
The Emperor tilted his head to express confusion. "I was under the impression that each position could only interact with their respective balls."
"That's true," Draco admitted, "it would be a foul if I caught the Quaffle, but I can block the vision of other players and fly close enough to be a distraction." He went on to smugly describe how he'd once sidetracked a Hufflepuff Chaser to the point that she hadn't noticed a Bludger screaming towards her, knocking her off her broom and out of the game. The story was brutal, and he didn't seem ashamed or concerned about how the Chaser's shoulder blade had been broken by the Bludger, seeing it as a victory. But perhaps the hospital wing regularly saw patients from Quidditch matches, and such accidents were easy fixes.
"We're looking to buy a broom to bring back to Baldur's Gate," Kronnis mentioned, "as an example of what Wizarding Britain has to offer." Or ten to resell to whichever rich Baldurians were interested in one of the death traps. They could make an immediate profit if the exchange rate ended up being as skewed as they'd calculated. "Do you have any personal recommendations?"
The boy's brows furrowed in thought. "I fly a Nimbus 2001. It's one of the best, beat only by the Firebolt. That one came out about two years ago, but it's so expensive and hard to manufacture that it's almost impossible to get. Unless you're Potter," he spat out with more than a hint of jealousy. "I'd get another Nimbus if I had to – they're always reliable – but if I'd trade my Nimbus for a Firebolt in a heartbeat." It sounded like daddy didn't want to shell out the money for another new broom.
Heart now set on a Firebolt of his own, Kronnis nodded. "I'll keep that in mind. I think those ten minutes are up, by the way," he commented as he pointed at their potion, which was slowly turning purple.
"Bollocks," Draco hissed, scrambling to uncork the salamander blood to pour several drops into the concoction, stirring it clockwise. Following verbal instruction, Kronnis' fingers sprinkled in the powdered griffin claw once the potion returned to its blue colour.
The fire was then extinguished to allow the liquid to cool from its simmer, and the Emperor carefully squeezed three Turkish fever berries over a marble bowl. Their tough skins popped in the clamp of the juicer like skulls cracking betwixt illithid jaws, the juice steaming as though fresh blood spilled in the depths of winter. Pouring this into their potion quickly brought it to a violent boil, though its teal shade remained, the deep red of their latest addition having no effect on its color.
Kronnis cautiously looked around, checking to see if anyone nearby was approaching this step. He could only imagine the catastrophe that would result if the juice was poured into a still frothing cauldron. Snape surely had contingencies in place, or healing salves in a cabinet somewhere to fix the third-degree burns that such a volatile mistake would inevitably result in. Right?
As it turned out, they were the first to finish – most others were still waiting for the moment they could add the salamander blood.
Draco began cleaning his tools as their potion cooled. It was a bad idea to bottle hot liquids, he explained unnecessarily.
A flash of pink movement in the corner of Kronnis' vision brought his attention away from where he'd been wiping crimson stains from the marble bowl. Seemingly no longer satisfied to watch from afar, Umbridge was now making her way between the rows, asking students questions and distracting them from their cauldrons.
His scrubbing slowed, and he watched carefully to see if someone's potion would end up exploding. It would be a shame if she got caught up in such a tragedy.
"She did the same with Binns yesterday," Draco said beside him, having noticed as well. "Only, she started by asking him all sorts of questions about the Ministry before she quizzed students. He didn't even know who Fudge was, and he's been in office for five years."
Oh, she was definitely going to sack that ghost. Kronnis shot the Emperor a look and privately asked if he was happy now.
The answer was a resounding yes, although the emotions behind it were already faded, as though the illithid had rummaged through her mind earlier to find the information.
Snape was still unaware of Umbridge's activities, greatly enjoying his confrontation with the poor boy in the corner who'd been trying to scoop globs of ugly brown mud out of his cauldron. Stooped over the table, he was spitting out harsh words that had his target recoiling with each syllable.
A sigh in his mind tore his eyes away from the show. "Harry is about to earn himself another detention."
"You've got to be joking." Kronnis' attention shot back to Umbridge. She was standing by Harry's table, who looked dangerously irritated by her questioning. Tuning into her mind, the memory of the conversation was sharp in her brain, and the sounds of their continued discussion were now audible.
She'd asked Harry about his experience in class, and when he spoke negatively about Professor Snape's obvious biases, she'd implied several nasty things about his tendency to lie, as well as his skills as a wizard. Sitting like a fat tadpole behind Umbridge's eyes, Kronnis could see the boy's temper boiling over, as well as his cauldron.
It was already too late to diffuse the situation – unless Kronnis wanted to bodily throw himself across the room like some sort of demented banshee, howling and wailing to sap the very hostility from their souls. He certainly felt like wailing at Harry's inability to keep his emotions under control.
The intention surged in Umbridge's mind, just as the Emperor predicted, and she uttered the words right after Harry made a snippy comment about her distraction causing the destruction of his potion.
"Detention, Mr. Potter. My office, eight o'clock."
Kronnis felt like bashing his head against the table.
Harry would have to suffer through this detention without their help. At least it would be a normal one – for Umbridge. Sadistic intentions bloomed from her thoughts and impulses, but only encompassed the usage of a strange quill. Murder was still off the table, it seemed.
Pretending that nothing had gone wrong, they finished helping Draco pack up his tools and bottle the result of their hard work, passing the time after this with idle chatter.
Other students brought flasks of half-completed potions to the front, though only Hermione's was a similar teal colour. It looked like Harry had managed to save some of his, its future looking as grim as the dark grey sludge that it had turned into.
Once the students left, Umbridge proclaimed that she was impressed by Snape's teaching methods, using terms such as 'competent' and 'regimented'. Watching her walk out of the classroom, they were finally left alone with the professor.
Dumbledore hadn't given them free reign to intrude upon his mind with secret messages, so they were forced to pass information along through less conspicuous individuals. The Emperor skipped all formalities as he addressed Snape, his words humble and conveniently not giving any credit to the other individual responsible for the situation. "She plans to remove Binns from his post."
Snape's eyebrow raised. "Already? I was under the impression that she'd be doing multiple inspections before coming to a decision."
"His first was too unflattering. Prioritizing goblin rebellions over the history of the Ministry was a political misstep he will not recover from."
Pale lips drew a line across the professor's face. "I see."
"The headmaster should start looking for a replacement immediately, before the Ministry is able to install another puppet amongst the staff," the Emperor advised.
"Binns could easily be replaced by an Order member, even if just temporarily," Snape said, nodding. "The subject should be simple to teach with the help of textbooks."
Callous, but true. It wasn't like History of Magic needed an expert in wandwork to show the students what they were doing wrong. The class would do just fine with any warm body who could read and had a general idea of what a decent syllabus looked like. Mundungus could probably do it, even.
Hidden behind a dark veil – not that anyone would have been able to recognize it for what it was – the Emperor's vindictive smirk lasted the rest of the night. Only Kronnis was familiar with the way his eyes crinkled, and could feel how the emotion lapped pleasingly at the edges of his partner's brain – dangerously calm waves that belied a threat to anyone who dared to cross them.
Kronnis just hoped that the illithid's standards weren't so high that he'd try to get the new professor sacked if they didn't live up to his expectations.
Hypothetically, based entirely on appearance, I've been told that an orchid mantis might taste like dragonfruit. I unfortunately could not fit musings on this topic into the appropriate section of this chapter, but the thought probably crossed Kronnis' mind.
We are not going to question how the Emperor is supposed to wear earmuffs. It just works and it probably looks really dumb. I literally didn't think about this until today when I skimmed the chapter before posting it and was like "hey wait a second."