January, 2018

Logan sat alone in Junior Undersecretary Edward Garrow's office. He was scowling; his knee bounced anxiously. He hated being called away from his work like this, especially when he was burning with new questions that he finally had the means to answer. If it had been anyone lower, he would have told them to sod off and let him do his job...but he couldn't exactly refuse the Junior Undersecretary. It figures, though, that he would summon me from my work and then be absent, he thought, scoffing. Wasn't it just proper decency for one to be present to a meeting one has called? Thirty more seconds, then I'm leaving, and to hell with the Junior Undersecretary. Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven. Twenty-

“Mr. Fletcher. It's good of you to come,” said a voice from behind him. Logan turned around and saw Garrow standing in the doorway. The Junior Undersecretary smiled a politician's smile at him and closed the door. Logan watched him carefully as he crossed the room and sat down behind his desk. Garrow was one of those tall men who always looked slightly underfed. His appearance seemed to be impeccably maintained: he was clean-shaven, his hair was combed, and the collar of his robe was perfectly starched. His smile gave his face a youthful sort of appearance, but if one looked closely (as Logan always did) one would notice the slight yellow tinge to both Garrow's teeth and the whites of his eyes, signs of smoking and drinking. His face was also somewhat more ashy than pale, another indication of poor habits, and there were visible lines around his eyes and mouth—premature aging, yet another sign of decadence. Logan smirked. The Junior Undersecretary had secret indulgences.

“I wouldn't have if I could have avoided it,” Logan replied honestly. “I'm very busy.”

“Yes, I know,” Garrow said with a smile. Logan narrowed his eyes. That smile was arrogant. “I understand you've just been promoted. Unspeakable. It's quite the honor.”

“That's right...and as the title might entail, you understand that I can't speak about what I do except in emergency circumstances,” Logan said.

“I am aware of that,” Garrow said. “I didn't call you here to ask about your work.”

“Then what in Merlin's name do you want?” Logan snapped, leaning forward. He saw something dark flash in Garrow's eyes—but it was gone, replaced by a sort of amusement that made Logan even angrier. Don't toy with me, Garrow. I don't care who you are.

“Tell me, do you have a direction in mind for your work?” Garrow asked, standing up and going to one of his bookshelves. Logan leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes at the Junior Undersecretary again.

“You know I can't say,” he replied.

“I know. I ask because I want to give you one.”

Logan froze.

“Tell me, Mr. Fletcher,” Garrow said, walking back to his desk and seating himself once more. He leaned across the wood and fixed his piercing eyes on the Unspeakable. “Have you ever considered the human soul?”

“The human soul? Even fools think about their souls, Mr. Garrow,” Logan replied.

“That's a yes, then?” Garrow said, smirking. Logan suddenly had a juvenile urge to roll his eyes.

“Yes,” he said. Garrow grinned.

“Good, good,” he said. “What do you think of the soul?”

“I would concern myself with its worth. A philosophical approach, perhaps...but people always talk about how precious the soul is. I want to know why it is precious, what makes it precious; whether there are good souls or bad souls, and the qualifications of each; whether some souls are worth more than others,” Logan said, trailing off. Garrow just continued to smile. Logan found it irksome.

“Let me tell you what I think of the soul, as someone who spends much of his time controlling other people,” Garrow said. “I think of it as...a last frontier, of sorts. I can order a man to do something. I can use magic to control his body, and force him to do it. I can confound his mind, and sway him to do it; but all these things can be fought. I seek something too powerful to be bucked off...I seek a way to have complete, irremovable control over anyone I choose...” He trailed off too; Logan could see something of a mad glint in his eye.

Foolishness...it's madness. Control the human soul! How could it even be achieved? There's no—

“If anyone can find a way to harness the soul, it's you, Fletcher,” Garrow said, his tone manic and reverent at the same time. “I've heard so much about your talent, your intellect, your skill. I know you can help me.”

Flattery. How cheap! Yes, Garrow, I'm intelligent...certainly intelligent enough to know that what you ask is impossible, and intelligent enough not to waste my time with it, Logan thought. He shook his head and stood up. Garrow's eyes widened and watched him; his expression was unnerving, as though he were prepared to pounce on Logan to keep him from leaving.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Garrow—”

“A commission of 100 Galleons will be yours with every step you take closer to a spell which will allow me to control a human soul,” Garrow said, his tone and expression harsh now. Logan stopped and watched him carefully. The Junior Undersecretary's face slowly relaxed into a sick grin. “Come now, Mr. Fletcher. I know you're a curious man. Don't you wonder about it at all?”

Logan clenched his jaw. He didn't need the money. He was paid well as an Unspeakable and he spent his money on nothing except robes twice a year and a meal every now and then. But unfortunately, it seemed that Garrow had correctly judged his character. His intellectual interest was certainly piqued by the conundrum of the human soul...understanding it, it's make-up and intricacies. But a spell that would allow the control of it?

“We'll talk again soon, Mr. Fletcher,” Garrow said, his smile now warm and school-boy again. “You're free to go now.”