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Chapter 19: Eros and Phobos

Narcissa ran slim fingers along the sheet of parchment laid out on the polished desk in front of her and read its contents yet again.

Greetings,

I would like to arrange a meeting to discuss certain policies and practices surrounding how you handle client privacy.

I look forward to your reply.

Sincerely,

Malcolm Renn

Narcissa pursed her lips. Such precise words in such a common scrawl. She wondered who this man was. A commoner who had risen high despite his birth, perhaps? There was no telling, but something in this letter made her smooth her skirts and sit up straight.

The chime of her enchantry's doorbell filtered through the thin walls separating her office from the lobby. She smoothed her skirts a second time and straightened the sheet of parchment, then folded her hands in her lap and waited for her house elf, Hestia, to escort her potential client in.

Malcolm Renn turned out to be a slim-shouldered man dressed in plain black robes. Short blond hair was slicked back from a pair of watery blue eyes standing in stark contrast against his strong, bold face. "It's been a while since I've seen a house elf." His lips were downcast, his eyes narrowed as if the realization had abruptly dawned on him.

Narcissa rose gracefully from her chair and offered up her hand, pleased to find that her heeled shoes granted her a clear edge in height. "Plenty use muggles, but I've never understood why. They're much less efficient and distasteful besides."

His face flashed through several stages of expression. Placing each was difficult. Disdain then shock, or anger then embarrassment? Did he agree with her? But then what was the surprise for? "Sorry," he said. "I wasn't really thinking." Were those common features? There was a commonness about his name.

The majority of her intrigue faded, but she maintained her charming smile. "That's all right," she said with a practiced flutter of her long lashes. "Mister Renn, correct?"

"Malcolm Renn, yes." He reached across the desk and seized her hand.

"Narcissa Black." She did not quite frown at his abandonment of decorum. Blunders such as that were unbecoming for a daughter of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

"A pleasure." Her name did not appear to have achieved the impact she had been hoping for; his face remained stoic and on guard, his posture stiff as if the man was poised to strike.

She extracted her hand from his and retook her seat. "Sit down, Mister Renn."

He took the chair across from her and allowed his eyes to wander. But not to ogle me the way he wants to. Why else was he looking anywhere but at her? Do men really think they're clever or that they have an ounce of subtlety? "You had questions about how I handle client privacy?" Narcissa prompted.

"I did." Those watery eyes found her at long last, but they did not drink her in the way she had expected. Dare she call his gaze piercing? How does he achieve that effect with such weak eyes? There was an unspoken air about him that demanded her to remain on high alert.

"My policies are somewhat flexible," she told him. "I am happy to work under private sanctions so long as they are outlined clearly in an official document, but having all my clients go through that process would be wasteful. Most of them commission simple things. Drafting that sort of paperwork would cost them more than what I charge for their commission."

"And that paperwork," he said slowly. "That can cover things like nondisclosures?"

"Naturally." What else did he think such contracts would be drawn up for?

Malcolm Renn drummed thin fingers against his knee. "Are these contracts something you commission with a client's money, or are you willing to sign a contract brought to you?"

A flash of surprise encroached on her lofty boredom. That query had been sharp. "I'm willing to consider terms brought to me so long as you understand that my signature will only come after I have looked them over closely."

Ease crept into his posture as he relaxed. But only so much. The hard lines of his face and his unspoken intensity indicated a certain readiness for sudden action. "There is something I would be interested in commissioning you for," he said, "but it's probably not like the normal jobs you get."

"You might be surprised by the work I do." Saying it with a straight face required no small amount of will, but a daughter of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black did not paint herself in a common light.

Renn's lips twitched. "You mentioned that most of your commissioners ask for simple things."

Narcissa was forced to admit that this man was not an utter fool. "What sort of work would you be interested in commissioning?"

The way he shifted in his chair and chewed his words gave the impression he hid great secrets. Every petty little person is the hero in their own story. "I don't actually want something enchanted," he said. "I have very old artifacts and I can tell that there are enchantments on them. They're really valuable and I wonder what it is they do."

Narcissa weighed him and his words. Most likely he had misjudged worthless heirlooms or was overstating the way all self-important people do, but a part of her seized at vain belief in want of intrigue. "I'm willing to do that sort of work, but you understand the more complex the request, the costlier the service?"

Renn's nod was oddly solemn. "I'd be interested in a quote once you've signed a nondisclosure. I might not have the gold for it, but I'd rather know for sure."

Narcissa found her condescending inner voice silenced by his candidness. She felt the intrigue creep back up in her; this man was a mess of contradictions. "Do you have any idea how old these artifacts are?"

Renn did not hesitate in answering, but neither did he flourish the words or appear to savour them. "A thousand years or so."

Narcissa had been toying with her fingers, but now both hands fell still. "How confident are you? It's common for people to overestimate—"

"I'm certain."

She almost believed him, the way defiance briefly cracked his stoic mask. "All right. Send me that nondisclosure once it has been drafted. I will have it looked over and if I think it's satisfactory, we can proceed. Does that sound fair?"

Malcolm Renn stood and gave a short bow of his blond head. So he does have manners, he just selects when he sees fit to use them. "Perfectly fair. Thank you, Miss Black."

The sky was a deep purple stained with orange when she closed shop and apparated home.

A strong wind stirred her hair and the porch's boards creaked underfoot as she unlocked the door and stepped across the threshold. Her heeled shoes clicked against the hardwood as she walked into her bedroom and looked out her favourite window. The sand beyond shone a brownish gold and the sea had become a sprawling sheet of scarlet glass reflecting the final vestiges of sunlight. Beautiful, just like all things should be.

Her lips curved up into a small smile, but the expression was short-lived. A letter rested on her nightstand and its seal stirred up a conflicting storm of feelings.

Andy? Narcissa crossed the room and snatched up the envelope, slitting the seal with practiced ease.

Good evening, Narcissa,

I have recently returned from a trip abroad and was wondering when you might have time to speak with me. I have questions about your field of expertise and would appreciate your insight.

You can floo to Hangleton Estate whenever you have time. I will be informed of your arrival and will follow suit soon after.

Yours truly,

Lord Tom Marvolo Riddle

It felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. Nothing quite beat expecting a letter from your sister only to find it was from her groomer of a husband.

Narcissa considered ignoring the request, but realized it would be unjust. Riddle had given her no offence, something about him just made her skin crawl.

I am Narcissa Black, she told herself, daughter of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. It would be impolite ignoring him, and such things were beneath her.

Swirling emerald flames gave way to a sitting room done up in green and silver. Plush, high-backed armchairs reminded her of the ones back in her old common room at Hogwarts and the Slytherin tapestry hung proud from all four walls.

Narcissa selected a chair and waited with her hands in her lap. Her heart beat too hard. It was ridiculous. Riddle was her sister's husband. It was not as though anything was about to happen.

The crackling flames roared and turned a ghostly shade of green as Riddle stepped out of the fire and dusted himself off in one smooth motion. "Narcissa." The look in his eyes sent a tremor up her spine.

Stop it, she scolded herself. She was seeing things that were not there. "Hello, Tom. I hope your trip was pleasant?"

"It was enlightening." He took the chair across from her. "I was hoping you might help enlighten me further."

She clung to that question until it grounded her. "What would you like to know?"

Riddle leant forward, his pale hands pressed palm down against his thighs. "I would like to know how impactful an artifact can be on the person who carries it."

Narcissa pursed her lips. "That's a broad question which could refer to many things. Are you asking about malignant enchantments and if they can negatively impact those around them?"

"Not quite." There was an intensity about the way he perched on the edge of his armchair. "I was wondering about enchantments tailored to enhance their wearer."

"There are limitations." She drummed her fingers on her knee. "You can't make the wearer more intelligent and you can't change the way they cast magic, for example. Things like that are outside the scope of enchanting."

"What about the enhancement of a wearer's physicality?"

Narcissa flicked her hand. "All sorts of enchantments do that; there are trainers that enhance their wearers speed, shirts that make the wearer stronger — the list could go on forever."

"But how far could someone go?" Riddle asked. "Could you, for instance, make someone impervious to pain? Or increase how fast they heal?"

Narcissa interlaced her fingers and considered. "Healing could be altered, but only so far. Making someone impervious to pain — it could be done, but not easily, and just because they felt no pain wouldn't prevent the injury that should have caused it."

There was a hunger in Riddle's eyes that pinned Narcissa to the backrest — that kindled all her fears which had been smouldering deep down.

"And, for the sake of argument," Riddle went on, "what if the ones casting the enchantments were our lofty emperors?"

Narcissa almost forgot her fear. "The… emperors?"

"Yes. Knowing what they accomplished in crafting the Rings of Dominion, what could they do? Would someone blessed with an artifact of theirs walking through a storm of curses or pulling down a city wall be beyond belief?"

"No," she said with unthinking certainty. "Nothing would be. Not concerning artifacts they crafted."

"Thank you." The lighting and her prickling nerves were playing tricks on her. His eyes could not have flashed scarlet for the span of half a heartbeat. That was not possible.

"Also Kytherea bare to Ares the shield-piercer Phobos and Deimos, terrible gods who drive in disorder the close ranks of men in numbing war."

— Hesiod

A special thank you to my high-tier patron, Cup, for her generous and unwavering support.

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