Best Served Cold
1914
1 Over the Christmas break, Newt kept thinking about what happened at Malfoy Manor – the good as well as the bad. The thing was, it was easy to forget about the nasty stunt Alastair and Apollo and their unpleasant little friends had pulled on Leta, given the direct result of her emotional outburst. She’d kissed him! She’d really kissed him. Truth be told, he’d wanted that to happen for a while now, even though he hadn't openly admitted it to himself up until that evening. This was a state of affairs that had come about slowly, gradually, until it became difficult to think about anything else. They weren't very similar, personality-wise. He was quiet, on the shy side, careful, tranquil. She was…oh, she was something else: outspoken, intense, passionate, fiery. They’d at first gravitated toward each other because of their similar interests and because of their outcast status, but as their friendship progressed, he always felt like they complemented each other. No, they didn’t always harmonise, but they did get along because they were both alike and very different.
In the end, he could spend hours listing the reasons why Leta was so important to him, or why they were as compatible as they were, and it wouldn’t even matter. Either one cared about a person or not. Feelings required no reasons. They weren't logical. They just were.
Now, she had kissed him, and he had kissed her back. They hadn't really talked about what that meant for their friendship ever since then, especially since both had gone to their respective homes over Christmas and New Year’s. It meant something, though – of course it did. They’d crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. He knew that he should take a step back and think about it, about the potential repercussions of turning a platonic friendship into something else, but it was almost impossible to clear his head. All he wanted was to see her again, to be close to her, to not think about any negative consequences their relationship might have, to not think about the way her face had twisted in hatred when she’d sworn to get back at Alastair and company.
The way he felt right now – light-headed and light-hearted – it was easy to convince himself that she’d spoken out of anger and that once that had cooled down, she’d see that taking the high road was both more dignified and smarter. Leta was intelligent. She’d understand that nothing good could ever come of revenge, that one vicious act spawned a thousand more, and that in the end, everyone would only be miserable. Leta was an irascible and passionate girl, but she was also smart and kind-hearted. She’d make the right decision. He knew that. Everything would be fine.
When the time came to go back to school, he was so giddy that it was difficult to keep it to himself. Just as they always did – it was an unofficial tradition of theirs – he and Leta met at the same spot on Platform 9 ¾.
She was already there, waiting, her long beige coat pulled closely around her body. It was cold and draughty, and he knew that she hated the cold. When she saw him approach, she straightened her posture and cracked a broad smile. Her whole face lit up. Immediately, the air seemed less cold to him, the sky less grey. Was this corny? Absolutely. It was also the truth. That was just life. Sometimes, clichés were actually real.
For a moment, they just stood there, awkwardly smiling at each other, the rest of the world forgotten. The platform was as busy as ever: people hurried to and fro, trolleys stacked high with huge and heavy trunks were being pushed about. There was shouting, clashing, clanking, ringing, crashing. The air smelled of concrete and rain and sweat and leather and smoke. Still, Leta and Newt might as well be the only people there – another trite cliché that happened to sometimes be true.
“So,” he finally said, pressed his knuckles to his lips, and discreetly cleared his throat. “Ready to go back?”
“Am I ever,” she said, an edge to her voice. “Remember what I said to you that last time we spoke?”
He looked up, saw the cold expression on her pretty face, and frowned. “Leta…”
“It’s okay.” She reached out and took his hands into hers, whilst his heart picked up the pace. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”
“That’s precisely what worries me,” he said, sounding sadder than he’d intended.
Before she could reply, a piercing whistling sound startled them, and a voice announced overhead, “Hogwarts Express will soon be leaving from Platform 9 ¾. All aboard.”
Leta beamed at him. “Come on,” she said cheerily, and started pulling him along toward the train. “It’s show-time!”
2 Along with most other Slytherins, Celestia sat in the train’s back carriage, at a table, sharing her space with three other people. She was sitting by the window, looking outside at the hilly landscape that rolled by, gloomy, not really registering anything. With her were Alastair, Apollo, and Ares, who was now facing the last leg of his Hogwarts career.
“…and there is absolutely no reason why we shouldn’t be allowed to say these things out loud,” Alastair was saying to her right, sounding genuinely upset. “What do you think, lovely and dearest Miss Prewett?”
She blinked, shifted her weight, raised her carefully plucked eyebrows at him. “Excuse me?”
Anger melted off his face. He gave her an amused look. “You haven't been listening at all, have you, dear?”
“I saw Leta and Newt getting onto the train earlier,” she said, turning to the window again. From the corner of her eye, she could see the three boys exchanging meaningful looks. It made her feel a little bit like knocking their heads together.
“Good for them. They’re together now, and I just love bringing people together,” Alastair said. “But back to the topic at hand. I-”
“Alastair.” She turned around and glared at him, then the other two, then at him again. “Do you even remember the events at the Yule Ball? You know, what you did? She won’t forget. She’ll be out for blood, and I don’t even blame her. By God, Alley! You should know better. You should all know better.”
An awkward little silence followed.
“Tia…”
“No. You went too far.”
“Celestia, don’t be hysterical. It’s beneath you, and it embarrasses the rest of us,” Ares said, rolling his eyes at her. “Leta Lestrange is an arrogant, pompous little girl who thinks she can thumb her nose at us in that smug, superior manner of hers. It’s unworthy of a Pureblood. It’s unworthy of a Lestrange.”
“All we did was take her down a notch,” Alastair offered, lightly elbowing Celestia in the side. “Now she hopefully got the message and will stop being so snobby.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You are seriously accusing someone else of being a snob?”
“It wasn’t nearly as bad as you’re making it out to be,” Apollo said. From his tone of voice, she could tell that he was trying to be placating. It wasn’t exactly a talent of his, but at least he tried. “You girls and your drama.”
She gave him a withering look and snorted. “Kindly go to hell.”
“This isn't helping,” Alastair said, took her hand, and leaned in to place a light kiss on her cheek. “Lighten up, sweetheart. Nothing bad is going to happen. She’ll get over it, and so should you. After all, she’s got a boyfriend, now.”
“Because that’s the solution to any problem a woman might have,” she replied flatly, “getting a man.”
“Worked well enough for you,” Ares said.
It was all she could do not to spit in his face. “Don’t be nasty on purpose just because I don’t approve of your juvenile nonsense. You’re better than that.”
“We all are,” Apollo said, giving his brother a look of admonishment. “That’s the whole point.”
Nobody said another word for a good long while.
3 The Ordinary Wizarding Level exams, a.k.a. O.W.L.s, were just around the corner for the fifth year students, and the tension among all of them was palpable. The sensible ones had started preparing themselves at least a year ago and had little to fear. Most students, however, were not that smart. There was always something more interesting going on, and studying for an exam that was a year away was horribly dull. Besides, there was always enough time, wasn’t there? Enough to organise notes, read the right books, memorise spells and potion ingredients and historic dates etc. etc. etc.
Except when there suddenly wasn’t, and everyone save a few started to panic and pull all-nighters.
Newt’s least favourite subject had always been History of Magic, but that was no surprise: it was everybody’s least favourite subject. Professor Binns, the unfortunate teacher, was the kind of person whose entire range of teaching techniques amounted to reading from a book in a droning tone that put the most enthusiastic and eager student to sleep within less than ten minutes. He seemed to love his job, however, and didn’t seem to have any kind of life outside of it. The common joke amongst students was that he’d probably keep on teaching even after his death. Everyone else was bored to tears by his classes, but he obviously enjoyed the subject. Well, at least one person did, and that was always a win.
A group of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were seated at the same table in the reading room adjacent to the library, faces all but buried in books and parchments. For the twentieth time in half as many minutes, Newt looked up from his unspeakably dull History of Magic text. His eyes rested on Leta, who was focussed on her own book, a slight frown creasing her otherwise smooth forehead. She was chewing on her lower lip; her eyes were narrowed. No, she obviously wasn’t pleased with what she was reading, but other than Newt, she never had trouble concentrating, even if it was on subjects that she found less than captivating. That was something admirable about her: as spirited and changeable as she might be, she still had an incredible capacity for completely focussing on one single thing at a time. Her mother called this a one-track mind.
Newt called it dedication.
Since he didn’t want to come across as weird, staring at her like that, he quickly looked away, leaned back, rubbed at his eyes, and yawned.
That caused her to look up. The annoyed expression on her face made way for what was clearly amusement. “Still stuck on chapter five?”
He chuckled. “I’ve been re-reading the same page for the last ten minutes.”
For a few seconds, she just returned his look calmly, but then, she cracked a smile. There was a slightly mischievous element to it. “Come on.” She pushed her chair back, stood up, smoothed out her skirt, and held out a hand. “Let’s go get some fresh air.”
“But…we need to-”
“Only a fresh mind can study successfully. Do you want to stay stuck on the same page for the next three hours? Hardly. So come on.”
Thankful that she had suggest it, since he was usually the one craving the outdoors, he scrambled to his feet, briefly noticed that nobody else cared, and walked out of the library with Leta, hand in hand. They were hardly outside and everything automatically seemed better, the world brighter, all of life less dire. The lethargy that had been weighing him down was blown away the moment he drew in a lungful of icy-cold, crystal-clear winter air. The fog cleared from his mind.
Trudging down the path down the hill, he squinted in the clear, frosty sunlight and smiled. “You were right. I’m already able to think clearly again.”
“See? I told you.” She had been pulling him along but stopped suddenly, spun around, and planted herself right in his path. The bright light was painting soft highlights on her pinned-up, brown hair, and her eyes were shining. “Newt.” It was always nice to hear her say his name – sweet, somehow. She took his other hand, too. “I’ve got an idea, and I really need you to listen to me, really listen, until I’m done explaining. Can you do that for me?”
Despite the fresh air and vastness of the outdoors still lifting his spirits, he felt as if a weight had been placed on his shoulders. He gave her an unhappy look. “If this is still about the thing with Alastair Fawley and the Malfoy brothers, I really wish you would just let it go.”
Her expression hardened. “No.”
“Leta, this is silly. Why do you have to be this vindictive? It was a mean-spirited thing to do, sure, but it wasn’t as bad as you believe. Nobody but you cares anymore. They at least seem to have forgotten it ever happened. I’m even under the impression that they’re treating you better. It really-”
She silenced him by standing on the tip of her toes and pressing her lips against his. This was a little like it had been during the Yule Ball, wasn’t it? Maybe even a lot. But they were here, it was a beautiful day, and he would not let his incessant thinking ruin the moment.
After a while, she backed off. Her usually light-brown skin was flushed darker. It was a pretty sight – beautiful, in fact. “Newt, you don’t know those people like I do. They might be pretending to be nicer to me, but that’s all it is: pretence. They hate me and they’ll never stop tormenting me if I just roll over. I need to do something that’ll make them back off for good.”
He shook his head and gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “I told you once and I’ll tell you now: revenge only sparks more hatred. This will end badly. Just let it go. Please.”
“I can’t.” For a few seconds, she glared at him, but then, her expression softened and her shoulders slumped. “It’s not like I’m planning to murder anyone. I just want to teach them a little lesson. It’ll even be less awful than what they did to me.” She looked up into his eyes, her own wide and hopeful. “Would you just listen? You can’t say no to what you haven't even heard yet.”
It took him a while to get his thoughts and feelings under control, but finally, he made a decision. This was Leta, after all. He owed it to her to take her side no matter what. “All right. I’ll listen to you, but I won’t do anything to harm anyone.”
A cautious smile curved up the corners of her mouth. Then, out of the blue, she put her arms around his skinny waist and leaned her head against his prominent collar bone. “Thank you.”
He hugged her back – carefully at first, then more tightly. Yes, the doubts were still there, as were the trepidations, but he just couldn’t deny that he also felt wonderful. Here he was, in the cold sunshine, breathing in the fresh air, Leta in his arms. She was warm and alive and he could feel her heart beating. Closing his eyes, he leaned his cheek against her soft hair and just told himself to stop overthinking everything.
4 “…and that’s why I completely agree with the thought that there should be import taxes on American products, no matter what all those left-wing goodie-two-shoes say. Everything else just doesn’t make much sense. Do you want that sub-par rubbish flooding the market? That, of course, goes hand in hand with the idea that magical artefacts should only be sold to people with a license and not to any Muggle-born who doesn’t know the first thing about tradition. I don’t think-” Alastair stopped talking and poked Celestia in the ribs.
She flinched and slapped his hand. “Stop that!”
They were in the Slytherin common room, sitting on one of the dark sofas. Not many people were around. Most fifth years were studying for the O.W.L.s; most of the rest of them were outside, enjoying the first sunny day in weeks. Neither Celestia nor Alastair had ever been particularly outdoorsy, though.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “What is with you not listening to me lately? You’re the one who asked me about my opinion on the whole sorry subject. You’re the one who’s squeamish about” – He leaned in to whisper in her ear – “about magical superiority.”
“I know,” she said, took his hand into both of hers, and kissed him on his prominent cheekbone. “And I’m sorry. I did ask you. There are just so many things cluttering my mind right now. That is no excuse. Don’t be angry.”
Making a face, he said, “Please, dearest Miss Prewett, delightful flame that keeps my heart’s light afire, please tell me you’re not still hung up about Leta bloody Lestrange.”
Her brow creased a little. Then, the sickle dropped. She shook her head. “No, no, no. This is something different.”
His expression turned sympathetic. “I see you’re not in the mood for my dazzling poetry. Why don’t you tell me what’s worrying your wonderful brain, then, instead?”
Unable and unwilling to stop herself from smiling at his sweet attempt to make her feel better, she leaned against him and closed her eyes when he put his arms around her. “It’s family politics. The Black side wants the Prewett side to have more influence, which is why a relative of mine is supposed to become ambassador to Prussia.”
After whistling lowly, he said, “Ambitions, ambitions. But that’s never been anything to hold back a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Intimidating.”
“They need the help of the Malfoys for that,” she said lowly, holding him tightly around the waist, breathing in the warm, honeyed, sage and thyme scent of his skin. Her knotted shoulders relaxed. Her stomach stopped roiling. “I just get the feeling that whatever they ask in return, it won’t be pretty.”
“You think it’s going to affect you somehow?”
“I don’t know. My mother won’t say, even though she keeps dropping hints that some things might soon change for us – change for the better, she assures me.” She pressed her lips together and drew another deep, soothing breath. “But I’ve got the strangest feeling, Alley – the strangest feeling. Something is about to happen, and it will not be good.”
“Well, whatever it is,” he said in a quiet tone, hugging her even more closely, “we’ll weather it together: you and me, just like we’re meant to.” After a small pause, he added, “I’ll never let anything bad happen to you, Tia – not ever. If any catastrophe should come your way, I’ll be there to catch the brunt of it. I promise you that.”
Despite everything, she had to smile. “I promise you the same,” she said. “I love you.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I love you, too.”