The Mystery of the Frozen Heart

1923

1 For the most part, life just went on as it always had. The world revolved around the sun, seasons changed, people died, babies were born, and in the grand scheme of things, no-one cared for the individual drama of self-important witches and wizards. Newt himself had, over the past few years, had plenty of time to contemplate his own vanity. Alas, as the overly theatrical interjection went. There was nothing quite like disappointment to teach a person humility.

For three years now, his brother Theseus had been entertaining a relationship with Leta, and as much as Newt tried, it was damn near impossible to completely avoid them and their bubbly happiness. He had to admit, loath as he was, that those two were a match made in heaven. They were in love. They adored each other. They deliberately fed each other’s egos and made no compunctions about it. In fact, they were such a perfect, glamorous, harmonious couple, it was difficult to imagine that she had ever shown even the slightest romantic interest in Theseus’s awkward, shy, nigh-on anti-social little brother.

Truth be told, Newt could hardly believe it, himself, these days.

It hurt to even ponder this, but Leta had probably never felt about him the way Newt had once felt about her. He had to admit to himself that he’d been in love with her, but that the sentiment had been one-sided. It wasn’t as if he believed that she’d never been fond of him. In all probability, the friendship they’d shared had meant something to her. The problem was not just her inability to truly see anyone except for herself. The real problem was that he had loved her and she had not loved him in return. This was nobody’s fault and that was, in the end, the most infuriating aspect of it all. No-one could make themselves love someone that they didn’t. No-one could make themselves stop loving, for that matter. It either happened or it didn’t.

Leta had never been in love with him – not really.

At least he wasn’t in love with her, anymore. There was some lingering regret, as well as wounded pride, but he didn’t think that this was love. It was better this way, wasn’t it? Pining after someone one couldn’t be with was horrible.

One only had to look at Celestia Malfoy for proof.

Seriously, Newt had no idea how she managed to get by every day like that. It was so damn obvious that she didn’t love her husband one iota. Their daughter had done nothing to improve matters, which came as no surprise to anyone. Having a baby never fixed a relationship where one person loved and the other did not.

Newt wasn’t the type to stand on a hill and proclaim his feelings to the howling winds or whatever, but inside, he was glad not to be entangled in any sort of romantic mess. His parents sometimes teased him about his loner status, but it was good-natured teasing. After all, he was happy the way he was; he had an incredibly exciting project ahead of himself, which was taking up most of his time and energy. Besides, he didn’t worry about his lack of a love life. If something should end up happening down the road, fine – if not, then it hadn't been meant to be. No problem.

On this beautiful, sunny spring morning, he had better things to do than ponder the so-called matters of the heart. He was in Hastings, at the busy pier, about to meet a man who could give him access to a cave where scientists had recently found the skeleton of a Hibernus Horridus.

It was hardly eleven o’clock, but the place was positively buzzing with activity. Muggle families were everywhere, enjoying the first sunny day in what felt like months. Ragtime music was playing from somewhere. There was laughter in the air, singing, chattering, the cries of seagulls, the murmur of the sea. The air smelled fresh and humid and of seagrass and fish. A chilly breeze was blowing, but it felt refreshing. All in all, this was a fine morning. There was no reason to complain.

Then again, there hardly ever was.

He leaned against the railing, closed his eyes, and raised his face to the sun.

“Scamander! There you are!”

The sound of that familiar voice immediately dragged Newt back into reality. He felt a pang in his stomach. When he opened his eyes, he saw Alastair Fawley standing right in front of him, smiling sunnily. “You?”

“Good morning to you, too, old chum,” Alastair said, and jovially slapped Newt’s upper left arm. He was even skinnier than Newt remembered him being – skinnier and paler. His short, dark hair looked brittle. He had dark rings under his eyes.

“Are you all right?” The question was out before Newt realised what the hell he was doing.

“I look sick, do I?” Alastair’s smile morphed into a wry little smirk. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and shrugged. “I’m not, but thanks for asking. I just haven't been sleeping well.” He looked about himself. “That’s a lot of Muggles, eh? All out for the sun, just like us.”

“Yes. It’s almost like they’re people, isn't it?”

Alastair snickered throatily at that. “Incredible, I know. So, Scamander, before you start plotting your escape: I’m the person you’re waiting for…about the ice monster thing.”

Ice monster thing? Hm. “I kind of figured.” This was not going to be fun.

Luckily, Alastair seemed unperturbed by Newt’s obvious lack of enthusiasm. “For want of a personal life – my lady was taken from me and I told all my former friends to go fuck themselves or each other; makes no difference to me – I’ve taken up archaeology. When I stumbled into this damp, smelling cave and then stumbled onto some really freaky bones, I thought to myself: ‘I must summon Scamander! He’ll love traipsing around this place, even if he doesn’t love the company’.”

“Very considerate.”

“I know, right?” The ludicrously sunny expression made way for something more solemn, more honest, and infinitely more bearable. “One thing we have in common, eh? We’re both social outcasts by our own design.”

Not that Newt would describe himself as an outcast, per se, but Alastair had a bit of a point. Besides, there was no good reason to be hostile toward the man – not anymore. “That’s probably true.”

An awkward moment of silence crept by.

Finally, Alastair said, “You talk to her on a regular basis, don’t you?” quietly, abashedly, almost as if he were embarrassed to show vulnerability to anyone.

“Yes.” There was no need to ask who was meant.

“How is she?”

Merlin’s beard. The look on Alastair’s face was so miserable yet hopeful, Newt briefly pondered just lying or even changing the subject. That wouldn’t be right, though. Lies and secrets and conspiracies had brought this whole disaster into being. He would not contribute to it if he could help it. “She’s trying to cope, but it’s not working out so well.”

Alastair flinched a little, almost as if Newt had slapped him. He scoffed. “Well, at least you’re honest.” Looking up into the sky, he blew out a heavy breath. “I haven't talked to her in years – figured it’d be better this way, you know. Less painful. She’s got a kid and everything. I’m trying to have a life outside of work. Still, we’re both ridiculously unhappy, as it seems. Life isn't fair.”

On one hand, this was actually sort of noble: Alastair was staying away from Celestia because he wanted her to be happy. On the other hand, it did feel like he was wallowing in the amazingness that was his sacrifice, that he needed everyone to constantly be reminded of the fact that he was a man in pain, damn it!

Newt imagined that this attitude might get tiring after a day or two, even for people who actually liked Alastair. It wasn’t any of his business, but somehow, he found himself dragged into the quagmire, anyway, despite himself. “No, it’s not, but you can either actually do something about it, or you can let it go.”

“My, my, Scamander,” Alastair said, locked eyes with Newt again, and whistled lowly. “Are you not so subtly telling me that I should feel sorry for myself on my own time and that I can either get my shit together, or just shut up, already?” He waited, but no reply came. “All right, all right. I’ll stop.” He briefly raised his hands in a defensive manner. “Before we set out to do what we met for, just let me ask you one thing…since you’re Celestia’s only non-sycophantic friend these days.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Why couldn’t these pretentious people settle their issues like everyone else? Why did everything always have to be this ridiculously dramatic within their circles? Whatever had happened to actually clearing things up face to face?

But then, Newt thought of Celestia, who was doing her best to be happy and cheerful despite failing at it to a pitiable degree. He tensed up a bit, but nodded nonetheless. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Alastair echoed, and shook his head, presumably at himself. It didn’t feel like he was being arrogant and smug, in any case. “Do you still think it would be best for Celestia and me to send them all to hell and elope, even after all that’s passed?”

“Yes.” He didn’t even have to think about it. “She loves her daughter, but not her husband. What’s the point of it all if you’re unhappy all the time?”

“What’s the point, indeed.” Alastair breathed in deeply, then smiled again. It looked honestly friendly. “Come on, then, mate. Let’s go frolic in dark, lonely caves – just the two of us.” He put an arm around Newt’s shoulders and started steering him away.

Newt allowed this patiently. After all, he was here to do scientific research. For that sake, he could put up with a little obnoxious posturing.

2 It was a lucky thing that Alastair stopped miming the brooding, pale, selflessly suffering romantic hero once they cleared Muggle Hastings and Apparated to his family’s estate in the country. It wasn’t quite clear where the property was located, but judging by the landscape, it must be somewhere in Kent. Aristocratic folk like the Fawleys didn’t have much in terms of local accents, meaning that placing them geographically based on the English they spoke was pretty much impossible. They all sounded like high-class people from the South, be they from Hastings, Reading, Birmingham, Liverpool, London, or Newcastle. It made no difference.

Once they materialised on a windswept meadow, Alastair didn’t take him toward the big house in the distance, but toward a small, but lovely patch of trees that were busy growing light-green, fresh buds on their previously empty branches. Springtime was always lovely, especially though after a long, bleary, grey winter.

“It’s not so much a cave, you see,” Alastair all but shouted over his shoulder. “It was artificially dug out by the beast, I recon. Don’t worry, though: the experts have made it safe. It won’t collapse on our heads.”

Newt followed him, light-footed, relishing the fresh air, the green and sweet smells of spring flowers, the sunshine on his face. “Why did you call me if you already have experts?”

Alastair cast him an impish little smile. “Well, the experts were there to determine the dangers of an unexplored cave. They were also supposed to check whether there was anything worth selling in there. Nobody cares for some old bones they can’t crush up and sell as an aphrodisiac, it seems.”

“Nobody but me.”

“Precisely. This old fellow from university such-and-such told us that the bones belong to some ice-spitting monster thing, but that they are worthless. That’s when I thought, ‘why not tell my good friend Newton? He’ll be interested’.”

“I suppose my friendship with Celestia had nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, damned be the extraordinary sharpness of your mind, o formidable foe! My nefarious agenda has been laid bare, unto the daylight, for all the world to see and marvel!” Alastair shook one fist at the sky. “Alas! ‘Tis a calamity.”

They reached the edge of the trees.

From there, Newt could see the digging site, flanked by a number of tents and a bunch of wizards and witches that looked very busy examining soil samples. There were no magical creatures to be seen anywhere. Unwittingly, he thought of the bundimun Leta had used to poison Alastair with. “You should be careful. Your allergic reaction to a single bundimun almost killed you once.”

“We tested the site. None of those sewer fungus things about. I’ll be fine.” He patted Newt’s shoulder. “Thanks for the concern, sweetie. Now, why don’t we take a look at those bones and talk shop?” Without further ado, he led Newt into a yellow tent that looked tiny on the outside, but was of course much larger on the inside.

In there, a partial skeleton had been arranged atop a long wooden table. The skull, ribs, and a few of the thigh bones, as well as two claws were intact. The bones were white, yet seemed to have some sort of blueish shimmer about them.

“So,” Alastair said, and motioned at the table. “Voila! What do you think?”

Newt approached the table slowly, with reverence. The closer he got, the colder the air felt. By the time he was close enough to touch the bones, his breath was coming out in small clouds of vapour. His skin pebbled with gooseflesh. His teeth gnashed together. He hugged his arms to himself. “Extraordinary.”

“Pretty much, yes. This thing must have died many years ago. My family’s been here for a century. We would’ve noticed a gigantic ice monster burrowing its way into our backyard.”

“You would’ve. They’re impossible to miss whilst above ground, but once they bury themselves in order to hibernate, it’s the exact opposite.”

“You’d think the whole place would be frozen up when one of these things is alive, judging by how cold their dead bones are,” Alastair said, rubbing at his upper arms. He took a few healthy steps back and visibly relaxed. “Ah, much better. I don’t much care for the cold. I only endured the snow in Franconia for Tia’s sake.”

“They’re usually not this cold when they’re alive and not in danger.” Newt reached out, but couldn’t quite bring himself to touch any of the shimmering bones, instead letting his fingertips hover over one of the claws before crossing his arms again. He harrumphed, then turned to Alastair. “Just outside, you said we should talk shop. Talk shop, then. What do you want?”

“Not much patience for chit-chat, eh?” Alastair sighed theatrically. “All right. Have it your way. You see, Scamander, I haven't just been getting on your nerves with my perpetual gloominess. Don’t think I haven't noticed.” He jabbed a finger at Newt, squinting slightly. Then, he snickered. “Well, here goes: back then, I thought it would hurt her more if I asked her not to leave me, to follow her heart. You didn’t believe so. Now, you tell me that she’s unhappy; I know I am. What I want is simple: I want her back. I’m tired of being miserable.”

“What do you need me for?”

“I need you to get her to see me.” Alastair stepped up to Newt and grabbed him by the upper arms. “Trick her if you must. I just need to talk to her face to face, just the two of us.”

“In exchange for these bones, I presume?”

A smile lit up Alastair’s sharp-angled features. There was an almost feverish shine in his eyes. “Oh, much more than that. I’ve done my homework, you see. I know that you plan on travelling the globe, cataloguing magical creatures so you can write a book about how to care for them. I know how much that means to you.”

Newt’s instinct was to back away, but in all honesty, he was just too baffled to react in any meaningful way. “So what?”

“So what, I can only imagine how much money an enterprise as ambitious as yours costs. I know for a fact that your family is not poor by any means, but that you don’t have that much spare change.”

It…well. Oh. How the hell was he supposed to react to that? How…his mind was drawing a blank. He blinked at Alastair, who was still grabbing his arms with surprising strength. “Are you offering to pay me so I’ll arrange a meeting between you and Celestia?” He frowned. “I honestly don’t know if this is insulting or not.”

That was when Alastair let go. He gave Newt a puzzled look. “Why would…no. No, no, no. Scamander, you’re getting this all wrong. I’m not hiring you. I’m saying that I want to help you. I do need you to talk to her for me, but…” he trailed off, ran his fingers through his hair, and threw up his hands, looking so helpless, it was a little painful to watch. “I’m asking you to help me because I know you’re the only one who understands. I’ll sponsor your trip regardless, because I owe you a debt-”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Yes, I do. I do. But let’s ignore that for a moment. I need your help. I” – He shook his head, bit his lower lip, and sucked on his teeth – “I can’t get anywhere near Malfoy Manor. I can’t send an owl. I can’t have her family or friends send a message. She doesn’t even leave the estate anymore.” The look he gave Newt was wretched. His eyes were bloodshot. He threw up his hands. “I can’t do this anymore, Scamander. Help me. Please.” To Newt’s growing discomfort, he seemed two seconds away from bursting into tears.

Newt told himself to stop being an infant. This wasn’t about his discomfort.

Alastair was obviously at the end of his rope.

No matter how Newt felt about him personally, he couldn’t ignore that kind of desperate plea. He hadn't been able to decline Celestia’s invitation to hr engagement party, either, and for the same reason. “I would never do this for money.”

“I know. You’re a really decent chap, you are. I know that.” He wiped at his eyes, his mouth, his chin with his right, put his left to his waist. “I apologise for giving the impression that I wanted to pay you for doing me a favour. Let’s leave the matter of my debt to you to another time, if you don’t feel comfortable talking about it now. Whatever else, you have unlimited access to these bones and to the excavation site, all right? Right.” He crossed his arms and nodded, more to himself than to Newt. “Just…get her out of Malfoy Manor. I need to talk to her, face to face. Please.”

For a couple of seconds, Newt battled the ugly impulse to ask Alastair whether saying the magic word hurt at all. Thankfully, his sense of decency won out over the darker part of his personality. “I’ll help you.”

Alastair drew in a sharp, shaky breath, closed his eyes for a moment, let his arms hang loosely by his sides, and balled his hands into fists a few times. When he looked at Newt again, he was halfway composed, though his eyes were still bloodshot and there were reddish blotches on his pasty, hollow cheeks. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Well, no-one had ever told him to get involved, and yet, here he was, involved. That was why he preferred to stay away from people.

3 When Celestia read Newt’s letter, for the first time in months, she actually felt like she had something to look forward to. It was unfair, she knew it, but things had become so…oh, so dull, so grey, so lifeless. It was horrible to feel this way, and she knew it. She did her best to trample it down, to ignore it, to be cheery for her little girl, Artemis. The poor little thing did not deserve a mother this melancholic, this self-absorbed. Artemis was a happy, sweet, giggly child who’d grow up into an extraordinary witch; Celestia was sure about that. Life was good. There was no reason to complain. She lived in a beautiful house with a garden she could tend to even though there was personnel to do it all. There was a huge library filled with more books than she’d be able to read in a decade. Her in-laws were nice to her – all except for Ares, who did his best to ignore her (and vice versa). Her husband loved her. Her friends were great. All was well, and yet…

…and yet.

For so long, she had found herself utterly unable to feel any kind of contentment. She’d got used to being beyond joy, but quiet contentment? That was gone, too.

What was left? Sadness? Regret? Resignation?

Honestly, she couldn’t even feel that anymore. Now, if it was all gone, all of it, then how could she even look herself in the mirror anymore? This marriage was always going to be something she wouldn’t want; that much was clear. But this? Honestly, she didn’t know how to keep trudging on under these circumstances.

Here was to hoping she could find the strength to hold on just a bit longer, until things got better. They’d get better at some point. They had to.

That was why she felt, actually felt something break through the stupor when she read Newt’s latest letter.

He wanted to know whether she’d like to visit his home, see the Hippogriffs, get a change of scenery at least for one afternoon. Immediately, she knew that her answer would be yes. Apollo wouldn’t mind. To him, Newt posed no threat, and if visiting this non-threat would cheer her up, then he would have nothing to object. He was a good husband, after all. He wanted her to be happy. He loved her.

She sat down at her desk and wrote a letter to Newt. Yes, she’d be happy to visit him. Yes, she’d be there at his earliest convenience.

Two days after that, another letter came, asking her to pack a holdall so she could stay overnight.

The day after that, she left Malfoy Manor for the first time since the past winter. 

4 Since Newt had asked her to use the Floo Network, she’d chosen to wear a grey coat over her clothes, not wanting anything to get sooty. A bit of soot was always to be expected on one’s face, in one’s hair, but it wasn’t tragic. The Floo Network wasn’t made to transport people to fancy dances in ballrooms, after all. It was a practical, quick way to travel for no-nonsense people who didn’t fuss too much over appearances.

So of course, she used it as little as possible.

Nocturna had always teased Celestia every time the latter had whined about getting dirty when stepping out of a fireplace.

Well, everyone had different priorities.

The fireplace in question was located in a large, tiled, cosy-looking kitchen.

Gingerly, Celestia stepped outside, her shoes clacking on the floor.

Newt was already waiting for her. It seemed as if he were trying to smile, but failing. He wasn’t quite looking her in the eye. His face was a little flushed. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for inviting me.” She stepped up to him and placed a kiss on his cheek, before looking at her feet and behind herself. “I’m not…not spreading soot all over your floor, I hope?”

“No. Don’t worry about it.” He opened his mouth, closed it again, exhaled deeply, scratched the bridge of his nose, and said, “There’s something in the living room that you need to see.” He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and harrumphed. “Sorry I couldn’t tell you before.”

There was a cold pang in her stomach. She felt cold. “Did…did something happen?”

“Just follow me, please.” This time, he managed to smile a little, even though he looked as if this were the most awkward and uncomfortable situation he’d ever been in. “It’s all right. You’ll see.”

This was odd. Still, she followed him out of the kitchen, through a narrow hallway that was lovingly decorated with framed family photographs, past a spiral staircase, and into a lovely living room. Its walls were covered in bookshelves. A dark-red sofa and a couple of armchairs were set facing a fireplace. The air smelled of wood and books and something like lavender. It was lovely.

All of this, Celestia registered, but her real attention was focussed on the person standing next to a window that overlooked the Hippogriff pens. She stopped short just beyond the doorframe. Her breath hitched in her constricted throat. Her legs were rubbery. Had the Earth stopped spinning? She saw stars. “Alley.”

He looked…oh, oh dear, he looked so beautiful – thinner and paler than she remembered him, but what difference did that make? This was Alastair. “Tia.” The look on his face was not expectant or happy. It was relieved. He looked as if he’d been in pain up until this very moment.

The lethargy broke. She half ran, half stumbled toward him.

They met halfway, put their arms around each other, held each other as tightly as possible.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” He was squeezing her almost to the point of pain, raining kisses on her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.

“No, I’m sorry. Oh, dear. Oh, my dear.” She raked her fingers through his hair, cupped his face, kissed him (oh finally, finally, finally), hugged him around his waist again, and rested her head on his shoulder. “Oh, God. Oh, Alley. I missed you so much – so much. My darling. My darling.”

He put his arms around her again and leaned his cheek against her hair. “I was wrong, Tia. I was so wrong. I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay with me. To hell with your family. To hell with all of it. If you love me, then love me.” Again, his grip tightened, as if he were afraid she might Apparate away at any moment. “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t,” she said quietly, closing her eyes, and breathing in the scent of his skin she’d missed so much. Briefly, she wondered where Newt had scampered off to. She’d need to thank him. In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever had a friend quite as amazing as him.

“You won’t?” And there it was, right in Alastair’s voice: hope.

She shut her eyes tighter, but it wouldn’t make any difference, would it? Facing him. Looking into his eyes. No, she’d already made her decision. “I won’t. I can’t.” There was no going back anymore. If there was one thing she knew with absolute, unshakeable certainty, it was that.