The Mystery of the Frozen Heart

1925

1 The entire plan hinged on impeccable timing, on stealth, and on the element of surprise. These were all qualities that Petronius Flint, captain of the Appleby Arrows, possessed in abundance. If Celestia had paid any attention to him during their Hogwarts years, she would’ve known this about him. He wasn’t just an extraordinary athlete; no, he was also a natural leader and really good and organising things. After all, he’d made it to the frozen heart before anyone else…well, after he got rid of the shady contact person, that was.

Ronny Flint had actually killed another human being.

Didn’t matter, did it? In the grand scheme of things?

One might even say he’d done it for the greater good.  

What did actually matter was that he had found the frozen heart, that he had found Celestia, that he’d helped her all the way back to England, that he’d thought up the only viable plan that could possibly lead to success.

All her life, Celestia had been relatively contented with simply letting the flow of life carry her along. Most of the time, she let other people make all the big decisions for her: from her piano lessons to her husband, really. Only for the past year had she started making the tough decisions, and all of it hadn’t even started because of her. No, Alastair had convinced poor, put-upon Newt to trick Celestia into a confrontation. That blasted ice monster had frozen up Alastair and his parents and forced Celestia to do something.

This was a disconcerting realisation to come to, wasn’t it? That all this time, she had only ever reacted to circumstances, never acted.

In her head, Alastair protested. ‘Never even think it, o glorious mistress of my heart!’ he’d dramatically intone, throwing up his hands and nearly hitting her by accident for good measure. Then, realising that she was being serious, he’d add, ‘We’re all victims of circumstance, Tia, but when you had to, you were brave, even though the whole world was your enemy.’

It was a little bit funny, wasn’t it, that she knew him so well that she couldn’t make him say something in her mind that would actually reassure her? After all, he loved her and always interpreted her actions in the best light. On the other hand, she’d realised that she had a bit of a self-important streak and liked feeling sorry for herself; a malady the best of them suffered from, surely. In the end, it didn’t even matter much, did it? All that mattered was that she had to be brave now – brave, smart, and strong. Nothing else would do. Her decisions had led her up to this point, and now, she needed to make the best of the situation by pushing through her fears, doubts, and natural lethargy.

Alastair depended on her, as did his parents.

She supposed that was the actual crux, the core of her hesitant nature: fear of responsibility and, consequently, fear of failure. As she sat before the fireplace inside what Ronny – and quite the adventurer he was, it turned out – called the safe house, all these thoughts whirled through her head. It was more than nice, this house, built right by Loch Katrine, magically hidden from prying eyes.

The house belonged to the best beater on Ronny’s team, a tall, handsome fellow called Alfred Domingo. That one, as well of all the others Ronny had recruited for his insane plan, was cheerfully unafraid. It seemed to be a career choice with them, really. Then again, it shouldn’t be in any way surprising. They were, after all, professional Quidditch players, who were by definition insane – brilliant, but definitely insane.

Celestia had felt obliged to tell all of them that they were risking their lives, that this was crazy, but they wouldn’t have any of it. They told her that they were a team, and that if their captain needed them to risk their necks, then they’d risk their necks – simple as that. She almost protested that this was anything but simple, but then reconsidered. Maybe it wasn’t easy, no, but it was simple. There was a distinct difference.

The frozen heart was locked inside a safe with a magic containment field. As a matter of fact, apart from Celestia and Ronny, nobody even knew what was in the mysterious briefcase she had brought with her. All they knew was that they needed to create a big diversion that would allow her to get to the Fawleys and save them. They hadn’t asked many questions, keeping to those that were about the implementation of their dastardly scheme. Everything else was, as one of the players had put it, salad dressing.

This was more than a little amusing, given the almost fanatical attention to detail prevalent in Celestia’s family – the Black side of the family, at least. The Prewetts weren’t as pedantic, but her mother’s family? The devil was in the details, indeed.

Not long, now. In less than two days, they’d head over to the Fawley estate and either win or lose it all. Somehow, this was a comforting thought. At least Celestia knew that in not even forty-eight hours, it would all be over, for good or for ill. 

2 Leta and Nocturna met up with Theseus in an abandoned house on the outskirts of Manchester. It wasn’t as if Leta’s involvement in illegal affairs was common knowledge, but Nocturna Prewett’s most certainly was. It would not do to have her sighted in the company not only of Theseus Scamander, but also Theseus Scamander’s fiancée.

The moment Leta and Nocturna both Apparated into the house’s dilapidated living room, the former saw Theseus standing there and hurried to throw herself into his arms.

He hugged her tightly around the waist, lifted her up, spun her around, set her down, and kissed her.

Immediately, all tension just fell off of her, and she felt lighter, light as a feather, light as a petal. She laughed, looked at his beautiful (beloved) face, and raked her fingers through his stylishly coiffed, short brown hair. “I feel ten years younger already!”

His expression turned amused. “Well, you better stop de-aging, my love, lest this relationship turn into something that casts a bad light on me.”

She beamed – couldn’t help it, really – opened her mouth to say-

“Can we cut the corny romance nonsense short and focus on business?” Nocturna cut in dryly, killing the mood.

The other two let go of each other and faced her.

Leave to the rabid fanatic not to have any sense of decorum. Said fanatic cracked a toothy smile, which made her look even more like a deranged leprechaun hopped up on mushrooms, and waved. “Hello!”

Leta and Theseus exchanged a long-suffering look.

He tugged down on his jacket and put that solicitous politician’s expression on his face that his brother used to complain – no, not complain about: disapprove of quietly. That had ever been more Newt’s style. “Apologies. I know that time is short and that this entire sorry debacle has been very stressful for you.”

Nocturna arched her thin eyebrows. “For me?”

“Because of your sister’s part in this,” Theseus said, still calm, still glib, still solicitous. He was pretty much perfect, really, at least in his fiancée’s eyes. “Because of Ares Malfoy.”

“Ares Malfoy died for the cause, as a hero. As for my sister, she made her choice. I stand by mine. If you’re expecting me to have a nervous breakdown, think again,” Nocturna said, bony arms crossed, watery-blue eyes narrowed, reddish blotches on her freckled cheeks. Her carroty hair – more orange than red, really – was dishevelled and frankly made her look like she’d been hit by lightning.

Well, Leta had never claimed to be in any way an objective person. That went for her inner monologues, as well. “Would it kill you to be polite?” she said, piqued and not in the least interested in hiding it. To be honest, she had had quite enough of Nocturna’s fanaticism and her brusque nature to last two lifetimes. This was too much.

Newt’s odd friendship with Celestia Prewett was bad enough.

Now Leta had to grin and bear Celestia’s older sister’s insufferably self-righteous attitude? Unbelievable.

…but seriously, why was Newt friends with Celestia, of all people (and the name was still stupid, wasn’t it? Yes, it was)? Celestia had helped get Newt tossed out of Hogwarts, in the first place! She and that hook-nosed vulture she was so obsessed with – obsessed enough to ruin the entire enterprise! It was actually pretty outrageous. Newt had accused Leta of being selfish and self-centred, had ended their budding relationship because of that. Hell, he had blamed her – blamed her! Her! – for what had happened to him. But Celestia had been at fault, hadn’t she? After all, if that silly, shallow girl had had the courage to stop her paramour and his friends from pranking Leta during that fateful Yule Ball, then Leta wouldn’t have been obligated to take revenge! And why blame Leta, anyway? After all, she’d only been looking out for herself. It wasn’t her fault that Newt was too meek, gullible, and passive to do the same.

But then he went and not only magnanimously forgave Celestia, but also became friends with her. Friends! He was supposed to be Leta’s friend. They’d been friends for years, but then Leta did one thing he was too naïve to comprehend, and suddenly, she wasn’t worth his time anymore?

Maybe he’d become Celestia’s friend because of all the money Alastair Fawley had to sponsor his research.

No.

No, that was unfair.

That was unfair, and she knew it. She knew it. Besides, she was happy. Back then, when she’d made peace with the Slytherins, her whole life had turned around. Everything had become easier. Her social life had improved immensely. She and Theseus had found each other, and were they not much better matched? Both were glamorous, both had their priorities straight, both were willing to fight for the greater good. Leta had to admit that she didn’t just like herself in her role as Theseus Scamander’s fiancée, even though that was definitely a factor. No, she knew that she genuinely loved him. She also knew that the feeling was quite mutual. They were a match made in heaven, and who knew? Perhaps they wouldn’t have got together if Newt hadn’t been kicked out of school. Moreover, he seemed happy, too, didn’t he? Newt. He was out there, living the dream, getting stuck in the mud saving toads or whatever it was that he loved so much more than he’d ever loved her. They wouldn’t have been a good couple. He was way too much into digging up worms and rescuing vermin. She liked to move in different circles. Everything had turned out fine for the both of them, hadn’t it?

And yet, the fact that he had become Celestia bloody Prewett’s friend stung. It stung right in the heart. All of this shot through her mind in only a few seconds, but it was long enough for an awkward silence to ensue, during which she and Nocturna just glared at each other.

“Tell me, Leta,” Nocturna now said, “how did you escape from that barn again when Ares and Ethel didn’t? And please, do elaborate on how many times you asked whether anyone knows what’s happened to Apollo.”

Leta’s face got hot. She balled her hands into fists. “You weren’t there! You have no right to judge me, you crazy-”

“Ladies, please,” Theseus cut in, not losing his cool in the slightest. He gave Nocturna his most dazzling smile, which was a whole lot more than she deserved. “Please. We mustn’t fight amongst ourselves. What we need is to take a step back, breathe, and remember that even though we’re all stressed out, we are all fighting for the greater good. Besides” – the smile turned slightly impish – “Apollo will be delighted to know how much you worry about him.”

Nocturna’s eyes grew wide. “You know where he is!”

He nodded and put an arm around Leta’s shoulders, steadying her in her anger and outrage. This was another thing that made their relationship so great: flawless non-verbal communication. “He got away, but is still in America on orders. He’s going to free Ethel Partridge.”

Not that Leta had a lot of love for Apollo, but she still found herself relieved at the good news. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said, smiling up at him, her near-explosion already forgotten.

Such was the effect he had on her.

Such was the effect they had on each other.

Nocturna ran her bony fingers through her shaggy, ragged mop of hair, and started pacing. The old, rotten floorboards underneath her feet creaked. There was the faintly unpleasant odour of decay in the dusty air. Through the cracks of unevenly nailed-together boards covering up the largest window, warm yellow light shone inside in slanted beams. Nocturna seemed to notice nothing about their surroundings. “Okay, okay. I’ll admit that I’m nervous, just to bury the hatchet. But how could I not be? This entire plan is entirely haphazard, and it’s all Tia’s fault! All because of Alastair Fawley!” Her face contorted into a mask of disgust. “Selfish. Foolish. Dangerous.”

“We’ll manage,” Theseus said, ever unfazed. “We have the entire Fawley estate surrounded. There is no Apparating inside. There is no getting past our patrols. Believe me: we’ve got this one covered.”

Abruptly, Nocturna stopped pacing and swirled around on the heels of her blunt, worn boots. “What about you brother? You know, Tia’s friend? Her ex?” She pointed at Leta without looking at her. Rude. “Where is he? Have you taken into account that Tia might have more allies than just that dullard Petronius Flint? There is no way you could possibly have taken all the variables into account, Theseus!”

Wow. Someone did not handle stress well.

This was not how Leta knew her to be, in all honestly.

Prewett Sister the Elder was a rabid follower of Grindelwald who refused to ever compromise, and she was fearless.

The only conclusion Leta could come to was that Nocturna was worried about her sister.

That actually made Nocturna more human, didn’t it? This vulnerability.

That was something Leta could sympathise with. “Don’t worry,” she said, trying hard to sound kind. “It’ll be all right. We’ve got each other’s backs.”

Nocturna’s shoulders slumped. Anger seeped from her expression. She nodded slowly and crossed her spindly arms as if she were cold. “I hope to any potentially real god out there that you are right.”

They’d see about that, wouldn’t he? Soon enough, they would see.

Besides, Theseus was smiling as if he knew something nobody else did – something good. Whatever it was, it didn’t even matter that much. Theseus was on their side, and they were on his. That was all that was needed to guarantee victory.

3 Feeling entirely as if trapped in a fever dream, Tina allowed herself to be taken back to the guesthouse without protest. Well, she liked to think of herself as not terminally stupid, and kicking up a self-righteous fuss whilst facing impossible odds would be incredibly stupid. Yes, she was sure that she was on the right side of history. Yes, Grindelwald was a murderer and a criminal, and everyone aiding and abetting him was also guilty. But putting honour before reason was inviting death, and Tina wasn’t quite ready to die for her beliefs in such a pointless manner. Even if she didn’t have a sister to consider, the truth was that she loved living and simply didn’t want to die. Should it one day happen during a combat situation, or under circumstances that would make it meaningful, then…well, she’d still be afraid and fighting her survival instinct, but dying for something worthwhile was a good thing – not for her, but for others.

Now, though, all these ruminations were utterly moot.

Truth be told, all of this was nothing but an academic exercise, and she was kidding herself thinking that her moral outrage had any bearing on anything. It might at home, perhaps, but not here, deep in the Franconian forest, smack in the middle of Grindelwald’s home town. In truth, all Tina could do was hide under the eiderdown covers inside her room and thank God that Percival Graves had pulled some strings and gotten her healed…

…after she’d brought Ethel Partridge’s curse upon herself by disobeying orders.

Yeah.

There was no not feeling guilty about how Graves had made a deal with his sworn enemies in order to save his Auror.

Tina did not want to think about what would have happened to her if she hadn’t been taken across the ocean to Franconia to be healed. By now, she’d be going insane, probably wishing for death long before it finally took her.

No. No dwelling on maybes and could-have-beens. That never helped a single bit.

She pulled the covers up almost to her nose, closed her eyes, and tried not to think her gloomy thoughts.

4 The next morning, she woke up from deep and surprisingly restful sleep. It had snowed quite a lot during the night. The entire village was covered with snow. Farther away, the conifers bore a cottony blanket. Only Drachenstein Castle loomed, untouched, above all. It was a beautiful, impressive sight; one had to admit that.

She only wished she were here under better circumstances.

At least the curse was completely gone.

Ethel Partridge would not be pleased.

Just thinking about that one made Tina’s skin break out in gooseflesh. She crossed her arms, shivered, and kept looking out the window at the peaceful, deceivingly quiet vista spread out before her eyes. It was impossible not to think about the tortured look on Partridge’s face, about her little speech concerning love and loss…

…about Ares Malfoy’s dead body on some godforsaken field in the middle of nowhere.

Ares Malfoy was dead because of Tina.

Well, to be accurate, Ares Malfoy was dead because of Ares Malfoy, but technically, Tina had ended his life. She hadn’t had much time to come to terms with this, either. Yes, yes, she’d been fighting for her life, and if she hadn’t killed Malfoy, Malfoy would have killed her, not to mention Queenie.

And still.

And still.

A man was dead. Tina had taken his life.

If a person took a life, they couldn’t know what they themselves might lose. Odds were, it was nothing savoury.

Odds were, one could risk losing a piece of one’s soul.

Again, she shivered, this time more violently. It was better not to think about it now, about what consequences it might have to remove a human being from the face of the Earth, of what kind of cosmic fallout this might potentially cause, of the pain and grief caused among the living – loved ones who had done nothing to deserve this kind of breath-taking, gut-punching torment.

Now, she needed to focus on what was happening at this moment, about her own situation, about the political implications, about how close to the brink the wizarding world was right now. Had she really had dinner with Gellert Grindelwald last night? Had she really been carted off from New York to the depths of Franconia, whilst knocked out, to be cured of a (fatal) curse by a wizarding supremacist librarian? Where the heck was her wand? Her clothes?

She shook her head. Time to get out of here.

There was a crisp knock on the door.

“Come in!” She turned around to face whoever the newcomer might be. Truth be told, there wasn’t much that could still surprise her.

The door was opened. Inside stepped one Percival Graves, carrying in a bundle in his arms: her clothes.

The weight of the world fell off her shoulders at the sight of him…the feeling quickly being soured by a stomach cramp of guilt. “Sir, I just wanted to apologise for everything that-”

“Don’t. Just leave it.” He dropped the bundle on the bed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tina, Tina, Tina.” When he threw up his hands, he wore the most exasperated look on his face that she’d ever seen him sport. “Why can’t you, just for once, stay quiet in your corner? Not even after barely surviving a curse can you just stay in bed and wait. Couldn’t you just, I don’t know, extrapolate that I’d somehow arranged all this and that, therefore, I would want you to keep a low profile in what’s technically enemy territory?”

A heavy silence ensued.

She hugged her arms tighter to her upper body. “I didn’t know what was going on. I needed to gather more information. I didn’t know where you were, how I’d gotten here, how-”

“If I hadn’t negotiated a very delicate ceasefire with these people, you would be dead now – dead or dying in indescribable agony.” He rubbed his forehead and shook his head, before exhaling sharply. “Tina, I’m gonna explain something to you, and you’re gonna listen – really listen. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You see: there is a little something called compromise. Sometimes, we need to turn a blind eye on evil so that we can live to fight another day. This is all part of our rules of engagement. Don’t just look at the immediate consequences of letting something slide that goes against your own moral code. Look at the bigger picture. What good would it do anyone if you died being heroically stupid? None. None at all. That’s politics. You may not like it, but that’s how it works.”

“Okay, Mister Graves, I get that I messed up a bit, and that we need to get out of here in one piece, but once we’re out of Franconia, we need to get to England. I’m positive that Grindelwald is planning something-”

“You’re going home – today, in fact.”

There was a pang in her stomach. “Excuse me?”

He just watched her, impassive, standing by the door, arms crossed. “You heard me. You’re taking the train to Hamburg, and then you’re leaving on a No-Maj ocean liner.”

“You’re not coming with me?”

“No. I will head to England in order to explain to the Minister of Magic why we allowed British citizens to escape our custody – citizens we’d promised to extradite. I also have to explain to them why one of their most distinguished Pureblood wizards is dead – killed by an Auror who was acting against orders. That’s only one of the reasons you can’t come with me. I’m sure you can imagine a few more.”

She tensed up and couldn’t stop herself from frowning. When she shifted her weight from one bare foot to the next, the floorboards she was standing on creaked. “Do…does the Ministry of Magic know about Celestia Prewett and the frozen heart? I’ve fought against that group of fanatics. I could-”

“Tina,” he cut in, sounding more tired than anything else. “We can’t untie this Gordian Knot with violence. What we need right now is diplomacy.”

Her shoulders tensed even more. Pain radiated down her back and up her neck. Her feet were icy cold. Her hands were clammy. “We’re talking about a weapon of mass destruction here! Grindelwald and company are most certainly counting on this, on us resorting to diplomacy so they can have the freedom to pull off whatever they want! And why wouldn’t they? Nobody’s stopping them! He can just waltz about, completely unhindered, because all we can manage is diplomacy!”

Graves listened to this in silence, almost…wait, were the corners of his mouth twitching? Was he holding back a smile? Was he laughing at her?

This was stupid. She was imagining things.

He said, “They may sink to a new low every day, but we must rise above such things.”

Seriously? Her heart was thrumming now. Stars danced before her eyes. She felt a little queasy. “But-”

“No. No ‘buts’. Our enemies may resort to violence, defamation, and the distortion of facts, but we are better. We must rise above such a level. We must keep civil, and so we will. Truth and facts are on our side. Nothing can change that, least of all your militant attitude of cursing first, asking questions later. You will go home. I will clean up your mess. The Ministry of Magic will deal with their own people the way they see fit. Understand?”

For a moment, she just stared at him in gobsmacked silence. What was this? Compromise? Letting evil slide? Politics? Okay, her conduct hadn’t been perfect, but what good did it do anyone if they turned a blind eye on things like wizarding supremacy? Compromising had led them to where they were. Being civil in the face of rising violence, racism, and discrimination was what had allowed Grindelwald and his sociopathic minions to undermine society the way they had. These people cared nothing for politeness, respect, tolerance, empathy, or even the truth. Facts were nothing to these radical fanatics. They would use any and every tactic known to humanity in order to break apart what they hated, namely respect for those who could not do magic – as if No-Majs were somehow inferior just because they’d been born that way.

“What I understand, Mister Graves, what I know is that we must stand up to evil. We can’t just rely on the rules of engagement, on diplomacy…on civility. We have to start fighting them before it’s too late...before they take over while we were too busy being polite.”

After just looking back at her with an unreadable look on his face, he ran his fingers through his hair, breathed out deeply again, and shook his head again. “You’re to go home, Tina, without making a fuss. Someone will take you to the train station in a couple of hours and explain the details of your journey to you. Just be grateful that you get to keep your job, and you know what? One more toe out of line – one more – and you’ll be writing wand permits for the rest of your life. Aurors need to be able to follow orders. You got that?”

She had so much more to say – so much more – but gnashed her teeth together. “Yes.”

“Good.” He turned around, opened the door, hesitated, added, “Your wand will be handed back to you before you get on that train. Do not disappoint me again,” and left.

Tina just kept gawking blankly at the heavy wooden door, her thoughts racing, her heart heavy. No. No, she couldn’t agree with him – couldn’t. Yes, she’d go home as ordered – no way around it – but she couldn’t just lay back and do nothing, couldn’t just allow society to go on a horrible downward spiral into violence, bigotry, and chaos. There could be no compromise in the face of racism. There could be no high road where humanity itself was at stake. If she witnessed something wrong, she would fight it. People deserved to have their rights defended. They deserved better than toothless diplomacy, a tactic that had so far done nothing to stop Grindelwald and the rest of the monsters on his trail.

There could be no compromise.

Yes, Tina would go home and do what was right. She owed it to herself and to everyone who had ever died at the hands of racists, psychopaths, and murderers.

5 One didn’t have to get close to the Fawley estate in order to realise that the whole place was surrounded and being watched by a bunch of Aurors – Aurors ready to curse on sight, that was, courtesy of their boss, one Theseus Scamander. And why wouldn’t they listen to him? He was a war hero, after all, unlike his kooky, scatter-brained, silly pacifist of a little brother – a little brother who’d flunked out of school, no less.

The brother in question was at home, waiting for the dawn.

There was no guarantee that Celestia would make her move then, but it was the logical conclusion. Alastair’s time was running out, and she had nothing left to lose.

Newt had to be there; he had to. Somehow, he needed to get inside the perimeter, had to find Celestia, had to show her that she was wrong. Death and sacrifice were not the way. No, in order to solve the mystery of the frozen heart, she needed to show a very different kind of vulnerability.

Violence, hatred, intolerance were never the answer to anything.

If she couldn’t understand this, then she would die – as well as the Fawley family.

This was not the time to be tough, but it was the time to be brave.

He needed to get to her, to get to her before his brother could kill her, before the Grindelwald fanatics could snatch away the frozen heart.

Tomorrow, everything would change.