The Mystery of the Frozen Heart

1925

1 Once upon a time, there was a young woman named Nocturna who fell in love with a dark ideology.

Once upon a time, there was a girl called Celestia who fell in love with a boy named Alastair, and he with her.

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Newt who became infatuated with a certain Leta Lestrange. She unwittingly taught him much about that elusive, blinding emotion called love…and about the fallout.

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Leta, who loved nothing more than the idea of being loved by all, and who would sacrifice almost anyone on that altar.

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Tina who lost her parents to the great unfairness that is sickness, and who vowed to fight injustice with empathy.

Once upon a time, there was a boy called Apollo who loved a girl who didn’t – couldn’t – love him back.

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Petronius who nearly killed a friend he loved, and who promised to never fail that friend again.

Once upon a time, they were all young (so young) and naïve and somewhat self-important and believed in happy endings.

Some of them will survive this day, but not all – no, not all of them.

Today, this little tale of woe will end, one way or another.

2 Given that autumn is slowly turning into winter, dawn takes its time breaking. Luckily, there is no cloud in the sky. At least visibility won’t be a problem, no matter how this whole affair might go down today. It’s cold, and banks of white mist are hovering, swirling above the meadows surrounding the Fawley residence. The whole house is covered in ice by now – ice that seems to glitter and sparkle in the rising, reddish sunlight. It’s a beautiful sight. Well, this is a beautiful place: quiet, pleasant, lovely, and bucolic.

Newt would be probably ecstatic, wouldn’t he? Of course he would, the silly sod.

Theseus is standing at the edge of the little patch of forest out of which the ice monster burst a year ago today. He raises his gloved hands to his lips and breathes onto them. Gloves or no gloves, the chill’s been creeping into his very bones, it seems. His toes are numb, the rest of his feet tingling. It’s time for this farce to end…and it is a farce, isn’t it? A total, complete, and utter farce. How could the people who caused this be so stupid? Celestia Prewett, Alastair Fawley…

…Newton Scamander.

Oh, Newt. When he was still a child, Theseus was sure that the lad would grow out of his predilection for mud-digging, but that never happened. The biggest problem, in Theseus’s mind, is that Newt never learned how to grow up. He’s still a child in so many ways, most of all his staggering naiveté. He has a talent, that boy, to blunder into catastrophes that he actually has nothing to do with, that he wants no part of.

One only has to think about how he got kicked out of Hogwarts…

…because he was in love with Leta back then.

Some of Theseus’s tension drains from his limbs.

Ah, Leta. She is something else, isn’t she? Something else.

Naturally, Theseus knows all about how his little brother got expelled. It was more or less Leta’s fault. She played a prank on Alastair Fawley, cleverly weaselled her way out of it, and did what any survivor would do. Too bad that Newt, wide-eyed dreamer and eternal child, was too naïve to figure this out.

There’s some degree of dramatic irony at play here, isn’t there? Everyone involved in the conspiracy that had Newt as collateral damage back then is somehow involved in today’s spot of drama.

Theseus can only hope that Newt will stay at home like a good boy and not swoop in dramatically to save Celestia Prewett and, for good measure, get himself killed. If that happens, it will be Newt’s fault, yes, but their parents won’t see it that way. To be fair, neither will Theseus. He and Newt don’t exactly see eye to eye for a dozen reasons – haven’t for a long time – but that doesn’t mean Theseus wants to see him hurt.

That doesn’t mean Theseus doesn’t love him.

But love is love and family is family… and business is business. Their business today is more important than personal feelings, more important than family, more important than love – which is why he’s told Leta to stay at home, in safety. This way, she can neither get in the potential line of fire, nor can she be implicated in any way. No, Leta Lestrange is a society witch – glamorous, beautiful, sociable – who attends charity events and looks amazing hanging off her handsome fiancé’s arm. Nobody is to believe that she actually could ever be involved in shady business involving potential weapons of mass destruction.

From his left, a voice snaps him out of it: “I hoped that Tina Goldstein would listen to me, but your own Nocturna Prewett didn’t exactly help matters.”

Theseus glances at Percival Graves, his MACUSA counterpart – well, actually, at the man wearing Graves’s face, posing as Graves.  In all honesty, Theseus does not want to know where the real Graves is. “I prefer to place the blame on Petronius Flint, but in any case, the point is moot. Things are as they are, and we need to make the best of it.”

“Spoken like a true politician,” (not) Graves says, and smiles. “I like it.”

“Thank you.”

“Mm. You’re sure your Aurors will be willing to do what is necessary?”

“Yes. Most of them aren’t in the know, of course, but they’ll fight if they have to.” There’s a bit of a knot in Theseus’s throat. His half-numb, all-chilled feet are itching. “I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”

“It will,” Graves says, using a tranquil, almost dreamy tone that frankly gives Theseus a good case of the chills. “Just you wait for it, young man. There will be bloodshed today.”

“Let’s hope you’re wrong,” Theseus says, but it sounds feeble, unconvinced. He’s so, so glad that Leta isn’t here.

Maybe Newt won’t show up. Maybe he’ll be smart for once, selfish for once.

 But Theseus knows that the odds of that happening are slim to none. He opens his mouth to say something soothing, but that’s when chaos erupts seemingly out of nowhere.

Fireworks and curses rain down on everyone, apparently from everywhere, as a group of people on brooms sweep down from the heavens. Hell, it’s like they appeared out of nowhere! Have they Apparated into the sky above? From where? Who are they?

What is happening?

Theseus pulls his wand from his coat pocket. This is it. Please be safe and at home, brother, he thinks, as all hell breaks loose.

3 About two hours before dawn, Newt is already outside his family home, at the Hippogriff stables, feeding those magnificent creatures that he sees as friends rather than pets. He feeds them, cleans the stables, tries to keep his mind off what he’s about to do. It’ll happen today, at dawn. It has to. After all, today is the last day, and Celestia won’t – can’t – wait any longer. She also can’t brave the Auror defences in the darkness, knowing that those people are experts where battle is concerned and will definitely have the advantage under such circumstances.

It has to be today, but it’s not just logic that drives Newt to this conclusion. No, during the past few years, he got to know Celestia, and he’s sure somehow that she’ll make her move as soon as the sun is out.

Newt needs to be there before that happens.

His parents know. They haven’t talked about this, not since he’s returned home from his journey. They haven’t asked many questions at all. They know that this is something he needs to do.

He needs to try everything he can in order to prevent bloodshed.

They also know that in this, both their children are not on the same page.

Newt and Theseus are not exactly on opposing sides – after all, both of them want to keep the frozen heart out of the hands of fanatics – but they aren’t allied, either, not in this. In all probability, they never have been. It’s a sad thought, but it’s the truth, and such is ever undeniable. Just because they are brothers, that doesn’t mean they are family. It’s not as if Newt doesn’t care about his brother, but in the end – and he knows this, knows this very well – it’s his own aloofness that has deepened the rift between the brothers that was once caused by their so incompatible personalities.

Okay, that’s not the only reason, but Newt has reached a point in his life where he can’t pretend that he’s blameless in everything. He isn’t. No-one ever is.

Now, he’s standing in front of the oldest of the Hippogriffs, a dear friend who’s been there most of his life. “Swiftwing,” he says lowly, in the almost complete darkness, sinking his fingers into the soft feathers to both sides of the tall, lean, proud creature’s head. “My parents wouldn’t want you – none of you – to help me do what I’m asking you to; Theseus wouldn’t, either. You need to know this. But still, I need your help. I can’t do this by myself, but even if you refuse, I’ll try to save her – to save them. I have to. Will you help me?”

Swiftwing, who has mothered half a dozen of the most beautiful Hippogriffs ever foaled, nuzzles him carefully.

He can’t help but crack a smile, says, “I know; I know,” and puts his arms around her strong, slender neck. “You’re a good friend.”

Again, she nuzzles him.

Again, he smiles.

Little later, they’re on their way.

He only hopes that none of them will come to harm…and that his family will forgive him.

4 This is it. Time to act. If they don’t make it today, they never will. Celestia stands among the Appleby Arrows players, her own broom in hand and the frozen heart in a rucksack on her back, inside its charmed case. They’re still by Loch Katrine as dawn starts to break. The plan is to Apparate right to the edges of the Fawley Estate, swoop in, and create a huge distraction, so that Celestia can get in and then make her way to the house. They’re to engage the Aurors and draw their fire.

Celestia told Ronny that activating the frozen heart will take only a few seconds, and that’s true. What she’s kept from him is how it gets activated in the first place.

He wouldn’t approve, the way Newt didn’t approve when he found out.

Newt told her that she was mistaken, that her way couldn’t be the true way, but he couldn’t offer any better solutions, either.

Besides, now it’s too late for doubts. They’re about to start, about to rain hell on those who would take away from her the only means to save the Fawleys – to save Alastair.

She sees him before her mind’s eye, sees him so clearly: his dark hair, the sharp contours of his face, the spark in his eyes, the warmth of his smile, his slender frame. Today’s the day, she thinks, and unsuccessfully tries to swallow the knot in her throat. Today’s the day I get to save you for once, Alley. I hope you can forgive me.

“Ready?” Ronny says, from her left. His deep voice is trembling a little. Bless him, he sounds euphoric, excited. Good. Good for him. It’s an adventure after all, isn’t it? All a big adventure that can’t have anything but a happy ending.

“Ready,” she says, her own voice feeble.

“All right, then,” he says, and whistles loudly. “On my mark, Appleby Arrows. Three, two, one, mark!”

They dematerialise. As dramatic as it sounds, this much is true: there’s no turning back now.

5 Nocturna Prewett just has time to curse her allies’ stupidity and her sister’s stubbornness as suddenly, the sky above her is on fire. There are lunatics on brooms everywhere, dropping steeply from staggering heights and only pulling up shortly before hitting the ground, firing curses and hexes and illusions wherever they go. Inside the set perimeter (and whose idea was it not to cast an energy dome around the whole estate, Hogwarts-style?), they Apparate to and fro, this way and that, leading the dozen Aurors present on a merry chase.

These are clearly professional Quidditch players, and this? This is a distraction.

Damn you, Tia, she thinks, as she gets out her wand and runs from the Fawley house’s icy, dead lawn to the gaping hole where the back door used to be. Frozen blades of grass crunch beneath her boots. She doesn’t want to just Apparate to the place where her sister’s most likely to show up. She needs to run, to get her blood pumping, to shake off the ghastly, paralysing cold.

Ronny Flint recruited his entire team, did he? Impressive.

To be honest, Nocturna didn’t think he had it in him.

But Tia, willing to sacrifice two dozen innocent Quidditch players to her own private cause?

Now, this is something that Nocturna can actually respect.

She skids inside the house, to the living room, where a layer of sparkly ice is coating everything: broken furniture, the huge lifeless monster…the Fawley family.

There’s Alastair, on his back, eyes shut, face slack. He looks almost like he’s sleeping, as trite as that sounds.

Nocturna positions herself in front of him. “No offense, mate, but while everyone out there is trying to stop your sweetheart from getting this far, I’ll just use you as a bargaining chip when she inevitably does.” Feeling bratty beyond belied, she adds, “Oh, and by the way? I really don’t like you.”

6 This is ridiculous! These rogue broom riders have utterly stunned a group of the best Aurors in the world – figuratively and literally! And none of the Aurors has a broomstick with them. Ridiculous! Haphazard! Arrogant!

“Scamander,” Graves says calmly, from his left, “it’s time the gloves came off.”

Theseus stares at him, wide-eyed, stomach cramping. He’s fighting for composure. “What does that mean?”

“It means that you’re losing control of the situation.” A curse explodes to his left, but Graves doesn’t even flinch. “You need to make an example out of these insurgents who are questioning the rule of law. They’re aiding and abetting a terrorist, after all.”

“Wait, are you” – Theseus feels colder than ever, chilled to the core, as battle rages all around them – “are you suggesting lethal force?”

“Make your decision,” Graves says, betraying his real identity in his utter ruthlessness. “Step up and spill blood for the greater good, or go down as an ineffectual weakling. What will it be?”

But these people, they’re…they’re not enemies! They’re athletes, civilians helping out a friend and probably completely ignorant of the circumstances! They don’t deserve to die. None of them does – not one, not even Celestia Prewett, greatest nuisance of them all.

“Tick-tock, Scamander. Time’s up. Be worthy of my trust. Think of the greater good. You’ll be a hero, the fearless leader who stopped an evil terrorist plot! Whatever changes you’ll wish to implement afterwards, you’ll be free to do so.” A somewhat nasty smirk curves up the corners of Graves’s mouth – of Grindelwald’s mouth.

A terrorist plot that doesn’t exist.

A crisis they themselves have fabricated.

An excuse to create a climate of fear in which they can finally push to eliminate the Muggle-loving policies of the current government.

Theseus grips his wand tightly and clenches his jaw. “Let’s do this then,” he says. “For the greater good.”

7 At first, the Aurors are entirely duped by the sudden, outrageous, absurd, almost ridiculously brazen attack of the Quidditch players, who so thoroughly manage to mess up their plan. Celestia flies in, praying to all available gods that she doesn’t fall off the broom like a total idiot, since her flying skills are mediocre at best.

It’s those bad skills that make the difference, in the end, even as Ronny and comrades so bravely and skilfully clear the way for her.

A couple of minutes in, and the Aurors change their tactic. They go from defending to attacking. They go from deflecting to using deadly force.

They’re using deadly force!

Oh, no. No!

One second, two of the chasers are flanking Celestia, big grins on their faces, and then, green light hits them and they tumble down, dead.

Celestia swerves, dodges a red curse, spins, loses control, and falls. She connects sideways with some wall – guest house, it’s the guest house – crashes against glass, falls with her face on the asphalt causeway built just two years ago to accommodate carriages and charmed Muggle motor vehicles.

No. No!

Air whooshes out her lungs. The pain is blinding. Hot blood drips into her face. The palms of her hands are burning. Where is that damned broomstick?

She needs to get out of here, needs to cross over to the-

A curse!

Blindly, she Apparates away, just anywhere, and finds herself by the gate, against it. On her back, the rucksack pulls at her, drags her down.

Three Aurors around her!

This cannot be the end. It can’t. It won’t!

Around her, Ronny’s friends are dying.

Too far away, oh so far, the house, covered in ice, gleams in the bright light of morning.

It’s not night. It’s not raining. There’s no ominous thunder. No, it’s broad daylight when it all happens, but even if it were the blackest of starless, moonless nights, it would make no difference. There’s so much blinding radiance, it eclipses the sun. Bright lights sparking out of wands hit each other hit their targets blast stone and metal and wood concrete bringing down walls and roofs cracking asphalt bending lampposts crashing windows there’s glass flying stones shards shrapnel people scream run vehicles crash fire smoke  death.

Death is everywhere.

The opponents attack each other mercilessly with curses, hexes, anything that might damage break rip tear crack slash split kill.

It’s all about the kill count now.

Human casualties are piling up, but it’s unavoidable. This is war. In war, people die. Innocents die. It cannot be helped.

But Celestia doesn’t care about any of it right now. The opinions the debates the press the conflicts the skirmishes the dead the destruction the palpable fear like lead on the tongue the horrors not anything no. She runs, Apparates, bounces off an energy shield cast by whoever, falls on her back, hits her head, sees stars. Clenching her teeth and groaning, she pushes herself to her feet, wipes a sweat-and-blood soaked strand of hair out of her forehead with a slippery, shaky hand. She totters, breathes, blinks blindly in the haze of all that smoke listens takes in the cacophony of curses screams horns honking windows exploding the wounded weeping orders being shouted names called sirens approaching dear God.

A curse hits her in the side. Pain explodes in her entire body. Agony. Fire. Torture. Oh God oh no what is this it’s hell it’s death it’s oh God oh God like having a hole drilled into her ribcage filled with molten gold lava fire. She can’t even scream as she goes down on her face, hits her forehead, thrashes gasps gags vomits oh no is this the end it can’t be she has to find it has to make it has to succeed can’t stop can’t give up can’t die.

No. No!

Barely realising that she’s weeping, she props herself up on one elbow, mops blood out of her eyes, spits bile, crawls forward, broken and ignored. So many important people here. So many fates being decided. A lone Prewett daughter doesn’t catch anyone’s eye. Even if, she’s between the battle lines, inching forward painfully, clawing at pieces of broken asphalt with her torn fingernails and dragging herself ahead bit by bit, trying desperately to stomp down the growing dread that she is about to fail her mission.

Celestia Prewett is dying, and nobody cares. She doesn’t care all that much, either, not the way things are going, but she needs to find it. If she doesn’t, she’ll fail, and if she fails, everything that ever mattered to her will be lost…

8 …she needs to find her way to the house, to Alastair, amid all the chaos the pain the despair the disorientation but she’s bleeding and blinded and in so much pain oh dear oh God oh it can’t end this way it can’t after all this time Alastair…

…there’s shade covering her, suddenly, and the rustle of wings blotting out the glare of sun and ice and curses.

Someone yells, “Stupefy!” twice – a voice she knows. There’s the thud of feet landing hard on the cracked asphalt. “Vulnera sanentur,” the voice says, and suddenly, the pain stops. It stops! “Celestia. We haven’t got much time. Come on!”

That…what?

Hands grab her under her armpits and haul her up. “Sorry, but we’ve no time. They’re still trying to figure out the Hippogriffs – especially my brother – but the shock won’t last for long.”

Before Celestia can shake off her own state of shock, the newcomer has helped her onto the back of a huge, silver-feathered Hippogriff. “Newt,” she hears herself say.

He gets up on the creature behind her and nudges it, getting it to flap its wings and rise into the air. “This is gonna work, Celestia, but you have to listen to me. Please, listen to me. I know how to save everyone.”

They rise up. All around them, battle rages, but a group of Hippogriffs is keeping their coast clear. As they approach the house, the air gets icy cold.

Celestia’s stomach lurches. She grabs on tightly to the Hippogriff’s neck, tries hard to fight off the sensation of vertigo. Stars and black splotches dance merrily across her field of vision. “Okay,” she manages to croak out through clenched teeth (and isn’t the sensation of her blood-caked clothes clinging to her healed side just the nastiest?), “I’m listening.”

It’s hard to believe that the tide has turned her way, now, even with all of these brave friends so willing and ready to help her.

She knows she can’t fail, must not fail, but something horrible still lurks in the shadows, waiting to waylay her at the home stretch.

The Hippogriff dives, heads for the house’s back entrance.

9 They can’t fly into the house because the ripped-open back entrance is beginning to freeze shut. The Hippogriff won’t fit through it without getting hurt on the glistening ice stalagmites and stalactites. Therefore, the creature lands right in front of the broken door.

“Either there’s a bunch of Aurors in there,” Newt says, helping Celestia, whose legs are rubbery, down to the ground, “or they were just arrogant enough to believe that you’d never get this far.”

She adjusts the straps of her rucksack. The thing inside it, magically contained or no, is growing colder, now. The chill numbs her back and radiates up and down her body. In fact, she’s so cold, it’s a marvel she’s still holding onto her wand. “They didn’t count on me having so much support. It’s nice to have friends.” She manages to smile at Newt. “Thank you for being here.”

He nods. “Of course.” The matter-of-factly certitude that he says that in is just a little bit heart-breaking.

Farther away, things explode. People scream. Hippogriffs screech. Something apparently bursts into flames. The sirens have stopped. Have some of the Aurors busied themselves with obliviating Muggles?

Doesn’t even matter right now.

Celestia can see the glare of burning trees from the corner of her eyes. “We need to be careful.” She sets into motion, Newt by her side.

Inside, Nocturna is waiting for them, wand at the ready.

10 Nocturna sees Tia and that insipid Scamander boy walk into the glittering winter landscape that is the Fawley living room side by side, almost timidly. Both have their wands in hand. Tia is wearing a rucksack on her back. The poor girl is dishevelled and pale, her face and clothes caked in drying blood. She seems okay, thought. Scamander must have healed her wounds before they got critical. Good. Good, good.

But this damned situation.

“You shouldn’t have abandoned me, sister,” Nocturna says, putting emphasis on the last word purely for dramatic effect. “Didn’t do you any favours, did it? Following Petronius and leaving me behind?” She motions about. “Here we are, united again.” Right behind her lies Alastair, on the verge of moving on from his year-long sleep. She sees Tia’s eyes widen at the side of him, sees colour draining from her face.

“You need to let me save him,” Tia says, her voice only trembling slightly. She herself is shaking, though. Her breath comes out of her mouth in white puffs. It’s so goddamn cold.

“Give me the frozen heart, and then we can both use it,” Nocturna counters, and holds out a hand – the hand that isn’t grasping a wand.

“No.” That’s Scamander. He turns to Tia, looks at her intently. “That’s not how it works. This isn’t a cow that can be milked. The frozen heart can only be activated once. It’s not to be used.” There’s disdain in his voice – almost contempt. “This isn’t an object, Celestia. It’s a living thing. It belongs to the Hibernus Horridus. Only if you return it to its rightful owner can all wrongs be righted.” A small silence ensues. “Trust me.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Nocturna says, realising how clichéd that sounds, but unable to think of anything better at short notice. The cold has got inside her, it seems, crept into her bones, her veins, her innards. She can’t feel her feet anymore – her fingers, ears, and nose either, come to think about it. Every muscle in her body is tense. Her teeth are clenched. “We can work together, the two of us. I’ll help you save Alastair, and then you can just let me leave here quietly. I’ll never get in your way again, but I need that thing, Tia! The movement needs it!”

“Celestia,” Scamander says, sounding calm and – damn him – warm, “no. This isn’t how the frozen heart works. We couldn’t quite lift its mystery whilst on the road together, remember?”

Keeping her eyes and her wand fixed on her sister, Tia says, “I remember.”

“Tia…”

But Scamander pays her no heed. “You read something about making a sacrifice, the ultimate sacrifice, and that’s correct…but you still came to the wrong conclusion.”

“And you know better now?” Tia’s voice has started to tremble.

“Tia, please, you need to think of the greater good, here.”

Still, Scamander ignores Nocturna, and says, “I do know better now. I do. The sacrifice you need to make is not your life, Celestia. This isn’t about death. It’s the opposite.”

Briefly, Tia breaks eye-contact with Nocturna to glance at her intrepid companion (nauseating, that is). “I don’t understand.”

“Death,” he says, sounding so kind, it sets Nocturna’s teeth on edge even worse than they already are, “is not what you’ve always feared the most. Fear of death is not the greatest obstacle you have to face. Besides, whatever revives a frozen heart can never be loss of life, can it?” As he puts a hand on her shoulder, Nocturna realises that he knows her sister better than she does at this point. How depressing. “So what do you need to do to solve this puzzle?”

For a moment, the whole world – it seems – holds its breath.

Tia’s eyes fill with tears. She glances at Alastair, at Scamander, then faces Nocturna again. “I was always afraid, you know. I suppose you don’t, because you left so early and never looked back, never cared about anything anymore but your ideology.”

Nocturna’s stomach clenches. “That’s not true.”

“But that’s your life, and I needed to live mine. And I…” She trails off, sniffles, blinks. Tears spill down her cheeks. Clear snot runs out her nose. She wipes it all away with her sleeve. Doesn’t matter, does it? It’s too late for cleanliness and decorum, now, anyway. “I lived my life in fear: fear of disapproval, fear of punishment, fear of failure, fear of loneliness. Even my return to Alastair was, in the end, driven by fear. It taints every single one of my decisions.” She chews on her lower lip. The knot in which she’s tied her ruddy hair is coming apart. Strands are dangling in front of her face. She barely seems to register this. “I would’ve killed myself out of fear, fear of knowing I couldn’t save Alastair despite my best efforts, fear of being a failure, fear of never seeing my daughter again…fear of all the consequences that surely must be reaped.” Again, she glances at Scamander, before focussing on Nocturna once more. “I’ve never been willing to let go of my fear. It’s like a blanket, you know. It keeps me safe. That’s why you’ve always thought me craven, I suppose – because I was. But not anymore.”

“Tia, no, I-”

“I’m sorry, Nana, but for once – just this once – I have to take a stand and follow my heart, not my fear,” Tia says, her voice now firm, the hand holding her wand steady. Her eyes are still wet, but she no longer weeps. Before Nocturna can make herself unfreeze, Tia says, “Stupefy.”

Nocturna only has time to see bright light hitting her. Then, the world grows dark.

11 This whole enterprise has devolved into a nightmare. Not only a bunch of berserk broom-flyers have shown up to mess up what was supposed to be a tightly controlled operation, but now, there’s all the Hippogriffs from Theseus’s parents’ home!

How the hell has Newt pulled this off?

Something like jealousy pierces Theseus’s guts as he shoots at the enemy (athletes, civilians, innocents). The Hippogriffs have always liked his little brother a lot more – all magical creatures have, actually.

Damn it.

Why couldn’t Newt stay at home like he was supposed to?

At least Leta isn’t here.

He sees Graves – cold and reserved and utterly under control – trying to make his way toward the Fawley house. Bracing himself against the inevitably following attacks, Theseus breaks into a run.

12 “What do I do now, Newt?” Celestia says, calm, as if she’s realised that the world is about to end and that fearing this has become pointless. She’s pocketed her wand and is already shrugging out of the rucksack. There’ll be frostbite on her back – nothing that can’t be cured, of course, but it must be painful despite the numbness. “I’m listening.”

“You need to reunite the frozen heart with the Hibernus Horridus,” he says, glancing at the door.

Swiftwing is there, guarding it. It won’t be easy to get past her, wands or no wands. She’s being aided by her family, after all.

Celestia plucks the heart out of the rucksack – it’s still shielded by magic – drops the rucksack, and heads over to the immobile, white-furred, ice-crusted shape of the Hibernus. She says, “Now, I suppose I give it back to its rightful owner.”

“Yes.”

“All right. All right.” She gently places the pulsing, bright-blue, spiky heart atop the creature, pulls out her wand again, and removes the shielding charm with a flick of her wrist.

Immediately, the room is flooded in blue light. The heart beats faster, sparkles, glares, and then-

Oh, Newt has to shield his eyes, that flash of light is so bright!

Celestia opens her eyes after a few seconds, turns around, walks over to Alastair’s lifeless body, and drops to her knees. “I risked everything now, Alley,” she says so quietly, it’s almost inaudible, “even though I have no guarantees that this will work, even though there is no safety net…even though I don’t even believe that this can work. But I risked it, anyway, because I need to not be fearless, but accept my fear and take this greatest risk of my life anyway.” She bends down and kisses his icy forehead. “I love you.”

Behind her, the Hibernus stirs. It’ll be a while until it wakes, but it is alive…

…so is Alastair. The ice on his face melts. He sucks in a sharp, ragged breath and sits up abruptly, almost colliding with Celestia. When she puts her arms around him, he hugs her back slowly, sluggishly, clearly confused. “My, my, Miss Prewett,” he says, his voice raspy, “you wouldn’t believe the dreams I’ve had.”

13 That’s when there’s commotion at the door. Newt hurries over. He can hear his brother’s voice. Well, Swiftwing won’t attack him, nor will she have any of the others do so, but she won’t let him pass without Newt’s okay, either.

“Newton, I know you’re in there! Stop trying to play the hero and let us in!”

Newton? No, scratch that: us? All right, then.

Theseus sounds exasperated more than anything – which would be rather amusing under different circumstances – but not stressed out. The ice inside the house is disappearing rather than melting, Alastair Fawley and his parents are awake, and the Hibernus is breathing yet asleep. It stands to reason that the thick coat of ice covering the house and surrounding grounds has disappeared, as well. There isn’t any battle noise coming in from outside anymore, either.

At least that’s over.

Still, thinking that there are probably several people out there who’ve lost their lives makes Newt pretty queasy. There’s been death, and for what? Because some let ambition weigh heavier than decency. He heads over, says to Swiftwing, “Easy, now. Please let them pass.”

Readily enough, she does, unblocking the way for Theseus and a man Newt doesn’t know – tall, slim, pale-skinned, dark-haired, and in his forties, he has the air of someone who’s used to wielding authority.

Theseus, of course, wastes no time pushing past both Swiftwing, whom he regards with wounded reproach, and his brother.

“It’s done,” Newt says, watching as both newcomers step into the still de-icing house. “Celestia did what I said she would: she saved the Fawleys.”

Theseus stomps into the living room, sees the Hibernus, and points his wand at it.

“Wait, no!” Newt scrambles after his brother, skids past him, and gets directly in the line of fire. “Don’t hurt it! It’s not dangerous!”

Even though Theseus clearly isn’t going to AK his own brother, he stares at Newt as if the latter has gone mad. “Because of this monster, over a dozen people have been killed here and in the United States!”

Newt shakes his head. “No. Because of humans trying to exploit the Hibernus, people have been killed. It didn’t do anything but defend itself. It caused no death. Look around! The frozen people are alive and well.”

Alastair and Celestia are still kneeling on the floor, clinging to each other for dear life. His parents are sitting side by side, hugging, still looking rather dazed and confused. Celestia’s belligerent sister is lying on her back, unconscious. The Hibernus sleeps, breathing deeply.

“Is she dead?” The man behind Theseus says, betraying no emotion. He chins toward the stupefied Nocturna Prewett. Aha. An American, then – probably Theseus’s MACUSA counterpart. He’d fit the bill, in any case.

“Just knocked out,” Newt says, then locks eyes with his brother again. His own heart is hammering. His face feels hot. How can he make the others understand how precious the Hibernus Horridus is? That it isn’t just a beast, a monster that needs to be eradicated if it can’t be exploited? “Theseus, please listen to me,” he says, his voice trembling ever so slightly. “This creature is on the brink of extinction. It hasn’t actually harmed anyone. It does not deserve to die just because a bunch of witches and wizards wanted to use part of its body for nefarious purposes. Please, please don’t kill it. It’s not dangerous.”

A small, heavy silence ensues.

Finally (and thankfully), Theseus lowers his wand. He’s decided to go the way of reason. Thank God. “Petronius Flint is dead,” he says, addressing Celestia.

In Alastair’s arms, Celestia bursts into sobs.

Alastair holds her tighter, buries his face in her messy, knotted hair, and makes soothing noises.

Clearly not caring, Theseus goes on, “So is his paramour, Mister Domingo. So are six others of the Appleby Arrows. Three of my Aurors have died. Ares Malfoy was killed in America. Two other wizards were murdered by Flint. Tell me, Miss Prewett, why I shouldn’t arrest you on the spot.”

Celestia, however, is not in any condition to reply.

“Well, Miss Prewett? Stop crying your crocodile tears and answer me.”

That’s just cruel, in Newt’s opinion. “Because she hasn’t committed any crimes,” he says, before Celestia feels compelled to peel herself out of Alastair’s iron grip. “She got the frozen heart away from the Grindelwald fanatics and saved the Fawleys and the Hibernus Horridus.”

That’s when Alastair finally seems to realise that there are more people around than his sweetheart. “Wait, what?” He gives Celestia a confused look, then notices Nocturna. “What’s she doing here?”

Judging by the expression on Celestia’s blotchy, blood-crusted, tear-and-snot-streaked face, the sickle just dropped in her mind, as well. Laboriously, she gets to her feet, holds out a hand, and helps Alastair do the same.

He totters toward his parents and helps them up, in turn.

Celestia looks from Newt to Theseus to the stranger – the American – in confusion. “That’s an excellent question. The whole place was guarded by Aurors. How did my sister get in here?”

“She must have used the overall confusion as cover,” the American said, nonchalant.

“In any case, we’re taking her in for questioning,” Theseus adds, after exchanging a look with the American. “Mister Graves, you’re probably gonna want to be there when that happens.”

The American – Graves – nods.

“It’s done, now,” Celestia says, wiping tears and grime and snot and coagulated blood from her face with her coat sleeve. She looks from one to the other, but her eyes linger on Graves the MACUSA bloke. “The frozen heart didn’t end up in the hands of criminals or those who would’ve used it only for defensive purposes.” She says this with obvious contempt. “No-one will use it now but the creature it actually belongs to.” Her eyes fill up with tears again. She sniffles. Her face contorts as she tries to regain control over herself. “If you had all just let me find it and bring it back, all these people wouldn’t have died. Ronny-” Her voice breaks. She slaps her hands to her face. Her breathing becomes ragged, laborious.

Alastair is there almost immediately to take her in his arms.

Neither Theseus nor Graves have anything to say to that, but they don’t look all too happy at the criticism.

“What are we supposed to do with the beast?” Theseus says, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Take it some place unpopulated,” Newt says, “where it can be safe from humanity.”

“And who’s supposed to do that?”

Newt shrugs. “I’ll do it. Won’t be a problem.”

“Newt-”

“I’ll help you,” Alastair cuts in, earning himself Theseus’s glare of ire. “I’m pretty sure the lovely Miss Prewett will do the same.”

Having herself somewhat under control again, she breaks off the embrace and nods. “Yes. Of course.”

That’s sweet. Newt can’t help but feel heartened. He smiles a little. “Thank you.”

“And now, please excuse me,” Celestia says, “I want to pay my respects to the dead.” She takes Alastair by the hand and together, they walk outside.