The Mystery of the Frozen Heart

Chapter 8: 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?"