There's lots of things Edmund didn't get a good luck at the first time he met the Witch. She wore a deep hood to hide from the chill air, but he could have sworn he saw pale hair twisted into thick locks. What horror he felt the moment she pushed her hood back and saw each lock rise and writhe, hissing.

He wished he could have told Peter that it wasn't the wand that petrified those unfortunate souls she met, but his tongue is heavy behind unmoving lips, yet another new statue in her frozen garden.