Disclaimer: I'm not J.K. Rowling and I don't work in the film or publishing industries. Therefore, I do not own Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. I'm just playing around in J.K. Rowling's sandbox.
Chapter 1: Hunting a Niffler
The sun glinted off of the water as the steamer tore through the waves of the Atlantic Ocean, heading towards New York. It was the fourth day of a two-week journey from Dublin, Ireland and the people aboard the ship were already tired of the rocking motion and cramped living space. The businessmen were constantly spreading their paperwork over every available surface, families with screaming children terrorized the deck and tourists happily poured over their maps and documented every aspect of their day in journals and sketchbooks.
One of the few people who didn't fall into one of the categories was Claire Evans. While her parents and much younger brother moved south towards London to advance her father's career, the young woman had decided to part ways and head to America – Land of the Free and Home of the Brave. Growing up in Dublin, she had always been fascinated by all sorts of different plants and animals, but she had not been able to pursue her passion in zoology as it wasn't proper, nor could she afford the formal education required to properly pursue her passions. All her Earthly possessions fit into her small suitcase, and that suited Claire just fine. After all, her most valued possessions were pictures of her parents, one of her whole family, and one of her younger brother Henry. She had a few trinkets that she could sell if absolutely necessary, but those were kept in a small box in her suitcase, until that morning.
Claire was completely convinced that there was a thief on the ship. She had left her suitcase open, turned her back for less than a minute while she was dressing and the trinkets had been stolen. There was no trace of her door being opened or even of someone being in the same room. All she could find was a loose air vent cover and some sort of paw print in the dust. At first Claire had thought that someone had trained a pet to go after things that sparkled, but the prints were unlike any sort she had ever encountered.
She had asked around on the ship to see if any of the other passengers had encountered the animal responsible for the disappearances, but everyone looked at her as though she had lost her mind. It was a look that Claire was very familiar with, but the fact that complete strangers were treating her with such disdain was off-putting to say the least. The only person that her fellow passengers seemed to dislike as much as – if not more than – Claire was a British man with caramel-coloured hair, light blue eyes, pale skin and a tall, thin build. The man always seemed distracted and carried his suitcase with him wherever on the ship he went. She had never had the chance to talk to the man, but he was her last hope and potential ally in catching the little creature.
It was at supper that night on the main deck that she finally managed to speak with him. For such a distracted man he was remarkably well-aware of what was happening around him. She had tried to be quiet so that she would not startle him, but it seemed that she would not have to worry about such things again.
"Good evening," He said, looking at Claire with slight confusion. The man had seen this young woman around the ship, always speaking pleasantly with someone or keeping children occupied while their mothers got some much needed rest.
"Gran' evenin', sir." She said with a large smile. Claire pulled out her sketchbook and flipped through the pages until the she found the one she needed. "Oi'm sorry ter 'assle yer, but 'av yer seen any wee creatures aboard de ship, wi' paw prints loike dis?"
The man just stared at her blankly for a moment, not really understanding her through her thick accent. He managed to understand enough to get the general idea though, so he looked down at the sketchbook to look at the prints. Within two seconds, the blood had rushed out of his face and the glint in his blue eyes went from curiosity and confusion to dread.
"I haven't seen the creature recently, no. I've been trying to find him all day. I'm terribly sorry if he took something of yours, Miss." He said, examining the sketches. They were very good – much better than the sketches he had tried to make for his field guide.
"'Tis not an issue, as long as oi git me things back. Waat sort av creature is it anyways?" Clair asked as he handed the book back.
"A Niffler. They have long noses that are particularly sensitive when it comes to valuables." The man explained as the latch on his case popped open. He sighed through his nose before refastening it.
"Ah've never 'eard av such a creature. Wha ye fend it?" Claire asked as she looked to the latched of the case with curiosity.
"Oh, well Nifflers are native to Britain and are very kind and gentle creatures. Greedy little buggers though." The man said.
"Well, oi wud be 'appy ter 'elp yer root 'im. Wha wud yer Niffl'r be most likely ter 'ide?" She asked, rolling up the sleeves of her dress and sweater, exposing her arms. They were covered in scars from various burns, bite marks and cuts that she had received during her wild childhood, and equally wild adult life.
"He would most likely be in the first class cabins, since they would have the most valuables. But he could also be in the lower decks of the ship, since they like to be burrowed in the ground." The man explained.
"Ah've already asked ev'ryone on de ship if they 'av seen de wee beastie an' they 'enny, so oi doubt 'tis in de cabins."
"Alright then, down to the lower decks we go. I'm Newt Scamander, by the way." He said, holding his hand out to shake. Claire gripped the hand firmly and grinned at the strange man.
"Oi'm Claire Evans. 'Tis nice ter meet yer, Mister Scamander" She said before they headed off towards the staircase, completely forgetting about supper, and the fact that the area was restricted.
"We should probably split up. We can cover more ground that way." Mr. Scamander suggested to Claire as they reached the lowest point in the ship.
"Sounds gran' ter me. Waat does de wee beastie luk loike?"
"A cross between a platypus and a mole," Mr. Scamander said absently, already taking off to look for his Niffler. Claire just rolled her eyes before heading in the opposite direction.
It took about twenty minutes of crawling around in the dust, dirt and animal droppings for Claire and Mr. Scamander to determine that the Niffler was not going to be found on that particular level of the steamer. Claire headed back to the ladder, ducking under beams and pipes, avoiding puddles of hot water and small jets of steam as she went. She attempted to brush some of the filth off of herself, but it was no use.
Mr. Scamander appeared at the base of the ladder not a minute later, looking perfectly clean and composed.
"'Oweya so clean?" Claire asked as she saw the state of the man's clothing.
"How are you so dirty?" Mr. Scamander joked back with a happy smile.
"Oi wus lookin' fer dat damn beast av yers. It seems oi wus lookin' 'arder than yer were." Claire said as she continued to brush herself off.
"I promise you, I was looking just as hard as you were. Perhaps even harder,"
"Sure yer were," Claire grumbled as they made their way up the ladder and started the process over again.
Mr. Scamander had realized his mistake in cleaning himself off when Claire had been so confused about how he had done so. He had thought that perhaps they had similar backgrounds, but it would appear that he was mistaken. He would have to remember to Obliviate her once the Niffler was found. It was a shame – Mr. Scamander quite enjoyed her company, but Muggles weren't supposed to know about creatures such as Nifflers.
Claire crawled through the dust and spider webs, even collecting a few of the little arachnids, but she continued to search for the strange platypus-mole. It was now curiosity and her love of animals that was driving her to search for the Niffler, not her desire to get her trinkets back.
She was just about to head back towards the small staircase that led up to a higher deck when she caught a glimpse of something glittery. She kneeled down, no longer caring about the state of her dress, and looked at the trinket closely. It wasn't one of hers, but it definitely fit the description of things a Niffler would try to take. She looked at the dust around the trinket and saw that it had all been agitated, and about three feet away was a small paw print.
"'Ere beastie, oi 'ill not 'urt yer. If yer cum oyt yer can 'av yer trinket back." Claire said, hoping that the creature would listen to the soothing tone of her voice. From under one of the wooden crates and skids came the tip of a long, flat nose.
"Cum 'ere Mr. Niffler, oi 'av somethin' shiny for yer." She said, holding out the little trinket – which appeared to be a decoration from a woman's shoe – keeping a tight hold on it.
The nose sniffed a bit, and the rest of the creature's little head poked put from under the crate. It was a small creature, and would likely fit in her hands. It was hard to believe that such a small and admittedly adorable creature could cause so much trouble.
"That's it wee wan, cum on oyt." She said sweetly, rubbing her fingers together. She used the same trick to try to get the family cat out from under the bed when her little brother had terrorized the little thing.
Slowly, the rest of the Niffler's little body squeezed out from under the crate and towards Claire.
"That's a gran' Niffl'r. Such a gran' wee beast." Claire said as she picked up the squirming creature.
"Nigh, let's git yer back ter yer daddy." She said as she handed the Niffler the shiny shoe piece. The excitement on the little platypus-mole's face lit up the entire deck of the ship. The Niffler squirmed out of her hands and crawled up her arm to rest on her shoulder, nuzzling against her neck and hiding in the loose blonde curls that had fallen loose from the low bun that usually confined Claire's hair.
"Ain't yer jist de sweetest wee beastie," She murmured, petting the creature on the head before heading back to the staff staircase – which Mr. Scamander had somehow gotten access to.
Claire sat on the steps of the staircase for about ten minutes while she waited for Mr. Scamander to make his appearance. She played games with the Niffler, like fetch. The Niffler was very happy to fetch the little trinkets she threw for it, and occasionally he held still long enough for her to sketch him.
"Mr. Scamander, yer wee beastie is a sweetheart." Claire said when the man finally made his way over, covered in almost as much dust as she was.
"How on Earth did you track him down?" Mr. Scamander asked, looking at Claire with undisguised awe.
"It wasn't murder, once oi found' a trinket ter bribe 'him wi'." Claire said, trying to pass the little Niffler back to his owner.
"I've never thought to do that," Mr. Scamander said, pulling out his field guide to jot something down. "Do you mind if I keep the sketch of the Niffler's paw print, for my field guide?" He asked suddenly.
"Yer want ter keep me drawing? Why? It isn't really dat gran'." She said, opening her sketchbook to the Niffler's prints and tearing the page out.
"It's far more realistic and clear than anything I could hope to make." Mr. Scamander admitted, looking at the details of the sketch once again.
"Yer can keep dis wan too, as long as oi can borrow yer beastie ter draw another." Claire said as she handed over her sketchbook, flipping to the page with the full drawing of the Niffler.
"Really? This is wonderful," Mr. Scamander said, looking closely at the line-work of her drawing.
"'Tis not pure grand, oi'm better at drawin' de things oi imagine, or things oi've studied." Claire said, tucking a strand of her hair back behind her ear.
"Do you mind if I –" Mr. Scamander asked as he slipped his finger under the previous page, getting ready to flip through the book.
"Go roi ahead." Claire said, taking the Niffler back as Mr. Scamander flipped through her sketchpad. It was a small leather-bound book, much like his field guide, and the Brit couldn't help but be impressed with the drawings. The lines were clean and deliberate, and it was obvious that Claire Evans knew exactly what she was doing. She essentially had a non-magical zoology book, as each picture was accompanied by the Latin genus and species, the common name and a quick description of the animal's habitat and traits.
"This is absolutely incredible," Mr. Scamander said, mostly to himself as he flipped through the pages.
"Please, oi nu 'tis not al' dat grand." Clair said as she scratched the Niffler under its' long nose.
"Miss Evans, this is nothing to scoff at, you have a real talent in art and a clear understanding of zoology. I would know, as I'm a magizoologist." Mr. Scamander said, trailing off at the end, not really realizing that he had said 'magizoologist' rather than 'zoologist'.
"Magizoologist? Is dat even a rayle ward?" Claire asked, wondering just how crazy the man was. She knew he was eccentric, but this was ridiculous.
"Of course it's a real word. Just as the Niffler is a real animal." Mr. Scamander said, looking at Claire as though she was the one who was crazy.
"An' waat exactly is a magizoologist. A zoologist dat studies magical creatures?" Claire asked with a huff.
"Exactly, now you're getting it."
"Nigh see 'ere, Mr. Scamander. If yer tink yer can make a eejit oyt av me ye're mistaken." Claire said as her accent thickened in anger. Mr. Scamander just stared at her blankly, not really understanding a word she had just said, other than his name. However, he could tell from her voice and posture that she was far from pleased.
"I think there's been a mistake. I didn't mean to insult you. I'm terribly sorry if I have." Mr. Scamander said sincerely.
"Are ye at laest gonna explain waat yer mean by magical creatures?" Claire asked.
"I suppose it's for the best that I do. Follow me." Mr. Scamander said, taking off up the stairs, not looking back to ensure that Claire was following him. Claire sighed as she began to climb the stairs, trying to catch up with the long-legged man.
"Mr. Scamander, wha ye takin' me?" Claire asked as she finally caught up to the man, a deck below the passengers' 2nd class cabins.
"To my suitcase. Everything I need to explain is there." Mr. Scamander explained.
"Why, do yer 'av more journals in it?" Claire asked as they entered his cabin. Mr. Scamander kept the door open, as was proper.
"I probably do somewhere, but that isn't what I want to show you." Mr. Scamander said, opening his suitcase on his bed. From where Claire was standing, it seemed empty. That was when Mr. Scamander got up onto his bed, stood up and stepped in. It was like he was going down a ladder, slowly descending into the suitcase. Claire blinked several times to try and clear her vision, but not even rubbing her eyes and pinching herself brought her back out of what she had begun to think was just a dream. She rushed over to the suitcase to peer inside, seeing nothing but a small light. She picked up the case and – keeping it level – looked at the bottom as well as the sides. She knocked on it several times to ensure that it wasn't a false bottom and repeated her actions with the sides, but there was nothing wrong with the case itself. She placed the suitcase on the floor and began to check the bed, patting it down and removing the covers, before remaking the bed.
Determined to figure out what the trick was, Claire grabbed an umbrella and stuck it in the suitcase, not reaching the bottom. She stuck her arm in along with the umbrella, roughly doubling the length but still couldn't reach the bottom of the case. She pulled her arm and umbrella out of the case, only for Mr. Scamander's hand to pop out of the case and motion her closer. She leaned over the case and – making what she considered to be an absolutely idiotic decision – stuck her head in the case.
The interior of the case was incredible! It was as though she had stuck her head through some sort of portal. The inside of the case looked like a shed and was stocked with various bags of food, a cutting block, cured and fresh meat as well as a research table. The top of the case had a ladder leading up, so she had been correct when she had thought that Mr. Scamander looked as if he was descending a staircase or ladder.
"Well, Miss Evans, no need to just stick your head in. Come on down." Mr. Scamander said as he began to cut up some of the fresh meat. Claire pulled her head back out of the suitcase and stepped in, checking to make sure her foot didn't slip off of the first peg as she lowered herself down into the suitcase.
"Dis is it, ah've lost me mind." She mumbled as she reached the bottom of the ladder, looking up to see a small shining light from the entrance to the suitcase.
"I promise all of this is quite real." Mr. Scamander said as he helped her sit down on a barrel of what had been labeled 'beetle eyes'.
"Do yer 'av any idea 'oy many scientific laws yer suitcase is breakin' roi nigh?" Claire asked as she tried to take deep breaths.
"I've never studied Muggle law or science." Mr. Scamander muttered. Claire glanced at the oblivious man out of the corner of her eye.
"Waat de 'ell is a Muggle?" Claire asked, choosing to keep the conversation flowing. Mr. Scamander had a remarkably soothing voice. It probably had something to do with the soft tenor of his voice and his refined accent. It was much nicer to listen to than her heavy Irish accent.
"A Muggle is a human with no magic, or no access to magic."
"An' oi suppose yer want me ter believe dat magic is real?" Claire asked, undoing her hair and letting it fall around her shoulders before flipping her head upside down and redoing the bun at the top of her head. It was a normal task that soothed her. The fingers running through the golden curls, caressing her scalp had always helped ease her mind.
"I want you to believe whatever you think is the truth. But reserve your judgement until I've shown you around some more." Mr. Scamander said to her, putting the freshly cut meat in a bucket and taking her hand. It was all bloody, but Claire couldn't care less.
"Oi tink someone managed ter drug me while we were searchin' for yer Niffl'r. 'Allucination is de only explanation." Claire said as he opened the shed door to expose the rest of the suitcase's interior. There were canvas paintings that divided the case into geographical sections. There was a forest, a desert, a recreation of the African savannah and a multitude of other small sections. The canvases were poorly painted, but that wasn't what held Claire's attention. It was the variety of beasts that could only be described as magical that truly captivated her.
In the African Savannah, a beast that looked like rhinoceros with a lowing tumor-like lump on its head was happily basking in the artificial sunlight. In the section that looked like the Arizona desert was an eagle-dragon hybrid of some sort. Mr. Scamander was happily throwing it the large chunks of butchered meat in his bucket. Claire wandered around the suitcase, pinching herself on the back of the hand every time she saw something unbelievable. Therefore, her hands were covered with purple nail marks and the beginnings of bruises.
"Mr. Scamander, 'oy do oi nu oi'm noy dreamin'?" Claire asked as she forced herself away from the strange, llama-like creatures with massive round eyes.
"I'm sorry; I can't understand you with your accent." Mr. Scamander said honestly. Claire understood perfectly; after all, she had been raised in one of the poorest parts of Dublin. She was self-educated, but she hadn't been raised around people with posh, clear accents.
"'Ow do oi nu oi'm not dreaming?" She tried again, mimicking the English speech patterns that the other passengers had.
"I think something like this would be a little far-fetched, even for the most creative of novelists and artists." Mr. Scamander said as he picked up a bucket of food pellets.
"Oi tink yer might be roi in dat assumption Mr. Scamander." Claire said as she followed Mr. Scamander over to the strange alpaca-like animals with wide eyes the size of tennis balls. She absently fed the animals the little floating pellets as she tried to take in what was happening around her.
"They're called Mooncalves, you know. They only come out in the light of a full moon, and their dung will make magical plants grow fast and strong if collected harvested before the sun rises."
"'Oy in de warrld ye figure dat out?" Claire asked as she scratched one of the Mooncalves behind the ears.
"An accident, I assure you." Mr. Scamander said with a goofy looking grin as he rubbed the underside of a Mooncalf's jaw.
"Yer nu, Mooncalf is a name fer a calf wi' birth defects born durin' a full moon." Claire said as she tossed the last of the food pellets.
"Yes actually, that's why they're called Mooncalves." Mr. Scamander said, looking at Claire with a new attitude. Perhaps the woman would be willing to work with him on his field guide, as an artist and researcher.
"Not a pure nice name fer such gran' wee beasties," Claire said as she was lead back towards the forest part of the suitcase.
"I agree, but unfortunately I can't rename them. They've been called Mooncalves for centuries." Mr. Scamander explained as he went over to a particular tree. It was covered in little insects that looked like they were made of twigs and leaves.
"These are Bowtruckles, native to England, Germany and certain parts of Scandinavia. They act as tree guardians for their home trees. They are very peaceful and shy, unless their home tree is threatened." Mr. Scamander explained as he held out his arm to the stick creatures. One of the Bowtruckles happily climbed onto his arm, while the others shied away, moving closer to the trunk of their tree.
"This is Pickett," Newt said as he tickled the Bowtruckle's torso before moving his arm closer to Claire's.
"Oi tart yer said dey're shy, Mr. Scamander." Claire said as Pickett climbed over to her arm.
"Normally they are, but Pickett is a bit of an exception. And please, call me Newt." The magizoologist said with a crooked smile.