A/N Hey there! Apologies for not posting this last week. Have two chapters to make up for it!

Chapter Two: Of Trespassers and Thieves

Newt nursed a beer in the corner of the village pub, hoping that his attempts to remain inconspicuous weren't conspicuous in themselves.

Tina had always been much better at this bit than he had. She could casually stroll into a bar knowing she'd arrested half the clientele and make herself completely at home, chatting about nothing whilst observing everything. Newt was fairly sure that his own attempts to blend in made him even more noticeable than when he wasn't trying. He sighed. He missed Tina. It had been almost a decade since he'd attempted to infiltrate a smuggling ring alone, and he had grown used to having his wife there as a friend, a partner-in-crime, and an excellent bodyguard when things got messy. But she had been called away to do some undercover work on a high-profile case, and she was expected to be away for at least a fortnight. She'd throw a fit when she found out Newt had decided to deal with this one on his own, but he couldn't afford to wait lest the smugglers moved or worse, the Ministry got there first. Besides, they'd both been so busy with their respective jobs that they hadn't travelled properly in months, and Newt was getting a serious case of itchy feet. He'd just have to make it up to her when he got back. Nevertheless, he felt a little lost without her and he yearned for her listening ear and her brilliant mind to help him untangle the threads of the strange situation he'd landed himself in. The events of the morning had rattled him more than he'd like to admit.

He had been left standing by the merrily crackling fire, wrapped in his strange rescuer's cloak, calling fruitlessly for him to wait. His reaction to magic had been terrifying to witness: Newt guessed that perhaps he had been mistaken for some sort of vengeful deity, maybe those 'Mayer.' It was strange: most magical part-humans had at least some understanding of the existence of wizards, but it was as if the creature had never seen one before in his life. Newt could guess the creature's thought process up to that point, but after that it all became one big confusing mess. When Newt had demonstrated his ignorance of the 'Mayer,' he thought that the panic was over and he had successfully communicated that he wasn't some sort of god to be feared. But then, why had he run? Just before he fled, he'd worn the strangest expression: a sort of wistful yearning combined with a terrible resignation. Newt didn't understand what he'd done to provoke such a response: all he'd offered was his name.

He had seriously debated attempting to track his enigmatic discovery, but eventually decided against it. Although the wounds on the creature's hands were horrific, they looked like old wounds rather than recently inflicted ones, so treating them could wait if necessary. Newt was a little concerned about what would happen if the smugglers got wind of him, but with his strength and speed he should be able to escape. And one of the most important rules Newt had learned through dealing with his creatures, and occasionally with humans, was that sometimes you have to let them hide. There were spaces in all his creatures' habitats that he made sure not to enter whilst the creature was inside, save in the direst emergency; respecting their need for their own private spaces helped to solidify their trust in him. Given that Newt's newest find already seemed wary of his magic, pursuit would probably give the wrong impression. A search of the rock face revealed more firewood, some folded clothing and few basic tools cleverly hidden in the fissures, so presumably their owner would have to come back at some point. Newt would take a step back and treat it more like an observation: he would return to this beach at the next opportunity and seat himself a good distance away, then watch and wait. He kept the cloak, intending to use it as a peace offering – he could place it a few yards away from him and hope that the creature would find the courage to approach him and get it back.

All that aside, he needed to apply himself to the problem of the smugglers and not let his confusion and hurt on his new friend's behalf get the better of him. He idly sketched another doodle of the creature's face while he ran through what he knew about the smugglers and their potential plans, which was, admittedly, not a lot. Several hints had led him to believe that there were multiple members hiding in the village, and that they were communicating by objects enchanted with a Protean Charm. The trouble was, he'd identified six wizards and a Protean Charm could be applied to literally any object, though unremarkable ones were usually chosen to help avoid detection. Five of the wizards were currently in the pub, and he inspected each of them in turn, trying to channel Tina's cool and calm demeanour and make his glances appear nonchalant and random.

Two of them were at a corner table, on their second round of drinks and animatedly conversing in Norwegian- the general hubbub of the environment made it impossible to hear their words clearly. One was relaxing, alone, reading a newspaper. One was sitting at a large table surrounded by muggle fishermen, apparently completely at home in their company, gesticulating as wildly as the rest of them as they shared anecdotes. The last was leaning on one elbow at the bar, chatting in a low voice to the barman: the topic was making him scowl and scrub his worksurface harder than he needed to. The latter circumstance was the most suspicious, so Newt meandered over and caught the tail end of something about big business and the future of village pubs; disappointingly it seemed that the wizard was just absent-mindedly agreeing with the ranting barman and allowing him to work himself up. Newt bought another drink to justify his movements and was beginning to despair of ever moving forward in his investigation when he noticed the man check an ornate silver pocket watch before slipping it back into his waistcoat.

Newt's first thought on seeing it was that he wanted one. It was the kind of impractical thing he didn't really need- practically an invitation for Niffler trouble, too- but it would go marvellously well with his usual waistcoat-and-bow-tie look. He could wear it to book signings and then he would have something to fiddle with when the pressure of people's expectations made him nervous. However, his internal resolutions of getting himself a pocket watch were interrupted by the far more important observation that the man made a slightly odd hand movement around it before flipping it open: almost as if checking the temperature. Newt began to suspect that he'd found his Protean object. The man narrowed his eyes when he saw him looking.

"Good watch," Newt commented rather lamely, and the man grunted something that might have been "thank you," though his expression was stony, before turning back to resume his conversation with the barman. Newt returned to his spot even more convinced that that was it- the man had been far too defensive about a simple compliment on his pocket watch. The next step was to work out if anyone else had one. He sat back and sipped his beer contemplatively, letting his gaze roam around the room, watching for a flash of silver on any of his other suspects. He was beginning to think that maybe the other smugglers weren't there when the man at the table with the fishermen stood up and raised his tankard, and his fellows toasted him and laughed as he brought his tale to a triumphant conclusion. But far more interestingly for Newt's purposes, there was a silver chain extending from one of his belt loops into his trouser pocket.

Two in his sights, and Newt felt the thrill of the chase wake him up and put him on hyper alert. He considered his next options and realised that the most effective plan was going to require all of his courage. But, the welfare of magical creatures was at stake, so he made the necessary preparations, took a sizeable swig of beer, approached the table of rowdy fisherman and said in his heavily accented Norwegian,

"Please can I join you?"

Their banter stopped immediately as if someone had cast a silencing spell, and the eight men at the table all turned to stare at Newt, who dropped his gaze and squirmed uncomfortably, knowing he was being judged and found wanting, and he had just committed something of a faux pas in attempting to muscle in on this close-knit community. Ironically, it was actually the smuggler who took pity on him, glancing at his fellows before pulling up a spare chair and grinning in a way that made Newt feel a little like prey.

"Yes, yes, Mr English, come welcome!" he said in English, patting the chair next to him. Despite this being exactly the outcome Newt needed, he still felt a little as though he were walking to his execution (and he knew what that felt like) as he gingerly sat down. He also didn't miss the sour look the man at the bar sent his suspected colleague, providing yet more evidence that they were the men Newt was after.

"We're sharing stories of our best catches," he said in Norwegian, and then in English, "Fish! Big fish," sizing with his hands as he did so.

"Yes, yes, I understand," Newt said in Norwegian, and then cringed as the collective eyes of the table turned to him again, obviously taking that as his consent to tell a story and thus cement his inclusion in the group.

I've ridden a kelpie, does that count? he thought somewhat desperately, and marshalling his wits he managed to recount a tussle with a large squid (they didn't need to know exactly how big: it was the Hogwarts Giant Squid) in slow but passable Norwegian. The men's smirks were probably more to do with his linguistic errors than the humour in the story, but as he rather awkwardly tailed off, one of the others picked up the thread and he slumped back in his seat in relief. Seeing this, the smuggler, a large, open-faced, sandy-haired man, chuckled and clapped his shoulder, making him wince a little even as he smiled nervously back. It always amazed him whenever he encountered smugglers outside of busts, that people capable of such cruelty to other beings could appear so friendly to fellow humans. It remained one of the things he'd never understand about his own species. He was relieved that he was permitted to relax and stay quiet for the rest of the conversation, simply attempting to follow the others' cues and laugh in appropriate places. Once he'd allowed enough time, he feigned accidentally knocking his tankard off the table – it didn't take much acting, he was so jittery anyway – apologised and ducked down to pick it up. Extraordinarily for Newt's plans, everything was working perfectly.

The chain was gone from his neighbour's pocket, as were a few shoe buckles, and Helga the Niffler (released from his pocket earlier while they were preoccupied with Newt's story) was scampering towards his now-empty tankard and the sparkly earring he'd hidden in there earlier for exactly this purpose. Just as she dived for her prize, he used the tankard to scoop her up and deposit her back in his magically extended pocket, buttoning it and keeping his hand there to prevent her getting out again. The one thing he'd missed (he relied too much on Tina's reminders, he thought ruefully) was a silencing charm on his pocket. He surfaced and replaced his mug on the table to a chorus of irritated grunts and some very strange looks from his fellows.

"Sorry. Sore stomach," he said, faking a wince and stroking his hand where it rested over his jacket pocket near his abdomen, which had the double purpose of soothing Helga and making it seem like he had a stomach ache. Fortunately the table seemed to accept that, there were a few jibes about how the Englishman couldn't take a proper drink, and the conversation resumed.

It had gone off without a hitch. Newt still couldn't quite believe it, and his fingers twitched for his wand, since surely the hexing must be about to start if things were going this well. He was just working out how to extract himself without causing suspicion when it happened. Helga let out a distressed squeal and once again the incredulous gazes of the assembled fishermen were on him.

"Stomach again. Sorry. Feel bad. Need to go," he explained in garbled Norwegian, and he hurriedly headed outside to a mixture of concerned inquiries and jests about the puny British alcohol tolerance. Trying to confirm his story, he fairly staggered out of the pub and around the corner, finding a quiet spot and quickly extracting Helga, who thrust the pocket watch at Newt with much disgruntled chittering.

"Well, that's a first. You're actually giving me one of your shinies voluntarily," he muttered, pocketing the warm watch and realising what had happened.

"I'm so sorry Helga," he sighed guiltily. "I should have predicted this. Did it burn you?" He probed her pouch carefully but found no obvious injuries: the sudden heat as the Protean charm activated must have simply startled her, and now she wanted nothing more to do with the traitorous thing. He plucked out a coin as a reward, opened his case and threw it in, watching Helga scamper happily after it, her trauma forgotten.

"Thanks for your help," he smiled as she went, then firmly closed the case and turned his attention to the pilfered pocket watch. He flipped it open and realised that he had somehow managed to time this theft exactly right. The engraving on the inside of the lid read:

NEW CAPTURE. COME AT ONCE.

Maglor ran for almost the entire day.

He probably could have stopped after an hour or so, but he knew that he needed to be as far away from Newt as was physically possible. Because then he wouldn't have the chance to turn back, introduce himself, let him see the burn scars, soak up that look of worry all for him that, despite the painful memories, he desperately wanted to see again. It was as if he were outrunning temptation itself.

His knowledge of this entire coast, built up over the last millennia, had him taking detours through forests to avoid settlements, scrambling over boulders, darting through dunes, and periodically running through the sea so even the very light footsteps he left in the sand couldn't be followed. Just as dusk was closing in, he finally made it to a cave he'd last used around a decade ago. He needed to move on, at any rate, he'd been in the same area for too long. The more he moved, the less chance that the humans would find him and interfere with his solitary penance. He would have to go back for his supplies, such as they were, but he should give Newt time to lose interest in him first. He could manage until then. Quickly checking for witnesses, he slipped into the narrow fissure of the cave entrance and followed the passage through to the cavernous expanse he knew lay beyond it. He stepped out into the space and froze.

There hadn't been cages here a decade ago.

One side of the cavern was occupied by a long rectangular cage, containing three brown rodent-like creatures, essentially overgrown ferrets, which were letting out a steady stream of incomprehensible babble as they tussled and nipped at each other- their language resembled a mixture of the two languages Newt had spoken earlier, strangely enough. He should have been able to hear it from outside, but weirdly it had been completely silent until he crossed the threshold into the cavern. Smaller containers were piled on top of that one, though they seemed to contain nothing but tiny green dots. There were also tanks housing some creatures Maglor recognised from his excursions into the North Sea: slug-like things with a bulbous sack on one end, which he'd learnt from bitter experience could emit a horribly painful venom when provoked. Shelves had been constructed opposite all this, containing jars and boxes of miscellaneous items for which Maglor could only guess at the uses. One thing was certain; his safe hideout was no longer so, and he needed to do leave immediately. He swivelled on his heel to head out again, when he heard a loud crack from outside.

His breath caught in his chest. It was too loud for a branch snapping under someone's foot, so it was probably just rockfall from the cliffs outside. But they looked stable when I came in, I checked, his brain supplied, inconveniently undermining that hypothesis. Just in case a person had caused the noise, Maglor pressed himself against the cave wall a few feet away from the entrance. Hopefully he could slip out behind whoever was coming in and they never need know he'd been there. His suspicions were proved horribly right when he heard breathing and footsteps approaching. He hardly dared blink. A woman dressed in navy robes that wouldn't have looked out of place in the First Age strode in- and worryingly, she looked to be on alert. She had one of those sticks held out before her, like the one Newt had used earlier, and a light flared at its tip- had all humans gained Maia-like abilities then? Maglor realised with a sinking heart that she was checking the area, just as she began to turn in a wide circle. Changing his plan quickly as he anticipated being seen, he bolted for the entrance, hoping his speed would let him escape. He hoped in vain, however.

He heard a strange and ominously purpose-filled shout,felt his entire body go totally stiff, and fell, unable to control his descent. His forehead slammed into the rock wall as he went down, and everything went black.

On second thoughts, the timing of Newt's Protean-charmed pocket watch theft wasn't completely fortuitous. As the sandy-haired man rounded the corner, all joviality gone from his demeanour, and pure fury in its place, Newt realised what had happened. Since two of the smugglers had been in the pub when the message came through, the one at the bar must have left, prompting the other to check for a watch which wasn't there and connect its disappearance to the odd Englishman who had randomly intruded on their storytelling session. In the few seconds before he found himself grasped by the collar and shoved against the wall, Newt saw a way of using the situation to his advantage. The watch had told him they had captured a new creature, but not where they were holding him. He might be able to use these circumstances to rectify that. It was daring, but that had never stopped him before. The man snarled a string of insults at him in Norwegian, the gist being that he was a filthy liar and a thief. Newt apologised in the same language, offering the watch back to him with trembling hands and doing his best to look penitent.

"What did you see?" he demanded urgently, his piercing blue eyes narrowed in distrust.

"Only a watch. Not more than watch. Good watch," Newt babbled, cringing at how he sounded but hoping the man would believe him either ignorant or cowardly enough not to pursue the implications of the Protean-charmed object.

"Just an expensive watch you thought you'd take for yourself, eh?"

Newt nodded frantically.

"Regret it now?" he spat, slamming Newt into the wall again, meaning he had to blink the stars away from his vision before he nodded again and replied,

"For my wife, she likes the no-magic things. But sorry, very sorry, won't try it again."

"You better not. And you are one of ours then, I was wondering. Pathetic excuse for a wizard, reduced to petty thieving."

That's rich coming from a smuggler, Newt thought, but kept it to himself, simply mumbling out some more apologies. The smuggler hmphed as he let him down.

"I won't get the aurors involved, but you never come near me again. Understand, English idiot?"

Of course you're not going to get aurors involved, you're a smuggler for Merlin's sake. Newt felt like he was about to nod his head right off, but he accepted the terms with yet more apologies, on tenterhooks to see whether the crucial next step of his plan would work. The smuggler finally seemed satisfied with his responses and grunted at him,

"Go and find some other fool to rob, thief."

Then he strode off with that peculiar gait that signalled impending apparition, and Newt beamed and clutched his suitcase tightly as the smuggler behaved exactly as he'd hoped he would. With a few skips and a huge leap, Newt landed on the man's back just as he started apparating, and despite his yell he couldn't push Newt off or stop the momentum of the apparition. Newt clung on for dear life and together they disappeared into the darkness.