The flat was grim and grey. No light patterns broke past the curtains, save an inch of weakened sunlight highlighting the furthest wall. There were no flashy spells, or curious artifacts, or even a bowtruckle to imply that magic existed somewhere outside the front door. Numbly Jacob stared at the broken morphine bottle on the rug. Threads of tiny silver shells were scattered next to the bed. In a few minutes he would find a niffler's nest of shiny objects underneath the headboard, and he would never know what had created it.

He closed his eyes, reliving the last few days. The evil, he would be glad to forget: the stench of blood and infection; the reek of vomit and body fluids; the grey pallor of Newt's face; the cries of pain and confusion; the screams of an angry mob; the fear of discovery; the flash of a dark wizard's wand. Too many remnants of war had taken place in this very room. Yet he would miss the quieted, comfortable breathing of a stranger taken in; the gentle chiding of an old friend looking after the wounded; the scuttle and pinching of a furry niffler; the soft warbling of hungry mooncalves; the red and blue plaid of a hand-sewn quilt; the simple trust of a wizard accepting that Jacob would tend to his beloved suitcase. He would miss Claude.

"All right," Jacob said, heaving a deep breath and turning to face Theseus. "I'm ready."

Grimly Theseus pulled out his wand, leveling it reluctantly at Jacob's eye level. "You understand what I have to do."

"Yup." Bracing his shoulders, Jacob faced him undettered. He was a soldier of the war. He wouldn't play the coward now. "Just look after the kid, okay? Tell him..."

Sensing the gravity of the unspoken, Theseus nodded. "I will."

"Okay, then." Shifting awkwardly, Jacob glanced one more time around the room. "Can I just... Here."

In one last ditch effort, as though his mind screamed to be remembered even though he would never see the kid again, Jacob snatched up a mug from the bedside table and thrust it at the wizard. "For Newt. Ah... it was kind of his favorite."

A terrible, plastic lie, but that was the mug that had borne many a strong broth that he had forced into the kid, keeping him alive. It seemed cheap and heavy in Jacob's hand, even more worthless as Theseus idly accepted it. The edge was chipped from one of Grindelwald's spells. Jacob kicked himself for his sentimentalism. What a stupid thing to give Newt to remember him by. That was Claude's mug, though - it just wasn't right to use it without thinking of him.

"Anything else?" Theseus asked mildly.

"Naw," Jacob mumbled, feeling foolish. Not that it even mattered: the wizards would move on soon enough, and no one would even ponder the fact the Jacob Kowalski existed. "Naw, that's all."

With a sage nod, Theseus tucked the mug into his pocket. "Are you ready?"

Nodding curtly, Jacob raised his chin. "Yup."

So long, Kid.

He flinched as Theseus' wand flicked in an elegant circle - and bopped him softly on the nose.

Amusement flickered in the wizard's eyes.

"Not a word to any of your kind," Theseus said sternly. He spun around and vanished in a whirling crack.

Stunned, Jacob reached behind him, shaky hands finding the bedpost. The strain pulsed in his arms and set his shoulders quivering. He searched the room frantically, waiting for a wizard to reappear and finish the job. He couldn't have been reprieved so easily. Surely Newt's brother wouldn't lie to the President of MACUSA about a dubiously trustworthy No-Maj.

The clock ticked dismally, finally striking the hour, and no one came.

Rubbing his hands over his face, Jacob stared at the chipped, hollow door. It was over, then. Just like that. The wizards were gone, Claude was gone...

Silver glints of shell lay scattered on the carpet, alongside a chip of broken ceramic.

Heaving a gasp, Jacob buried his face in his hands.

The wizards were gone, but their chaos had ransacked the apartment. For three days Jacob swept and scrubbed. He found a woven, lacy net in the curtain that the bowtruckle had spun out of cotton threads. Coffee, tea, and blood stains had settled into the carpet. The window closest to Newt's bed was cracked. Underneath the bunk was a sizeable nest of empty syringes, bottle caps, a pocket can opener, one of Mildred's cheap, flashy earrings, large chunks of silver shell, three pins, Jacob's old watch, a piece of blue glass with a shiny foil label, a chunk of glittering quartz, three tin measuring spoons, a decent pocket knife... and a fancy array of glittering, gold coins.

Jacob didn't know where the money had come from; whether it was the wizard's, the old beggars, some well-to-do stranger's, or - heaven forbid - stolen from the bank itself. He pondered it, weighed the options of reporting it to the police, and decided to count it a stroke of good fortune. In a way, the obnoxious, thieving little niffler had paid for its troubles, and blessed him for caring for its caretaker. Jacob felt a smidgen of guilt for taking money that wasn't officially a reward, but that wasn't difficult to squash.

After all, there were enough debts compiling in order to restore the damage to his apartment. The carpets would have to be replaced, the window restored, and the walls repainted. That would be enough to satisfy the landlord.

It was a few days after the disaster when Jacob heard a timid knock on his door. He paused in the middle of measuring flour, glancing around by habit to make sure the apartment was clear of niffler paw prints and serpent scales. Shaking his head at the audacity of expecting magic in his ordinary house, Jacob brushed off his hands and strode to the door, swinging it open with a grand look of utmost innocence.

"Can I help..."

Trailing off, Jacob swallowed, then swallowed again. He stepped back, cleared his throat, and haplessly reached forward.

"Bill?"

Wearily sweeping a hand over his gaunt face, the old army doctor looked furtively over his shoulder. "Look, Jacob, I know this is a tall order, but I feel like I done gone 'round the bend a few times. Must've fallen over and hit the wall or somethin'. Woke up with an achin' noggin and a bloody streak on the laminal, and now I can't even find three of my patients. Bloody fine doctor that makes me, eh?"

"How - how?" Jacob stammered.

"I know it ain't a typical request o' me," Bill continued without pause, "But I think I'm full due for a cup o' chamomile and a few nods. Mind if I kip over for a few days? I don't trust my own head right now."

"Come in, come in!" Jacob exclaimed, grabbing the doctor's arm. He shut the door hastily, hovering as Bill set down his bag. "Bill, I thought... I thought you were..."

Huffing a laugh, Bill needled a neglected piece of shell out of the carpet. "Fancy that. Maybe I'm not the only one magnetizin' the white coats 'round here. Thought I'd emptied the cracker barrel."

"I thought you were dead!" Jacob breathed. He bustled to clear a chair, shaking his head in wonder as Bill settled in with a contented sigh.

"Wasn't my imagination, then?" Bill mused. "Magic wands and bottled cures, and one scrawny mite you ousted Mildred for?"

"It wasn't a dream," Jacob confirmed. "Bill, you can't tell anyone. You can't!"

"Wha' do you think I am, a loon?" Bill guffawed. "They'd have mah doctor's license if I talked that mop and swill. By my Aunty Fay's garters, Jacob, I thought I was off tah the shiprods when I came to. Loft empty, my spare room in shambles, kid gone..." Bill's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Wha' happened to the foreigner, Jake?"

"Gone," Jacob said glumly. "His brother picked him up. He's fine. Just... gone." Idly he picked up a neglected dusting cloth, then slapped it back onto the side table. "Tea?"

"Coffee, or somethin' stronger," Bill grunted. "Much stronger. I think I'll go on believin' that whole codswallop was a sign tha' I needed a day off five years ago. Never work too hard, Jake. Plays tricks with your brain."

"Yeah," Jacob agreed softly.

"Haven't heard a lick o' the Barebone kiddos," Bill said morosely. "House is empty, no one's lookin' for 'em. Poor Chastity. Wizard's potion would've done her some miracle."

"We gave her a potion," Jacob said, pulling two clean mugs out of the cupboard. "The wizards fixed her, Bill. I don't know what happened to them, but they were all right last I saw them."

Whistling softly, Bill shook his head. "Whaddah ya know. Magic's done us some good an' I don't git the chance to thank someone proper."

"You won't tell anyone, Bill?" Jacob pleaded. "I'm not even supposed to remember any of this."

Bill fixed him with a sober look. "Jacob, I'm a rum awful doctor, but I'm no idjut."

One Year Later

It was a glorious, sunny afternoon, and Kowalski's Bakery was packed with frequenters. Jars of caramels, licorice, and fruity hard candies lined the back shelves. Mouth-watering pastries, puffy scones, powdered dainties, jellied sweets, dusted cookies, crisp and glazed crullers, tart confections, hand pies, sugar loaves, and fresh bread stuffed the counter displays. The sweet and savory baked goods were a favorite among the regulars. Cleverly sculpted creatures made of pinched dough and hardened icing drew the gawkers and thrill seekers of New York. There was a handful of daily customers who had predictable favorites, including one dainty, fair-haired mind reader who had visited so frequently that she had finally been offered a job. She made the best apple strudel in New York, and Jacob dared say it was almost better than his grandmother's recipe.

Queenie was in the back kitchen now, dusting up "something new" with lime slices and powdered sugar for the more eccentric customers. There was a bottle of champagne back there that she didn't know about, and a gold band wrapped inside an apple cinnamon rose, which Jacob hoped to present to her later in the evening - if he could manage to keep it secret, that is. Queenie did tend to know what he was thinking before his mind could fully complete the thought, but she'd been practicing restraining her gift lately, allowing him to surprise her on occasion.

A pretty witch was something special when she pretended to be a No-Maj.

"Curious beasts," a customer commented as he pointed to a few "Raspberry Sea Serpents" in the front display. "I may have seen art of this sort in London. Do you travel abroad, Mister Kowalski?"

"I used to pop around," Jacob said a vague smile. "Would you like a box or a bag?"

He was tying up a parcel of snickerdoodles for a schoolteacher when the door swung open and a smartly dressed man with a suave comb-over strolled into the bakery. Dark eyes flitted unassumingly over the selection of goods, and an eyebrow quirked as the man set eyes on Jacob.

His first thought was Grindelwald. The second was that he'd finally been found out.

Palms clamming up, Jacob tied off the brown cord and handed the teacher her parcel, his voice cracking as he wished her a good day. Assuming a nonchalance expression, he turned to the man in the black coat. "C-Can I help you?"

"Baker's dozen," Graves said lightly, as though wizards habitually ordered sugary treats from Polish bakers. He glanced at Jacob shrewdly, and the ex-soldier fought to keep his face impassive. Surely they wouldn't wipe his memory now, even if they knew about Theseus' failure to comply with the Magical Congress.

They wouldn't, would they?

"Staff meeting?" Jacob asked thinly, his pitch a tad higher than he meant to let on. He flashed a tentative smile and added the customary thirteenth doughnut to the box.

"Mm, nooooo," Graves said distractedly. "I seem to have taken in a few street rats. They'll finish these off in a hurry."

"K-Kids?" Jacob clarified. He added a fourteenth doughnut to ensure the wizard's goodwill.

"Mm-hm." Narrowing his eyes at a display of Persians that looked suspiciously like wingless Occamies, Graves opened his mouth to speak and then glanced over his shoulder. He glowered at the window as three enamored faced bobbed out of sight. "It was supposed to be a surprise," he grumbled under his breath.

Jacob nearly dropped his smile, and the box of confections. "Chastity...?" he murmured.

A sharp glance from Graves silenced him. Anxiously Jacob set the box on the counter. "Anything else?"

"Mister Kowalski, seeing as my children might become regular customers, I trust you'll keep them out of trouble after school." Graves' eyebrow quirked, making the statement seem suspiciously like a counter-offer. "I would hate for someone to ... forget... that they're here."

Gaping, Jacob gave a slow nod and leafed over the change. "Anytime," he squeaked.

Rolling his eyes, Graves swept up the box and shooed a hand at the door. The three children scattered from the window. "Close your mouth; you look like a grindylow," he muttered to Jacob.

Clapping his mouth shut, Jacob blinked rapidly and managed a half-wave at the retreating wizard. "Have a good... morning?"

He was half tempted to close the shop early, just to settle his frazzled nerves.

Three months after the Barebone children started filtering into the bakery after school, the ultimate surprise jolted the Kowalski Bakery. On that blazing summer afternoon, Modesty was in the kitchen with Queenie, sculpting dough with much more fervor than she paid to her lessons. Her siblings were bent over their homework, scraping jelly and crumbs of their plates with the quiet satisfaction of children who finally understood full bellies and safe harbors. In the quiet atmosphere the bell above the door tinkled softly, catching mid-ring as though someone was too shy to announce his presence. Jacob glanced up from restocking Saint Germains, expecting to see young Millie; a Methodist Preacher's daughter who had recently set eyes on Credence (and wouldn't that make a fine clash in religion).

It would have been easier to camouflage a peacock in a silent graveyard than a freckled, naïve wizard in all of his foreign, blue-coated glory.

The tray of doughnuts clattered onto the floor and crumbs sprayed across the linoleum.

Visibly startled, Newt drew back and glanced around the shop. Conveniently - or perhaps purposefully - he had picked the most idle hour of the day, and the children were the only other customers. Chastity shrugged at the distraction and returned to her book, while Credence gave a bored wave.

Now Jacob knew for certain that Graves had "neglected" a few obliviation spells.

"Can I... help you...?" Jacob said without strength. Saint Mary and Merlin, he wanted to reach out and hug the kid. He rapidly absorbed every detail, from the perpetual muss of Newt's hair to the flighty tremor that never did seem to leave his hands still. There was a still confidence in the Brit's stance, and grim possessiveness of a book gripped under his arm. Jacob bit down on his tongue. If only he could say something. If only...

Languidly Chastity slung her head up and nodded at the counter. "He made Hippogriff cream puffs."

Newt flushed, his eyes flitting to the bread display, the counter, and everything but the nearest eye contact. "I know." Shambling to the counter, he dragged a bitten nail along the sanded edge and glanced at the tip jar. "Theseus told me," he said in a low voice.

Jacob's breath left him in a rush. "You remember me?"

Hazel eyes flitted up, appalled. "Of course," Newt said. He flustered, fixing his attention on a tray of frosted cinnamon rolls. "He didn't tell me at first... I thought he had... I left for a while. I wouldn't speak to him..."

The kid was getting past the "mildly interested" stage and was beginning to look moderately famished. Grinning in tentative wonder, Jacob snagged a plate and scooped up one of the cinnamon rolls, sliding it in front of the young wizard.

Newt blinked and gathered himself, reaching into his pocket.

"Nah, it's on the house," Jacob said quickly. "Don't even..."

Sheepishly Newt dropped his hand, looking like a child who had been caught begging for a treat. "I have something," he mumbled, tucking the plate to the side as he slid his book onto the counter. "It's not much... I didn't know if... It's a signed copy."

Cracking open the cover, Jacob smiled at the title page. "Fantastic Beasts, huh?" he said fondly, remembering the clever Dougal, a brave little bowtruckle, and the scrabbling of thieving paws.

"They're talking about making it into a school textbook," Newt said with mollified pride. "I can extend my research... Maybe even go back to Africa and look for some of the creatures I'm missing."

"There's even pictures?" Jacob marveled, running a hand over the familiar drawings. Nifflers, grapplehorns, hippocampuses... It was all real. He didn't even have to pretend he had imagined it all.

Thumbing back to the title page, Jacob nodded approvingly at the hand-scrawled signature -

And froze.

He read it again and swallowed hard.

Newton Artemis Fido Claude Scamander

Jacob rubbed a hand over his mouth, unable to speak further. His mind circled back to the memory of a cramped apartment, a crowded city, and a hurting kid in a blue coat.

Newt shuffled anxiously, refusing to meet Jacob's eyes. "I just wanted to know," he said tentatively. "Why did you choose that name for me?"

Laughing sheepishly, while blinking back tears of fond remembrance, Jacob reverently closed the book and grabbed another plate. "I... uh... well... Hey, you want to try a paczki? This might take a while..."

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The End

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Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorited this story, and to all the readers who patiently waited for me to conclude the tale. I'm pleased to have finished this, and I look forward to new inspiration from J.K. Rowling this upcoming winter!

A final thanks to Feathered Filly for inspiring this work. I hope I did your prompt justice.

Cheers, y'all!