In the top corner room of an anonymous boarding house, on the far end of the city, a simple brown suitcase lay open on a bare, splintery floor.

Dougal seemed happy to be home after the nighttime adventure, and Newt watched the Demiguise hop off eagerly towards his little den. The wizard himself hobbled through his shed, gripping his work bench to keep balance. It was a wonder, he realized, that he'd had the strength left to Apparate.

With a trembling hand, Newt used his wand to cut off his ruined shirt and surveyed the damage beneath. The skin on his chest was absolutely shredded from his scrape with the stone wall. He collapsed, seated, onto the camp bed. Tenderly, he pressed on his ribs, finding the fractures, and wordlessly, wincing, healed them one by one. His breathing became easier, and the pain subsided entirely once he'd healed the skin as well.

Luckily, Newt surmised, his internal organs remained undamaged—though years working with magical creatures had made Newt quite handy at basic healing charms, more serious internal injuries were beyond his scope.

At his work bench, Newt set his traveling kettle to boil with a flick of his wand and threw together an concoction of magical herbs—that would help him get his strength back.

As it steeped, Newt waved his wand hopefully at his ruined shirt. The shreds wound themselves together neatly, but the stain-lifting charm did less well—he'd never really had the knack for that one. The bright red bloodstains faded to a blushing pink. Newt sighed, resigned, and shrugged on a spare shirt. Buttoning it up, he departed the shed to pay a visit to his creatures.

A mountain of gold and jewels greeted him outside the shed.

Newt froze and stared. Atop the great pile, snoring and kicking his legs in a wistful slumber, lay the Niffler.

It was a funny thing, Newt reflected. Muggles perpetuated a curious notion about dragons hoarding and cherishing treasure—but the the Muggle impression of a dragon more closely resembled that of a Niffler.

Newt took a sober moment to reflect on his current circumstances. He had just, technically, robbed a powerful and vindictive goblin criminal of a Niffler, two fingers, and an absolutely absurd amount of gold and gems. He realized that might put a crimp in the rest of his Australian field research plans…

Newt sighed and returned to his shed. Best left until morning, he figured. He downed the herbal cocktail, collapsed on the cot, and fell asleep in an instant.

Newt lay low for the next few days and busied himself around the case. He knew next to nothing about the goblin, but he suspected Orlock was the sort who had eyes in many places. Newt knew he'd be easily spotted in the harbor.

Besides, there was plenty to do inside the case—creatures to tend to and observe, the manuscript to work on… and, he supposed, with some remorse, that his field schedule could be rearranged.

Newt's suitcase seemed to agree with the Niffler. Over Newt's days in hiding, the Niffler became fatter, fluffier, and his eyes cleared up. The new golden burrow had done wonders for the creature. Newt had provided the creature with plenty of tubers and insects to eat, though the Niffler had developed an appetite for Mooncalf pellets as well. When not eating, the Niffler snoozed happily in his mound of gold, turning over, and kicking his legs in happy dreams of snatching treasure.

It was, well, an absolutely stupid amount of gold. Newt didn't know what to do with it. On one hand, he reasoned the Niffler had fair-and-square stolen the lot of it—Orlock had kept the poor thing prisoner, after all. On the other hand, he knew Orlock himself hadn't acquired such a fortune through honest means.

Less morally and more practically speaking, he knew that Orlock probably wanted his gold back, and would do some ugly things to get it. Newt was never one to admit he was worried… but the word "concerned" certainly applied. He'd seen what Orlock was capable of.

There was also the matter of magical law enforcement. Newt usually slipped passed wizard customs and traveled on his Muggle passport, as arranging all the paperwork to transport his huge variety of creatures through every country on his itinerary was nigh impossible (and rather pointless, in his opinion)… but he did run the risk of landing himself in a spot of trouble should he be caught. Add an enormous pile of stolen gold to the illegal contents of his case, and he was asking for a disaster.

There was a world of difference between transporting magical creatures across borders without the proper paperwork, and giving the appearance that you had been using one of said creatures to steal a fortune. In Britain, that could land him in Azkaban for a decade, easily.

Newt strolled through his case, hands in his pockets. If the potential consequences weren't so dire, it would almost be funny, he mused. Newt Scamander, Magizoologist turned gold thief! It was absurd.

The Niffler, happily stacking coins, peered at Newt from his burrow. He'd been the only Niffler, Orlock had said. The prototype. Still, if Orlock was willing to enslave a Niffler once, he'd surely do it again.

He'd be asking for trouble if he went to the local Aurors himself, for there was only so much he could tell them without giving away his own legal shortcomings. But he couldn't stay in Sydney either. And he knew he couldn't go up against Orlock and his army of goblins alone.

"I suppose there's nothing else for it, then," said Newt to the Niffler. He sighed. It was time to poke his head out.

Newt was not good at disguises. That, too, was Theseus's domain as an Auror. Newt did know a few useful camouflage charms to look like a rock, tree, or mud puddle. Very useful in the field; utterly useless in the city.

So it was, Newt felt rather self-conscious as he crept back to the underground wizard pub. It was too hot for a coat, but still he wore his, collar turned up against his cheek. The mustache charm he'd fashioned bristled uncomfortably on his lip. With any luck, he looked nothing like the Newt Scamander anyone had seen a few days ago.

He sidled up to the bar and took a seat. The pretty, golden-haired barmaid was still there, with a rather salty look on her face. She swept up to him, distractedly waving a wand behind her head, causing three large mugs of brew to sail across the room.

"What'll it be?" she said in a clipped voice, looking up to him. She did a double-take, and made a rather uncomfortable noise like she was suppressing a laugh.

The barmaid bit her knuckle, scrunched here eyes, and leaned forward. She said in a whisper, "You didn't take my advice, did you?"

"I'm sorry, have we met?" said Newt, desperate to uphold a pretense.

"Oh, you can drop that act," the girl chided him. "I'd wager whatever you're hiding from isn't the problem you think it is. Least not anymore."

"What?" said Newt.

The barmaid's eyes swept the room warily.

"You stay put," she said simply, before peeling off to attend to other customers.

Newt nervously fiddled his fingers as the barmaid busied herself around the room. He glanced over his shoulder. None of the witches and wizards seemed to notice him. And there were no goblins here today…

Then, the barmaid was back. She leaned on her elbows over the bar, keeping her voice hushed.

"Aginook," she said.

"Excuse me?" said Newt.

"All anyone's been talking about the past two days," she said. "I told you not to get mixed up with him. But something happened, and I'm betting you're a part of it. I saw you and him talking, and now you come in here all disguised, like you're frightened for your life…"

Newt's heart was pounding.

"What happened, exactly?" He had no idea what this witch was getting at…

"You really don't know! Well, old Aginook got taken in the other day, they're saying," said the barmaid. "Killed some kind of boss. Not a Muggle boss. I'm hearing he was a Squib, actually. But they're saying he was powerful, in his own way. Had Muggles and wizards working for him. Never heard anything like it.

"Well, apparently, Aginook couldn't come up with the money he owed to this Squib-boss fellow. Tried to skip town instead. But they caught him. Big, ah… sort of mess their saying. Said Aginoook slit the boss's throat with his own claw, but only after he took out two wizards and a Muggle working for the guy. Never heard anything like it. They're saying he fought like a rabid animal. And there were Muggles there! Can you believe it? Anyway, no one went out quietly—meaning it was loud, and Muggles saw—and the Aurors caught wind of it. They arrested Aginook on the spot."

Newt stared at her, wide-eyed.

"Oh," he said. It was all he could think of to say.

"But that's not the half of it," continued the witch. She polished a mug on her apron. "They're saying Aginook bargained after the Aurors took him in."

"Bargained?"

"Yeah. Bargained. Sweeter sentence, that sort of thing. Dungeon that doesn't have a puddle in it, you know. He informed on an associate… someone the Aurors have been trying to nab for years but could never get any real dirt on."

Newt's heart sped up.

"Would that have been a goblin by the name of Orlock, by any chance?"

The witch smiled knowingly at him.

"So you know about him, do you?"

"I've heard some things," said Newt, leaving it at that.

The witch regarded him suspiciously for a moment.

"Well, Aginook gave them enough to do a proper raid on Orlock. Arrested his whole lot, they did."

Newt's heart suddenly lightened. If Orlock had been arrested… then he had nothing to worry about really. (Not that he really worried, per se…) And if Orlock was being put away, that would certainly mean no more trouble with Nifflers in Sydney.

But there was one last track to cover…

"You, er, you mentioned once that you offer your patrons a certain amount of discretion, didn't you?"

She took his meaning with a raised eyebrow—that it would be best if Newt's association with goblins remain unannounced to the authorities.

"Sure do. To paying customers, of course," she said, a little slyly.

Newt reached into his pocket and placed a large fistful of gold on the bar. The witch's eyes widened.

"Would… would you like something to drink?" she asked numbly, sliding the coins into her apron pocket. "Shot of Victorian Molt?"

"No," said Newt, getting to his feet. "No I would not. But thank you all the same."

He emerged in broad daylight. He charmed his facial hair back to normal, and slung his heavy overcoat over his elbow, free to appear as Newt Scamander once more. Feeling rather light on the feet, he headed off into the street, daydreaming of Billywigs.