The Cigarette Case

by Agent Malkere

Disclaimer: I do not own Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

A/N: This story story contains the barest implications of SLASH. You know, homosexuality. Nothing major, but it's there. If that's not your cup of tea, just hit the back button. There are many more fics in this fandom. Also this story contains a few SPOILERS for the FBWFT movie.

The ship was about an hour out from dock when the niffler made yet another bid for freedom. This time, though, Newt was ready for it. He caught the little creature by its hind leg just as it finished squirming free of the case and made a mental note to get the latches fixed as soon as possible. The niffler gave him its best wide-eyed, innocent look which really wasn't even remotely convincing.

"Nice try," Newt informed it and then, out of habit, gave the niffler a shake to make sure it didn't have anything shiny and stolen in its pouch. Obviously it wouldn't, since it had only just gotten ou-

Clunk.

The niffler pouted at him as Newt stared at the floor in surprise. A stylish, silver cigarette case lay on the floor of his tiny cabin. It was tastefully decorated with a swirling line pattern engraved in the metal. Blast. Where had that come from?

"You and I are going to have a chat later," Newt told the niffler. The niffler just pouted at him. Newt returned the creature to his case, latched the lid, and then, after a moment's thought, sat on it for good measure. He did not want to be chasing any of his creatures through a boat full of muggles. Again. The poor things got so confused and upset when that happened, and after Jacob Kowalski, well… Newt just didn't have the heart to have to obliviate anyone at the moment.

Newt leaned back against the frame of his narrow bed, his knees bent and feet flat on the floor. It had been very nice of the MACUSA to pay for his ticket – he never would have been able to afford a private cabin on his own. He glanced down at the cigarette case still lying next to his right shoe. With a sigh, he picked it up. It was oddly heavy and made his fingers feel ever so slightly tingly for some reason. Made the owner's name would be engraved on the inside of the lid. A lot of people did that. He could owl it to Tina and Queenie if that was the case, and maybe they would be able to track its original owner down. Without any further thought, Newt popped open the catch.

He had just enough time to realize that the tingling in his fingers had been caused by an almost completely decayed, suspended animation hex and then things got very exciting.

Because a man popped out of the cigarette case. A man with a very familiar face who was looking somewhat dazed but also rather livid.

Apparently even Gellert Grindelwald wasn't immune to the thieving paws of a niffler.

Newt didn't have much time to ponder this, though, because a fraction of a second later he was being tackled by an irate auror.

"Give me your wand, or I'll kill you before your beloved leader Grindelwald ever has the chance." Percival Graves was obviously not at his best. His normally neat hair was mussed, his suit was dusty and rumpled, and the suspended animation hex hadn't prevented the beginnings of a beard from growing on his chin. There was also a slightly wild look about his eyes. Just how long had he been in that cigarette case?

Newt made a sound very much like "urk" partially because Graves was putting a bit too much pressure on his throat and partially because there was an attractive, if somewhat feral, man suddenly sitting on his chest. Newt's ears turned red, and he desperately tried to break eye contact.

"I'm Newt Scamander, magizoologist," Newt finally managed to wheeze. "My niffler apparently stole the cigarette case you were in."

Graves stared at him blankly. His grip didn't relax even slightly.

"Your what?"

"My niffler. Magical creature – rather like a magpie. They love shiny things."

"The transportation and importation of magical creatures is illegal in America." The response sounded entirely automatic, but Graves was starting to look just a little less wild around the eyes.

"Ah. Yes, but we're not in America any more, and the MACUSA decided not to arrest me since I helped them capture Grindelwald." This finally seemed to get through to Graves. His grip on Newt's neck finally started to loosen.

"Grindelwald is in custody?" he asked. His voice was calmer now, much more similar to the unflappable tone Grindelwald had used when impersonating him. Then his eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you."

"Copy of the Magical Times in the left inside pocket of my jacket."

Graves fished out the newspaper as Newt's face grew progressively redder. He looked at the headlines, looked at the photo on the front paper, and released Newt. Then Graves looked at the date on the paper and his knees nearly buckled.

"Three months." The words were more like a barely audible gasp. The newspaper crinkled where Graves's fingers were clenching too hard.

Newt fussed with his vest and checked the Pickett was still safely tucked in his collar. What was he supposed to do in a situation like this?

"No one was sure when you had been replaced," he admitted uncomfortably. "They didn't even know that you were still alive when I left." Tina had told him that. No one had thought that Grindelwald would keep the real Percival Graves alive.

"Left," Graves repeated, looking up from the paper. "You said before that we weren't in America anymore. Where are we?"

"On a boat." Then Newt added, "To France," because that was probably important information that Graves would like to know. "We're more than an hour out from shore – too far to apparate – and also President Picquery made me promise not to come back to America for at least a year." Newt frowned to himself. It was awfully problematic.

Graves stared at him.

"Grindelwald took my wand. Can you make a portkey?"

"Ah… no." Silence stretched between them awkwardly. Newt fiddled with the button on his coat sleeve. "I suppose you could sleep on the cot in my workshop until we reach France," Newt finally suggested. "We can get you an international portkey home from the Paris branch of Gringotts once we make port."

"Your workshop?"

"Yes," Newt patted the side of his suitcase. "Sometimes I sleep there when one of my creatures is ill."

"Right." Graves eyed Newt's case uncertainly, and Newt gave him a slightly awkward smile in return.

And here he'd thought that his life was going to quiet down for a bit after that fiasco in New York. Apparently that just wasn't meant to be.