Newt's return was appreciated by his creatures, and their joyful reception of him had caused his body to forget about its fatigue temporarily. The beasts were all hungry, so food was much welcome, but Newt had a hard time explaining himself to the ones that were sulking, especially Marcus the Sea Serpent whose gloomy mood was getting worse. Newt apologized to him profusely, and spent extra time by his side to make sure he had finished his food. Newt's intention of setting him free as soon as possible became more earnest, and until then he would do whatever it took to make Marcus feel better.

Another problem came when Newt reached the tree of the Bowtruckles and stood there to observe the tiny creatures. He had six of them, and because they were almost identical, the first one he had distinguished was the smallest of them, whom he called Pickett. He was the most timid, probably due to his size compared with his peers, and Newt had grown fond of him for that reason. He always felt a peculiar attraction towards the weak and the misunderstood, human and creature alike, and so a considerable portion of his attention was given to Pickett.

Soon the Bowtruckle warmed to Newt and it became easy to tell when he was being normally shy, or if something was wrong with him. This time it was the latter, as Newt noticed a difference in Pickett's demeanor and appearance that aroused his concern.

His little slit of a mouth was curved downwards, and a crease weighed down his black eyes in an unmistakable grimace. The twigs that formed his limbs were adducted to his trunk, diminishing his size even more and making him appear rigid. Even his leaves were pale with yellowing apices, and to top it all, his appetite had markedly decreased. He kept a distance from the others who seemed completely unbothered by that, and it was strange because Bowtruckles were known to stick together for warmth and protection.

"You poor thing," Newt said with sympathy, stroking Pickett's head, "they're bullying you, aren't they?"

Pickett whimpered. Newt turned to the other Bowtruckles and in the sternest tone he could muster said, "Titus, Finn, Poppy, Marlow and Tom. I am so disappointed in you, but know that I will no longer tolerate this type of behavior. Pickett will come with me, and when he's back to living with you, I expect a change in the way you treat him."

Gently, Newt picked up the Bowtruckle and placed him inside the pocket of his coat. "That will keep you warm. You'll be all right, Pickett."

Other than that, Newt didn't face any trouble worth mentioning. After two hours, he was done with feeding all his creatures and looking after them for the night. He left the suitcase and closed it, then out of thin air he conjured a small bed for himself. With his conscience finally at rest, Newt took off his coat, said good-night to Pickett, and in a matter of few minutes, he was fast asleep.

The sun rays that entered through the tattered curtains caressed Newt's face with their warmth and disturbed his slumber. When he awoke at last, he wasn't sure how many hours he had slept. It couldn't have been more than four hours, but how refreshed he felt made him initially think it had been more than that. But after all, it didn't really matter; he had enough energy for the long day awaiting him, and that was sufficient. With no other distracting problems left, rescuing the Thunderbird was now Newt's only priority, and he was going to work on it without further delay.

"Good morning, Pick," said Newt to the Bowtruckle as he wore his coat.

The Bowtruckle's head peered through the pocket, his tiny eyes blinking listlessly before he disappeared again behind the cloth.

Newt chuckled. A sudden rumble of his stomach reminded him that while he was busy thinking and worrying the night before, he hadn't eaten anything himself. He thought that Farida must be hungry as well, but he didn't know whether she was awake or not. He could leave the house and bring back food for her if she was still asleep, and if not, they could go together.

Newt carried his suitcase and opened the door. He began to descend the staircase with caution lest he tripped on something, and his steps were slow and deliberate to produce minimal creaking. As he went down, his eyes glanced at the door of the room where Farida slept. It was ajar and the sunlight crept outside the room to partially illuminate the hall. Here a faint sound reached Newt's ears, and he stopped to listen. It was something akin to sobbing mingled with Arabic words he didn't understand, but he recognized Farida's voice. She was crying.

Newt didn't know what the right move to make was. Should he knock and enter to comfort her, or should he leave her alone and not interfere? A second later, the choice was made for him by somebody else. With a gust of air, the door was wide open, and Newt saw Marzoo the Poltergeist floating in the air and pointing at him with his stout finger. Farida, who had her back turned, looked over her shoulder and a smile appeared on her face despite how red and swollen her eyes were.

"Oh, Newt," she said, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her clothes. "I didn't expect you to wake up so early."

"Good morning, Farida," Newt mumbled. There was a moment's silence, too awkward for Newt's liking, so he decided to break it. "You see, I was just going downstairs and the door opened by itself. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You didn't interrupt anything, don't worry. And it's Marzoo who opened the door when he thought he heard something."

"But are you all right?" Newt asked.

"Yes," said Farida, and it was clear how hard she tried to make her voice even. "It's been a long week for me, that's all, and in weeks like this Marzoo likes to hear what happened to offer me the best advice he could: smash everything and you'll feel better." She glanced at the Poltergeist who was now fiddling with shattered glass on the ground. "But tell me, were you going somewhere?"

"I was going to get breakfast," Newt answered. "I feel a little hungry and thought you might be too."

"We can go to Marco," said Farida. "I usually eat there."

Newt nodded, and together they headed outside. In the light of the morning, the abandoned houses of the street didn't look any less unwelcoming than they had been at night. Newt averted his eyes from this sight and turned to Farida.

"I can take you, if you don't mind," he said, drawing his wand.

"I haven't apparated with a wand before." Farida seemed apprehensive. "Is it bad?"

"Not as bad as apparating without one, if you ask me," said Newt. "If I can survive that, then you can survive this."

Farida considered him for a second before deciding to hold his arm. They left the deserted neighborhood with a pop, and the moment they were in front of Marco's, Farida spoke.

"You are right, Newt." She sounded pleasantly surprised. "It's different, but not bad at all."

Inside the pup, the sprightly Marco welcomed them warmly, shaking Farida's hands and then Newt's. Farida ordered something in Arabic, then she and Newt seated themselves at the same table they had occupied the previous night.

"I've known him for four years now," Farida told Newt with a smile. "And every time I shake his hand, I sense his happiness, but there is always a bit of worrying in him."

"Does he know about your ability?" Newt asked, watching the lively man as he carried a tray and disappeared behind a wooden door.

"No." Farida shook her head. "Remember what I told you about him not being fond of magic although he is a wizard? I didn't want to risk it."

A few minutes later, Marco returned with food. Newt and Farida began to eat in silence. When they were done, Farida asked, "So what are your plans?"

"Oh, I have none, really," Newt said, a little too quickly.

"You won't go looking for creatures to add in your book?" Farida frowned. "That's strange."

"Of course, I will, but—"

"Then why did you say you have no plans?" Farida sounded puzzled. When Newt didn't reply instantly, she added in an embarrassed tone. "I am sorry for being nosy. I totally understand if you don't want to tell me."

"No, no, it's not like that," Newt said hastily. It hadn't occurred to him to think up a plausible excuse because he hadn't thought he would spend much time with her. His mind froze; he was at loss for words as he didn't know whether he should tell her the truth or not.

"But what is that?" Farida pointed at Newt's chest.

Newt looked down. Pickett's head was visible from his pocket, and gradually his small body came into view. He had left his new home and was now clutching the collar of Newt's coat. The little creature yawned and made a small squeal.

"That's a Bowtruckle," said Newt. "His name is Pickett. He needs some warmth so I have him with me until he gets better."

Newt wasn't sure if Farida was paying attention to him at that point. She was staring at Pickett in amazed curiosity as he titled his head at her. Her hand drew closer to the Bowtruckle, and she stroke his head.

"He's slightly sad, but is also grateful." She turned to Newt briefly, letting out a soft chuckle. "He likes you, I can feel it."

"You can feel what creatures feel as well?" Newt blinked in surprise.

"Don't all people like me do this?" Farida shrugged, clearly too intrigued by seeing Pickett to show any genuine interest in that. She was gazing at the Bowtruckle in admiration, and giggled every time he tried to climb her extended finger with his twigs. Pickett too seemed to like her, as he wasn't as shy as Newt expected him to be.

For minutes, Newt watched with a broad smile the look on Farida's face as she played with Pickett. It was tender and dreamy with a childish joy that dampened the sorrow which her features showed. And above all, it was genuine. She had laughed and smiled the night before, only to cry in the morning, but this time it was different and Newt hoped it would last.

Do they call strangers so because they are so strange? Newt wondered internally. You could deal with someone for hours and feel like you've known him or her for years, and you could deal with one for years and the treatment they show you makes you feel you'll be strangers forever. Farida was the first type. It was evident in the look on her face. Newt didn't understand how a change in the facial expression of a person could reveal so much about them... was he, too, the same?

"I'm here to rescue a Thunderbird from illegal trafficking," Newt said abruptly. "And it would be great if you helped me, Farida. It really would."

Farida looked at him. She opened her mouth to say something several times, but closed it again. Finally, in calm voice she said, "I don't know what a Thunderbird is, but I would love to help. I really would."

Newt brought out his notebook and showed her the picture he had drawn of a Thunderbird. Farida complemented him on his drawing skills and then proceeded to ask questions. Newt wasn't sure if that was the right place to discuss that; customers began to fill the place, and while Marco hadn't asked them to leave, Newt thought it would be best if they did to make room for the people that arrived. Farida agreed with him and made to pay for the breakfast but Newt stopped her.

"Let me pay this time, like you wanted to pay for the coffee last night."

"Do you mean the coffee you didn't drink?" Farida raised her eyebrows.

"Yes, that one." Newt nodded, then before Farida could argue he stood up and walked over to Marco.

When Newt offered him the money, Marco shook his head vigorously. Newt tried to convince him, but the man was unrelenting. "Farida's friend, my friend too" was all he said before he patted Newt on the shoulder and strode off in his lively pace.

Newt and Farida left and within a second, they were back at the house. Marzoo welcomed them by smashing a couple of wooden pieces that must have belonged to the banister of the staircase, then broke into song. His voice was exceedingly bad. Farida scrunched up her face in annoyance and told Newt they had to wait for five minutes until he finishes the song. He wouldn't stop otherwise.

When Marzoo was done, he flew through the wall and disappeared. The house became quiet again. Farida ushered Newt to the room downstairs, and when Newt entered it, he found it to be as drastically messy as the room he had for himself. Newt conjured up two chairs for them, and when they were finally seated, he drew out the letter that Dumbledore had sent him.

"Do you happen to know someone called Makram Ibrahim?" he asked.

"No, I don't think so," said Farida. "Who's that?"

Newt handed her the letter, and she started to read it in an audible voice.

Dear Newt,

A reliable source has informed me that there is a Thunderbird being trafficked in Cairo, Egypt. I thought you might be interested in rescuing it. All the information I have lead to a man called Makram Ibrahim who has been known in this certain illegal trade for years. Currently, Ibrahim is in Egypt for about three weeks with the said Thunderbird as well as some other creatures. From what I hear, he is a dangerous man, so beware. I cannot think of anyone other than you who can stand up to him, but if you ever need help, don't hesitate to write to me. I trust you will try to the best of your ability to save the poor creature.

Yours, Albus Dumbledore.

Farida gave Newt the letter and taking a deep breath said, "I have a few questions. First, who's Albus Dumbledore?"

"He's is a teacher at Hogwarts. He taught me when I was young."

"How come he knows all that and doesn't know where this Makram is?"

"I don't know. Dumbledore's so unpredictable."

"And who is the reliable source?"

"I'm afraid I have no idea."

"Last question." Farida exhaled. "Why is everything in the letter written like a puzzle?"

"Dumbledore." Newt sighed. "That's what he does."

"Well then," said Farida, rubbing her chin. "I can't get the reliable source off my head. It could be someone who's working with Makram Ibrahim, but is too afraid to stop him. We need to find that person if we want to find Makram, don't you think? Could you send a letter to Dumbledore and ask him about his reliable source?"

"Yes, but according to Dumbledore, Ibrahim was only staying for about three weeks," said Newt. "This means he will leave Egypt in a few days. We don't have enough time to wait for Dumbledore's response."

Farida bit her lower lip thoughtfully. "Then we need to get to Makram himself."

"And how are we going to do that?" Newt asked.

"I know someone who might help," she said after a moment's silence. "Let's just hope she won't be her normal self when we go to her, because I don't want to become a murderer."