Disclaimer: I do not own Fantastic Beasts/Harry Potter, nor do I own the lovable creatures that are Pickett and Newt.

Newt had thought it to be a good time to try and have Pickett loosen up a little; to have him spend at least a little time with the other Bowtruckles. It started out grand and well, Pickett spending a whole two minutes sitting with the others. A whole two fussy, complaint filled minutes, but all the same -two minutes. They had gradually increased the number of minutes (much to Pickett's displeasure), and Newt had begun to leave Pickett alone with the other Bowtruckles, gradually increasing that time too.

Newt never left him there all night, heavens no. He was far too attached to the little guy. But when a Bowtruckle, with attachment issues or not, unlocks your undergarment drawer and strings said undergarments around your apartment, you can't not punish them. Merely threatening to make him spend the night with his own kind had obviously not worked. Pickett had proven to be a little green, anxious rebel with quite the attitude lately. But of course, after Newt set him down on the tree and left the suitcase, Pickett regretted ever minute of his mischief.

He chittered for Newt to come back, but he never did. The others were fast asleep or staring at him with judging looks on their little green faces. Pickett didn't like it, not one bit. He missed being in Newt's pocket, and sleeping in the tissue box on his bedside table. He looked at an old clock. The hand had barely moved. He gave a small, soft, minuscule whimper. Wait...he could pick locks. He was going to get out, and he was going to show Newt he was sorry and was going to cuddle up in that fluffy hair of his.

He tiptoed through the lands of the suitcase (really, could he do anything other than tiptoe? He barely weighed an ounce), tripping over a coin that the Niffler had dropped every so often. After what seemed like eternity without being in Newt's pocket, Pickett found the exit. He slipped through a crack in the hatch, and he found himself in Newt's apartment. Newt wasn't in his bed, so Pickett ran as fast as his twig-like little legs would carry him. He found him sitting at the table, a cup of tea in his hands. Pickett climbed up the leg of the table, tugging at the cuff of Newt's sleeve.

"Pickett!" Newt said, "How'd you get out?"

Pickett stared at him with the most exaggerated "forgive me" face Newt had ever seen.

"Oh, that's right. You have gumption," Newt said, "...I suppose you're forgiven,"

Newt stood from the table and swiftly placed Pickett in his pocket. Amd so a very traumatized Bowtruckle and a very fluffy haired Hufflepuff went off to bed, Pickett lying down in his tissue box. When Newt began to snore softly, Pickett was wide awake. He rose from his box and crawled over to where Newt's head lay, tapping him on the nose to make sure he was asleep before crawling into Newt's hair. And you know what?

It was better than being in his pocket.

AN: And I wrote this because Pickett's a little lovable guy (attachment issues or not), this is not meant to be any type of strange, strange romance. Nope nope nope. If anyone's mind thought this to be something like that, kindly reroute your thinking.