Eight • Pickett

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"You.. You pompous arse." You spat at him.

"I didn't mean it like that. I mean, I actually wasn't asking. I don't expect you to." Newt stumbled over his words after you recoiled at him.

"Oh." Was all you could muster as you looked away from the man.

"Well..." He drawled, as he stood fidgeting in your office.

"I should... Get to work." You said with an awkward nod and smile.

"Yes, of course. Sorry for bothering you. I tend to have been doing that a lot recently." Newt muttered, with a nod.

"I only just met you?" You inferred.

"Maybe. Yet you have been in charge of my file within the ministry for quite some time. I could figure that much out. You're practically my magical agent. " Newt said, as he pointed towards your desk. An unruly avalanche of parchment, books and folders, along with a few newspapers and the odd magazine.

"I suppose you could put it that way." You said, as a prick of self-consciousness hit you. Your office was in a state, much like your living room back at your flat.

"Well have a good day then. I'll be seeing you later." He said as he nodded and then left.

You watched his jacket move around his back as he left your small office.

Then it hit you. His book! You dropped your bag on your desk, which caused half of its surface contents to spill onto the floor.

Running down the hall you watched a Newt walked quietly farther down the hall. His case still in his hand as he looked around in a daze.

"Newt!" You called after him.

Turning, he stopped, looking confused. His mouth dropped open slightly, giving him a cute goofy look about him.

"Did you just call me Newt?" He asked, almost excited.

"I have no idea. I usually avoid listening to myself speak. Anyway, thank you for the excerpt from your book." You said.

"No harm done. Poppy asked for it after all." Newt said with a half smile.

"She did? When?" You asked, you memory of this in a haze.

"When I made you tea last night?" Newt offered.

Of coarse. When you were walking to Newt's cabin you weren't listening. Poppy was probably asking a dozen questions a second, so it was no surprise she had figured out he was making a book.

"Could I have a copy once it's published?" You asked him.

"I would assume so?" Newt quipped.

With a roll of your eyes you realized what you had just asked the man. Your head was just in such a frenzy, you didn't know what to say.

With a light laugh, Newt put his free hand on your shoulder and offered you a half smile, as if to say 'I know what you meant'.

"In that case. Can I sign and deliver it to you, as well?" Newt said.

"I'll go back to calling you by your surname if you you keep looking at me like one of your creatures." You joked with a smile.

"I don't know what you mean?" He said as he dipped his head down and gave you a peck on the forehead before he turned and continued walking.

You watched him turn a corner out of sight and mentally screamed. You were getting emotionally invested in this man. You wouldn't have it. As much as Poppy wanted you to you couldn't. There was no way. Newt would never keep you around, not with the amount of traveling or time he spent alone. Even if he did there would always be the fact that it was unprofessional. You were coworkers in a sense. You liked your job, and hoped to keep it for a long while.

Returning to your office you sat down in the large chair behind your antique desk. Working to organize your papers you moved your bag and jacket to one of the chairs on the other side of the room. You set down your bag first then hung your jacket over it. As you did so you saw a small green stick like creature emerge from your coat.

"Pickett?" You asked.

The creature smiled and you brought your hand down to him. He gladly climbed up, and made his way to you shoulder.

After many hours of organizing your things and sometimes stopping to read new papers that were delivered periodically to you throughout the day. Finally it was time to go home. After packing up your things you went to your personal floo in the corner of your office.

"Ready to go home, Pick?" You asked the Bowtruckle that you had so familiarized yourself with that day.

You took a handful of floo powder and threw in in the hearth, setting green flames you stepped in and said the address of you flat.

After a long, agonizingly long day you went home. You just wanted to take a bath and go to sleep, but it seamed the world had other plans for your evening.

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