"Yes, that is my Niffler," Newt says, approaching slowly so as not to startle the Niffler off, nor startle Eowyn's lovely horse in turn. He keeps his gaze on the Niffler, though he directs his talk mostly to Eowyn. "He has a terrible habit of getting loose, though, typically, he waits until we're in Muggle banks or stores. That sort of thing."

He waits for a precise moment, and then swoops in and gathers the Niffler in his arms. The Niffler struggles, but Newt is rather used to that by now.

"He's something of a handful, you could say," he admits with a grin.