The itty bitty niffler decided to return back to the East Field. There had been a GOOOD loot here. Sneakily, he slipped along the tents, gazing for a place he may have missed. Ooooh, there was one! The little niffler paused and peered at it curiously, beady eyes taking in the features. It looked homey.
Whisker twitching, he quickly dashed inside the tent that, unbeknowns to him (and like he would care - he was an animal) belonged to the English Minister for Magic. Moments later, he was dashing out with a feather clamped in his little mouth. He didn't care what it was. It had metal and it was his.
Quickly, he scampered away.
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