In which the Niffler writes a letter to J.K. Rowling.
Dear Joanne Kathleen… no wait, Newt says I have to call you Miss Rolling, like the rolling I do on a Saturday night upon my collection of cuff-links that sparkle shinily in the light and that Newt polishes nicely as long as there are always exactly forty-five of them, no more, no less.
I am displeased, Miss Rolling, about being given so few goldly things to play with in Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelvault, cabined, cribbed, confined as I was to the insides of Newt’s jacket, though it is nice and warm in there…oh look, a galleon!
[Ten minutes later].
Miss Rolling, I am now confined to my den, as Newton Artemis says the galleon was a trap to test to what degree I may still be called a pilfering pet. I find this most unjust, firstly because I am not a pet (pet, indeed! If anything, he’s my pet), and secondly because if Newt keeps his life savings in my den, how can he expect me to ignore a galleon when one is not in its proper place…what was I saying? Oh yes, The Crimes of Grindelvault.
Miss Rolling, the inside of Newt’s jacket is a most tedious place to be. He has nothing interesting in his pockets. So I am upset, just a smidge, at how few opportunities the film afforded me to seek out the Shiny, and then have the Muggle multitudes admire my ingenious acquisition of said Shiny. I was also quite put out at how badly my pretty velvet coat was singed by Get-it Grindelvault, whose only understanding of The Shiny seems to be conjuring up blue fire when he gets upset. What a blockhead! Doesn’t he know that The Shiny is melted down by such things and that fire is a significant threat to my person?
I must point out, Miss Rolling, that all this hiding stands in dull contrast to my role in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, for which I received much praise. I was even said to be much more amusing than all the hooman beings. People who had never heard of the nobility of my kind were able to observe me in my natural habitat, doing what all Nifflers are born and bred to do. I was able to scuttle through a bank, my elegant little claws making music on the marble floors while I plucked buckles and watches from their prisons like a liberator from darkness! My velvety pouch bulged with happiness at the acquisition of every pearl and mirror and bracelet and key and bullet (those too, strange Americans), and I turned my snout up at that nitwit Newt as he ran after me and tried to clap me in irons once again. And oh, the vault! How superior it was to the vaults at Gringotts, in which one does not always find The Shiny, but potions and broomsticks and books and old furniture and other such nasty things. But in this Muggle vault, so many yellow bars of gold, and coins from every place! So many little drawers, and in each of them, something new and glistening; oh, it was bliss. Then Newton Artemis came along and turned me upside down and I lost it all. The natural order of things was soon restored, however, when I made a second bid for freedom, and succeeded, and was able to visit – at last! – a Shiny Shop.
Newt has always refused my pleas to call at such a place. I have asked many times, and do not understand how my constant attempts to flee in the direction of the nearest Shiny Shop could be interpreted as anything else. But in the course of my New York retreat, I was able, at last, to pay a much overdue visit. What treasures I found in that realm of sparkling grandeur! I was able to drape myself in diamonds, and fill my velvet pouch with jewels and earrings and rubies and rings and necklaces and bracelets and –
[Two minutes later].
Apologies, Miss Rolling. The memory filled me with such happiness that I fainted quite away.
The Shiny Shop provided me with valuable insight into categories of Shiny that I had never encountered before. I was also able to fully embrace what Newton Artemis calls my ‘destructive tendencies’ (isn’t that a bit long?), but what all civilised individuals refer to as the Search for Shiny; that life goal of the Noble Niffler. Oh, the glass that I smashed, and how scintillating it looked beneath the starry sky, and how pleasant it was to wreak destruction with Newt, who normally frowns upon such things. What’s my point again?
Oh yes. My point, Miss Rolling, is that my performance in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them was very well-reviewed. I stole the movie far more effectively than I have ever stolen a silver fountain pen, or a pretty garnet brooch. The movie was me! Muggles who saw it wanted to be me! So imagine my surprise when The Crimes of Grindelvault had no vault! No Shiny Shops or pretty things for my velvety pouch; no celebration of my greatness! I was ignored in favour of show-off Kelpies and Zouwus, who, though larger than me, are much less interesting and do nothing all day but growl at people. Who would want to see such frights when they could be admiring me instead?
Are my offspring the reason for my exile? Was it decided that those four rapscallions, who cannot tell a champagne cork from a Byzantine bezant, would impede my acting skills? Do you seek to supplant me? Replace me? Replace me with them? If this is true, Miss Rolling, my vengeance will be the terror of the earth!
If this is not true, and I am, as Newt says, overreacting, then I humbly ask for more Shiny in the next film, and more chances to show the audience the true charm and grace of Niffling kind!
I am, Miss Rolling, your most obedient as long as you give me Shiny servant,
The Niffler
LADYGILRAEN 