Fantastic Beasts and How to Draw Them (Newt Scamander)

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Hello my lovely fawns, 

I've finally managed to get this posted. As per usual, this one is not edited (but none of you are shocked about that, are you?). This one was requested by GeekxFreakx and I hope it makes up for the very long wait. I won't lie, I enjoyed writing this one.

Please leave lots of comments (I'm still living off of the validation, I'm afraid)

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The life of an artist was a difficult one, but it was one I had chosen. Art had always spoken to me in a way that nothing else in my life had, and I had the good fortune of being rewarded for it in a way that very few of my colleagues in any form of artistic career path had. The proof of that good fortune could be, at times, physically held in my hands.

Today was one such example of those circumstances. This morning, when my letters had been delivered and I had accepted them, the envelope at the top caught my attention. It alone was written clearly by the hands of a child, and it stood out amongst the rest of the letters waiting for my attention. Setting the rest of the letters aside, I opened the envelope and fished out the short letter.

It was a thank you note, short and sweet and from one of the children who had bought a copy of my latest children's picture storybook. Even the handwriting, the letters too large and rough, with words spelt wrong brought a wide smile to my face.

Deer Miss Casillas

Thank yoo for writing this book

I love it very much and read it every nit.

I tried copping your pikture to

From

Aries Dashawn

P.S. My sister likes your books to

Leaning back against my chair, I withdrew the second folded up parchment. Smoothing it out, my eyes scanned the drawing, a copy of one of the main characters from the latest of my books. It was a good replica and knowing that I'd inspired another child was rewarding in its own way. My eyes lowered to the name signed at the corner of the page as if the young boy had tried to imitate my style of signing my name, and my smile grew further.

Pushing my chair away from the desk, I stood and approached the wall to my left, the one that was littered with drawings from various children that had written to me over the entirety of my short publishing career. Finding an empty space, I held the newest addition against the wall and murmured a sticking charm. Once it was secure, I stepped back and admired the wall; a rush of warmth filled me. All of these children had enjoyed my work.

Reluctantly, I remembered that I had work to do and the stack of letters that I had forsaken minutes ago still needed to be addressed. Returning to my seat, I tucked Aries's letter back into the envelope. Briefly, I turned the envelope over, and jotted the return address onto a spare piece of parchment that I had lying around. At some point this week, I would write a thank you note back to him, just as I did to all of the children who reached out to me. Finally, I stashed the letter into the bottom drawer of my desk where I kept the letters I received. Once the drawer was overflowing, I'd take all the letters home to add to the trunk in my home office.

Turning my attention back to the letters waiting for me, I tried not to sigh. The life of adults was one that I was a reluctant participant in. But, I was currently fielding multiple proposals for my next piece of work to tide me over until inspiration for my next children's book hit. In the meantime, I'd wanted to focus more on my art and had offered up my services to draw pictures for others because the drawings had always been my greatest strength and held my attention more than writing did.

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