Enola Scamander grew up at Hogwarts during the reign of Grindelwald-practically abandoned there by her older brothers-Newt and Theseus. As their fame grew rampant and their involvement in the fight against Grindelwald became public, Enola's sense of...
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NOW, WHERE TO BEGIN?
A train whistle blew from somewhere to my left—the harsh noise grating on my ears. Steam billowed from the chimney of the enormous locomotive as it chugged into the station, and my grip tightened over the crumpled letter clutched in my sweaty palm.
I had been waiting a very long time for a very important person to get off that train, and once it pulled to a stop next to the platform, the reality of the moment came crashing down upon me. Six years, two months, and twelve days late. Not even a 'Happy Birthday.'
I swallowed down the bitter taste of disappointment and ran my free hand through my wild brown locks. There was simply no taming them. They would do what they pleased without any regard for fashion trends. 'I never cared much for fashion anyway,' I thought, stuffing the letter away in my pocket.
A genuine smile soon painted the corners of my mouth as my eyes locked onto a hunched figure of a man, caramel locks brushing his face, and arms clutching a large briefcase to his chest. Despite him leaving me on my own for years—with no end in sight—I was rather pleased to see him. And a small part, deep down, loathed me for it.
'It would not be right of me to hold a grudge. Especially with family,' I told myself, in what was reminiscent of a pep talk, before gathering what courage I had left to finally approach the young man.
"Are you ill, my dear Newt?"
Newt's timid eyes shot up to meet my own brown orbs, the former's flashing from shock to recognition. I could even make out deep rooted remorse swimming about within their depths. He was sorry, I could tell, and in that moment I forgave my older brother for his absence.
"Enola," he whispered, his eyes darting down to his feet in poorly hidden discomfort.
"I mean, six years. I can only assume you have been diagnosed with a terminal illness, and you could not die peacefully knowing father would be waiting with a belt on the other side for not visiting your sister. So, how long?"
I witnessed the corners of his mouth twitch up into an amused grimace before it was wiped away. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his form stiff and rigid, his arms grasping his suitcase as if it was a lifeline.
"You are forgiven."
It's a weakness of mine, I have so often found. For I could never stay angry. Not at Newt. He has always been a shy thing with a heart of gold. Granted, it has been targeted—more often than not—towards his magical creatures, but nonetheless, his heart has always been pure. Yes, I forgave Newt, and quite easily too. Hopefully the same could be said for my eldest brother.
Newt seemed to physically relax after I spoke those three words and clambered to his feet hastily. "Yes, uh, there is a reason I sent for you. I'm sure you've been wondering."
This was something I have always admired about my brother. No matter the situation, his voice has always been pleasant—soft and calming to the ears. I have never heard him yell and I doubt I ever will. I couldn't help but find my voice rather irritating in that moment, and I wondered then why so many had people put up with it. I shook the silly thought away.
