Fate of Fangs, Claws, and Hearts | Marauders Fanfic / Part 1

37 - Hello, greeted Past, a smile on its lips

The world seemed to freeze. My hands shook, my eyes locked on the envelope before me. My name was scrawled across it, and the sender was unmistakable: You-Know-Who. Fear gripped me, even though the voice inside my head screamed not to open it, to take it straight to Dumbledore and let him handle it. Instead, my fingers, trembling, broke the plain wax seal, unfolding the parchment.
My hands were cold, fear coiling tight in my stomach. It was not the parchment itself that frightened me, nor the words written upon it, but what they signified - a bridge to the past I was not sure I was ready to cross. Yet I could not stop myself. I had to know.
The letters blurred as I began to read:

Phil,

I’ll be honest; I don't know where to start. So much has happened, so I'll begin with the present. A few months ago, I discovered you’re at Hogwarts, in the House of Lions no less. How I came by this knowledge doesn’t matter, but I’m proud of you, even though I know you must be there because something terrible happened. Your mother, Cathrine, never wanted you at Hogwarts, and you know why. She always claimed you were a danger to others. She lacked the vision to see you for what you truly are, only seeing danger.
But you’re special, Phil. At least, you always were to me. You still are. I’m sorry I left you. I suppose you never knew why I disappeared, but by now, at sixteen, you can probably guess. Your mother never understood you. In the end, she threatened me with the Ministry unless I left. I would have taken you with me, no matter the cost, but it wasn’t safe for you. Not with me.
I cannot tell you much about where I am or under what conditions because I don't know how much you hate me right now, but hate me you must.

I know the Ministry has picked up my trail again. My suspicion is that your presence at Hogwarts has something to do with it, specifically old Dumbledore. I am not angry at you, Phil, but before you turn the world against me, your own father, I want to explain myself; you were too young back then. Too young for many things. I see that now, but you are who you are. Just like me.
I have so much to explain to you about your nature, but I don't know if you will let me. I don't know what happened to you after I left. You mean a lot to me, you are my flesh and blood, and I could not bear for anything to happen to you.

I hope this letter doesn't come as too much of a shock. I've left signs for you, like the money deposited in your Gringotts vault. And when I bought the owl, I saw you, Phil, in Diagon Alley. It wasn't planned; I didn't mean to follow you. You’ve grown, almost eight years since we last saw each other, yet I knew you at once. I believe you knew it was me back then, and you may have told others. I don't blame you, for you must be scared.
The investigators have been haunting Diagon and Knockturn Alley. Let them try. I am always a step ahead, even of you. Now that my letter has reached you, I don't know what you will do. The owl won't come back to me; it's yours now. You always loved animals; perhaps you still do.

There’s much I need to explain, and next time I’ll contact you differently. I’ll give you the choice: whether to involve yourself with me or let your hatred win. No matter what, you are still my daughter. I will always love you, even if you see me as a monster.

Your father.

The letter slipped from my fingers. An emptiness settled in my chest, a strange calmness overtaking the storm of suspicion that had raged moments before. My father’s words seemed so... ordinary, as if he were just another man, not the wizard hunted by the Ministry for murder. His claim of not being a monster was a lie, though. He was a lie.
I folded the letter with deliberate care, then turned to the owl, perched and watching. »So, you're mine now,« I murmured, extending a hand. Its yellow eyes studied me for a moment before it leaned forward, brushing its head against my fingers. »He’s always had a way of entangling others in his affairs,« I continued, thoughts drifting back to my father.
Knowing he was alive and had reached out was a thought that felt oddly surreal. The fear that had once gripped me had dissipated. I had never feared him, only the labyrinth of his mind. What I felt was hate, and that hatred grounded me now, kept me steady.
Had this letter arrived during my early days at Hogwarts, I might have burned it, awaited his next move with wary eyes. But now, I understood more. I knew what he was.
Leaving the owl behind, I walked out of the dormitory. I was no longer the naive Phil who would blindly follow her father.
As the letter said, he had much to tell me. I wanted those answers, but I would not let him control the narrative. Dumbledore needed to know, yet should my father reach out again, I would keep it to myself until I got the answers I sought. The past was a shadow I could no longer ignore, and I was ready to step into it, one deliberate step at a time.