Credits- Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. The portions marked in asterisk are taken from this book.

All credit goes to Rowling. I just get to live in the imaginary universe she made.

Chapter 3- The One With A Few Letters.

Do you know what the most embarrassing thing about my existence is? I lived for almost 33 years, got a degree in literature, read a few books, and sent out a handful of emails. But I still don't know how to write a letter.

Here I am, sitting at my desk, fidgeting with my fountain pen, staring at the fresh-scented parchment having no idea how to write a letter.

"Dear Uncle Remus,"

I mumbled aloud. But as quickly as I wrote it down, I hurriedly scratched it away shaking my head. That was too friendly for the daughter of a person who he believed caused the death of his best mates.

"Dear Remus Lupin,"

I began again, the words feeling weirdly strange underneath my pen. The salutation felt too… I don't know…formal and too familiar at the same time?

I crossed it out with a sigh.

"Remus Lupin,"

I tried again, aiming for a neutral approach. But it felt too cold like I was delivering a howler rather than a heartfelt letter.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

I really miss texting. Now more than before... I've made friends with countless people virtually in the time it's taken me to write a salutation. But this, this is very frustrating. Like, how hard could it be to write a simple letter? That too to a stranger? An ex-fictional character who was your favourite one to ship with your own now-father?

Leaning back in my chair, I contemplated, that maybe I should start with something like "Hey Remus, fancy a chat?" or something equally breezy. After a minute of thinking, I resumed writing.

"Dear Mr. Lupin," I began, thinking that this would suffice. `

"I hope this letter finds you well and in good health."

I staggered, contemplating how to properly introduce myself.

"I don't know how to introduce myself to you- or rather reintroduce myself. I only know about you from the pictures and diaries left behind by my mother. You might know her, Maya Das, who if you don't know it yet, passed away when I was 2 years old. I was just six months old when we left England, so you might know me as a small baby named Tara.

I've been meaning to reach out to you for a while now. I returned to London with my uncle and family two months ago, and ever since, I have been wanting to write to you or find some other means of contacting you. The opportunity presented itself just now. I know things have been tough for you, especially after what happened nine years ago. I don't want to make things way more awkward or intrude on your life. If you find this letter inconvenient, you are very much welcome to ignore it. I will never hold it against you. I understand, truly.

However, if you are open to the idea of us reconnecting, I hope this letter may serve as a way for us. As it stands, you are the only person I know—and who hopefully knows me too—in Wizarding Britain. But I am not using it as an excuse to force you into any kind of relationship, even though I do hope that we can at least be acquaintances. Once again, if you do not wish for this, I understand completely.

I won't keep you any longer. If you are genuinely okay with the idea of meeting up, feel free to drop by. I'm staying at 42 Naoroji Street in London.

Thanks for considering this, Mr. Lupin.

Best,

Tara"

"Here's hoping this isn't a complete disaster," I muttered to myself before sealing it inside an envelope addressed to 'Remus Lupin'. I handed it over to Charles, who was nibbling on the left-over crisps I left for him. Charles, is a very majestic-looking owl who came along with me during the trip to Diagon Alley last week. I tried to name him Snuffles first, but he was very unimpressed. He gave my fingers a quick nip, which, oddly enough, enlightened me. Charles has standards, you see.

"Get this letter to Remus Lupin, yeah? I don't know where he lives or anything. Hell, I don't even know if he is in this country. But please make sure you get to him, Charlie… And stay safe, okay?", I said, while Charles hooted in affirmation and looked over to Anne, who climbed over to the window sill, to take a look at the leftover crisps and perched on my lap. I whispered to Anne, "Hope that reaches him, yeah?"

Anne purrs in what seems like reassurance, maybe she does understand, given she's a half-kneazle, as the sales witch from Magical Menagerie informed me.

The good news is that I can finally take a bite from the sandwich waiting for me at the table for hours. I took a big bite of the cold sandwich, too lazy to heat it up, and reached inside the new rucksack with an endless bottom. It wasn't hard to find a small diary and Walkman on top of all the things I purchased the other day, which are yet to be unpacked.

I plunged onto a sofa chair, put the headphones on and started thinking about the things to write in the diary. The last three months were quite fascinating. London was quite welcoming with a confused breath of warmth and coldness hovering over it when I arrived. Once we were all settled in, my uncle took us sightseeing across the country taking full advantage of the summer, before my young cousin began their schools. Thanks to my ever-retaining terrible sense of direction, it took a while to venture out into the streets alone, which, to be realistic, wasn't really allowed by my family.

My youngest uncle was quite small when my mother went to Hogwarts and was not really knowledgable about Wizarding London, but he still told me about a place where mother went shopping, somewhere in Charing Cross Road, located within walking distance from my home. On one of our evening drives, I also happened to come across Grimmauld Place as well, a stone's throw away from my place. I found myself quite lucky to be able to find every place I wanted so easily, to be honest.

Eventually, I mustered up the courage to travel around London alone. Like, seriously, how did people travel before GPS? Let's just say, thank Merlin for Google Maps, even though I still managed to get lost with Google Maps.

Once the lanes of London began donning Gryffindor colours with pride, I decided to go to Diagon Alley. It was a fine Tuesday and no one was at home. I walked over to Charing Cross Road crossing my fingers that it, in fact, was the right place. It didn't take me long to find a medieval-looking small dingy door which clearly stood apart from the bookstore and record store it was sandwiched in between. In front of which a board hung clearly saying

"The Leaky Cauldron."

Seeing the board, I felt genuinely real for the first time. It was so reassuring and made me so much anxious at the same time. The inside of the pub was exactly as I expected, dark and welcoming, packed with witches and wizards wearing robes and pointy hats, talking to each other and eating their food. With my bright-coloured t-shirt, baggy jeans and a cap clearly meant for a disguise, totally inconspicuous. let's just say that I was not standing out. At all.

I followed the crowd as they made their way to the back door of the pub, leading to the giant brick wall that would take us to Diagon Alley. Unfortunately, with everyone pushing and shoving to enter the alley, there was no one to give me the grand "Tara, welcome to Diagon Alley" introduction.

Nevertheless, Diagon Alley was just as enchanting as I'd imagined. It looked like I'd stepped onto the set of a period movie set in some Elizabethan era, minus the magic. A narrow, dark alleyway lined with tightly packed shops of all sorts gave the impression of brushing colour onto a black-and-white photograph. It was quite a sight to behold, with floating signboards and flying objects that I couldn't even begin to identify.

On that alley, not far from the pub, stood the wizarding bank, Gringotts, showing no signs that it was hiding a Ukrainian Iron Belly deep within its depths.

The inside of Gringotts reminded me of the lobby rooms of luxury hotels, but with desks on both sides and small goblins walking around running the wizarding economy. Banks have always been a nightmare for me the reason for which I clearly could not understand. But this, this was different. This was brilliant.

I approached a bored-looking Goblin asking for a withdrawal, handing him over a couple of golden kings engraved with a logo which said Fortius Quo Fidelius held together by a Bowtruckle key chain. It was among the things inside a pouch that my uncle handed over to me when I left India, which also contained several documents including my mother's will, some jewellery, keys which I clearly understood as Gringott vault keys and a couple of other muggle passbooks and some other documents.

"Very well," said the goblin, seemingly unbothered by the presence of a young child conducting financial transactions within Gringotts. "I regret to inform you, Ms. Black, that you can only access the trust vault. The other key belongs to Mr and Mrs Black's joint vault, which you cannot access without written permission from either of them or in the unfortunate event of both parents being deceased. In the latter case, access is granted once you reach the age of seventeen." With that, the goblin handed over the second key to me and led me to the vaults, it was quite dark and cold and looked like a mine of some sort.

I quite enjoyed the cart ride there though.

After grabbing some galleons, sickles and knuts from the vault, I eyeballed the exchange rates and value of the coins on the wall, because, of course, I couldn't recall it from the books.

Everything after that went as I wanted it to. After buying some daily robes and cloaks from Madam Malkins and Little Witch Garments shop located down the alley, I clung one cloak on myself, finally blending in successfully. That was enough to tackle my wizarding fashion crisis. At least for now.

I picked up some parchments, quills and ink from Scribbulus Writing Implements after deciding that the fancy self-writing and error-detecting quills could wait till the school purchase. I also made a stop in Pilliwinkle's Playthings, because of the cute pygmy puff plushies on display. So of course, I bought it. I actually wanted to buy the toy dragon that breathes fire when rubbed in the belly. But I left it as such since I really don't want to be convicted of arson for burning down the entire muggle street.

I also purchased a small camera from Shutterbotton's and a lute from Concordia and Plunkett, thinking it would be the easiest for me to play. I got my Mary Poppins- that is my rucksack- from Stowe and Packer's, where they promised that the undetectable extension charm would last until the bag was completely destroyed.

The main agenda of the shopping, however, was Charles and Anne of course. And Charles, the brown owl, flew right to me the moment I stepped into Magical Menagerie, bonding immediately. So, there was no way I couldn't take him with me. Anne, on the other hand, was resting peacefully in a corner, until I asked the sales witch that I wanted a half-kneazle cat. I immediately caught the attention of Anne, who was very cute and had a snowy white coat.

And let me tell you, getting chewed out by my uncle for going to the wizarding market alone was a real treat.

But, the journey, for all that happened, was all worth the taunts I got after getting back home. That was the first grand step of my long plan fulfilled right there. I immediately wanted to write Remus, now that I have Charles. But for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to do it that day.

It took me a few days to finally take a firm decision to write a letter and take the parchment out. And as you can see, the letter-sending part was done successfully.

Now, we wait.

And waiting, I did.

I swear, I've been counting down the days since I sent that letter to Remus. Like, literally counting. And let me tell you, it's been the most agonizing wait of my life. Not that I had anything to do at home except dodge the house help. I mean, sure, I raided my cousins' book collection and hit up the record stores for vinyl and tapes. But let's be real, I needed some action.

Things were getting boring until October crept in, and suddenly, an owl came up to my window holding a letter addressed to me. I quickly rewarded the owl and took the letter out, tearing up its envelope.

"Dear Tara," A warm and cozy feeling suddenly crept through my body as I read the first word. As if the words fell out onto that parchment directly from Remus's heart.

He started off with the usual condolences for Mum, which, yeah, I expected. But then he went on to talk about Mum and how incredible she was. It was the first time I heard someone else than my family talking nicely about her. It stung me a bit, but in a good way, you know?

And then he got all apologetic about not staying in touch and stuff. Classic Remus Lupin, trying to shoulder all the blame. But hey, I'll take the apology. And he promised to come visit. Ha! It's a win!

Then he went on to say that I shouldn't feel guilty about my Dad's past. Like, Remus, I always that you were the kindest person in the J.K. Rowling universe,

But you're a hundred times kinder in real, more than I ever imagined...

And a thousand times braver than everyone else.

The only word that I can use to describe the feeling that I am feeling inside reading the letter is Warmth. In its purest Form.

I mean, He wrote that had held me as a baby! Remus Lupin.

I mean, not me, Tara, or maybe me, erm, let's not get into that.

But HOW CRAZY WAS THAT?

And with that, I decided that I was going to adopt Remus Lupin as my godfather. And I don't care if anyone disagrees.

You know what? I never celebrated Halloween. I always loved the idea of dressing up as something and wandering along the streets getting free candies. Dressing up as one of the Harry Potter characters for Halloween was of course one of my dreams. So when Halloween came by, I trick-or-treated around the neighbourhood in the fanciest and most elaborate robes I could find at Madam Malkin's. I couldn't help but feel proud of myself for coming up with that idea. Doing a Harry Potter-themed dress-up in the Harry Potter universe. Genius.

It was one of those days where you can proudly declare, "Yes, I'm a witch!" and wear the normal wizarding wear in public without earning any stares from the muggles. It felt like a great inside joke. Even Remus thought it was when he came by.

Halloween went well with talking with Remus and having great pumpkin juice that he bought for me. He shared his memories about Halloweens in Hogwarts, about enchanted pumpkins and skeletons that hung in the Great Hall for Halloween and the scare it used to give to students. He also talked a lot about Samhain and Halloween and their differences. The thing about talking to Remus is that he knows how to talk so eloquently about anything on this planet while making it so interesting to listen.

I have been telling him to teach at Hogwarts since we first met. And he outrightly rejects the idea. All the time. One of these days, I really will convince him to do it. I have a way with words, as Remus told me once. And I agree. 'Words' are indeed a part of my plan.

It was quite easy to get along with him, to be honest. I admit that the first time we met at my home, it was awkward. I saw a lonely man, worn down by the life he had to live but still had the same kind eyes I saw in the old photos. I saw him approaching me with apprehension at first, keeping his distance. He still reached out to me. And everything went easy.

We maintained contact through letters after we first met. The good news is that I was getting better at letter writing. Most of the time, I complained about my hate for arithmancy, and he always replied with a letter, half looking like an online article which said: "13 reasons why you should like arithmancy."

Other times, we discussed muggle literature. We both, to my relief, agreed that muggle fiction is superior to wizarding fiction.

Remus was a fatherly figure my past self would have craved for. Bless this life, I had some amazing people taking care of me. Now Remus included.

I wish Harry could get that too. But I just could not, for the life of me, find the courage to tell Remus about everything about his life and rescue Harry that way. Then I will have to tell him how I knew this stuff. And I can't. Guess I am too comfortable in this 'I am too mature for a kid' treatment I am getting.

I would also have gone to Surrey and immediately got Harry out of there if I could. But as a 10-year-old, I had some limitations. So I decided to execute a prank.

Maybe it's the genes. Maybe it's the Remus Lupin rubbing off on me. I don't know. But I am actually planning a prank to pull on Vernon and Petunia Dursley. And boy, this was perhaps the most illogical yet enjoyable thing I ever did.

I wrote a letter.

"Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley,"

I began writing the letter, trying to control my laugh.

"We have received intelligence regarding Harry Potter, an underage wizard who is residing under your care. It has come to my attention that there have been some concerns regarding the treatment of Mr. Potter within your household."

I went on to list the specific instances of neglect and abuse, citing examples of Harry being kept in a cupboard under the stairs, bullied by their son Dudley and his rowdy gang, keeping him locked, starving, and giving him old rugged clothes. And everything I could remember from the books. I made it clear that a Sherlock Holmes eye would be following them everywhere until the boy reached Hogwarts.

I also threw in some wizarding laws such as the Code of Magical Custody Clause which were all made up. I also may or may not have blackmailed them to turn them all into a toad and lock them inside a deep Well in Azkaban forever as a punishment for 'Abuse of Under-age Wizard. But they really deserved to be turned into toads.

"If you do not rectify your behaviour," I continued, "and treat Mr Potter with the respect and dignity he deserves, I will have no choice but to take action. Consider this your final warning."

Thus, I wrapped the letter up signing it as "Mafalda Harpik, Director of the Underage Wizard Welfare Committee." After thinking for a long time about what the real Mafalda's surname was, I settled on Harpik since I was very convinced that it was Harprick, which sounded quite explicit.

It is highly immature. I know. There are also potential dangers in this plan. I know that too. I don't know if this would even work. But it better be. Or I will make sure that I send a real toad for next year's Christmas as a reminder of the initial blackmail.

The thing is that, now I am anxious to see the result of the prank, to see Harry and to see, how the letter might have changed things for him.

In between all the time, I spent thinking and plotting plans, Christmas, New Year and my birthday went by.

For Christmas, Remus came by. I think kind of knows about my whole adoption thing, because these days, he writes more frequently. He also got super close to my family and was kind to all of us and chatted with me about everything under the sky except for one topic- Sirius Black.

"You know Remus, have you ever considered that Santa Claus is an actual wizard who uses time-turners to deliver presents to every household in the world, maybe using a doubling charm to make all the gifts needed for the whole world?" I blurted out when we sat down on the sofa opening the final present- a book named Wonderous Wizarding Traditions.

Remus raised his head back from the Dairy Milk bars box I gifted him and said, "Well that is a possibility. But how do you even know about doubling charms and time- turners, they are quite advanced magic"

I grinned. "Oh, you know me, Remus. Great mind, mine… And as for the doubling charm, well, let's just say I've been doing a bit of extra reading... Erm, Coming back to my theory"

"Ah, theory. But you're forgetting the crucial parts," Remus interjected. "How would Santa manage to send all those presents to all the children in the world in a single night? And why isn't no one receiving his presents anymore?"

I rolled my eyes and scoffed. "Oh please, magic, Remus, magic. Time turners, flying reindeer, Elves ?!. And as for the second question, I think there are no kind kids like me anymore in this world."

Remus chuckled, shaking his head, "Santa might have had an excellent time management and character tracking system then."

"Oh yes! Maybe he should have written a book or something- "Santa's Guide to Efficiency: How to Deliver Presents to Good Kids in Record Time"

"I'd definitely buy that book then" Remus threw his head back on the chair. "But don't you think Santa would be exactly the kind of person who would believe magic is dangerous, considering he was a bishop?"

I shook my head. "First of all, you hardly need that book. You are the most disciplined person I have ever come across. And to the second question, I don't think so. The Fat Friar was a Christian too, wasn't he? And he was a wizard."

"True," Remus conceded, "Yes, Fat Friar was a Clergy and he was also executed under the suspicion of being a wizard"

"Maybe Santa was never discovered. Lucky guy, he was" I shrugged. "And now that I think about it, maybe the Fat Friar was working with Santa. Maybe that's why he was in Hogwarts even after his death, maybe Santa had a secret workshop somewhere in Scotland."

Remus chuckled. "You've got quite the imagination. Have you ever thought about writing wizarding fiction?"

I scoffed at the idea. "Thanks, but no thanks. I have no intention of writing wizarding fiction. It's... bleh."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Whatever 'bleh' means?"

I nodded. "Yeah, like Gilderoy Lockhart... bleh."

Remus chuckled. "Wrong again. Gilderoy writes amazing fiction. His Holidays With Hags is quite a literary masterpiece."

"Maybe I should talk to him about my theory," I joked.

"I can already see his next book coming," Remus quipped. "'Scalloping with Santa'."

"Or Riding with Reindeers, Now that would be the wizarding fiction I'd like to read."

Remus grinned. "You have excellent taste in fiction."

I smirked. "I have a good influence."

Remus laughed raising his teacup, "touché"

Alright, let me clear this up once and for all. Reaching out to Remus was all part of my master plan, you see? Gain his trust, reel him in, the whole shebang. But now, I'm not so sure. Sometimes when I see him zoning out and looking quite miserable, which he tries to hide from me, I feel like telling him everything. Like I am reincarnated. Your best mate is not a mass murderer. And everything.

But then, my good ol' insecurities come knocking. And I shy away. I am a total coward.

...

Hey, Please let me know your opinion on this chapter

Thank you for reading.

All my Love

Seoul Soul