The glassy sheen of water shattered as Harry pushed another pebble off the edge with the tip of his sneaker. The sound was hollow and bounced off of him as if he was made of the same stone as the rest of the fountain. The early morning silence seemed to ring in his ears and he felt himself lean forward, compelled by a nonexistent hand on his back. It was a position he'd taken too often in recent weeks: Precariously balanced on the edge of the fountain, waiting for as little as a breeze to topple him over. He imagined the frigid water would be a relief. A reminder that he was still there. It was tempting.
As the water settled from the rude interruption, his reflection began to reform. An unfamiliar scrawny boy with bedraggled hair stared back, sunken eyes accusing him. He hadn't slept yet, and his face bore that evidence all too clearly. Hermione would chastise him for not taking better care of himself if she saw him like this. Ron would just tell him to get his shit together. But they weren't here, and Harry hadn't heard from them in weeks, so he supposed their opinions of his lifestyle didn't really matter.
His face turned sour as he thought about the letters. So many letters. It was what had kept him up all night and what had kept him up for weeks until now. He'd written dozens of times to everyone that he knew at this point. Most nights he wrote to Ron and Hermione, telling them about his day and complaining about the Dursleys. He often wrote to Remus to inquire about the state of the Order and when he tired of that, he wrote to Dumbledore, begging for any scrap of information the old man might be willing to give. Every night he asked them to reply and every morning his window was empty of owls and his soul leached of a little more life. As the days continued to pass with nothing, handing the letters off to Hedwig started to feel more like a prayer than a message to his friends.
He continued to stare at his reflection, daring himself to fall, even just to put a stop to his train of thought. He didn't want to think about the last letter he had written the night before. He didn't want to think about Sirius. He'd thought about him too much these days, and everytime the thoughts ended with the same scene replaying over and over in his memory until he wasn't sure what was real. He couldn't escape it. Just as he couldn't escape the nearly endless stream of 'what if's being whispered into his head.
The letter he'd written to Sirius felt like an exceptionally cruel joke, an admission of his own desperation. He knew Sirius was dead. But in his sleep deprived, lonely state he's convinced himself to try anyway. Afterall, he never saw the body. Maybe he was somewhere out there; Maybe Hedwig could find him. It was stupid. And now he presumed that Kreacher was having a laugh at his expense. The letter hadn't returned with Hedwig, so Harry assumed it now sat abandoned at Grimmauld Place. And of all the people who might happen upon it there, Harry supposed Kreacher would be the least mortifying option.
He took a step back, letting the thought of the cold water be enough for him. The sun was peeking over the horizon and he would need to be home before his foster family woke up to find him missing. They wouldn't have kind things to say if he came in soaking wet either. Pulling his jacket tighter over his shoulders, Harry turned and left the small park behind him.
The neighborhood was deserted as he ambled back to his home. It didn't surprise him though. The muggles on this street were incredibly addicted to their habits. Every house looked exactly like the next and each person lived their lives in almost identical ways. It was impressive the amount of effort that went into conforming. Harry, at least, could relish in the fact that before 6 am, not a single soul would interrupt him on his walks.
As he approached his familiar place of residence, he began his daily routine of sticking to the grass and entering from the sliding back door, in the hopes of making as little noise as possible. Harry slunk into the sleepy home and started his well worn path to his room, careful to avoid the spots in the floor that he knew tended to creak and groan when stepped on. He took a minor detour to steal a roll from the cupboards, but besides that Harry's route was clean and rehearsed.
His foot hadn't even touched the first step of the stairs when the hall light switched on. Harry froze in place, suddenly staring up at the enraged face of his Uncle. For such a large man, he was incredibly quick and Harry found himself slammed up against the wall before he realized Vernon had even moved.
"And where do you think you were?" Vernon spat the words at him as if they were laced with venom
"I was just taking a walk-" Harry tried to explain, pressing his hands against the wall to steady himself.
"I'm sure you think you were quite clever sneaking out, boy." He pulled Harry's collar towards him, slamming him back for a second time. Harry gasped as the air left his chest, his head spinning. "And I'm sure you thought you could get away with it, with all your magical voodoo." Harry tried to speak again -defend himself- but Vernon was determined to not let him get a word in edgewise. "You've been taking advantage of my family for too long to be acting like this, boy." his knuckles turned white against Harry's gray jacket. "If this happens again, I'll take it as you moving out for good." His grin was vicious, as if nothing delighted him more than the idea of a home where Harry wasn't.
"Yes sir." Harry muttered, clenching his own fists at his sides. Vernon liked it when Harry fought back and Harry wasn't about to give him a reason to escalate things. Clearly unsatisfied, Vernon shoved Harry one last time for emphasis and huffed his way up the stairs without another glance.
"I suggest you stay out of my sight for the rest of the day." He seethed, his hand on the doorknob of the master bedroom. "Or else." and with that, Harry's legal guardian disappeared.
The tell-tale creek of bedsprings signaled for him to move and with three long strides he was closing himself into his own bedroom. Hedwig chirped curiously from her cage by the window at his sudden entry. Harry gave her a weary smile and shrugged. Vernon had gone easy on him this morning for whatever reason. He usually relished the opportunity to berate him for hours or force him to do manual labor until Harry wished he would have just taken the beating. Harry didn't need to understand to keep his mouth shut though, feeling his restless night catching up with him.
With a new ache in his shoulders, Harry slouched down next to Hedwig's cage and brought her out. She cooed as he began to scratch the feathers on her head. "No return mail for me today, huh?" Instead of a response, Hedwig pressed her skull firmly into his palm, demanding he focus more on scratching and less on chit chat. Harry was happy to oblige with an affectionate smile as he took the roll from his pocket and bit into it. Glancing at the clock, Harry realized it was only 5:30 AM and with Vernon's parting words, he quickly acclimatized to the idea of spending his entire day sequestered in his room.
Since his return to the Dursley home, Harry had become quite used to being by himself. Even when his seclusion wasn't forced under the threat of violence, it was preferable to the company of his foster family. They had never been kind to him by any means, but it seemed that the older he got, the more they relished in making his life a living hell. Where Petunia had simply ignored his existence before, now she would make disparaging comments and find any humiliating chore that she could possibly hoist onto him. After he'd been ordered to scrub the kitchen tiles with a toothbrush on a whim of hers, Harry had learned to give her a wider birth. The only one who seemed to be improving in their treatment of Harry was Dudley and even that wasn't saying much given how poorly they'd gotten along in younger years.
The morning passed with agonizing slowness. After Hedwig had tired of him, he'd attempted to sleep only to find that the sun was determined to shine directly into his eyes. So he layed in his bed without moving and stared at the sunbeams crawling across the ceiling for an indeterminate amount of time. His head had started to ache and as the clock ticked he was beginning to feel like he should have grabbed more than a single roll for his breakfast. He could hear the muffled sounds of the morning talk show filtering up from the living room and he was surprised with the relief he felt to no longer be surrounded by silence. Maybe he should have taken the cold water plunge after all, Harry wasn't sure when he'd get the chance again.
Heavy steps alerted him to an approaching Dursley and Harry didn't have to do much to feign sleep, closing his eyes as the door swung open. He could tell by the lack of immediate vitriol that it was Dudley. "Oh toss off, Harry. I know you're not asleep." Dudley gave him a condescending roll of his eyes as Harry shrugged and moved into a sitting position. Ever since the incident with the Dementors last year, Dudley's change in attitude had been hard to place. Others might not have noticed it but his jabs and cruel remarks were said with less bite and there hadn't been a single physical altercation since he'd come back for the Summer. As much as the bigger boy threatened to bash his face in, Dudley kept his distance and left Harry alone, which Harry supposed was the best he could ask for. "Mum said she wants you in the garden." His words were blunt as if annoyed he even had to say them aloud.
"But Vernon said to stay out of sight today?" Harry replied, a little confused.
Dudley snorted, "What am I your secretary?" He shut the door, his footsteps signaling that the dilemma was not his problem nor his concern in the slightest. Harry dragged his hand through his greasy hair, exasperated. Either way he was gonna get an earful from one of them. He grabbed his shoes, deciding getting berated or beaten by Vernon was the lesser of two evils. Petunia had the nasty habit of banning him from meals if she decided he was being 'smart' with her, a word she used often to mean whatever she wanted it to.
He peaked out into the hallway, hoping to avoid direct contact with his uncle. The television was still blaring downstairs and Harry quietly made his way through the kitchen and out the backdoor. Petunia stood in her modest dress, her hair pinned up in a firm bun, the force pulling her face tight. She tsked as he walked out, his shoes untied and his clothes unchanged from yesterday. Of course, Harry knew she didn't care that he was disregarding his hygiene. She was more offended by the idea that a neighbor might peer over the fence and judge her for the poor state of their delinquent nephew.
"Dudley said you needed help?" He offered as he closed the gap between them. She gave him another disapproving once over and turned her attention back to the small flower garden.
"There's weeds starting to grow around the roses and I'd like you to take them out before they get too noticeable." She pointed at a few troubled areas and Harry nodded. "Be quick of it too. Vernon's having guests over tonight and I'd like to be able to eat outside." With that, she quickly walked back into the house and shut the door, leaving Harry to tend to his new task. The Dursley's owned a small gardening shed but the contents were sealed away with a padlock that Petunia vehemently refused to remove to allow Harry access to the tools. He'd asked before only to be met with accusations of thievery so he didn't bother even considering it. He kneeled down, careful to mind the smaller plants and began maneuvering around the thorns with his bare hands.
He had lost himself to the repetitive work when the small pop sounded near his ear. He glanced up, expecting Dudley or Petunia to be standing there. Instead he was met with a small paper crane gently flapping its wings, glowing a subtle blue. It flew in a downward arc towards him. Hand reached out to catch it, he barely noticed the tremor that had begun in his fingers. Blinking, he read the words written on one of the wings: Open Me. Harry's heart was beating fast now and he gently pulled the delicate bird out of the air. The blue hue dissolved and it turned still. Harry glanced up and around, remembering where he was and ensuring that no one else had seen it. With no witnesses in sight, he slipped it carefully into his front pocket. The Dursley's would most certainly not approve. Trying to contain his excitement, he continued ripping out the thistle weeds, with a little more vigor than before.
Had someone finally replied? Finding a charm to sneak him notes sounded like something Hermione would have done. Maybe she had worked with Ron to contact him in some other way besides owl. He could hardly contain the grin stretching across his face as he double checked the garden, making sure that the flowers were pristine and spotless. The euphoria of contact with his friends carried him back inside with little regard for Vernon's wrath. Before he knew it, he was sitting at his desk, opening the crane with almost trembling fingers.
He instantly knew the letter was, in fact, not a product of Ron or Hermione. The delicate script was almost perfect, each word written with what would have taken Harry immense concentration. Ron's handwriting was almost as bad as his own and Hermione, while incredibly intelligent, often wrote too quickly to worry about anyone else being able to understand her cursive. Harry frowned, willing away the sinking feeling of disappointment as he began to read.
Hello, I'm not Padfoot and I don't think I was meant to get your letter but I couldn't help but read it. I suggest you check your owl if you'd prefer your private mail not end up with a stranger.
Harry was a little taken aback. He had bared his soul in that letter, sharing his most private thoughts that he'd meant to send beyond the grave. This person obviously thought it would be an appropriate time to crack jokes about his owl. He wasn't especially sure how he should feel about that.
I just wanted to say I understand how you feel. We can train all we want but nothing can really prepare us for anything in this war and nothing is ever fair. I'm sorry about Sirius.
Harry stilled.
If you want to reply, use the Subvecto Incantatum charm. It's faster than an owl and I swear I'll cook that pidgeon of yours if it wakes me up at the ass crack of dawn one more time.
Ps: What's the bird's name?
-D
Harry read it again, chuckling at the vague threat to Hedwig. He decided the snarky comments were meant to be endearing, making light of an awkward mishap. There was no open invitation to communicate with the stranger but the mention of the charm and the ending question caught his eye. While not an outright "if you want someone to talk to, I'm here" it felt like an outstretched hand, veiled with meaningless threats and sarcasm. The stranger was leaving the next move up to Harry, no pressure and no offense if he decided to walk away.
He doubted Dumbledore would be happy about him communicating with a total stranger unsupervised. They had been able to charm the crane directly to him after all. Did that mean, whoever they were, knew where Harry was? It felt like something he should report to the Order. Harry frowned, thinking of the dozens of letters he'd already sent to them at this point. Not a single answer or reply. Were they even reading them? Hedwig never returned with the letters so he could only assume they were getting delivered to someone. Maybe something really was wrong with her. Harry chuckled at the idea of Hedwig dropping his angry anonymous letters at the feet of innocent witches and wizards around London. Without another thought, Harry whipped out another piece of paper and started to write. Afterall, he hadn't received explicit instructions not to communicate with strangers.
And just how many of my letters have you received? I'm hoping I still have a chance at some dignity here. Also, who is this?
Ps. I apologize for Hedwig's rude awakening, she's quite bright usually and she's likely the only friend I've got left so please refrain from cooking.
-H
He glanced at the other letter and considered for a moment if he should try and write just a bit neater. After a moment, he decided it didn't matter and pulled out his spellbook. He found Subvecto Incantatum in the very back, only a brief sentence describing its usage. It acted as a reply spell, seemingly only a usable option if you'd been asked a direct question in print and your response contained the answer. The answer would find the question asker, regardless of their knowledge of location or identity. It felt like one of those spells that was too specific for general knowledge and Harry wondered if even Hermione had heard of it.
Remembering how the stranger's letter had been folded, Harry double checked that he had included a question and an answer in his message and started carefully creasing the paper. He didn't know how to make a crane, or anything else quite so fancy for that matter, but he had made paper airplanes in the past. After ten minutes of struggling, Harry gave up on making his plane anything impressive, settling for its current uneven wings and crumpled edges. He flicked his wand and whispered the spell at his dreary creation, smiling when it gave a faint glow. With a gentle twist, he let it glide off his fingertips towards the window but it hadn't gone more than a foot before it folded in on itself and vanished.
Harry stared at the spot for several moments, unsure of what he was expecting to happen. Would D reply quickly? Would they reply at all? Harry sighed and unenthusiastically started clearing the clutter from his desk. He half-heartedly tried to refold the first letter back into its original crane shape but eventually gave up, fearing he would shred the poor thing.
About 10 minutes later, a faint pop sounded, another beautifully folded crane batted its delicate wings and floated to the table in front of Harry. Without hesitation, he gently dissected the message. He almost felt bad, like he was destroying a piece of art. Surely the stranger knew that the little folded creatures couldn't survive and be read at the same time though.
The words were just as elegant as the first with crisp lettering and delicate strokes. Could D be a girl? Thinking of Ron's and his own handwriting, he couldn't quite imagine a boy had written it.
Luckily for your dignity and unfortunately for my entertainment, I've only received one. If you'd like to fill me in on what I missed, I'm all ears.
Don't worry, Hedwig is safe for now. Though I do wonder about your lack of friends. You mentioned Ron and Hermione, where are they?
-D
Harry couldn't help but notice the avoidance of answering his question about the stranger's identity. He supposed they would prefer to remain anonymous. Harry also noted that because D had only asked one question, Harry would have to answer it for the spell to work. Contemplating how strict the magic was and wondering if he could exploit the same tactic to get the stranger to admit their name, Harry pulled out another piece of paper. He chose to let the avoidance slide for now. Nothing was forcing D to respond so Harry assumed trying to corner them in a question they didn't want to answer would only get Harry back to where he was yesterday: lonely and bored.
Honestly, I'm not sure. I think they're with their families but I haven't heard from them in weeks. I've sent dozens of letters but haven't gotten a reply yet. I feel like they're avoiding me and it's hard to blame them. I really screwed up at the end of last year. They can't avoid me forever though. I'll see them once school gets in so don't worry too much about me.
Harry tried to put a positive spin on the situation, hoping to not come off as too depressing. He placed the pen down to continue writing, but paused, an ink blot forming on the page. Asking about identity was off the table but he'd need to ask something in order for them to respond. Not wanting to make D uncomfortable, Harry deciding giving them options to choose from was probably his best bet at continuing the conversation.
I'd never heard of that charm before, are you an auror or something? Where'd you learn about it? Also, why paper cranes? They're lovely but awfully pretentious don't you think? You're not a smarmy little git are you?
-H
He quickly folded and sent the letter, unbothered with his, once again, messy craftsmanship. It felt like only a few minutes passed before another, even more intricately folded creation popped into existence. Harry looked at it, realizing that instead of a crane, D had folded it into a simple but beautiful little dragon. Slowly, Harry attempted to take it apart. With so many tiny creases, it took 5 minutes before he was smoothing the paper out over the desk. Smarmy git indeed he thought to himself, beginning to read the delicate handwriting.
I am perhaps the smarmiest git, depending on who you ask. Pretentious might also be an appropriate word but I just like how they look. It's stupid but my favorite part of being a wizard is charming origami into moving. That and flying of course. I could honestly give the rest of it up.
I'm just a student. But I'm flattered you assumed I was a professional. Though you might want to think about whether that says more about your education than mine. I think I found it in a charms book my third year. I was stuck in the hospital for a bit and used it to chat with people that were far too busy to come visit.
I'm sorry about your friends. They sound like absolute tossers. If you ever feel the need, I'm happy to send a hexed howler their way.
I've just realized I've forgotten to ask a question, so I'll ask if you have a favorite treat from the trolley?
-D
Harry smiled at the lengthy message. D had answered every question and more and Harry finally felt like he had an idea of who he was talking to. D was a wizard, a boy, and much more, a student at Hogwarts, given the subtle nod to the Trolley on the Hogwarts express. Harry grabbed another sheet of paper.
Yeah, the dragon doesn't help your case, as pretty as it was. Hopefully with your expertise, you'll appreciate my handiwork. I don't know if you could tell but I'm also quite the folding expert.
I know what you mean about flying though. God, it feels like ages since I've been on a broom. Not since before Umbridge canceled all the quidditch matches I think. I'm so excited to go back in September. I swear I'm going to live on that quidditch field. Also, if there are any complaints about the quality of my education I would like to formally address those to professor Umbridge herself, thankyouverymuch.
Sorry to hear about your hospital stay. Can I ask what you were in for? As for your question, I'm quite partial to the chocolate frogs myself. Do you have a favorite?
PS: No need to send howlers, I assume they're all quite sick of getting mail on my behalf.
Making a point to fold this airplane exceptionally poorly, he sent it off with a flick of his wrist. The trajectory of the plane would have made it nosedive immediately to the floor if the spell hadn't folded it up and carried it away before it had the chance. He knew it would take D a while to read and respond to his letter but he felt antsy. It had been so long since he'd had a real conversation that he practically craved the magical interaction.
Thankfully D didn't make a habit of forcing him to wait for very long, usually only twenty minutes passing between each letter. Harry often found himself wondering how much of that time was spent folding the intricate little animals as opposed to actually writing his response. D had taken to showing off since Harry had called him pretentious. As if each new animal was to say Oh you haven't seen anything pretentious yet. After the dragon, he'd received a simple, elegant butterfly, next was a dragonfly and then a bird that Harry couldn't quite remember the name of.
Each letter was longer than the last and Harry was starting to put together the puzzle that was his new friend. D had been hospitalized from an accident in class but didn't give any details, explaining that it was 'my own fault really and it's embarrassing to talk about mistakes I made when I was a kid." Harry could understand that and so they moved the conversation onto quidditch. Harry had bet him five galleons that he was a better flier and the implication passed silently between them that they would meet up and see once the new school year began. Harry also learned that D was an only child and an excellent student, if not a bit distracted at times. They discussed teachers and classes and when D brought up Dumbledore Harry couldn't help but be honest.
I think sometimes Dumbledore gets too focused on what he wants. He's a genius of course, and I used to always trust him to have my best interest in mind but recently it feels like he's using me more than anything else.
D had seemed confused and his next letter included:
Using you for what? I thought you were his favorite to be honest. Even as the star child, you don't get any special treatment? Even if he was using you I'd always assumed that meant he'd make sure you're okay in the process. Can't use someone who's dead, yaknow?
Harry paused at that. He wasn't even sure where his reservations with Dumbledore were coming from and found it especially difficult to articulate when he replied.
Honestly, I don't really know what he wants. I suppose that's the problem. And he always makes sure I make it out alive, so I guess that's good. But I've been feeling like that's his only goal with me. He's the reason I'm still living with the Dursleys and I really think he's part of the reason why I haven't heard from anyone. I don't know who else would have that kind of pull. So, yeah, he makes sure I survive but I'm never sure how bad he'll let it get before he steps in. I suppose he probably has a plan though.
D's response to this surprised him.
Fuck that guy. Fuck all of them. I'm so sick of these dumbass adults feeling like they can just screw with our lives like it doesn't even matter.
Harry tentatively included his next question at the end of his letter.
Do you have someone messing with your life as well?
D was vague when he answered.
Yeah. Unfortunately there's a few of them. I'm sorry Dumbledore's turned out to be such a prick. You deserve someone better looking out for you.
Harry wanted to pry but it felt like D had closed that door with the subtle change in subject. Harry settled on responding with a brief: So do you. Before allowing the tone of the conversation to return to its former levity.
Overall, their conversations were easy, bantering back and forth with their messages but Harry felt himself starting to grow anxious. He began to pace in between letters, rereading the ones that had come before it and thinking of more quips he might include in the next. Whenever it took D a bit longer to reply than usual, Harry felt his heartbeat quickening. He was painfully aware that at any point D could choose to stop answering and Harry would be left alone. Even as he read another letter, detailing D's childhood obsession with origami, he felt a small amount of panic creeping into the edges of his mind. This was the first sign to Harry that he was, in fact, not doing well with isolation. For the most part, he blamed the all-nighter he'd pulled, the sleep deprivation obviously making him a bit paranoid. But acknowledging that reality did little to ease his mind.
It was growing later into the afternoon, the sun casting long golden rays of light through the window. As the shadows continued to extend and the light dimmed, his anxiety started to originate from a separate worry that any second Petunia would come up, demanding he help with dinner like was usual in the Dursley household. How would they react if a magical floating crane poofed into existence in the middle of their kitchen? He couldn't imagine a scenario where that didn't end with the crane burned and every writing utensil in the house locked in a safe. The idea made him sweat and he wished D would hurry up.
As if answering his prayers, an origami snake suddenly slithered down to him. Not taking the time to admire the craftsmanship as he usually did, he snatched it out of the air and twisted it open. The letter was just as long as the others and Harry ached to read it immediately but upon hearing cupboards opening and closing downstairs- the earliest signs of dinner preparation-he decided to skip straight to the question. At the very end, D had inquired on whether or not Harry was planning to take Advanced Potions that year. Harry honestly had no idea.
He fumbled with his paper for a moment, and wrote a short reply.
Hey! I have to go quite soon and won't be able to reply for the rest of the night (my muggle family is not very understanding and would kill me if they saw these.) I'm really glad Hedwig messed up that delivery though because I've had a great time chatting with you today. If you haven't got anything to do tomorrow, I'd love to continue talking:) Would you be alright with replying to this in the morning? Of course, wait to respond till then, I'm not exaggerating about my family.
To your question about Potions. This is the first I've heard of it. Maybe? I've never been great at potions and I'd find any excuse to avoid Snape at this point. If I did take it, would you be willing to tutor me?
I'll talk to you tomorrow!
-H
Harry hadn't noticed until now but his heart was beating incredibly fast. He didn't bother folding it into anything in particular, just in half and then into a small square. Casting the spell he threw the paper and watched it disappear. Only seconds after, he heard the agitated voice of his Aunt from downstairs. "Where is that useless boy!?" He breathed a sigh of relief. With any luck, D would remember and reply tomorrow morning. If not… Harry's smile faltered, unable to stop himself from thinking over the past couple of weeks. The brief contact had only served to illuminate how absolutely miserable he'd become since returning home. Returning to that… He just couldn't. No. He assured himself. D would reply. The knot loosened in his throat and he cleared it with a cough. He took one last glance at the pile of crumpled letters on his desk and made his way downstairs before he gave Petunia more reasons to scream at him.
Helping with Dinner was a surprisingly painless affair. Once he'd finished peeling the potatoes, Petunia had dismissed him with a grimace. On a normal night, he would have helped more but his current state of filth seemed to be enough to earn his freedom. Which was fair. He was pretty disgusting, even by his own standards. He touched his hair, feeling the build up of grease sticking to his fingertips and with an urgency that surprised even himself, he suddenly felt very motivated to be clean. It was admittedly the first time he had felt even vaguely human in the past weeks. The simple relief of being acknowledged by another person felt unreal. He wondered if the others knew what being ignored like this was doing to him. Did the Order even care if he lost his mind?
Within minutes, he was stripping, adjusting the shower to a scalding hot temperature and letting it run over him, rinsing away the past week of Hell. He felt alive and excited and also, somehow simultaneously, incredibly exhausted. He imagined that the gloom he'd been stuck in had dulled the effect of how little sleep he'd actually been getting.
He couldn't keep his mind from wandering again and again to the stranger's letters. The anonymity was a mystery that was begging to be solved. And God, Harry loved a good mystery. He'd been able to surmise that they were in the same year at Hogwarts but D, with a suspicious amount of tact had evaded giving up which house he belonged to. Harry suspected D played on a quidditch team but had refused to give too much detail on what position. At every point Harry had attempted to glean any amount of identifying information, D seemed to casually steer the conversation away, giving vague answers and focusing on something else.
Harry had thought a lot about why D was trying to stay anonymous. His best guess thus far was that D knew Harry and didn't want to acknowledge it when they saw each other next. Fair enough, Harry thought as he scrubbed some of Vernon's shampoo into his overgrown hair. Harry wouldn't want to have to admit seeing the infamous "boy-who-lived" locked in a muggle house, abandoned by everyone he cared about, either. He was probably trying to spare Harry from ever speaking about the dismal experience again.
As he rinsed the soap out of his hair, he began to list every person he knew who's first or last name started with D. At first the amount of possible names was significant, but as he considered each new option against what he knew about D, people started to drop like flies. Each person becoming more absurd than the last.
Eventually he settled on the idea of Dean Thomas. Harry knew him from the Gryffindor quidditch team and it wasn't too far out there that he'd been talking to him all day. Hell, he wasn't even that embarrassed. Dean was a nice enough guy after all. Harry knew he was an only child and had spoken to him about potions class several times the year before. Dean had even been hospitalized their third year after falling off his broom during a match. It was his only theory that withstood any amount of scrutiny, but it still felt off somehow. Harry for the life of him couldn't quite imagine the loud and rambunctious wizard that he'd been familiar with, sitting quietly, focusing intently on folding a sheet of paper into a beautiful bird.
While not entirely impossible, it felt too silly to be true. So he shelved it for the time being. Maybe it was Dean, maybe it wasn't. Harry knew himself well enough to admit that he didn't really care. Harry just wanted to continue their little chats. He also knew that made him somewhat pathetic but again, Harry didn't really care.
He briefly considered asking D for information about the war. Surely he had to have access to the news. Maybe he could even send him a copy of the Prophet. While an interesting idea, Harry probably wouldn't ask. If anything important had happened that he needed to act on, Hermione or Ron, or Dumbledore or literally anyone else would have bothered to contact him. When they decided he still mattered to the cause, they would find him and fill him in on the current state of things. Until then, Harry allowed himself to buzz with new questions he could ask D tomorrow, none of which concerned Voldemort or the war at large.
By the time he had finished changing into a clean set of clothes, the Dursley's had greeted their guests and moved out to the patio for dinner. Harry snuck down to grab some food and settled himself into his room for the night. Usually, it was around this time that he would start to write his ritualistic letters to his friends, but instead he pulled out the last slip of paper he had received from D. In his rush to reply, he'd skipped over the meat of the letter entirely. Clean and with a mouth full of warm beef and potato stew, he started reading.
I wish my teachers were as lenient with me as they are with you. Bloody hell you Gryffindors have it made. The teachers could watch you piss in their tea and still drink it. And before you argue, I would like to remind you about literally every house cup competition that bloody dumbledoo has rigged in your favor. I do not want to hear a fucking word to the contrary, Potter.
Even with all the blatant favoritism, I still love it there. For the most part, Hogwarts has always been my second home. It's been a bit strange the past few years though. If I'm being completely honest, I'm a bit nervous to go back this semester. I think things are going to be different now with the war.
I can't really talk about it but I'm not sure how to process everything that's been changing in my life recently. There's been a lot of things that I've never really dealt with before and I honestly feel a bit trapped. Going back to Hogwarts doesn't seem safe anymore but I'm not sure what other options I really have. Shit happens, I guess we just have to deal with it however we can.
I guess on the bright side, there are things I'm looking forward to as well. Maybe it won't be so bad. We'll play quidditch and I'm excited to take some of the higher level classes. Are you going to be taking advanced potions this year?
-D
Harry's smile faltered as he read, remembering their earlier conversation. What couldn't he talk about and who was using him? D apparently had a lot of things that he held close to his chest and Harry desperately wanted to interrogate him. But that was probably an overstepping instinct. A lot had been happening in the world lately, Harry assumed it was probably best not to ask. He pulled out the stack of other letters and started rereading, smiling at the sarcastic jokes and making mental notes of any follow up questions he still wanted to ask on topics that weren't quite so personal.
The next morning Harry woke up exhausted. He'd fallen asleep early and slept like a rock, his body finally forcing him to reckon with his disaster of a sleep schedule. If not for the sun's persistence in making him miserable, Harry suspected he would be comatose for the day. He rolled over, determined not to give up so easily on his dreams. Something crunched under his shoulder at the movement and Harry looked up, groggily swiping his hand over his mattress. What the hell? His fingers found the source and pulled it in front of his face. A crumpled paper stared back, and his brain buffered for a moment before he processed what he was looking at. He sat up, clearing his throat and carefully unfolded the crane.
Good morning. If this wasn't already answer enough, I waited to respond till today. As much as the thought of your family losing their muggle minds amuses me, I'll spare you. You owe me one though, I basically saved your life it sounds like. And no, I will not tutor you, because unlike some of us, I am not an idiot.
Harry laughed, cocking his eyebrows at the lazy insult. The handwriting was also noticeably more scribbled than it was yesterday. D was not a morning person it seemed. Even with the sharp tone, Harry felt significantly more calm today, relieved to find that the paranoia he'd been embroiled in was indeed a result of his sleeping habits.
Wishing he'd written down some of the questions he'd lined up, Harry moved to his desk to reply.
Yikes, who pissed in your tea? And if you ask Hermione, she would most definitely say yes to your question. But anyway, thanks mate, it certainly wouldn't have been them losing their minds. I've gotten locked in the cupboard for less. They're about as intolerant of magic as Malfoy is of muggleborns.
I feel you about Hogwarts though. I want to go back more than anything but I know everything's going to be different now. Are potions and quidditch really the only things you're looking forward to? What about your friends?
Thanks for responding today. All jokes aside, I appreciate it.
-H
Harry had just started to worry that he forgot to include a question for him to respond to when the next crane appeared closer to noon. He looked at it, with a bit of confusion, wondering if D had tired of showing off his origami skills this quickly. Perhaps he had just run out of fancy patterns.
It sounds like Malfoy might be right about muggles if they're willing to lock you in a bloody cupboard just for getting mail. Have they always been that horrible?
My friends have never been exclusive to my Hogwarts experience if I'm honest. They're all great, but I usually see them during the Summer. All of our parents are pretty close so we used to hang out a lot. I haven't seen them much lately with everything going on though. Things have been weird. I think we're in a similar boat of people avoiding us. I don't know if that will stop once I'm back at Hogwarts this year. I guess this is a long way of saying that yeah, I'm mostly looking forward to potions.
You're welcome. If you couldn't tell by my embarrassing ramblings, I appreciate it as well.
-D
Harry was a little aghast at the idea of D also being ignored by his friends. He wondered if it was just the stress of the times that was making people drop off and stop checking in with loved ones they cared about. The thought was ludicrous.
Most muggles aren't that bad. My family is a pretty heavy exception but they've kept me alive my whole life so I suppose I should be grateful. I think they're doing their best. You haven't spent much time with muggles I take it?
My friends aren't the only tossers it seems. The howler offer goes both ways yaknow. Maybe we both need a new set of friends. I'll probably end up taking potions though. I need at least an E to be an auror. You have my permission to sit next to me if you're feeling desperate for company.
-H
Has anyone ever told you that you deserve more than just being kept alive? You don't need to be grateful for people who are doing the literal bare minimum. Dumbledore or Dursley.
And No. I don't know if I've even spoken to one. My family is pretty wizard heavy. I never thought I was missing much though. I don't think I'd get anything from speaking to your uncle except for a headache. He sounds deplorable. If they're the exception what's the norm for muggles?
Potions sounds fun, though I'd rather sit in Snape's lap than admit I don't have any friends.
-D
Harry was a little stunned at the sincerity of the words and even with the quip about Snape's lap it took him a moment to gather his feelings off the floor and come up with a response.
No. I don't think anyone has. I'll think about that.
Muggles are kind of hard to describe. Most of them are just normal I guess. I didn't see much of a difference in the people when I learned about wizards. It's just that one can do magic and one can't. They're still just people though. I think you'd be surprised with how clever they can be. Most of them are pretty nice in my experience.
I'd pay to see you try. What other classes are you planning on taking?
-H
The conversation continued casually for the rest of the day. D asked a few more vague questions about muggles and Harry was happy to answer. A lot of wizarding families never got the chance to interact with non magical people and so Harry took his interest as genuine curiosity rather than any attempt to be condescending. Though his questions felt incredibly obvious and simple, he asked them in a way that a kid would ask questions about a story they'd never heard before.
In the time that it took D to reply, Harry found himself attempting to recreate the simple crane pattern that he'd unfolded dozens of times at this point. No piece of scrap paper was safe as he tried his best to work backwards from the unfolded remains of the other letters. When he eventually found a pattern that resembled what D sent, Harry could barely contain his excitement. It was silly but it had been a while since he'd had a creative challenge to set his mind to.
As the end of the day drew near, Harry drafted a similar message as the night before. Informing D that he had to go help with dinner and wouldn't be able to answer until tomorrow. Deciding to finally show off his practice, he spent an extra few minutes folding the message into a crane, pleased that it was probably the best one he had made so far. He had his charm book open next to him and he made his first attempt to make the little thing fly. With what looked like a significant amount of effort, the paper bird flapped its uneven wings and wobbled in the air. It definitely didn't have the same grace that D was able to accomplish but he was nonetheless proud of himself. He cast the reply spell and pushed it away. He knew D wouldn't say anything about it, but Harry quietly hoped that it would at least make his new friend smile.
Several days passed in a similar fashion. The conversations becoming slower and more intimate with each letter growing to take up the entire page. Harry was finding himself growing quite fond of his strange new friend. His personality was very different from Hermione's overt kindness and Ron's blunt sense of humor. D was dry, bordering on the edge of insulting and yet Harry felt incredibly seen with each letter. D made a point of only joking about insignificant things, and Harry had taken notice that whenever more serious topics came up, the sarcasm turned to a subtle sympathy. Harry got the feeling that D was actually an incredibly nice person that took pride in being anything but kind.
As the days passed, he found himself imagining how D would fit into his little trio. He tried to imagine how a conversation between him and Hermione would go and couldn't help but chuckle at the disaster forming in his mind. He suspected he would get along with Ron though. They would probably bicker a lot, but Ron had a lot of siblings and tended to like a challenge.
It was a week into their communication when the normalcy broke. Harry woke up late that Saturday and where D was an early riser and would have already sent him his first letter by now, there was nothing. Just to be sure, Harry checked around the edges of his bed, tossing his blankets to verify that he hadn't slept on it. Nope, there really was nothing. Harry decided it wasn't a big deal and that D would probably write to him a bit later that day. They'd been talking consistently for the last week and there was nothing about their conversation last night that would indicate a change.
Without many other options, Harry decided to spend his day out in the garden. The weather was nice and warm and he'd spent an abnormal amount of his time in his room this week. Foregoing a shower for later, he changed into a t- shirt and jeans and carried his shoes down to the patio. A few birds dispersed as he opened the door and the cool wind rustled his hair as he stepped out. The Dursleys were in town today. Vernon taking Dudley to see a football game and Petunia visiting her friends a town away. He'd learned of their trip the night before when they had threatened to flog him if he so much as thought of touching anything in their home.
Wanting to stay busy, he cleaned up the garden, disposing of any weeds that had tried to return since his demolition of their species the week before. Feeling a bit brave, he even turned on the stereo to a muggle music station. He might as well enjoy himself while he could. Days without the Dursleys were far and few between.
The clock ticked past 7 PM and Harry started to feel that acute sense of dread again. He had still not received a letter from D and the Dursleys were about to return. The house felt empty and Harry made a point of checking his bedroom one more time to make sure he hadn't missed any notes. D hadn't mentioned anything out of the ordinary and just to be extra sure, Harry found the last note his friend had sent the night before. It ended with Well I suppose you'll need to leave soon, I'll talk to you tomorrow!
Harry was very concerned.
The next morning, there was still no note from D and Harry felt itchy. Was he okay? Was he tired of Harry? Harry had spent the night recalling every word he'd written in his final letter and remembered with horror that he'd asked about D's identity again. He hadn't put much thought into it at the time. They'd been chatting so casually for so long, that Harry didn't think D would mind. A thick ache filled his chest as he thought about the last week and the genuine friendship that Harry felt they had fallen into. Had he been deluding himself about the entire thing? Had it been that easy to scare him away?
He had just finished cleaning the kitchen for Petunia when he decided enough was enough. There surely had to be some way to contact him. Once he was back in his room, he wrote a quick note and tried answering the last question D had asked. He'd already answered it in his previous letter but he wasn't sure whether the magic wouldn't allow for repeats. He cast the spell and threw, watching it hit the wall and bounce to the floor. Damn it. It wasn't going to be that easy.
He spent the next hour scouring through letters to try and find a question he hadn't already answered. It was harder than he thought it would be, their conversations had become surprisingly in depth and Harry was an open book. There was nothing for him to hide so he didn't bother leaving things unanswered. He found a few that he couldn't remember whether he'd answered or not and gave each of them a try. Eventually, a rhetorical question about muggle cars did the trick, his note folding in and disappearing.
He'd only written a short message, answering the question as if it was literal and asking simply Hey, is everything alright? If D had just forgotten, that would be enough to remind him and if not, there was nothing else Harry could do. If D decided he was over their conversations, Harry had no choice but to accept that and move on. The thought weighed heavy on his mind as he started to gather the papers back into their organized stack. He wondered what he would do with them if D never responded again.
As the sun set that night, Harry felt sluggish. Vernon had screamed at him about keeping Hedwig quiet and berated him for his poor attitude. Harry had felt almost nothing. He just nodded and accepted the cruel words as they were and excused himself without eating. He couldn't admit it yet but he was mentally preparing himself for another two months of isolation. The impending loneliness crept from the shadows as he played with Hedwig. The thick fog of his crumbling sense of humanity choking him as he waited, growing more intense with each silent second.
For the first time that week, he penned a letter to his real friends, the ones he knew the faces of. Specifically, he wrote to Hermione.
Hermione. I know you probably can't answer but I don't know why and I wish you would. I need you to get me out of here. I'm not…
Harry paused, letting his pen hover over the page with trembling fingers. What could he possibly say that he hadn't already expressed? They knew he was unhappy. They probably had people keeping track of him. A lump formed at the back of his throat as the thought settled over him once again: They knew. And yet they did nothing.
I'm not doing well.
He did the rest of his familiar ritual as if he was entranced. Placing the note in an envelope and giving it to Hedwig. "Hermione, Hed." He said gently, opening the window and letting her fly. He watched her white wings contrast against the dark blue sky until he couldn't see her anymore. A cool breeze fluttered past his face and he closed his eyes, willing the dark feelings to be carried away. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as a faint pop mingled with the sounds of rustling trees.