Everything was not fine. Letters from D were now sporadic, written in shaky handwriting and sent to him in messy folded squares. Something had happened and D wasn't telling him everything. It had been three days since D had reappeared and while Harry was relieved to be back in contact with his newly established friend, he was infinitely more worried about what was causing the change in behavior. He'd asked of course, the morning after they'd reconnected and D had said he had the flu and wasn't feeling very well. Harry knew it was bullshit of course but didn't want to call him on it. He obviously didn't want to share and that was okay. Wasn't it? Harry found himself wondering about his friend constantly. Whether it was about the mysterious ailment or the strange conversation they'd had. I don't think we would be friends if you knew who I am. What did that even mean? Did they not get along at school or something?

Draco Malfoy had come to mind when he started thinking more about who Harry wouldn't want to be friends with. The idea was initially laughable. Draco wouldn't have hesitated to mock and insult Harry for his situation but the more he thought about it, the fewer names came up. Harry was a nice enough guy and even amongst the Slytherins, there were very few people who Harry outright disliked enough to avoid. He considered Draco with a mortified grimace. He would certainly never live it down if it was him, but Harry felt confident that his shy new friend was far too kind and funny to be the spoiled brat Harry had come to loathe at Hogwarts. Harry began to consider people that didn't have a D initial in their name. Perhaps it came from a middle name or was just a red herring to hide his identity. That was a far more likely option than his penpal being Draco Fucking Malfoy.

He had meant it when he'd said he wouldn't ask again though and he tried his best not to dwell on it too much. They were friends and Harry would be happy with whoever they ended up being. Instead he poured his efforts into cheering him up. D no longer answered as quickly as he did the first week and his letters tended to be short and sweet. It wasn't personal though, the shaky handwriting told enough of a story that Harry didn't doubt the effort that D was putting into the letters. Instead, he made a point of writing long and thoughtful responses. If D really was sick, at least he'd have some reading material.

Alongside the lengthy correspondence, Harry had begun a tradition of ending each letter with the most preposterous question he could think of. At first, D had been reluctant to play along but eventually began doing the same. He couldn't see his friend but he hoped it was at least serving as a distraction. Alongside their regular conversations of life and preferences, Harry had ended his last letter with the question: What class do you think you could smuggle a keg of fire whiskey into without being caught? Please provide your reasoning.

At the end of D's next letter, he'd written: Transfiguration because I like a challenge and I am better at magic than you:)

Harry had snorted at that and started his reply with a curt Hey fuck you before continuing to answer the other, more relevant topics of discussion. He ended the letter with: You get one textbook to defend yourself from a home invader, which do you pick?

Easy, whatever that blasted thing that tried to kill me in third year was called. Yaknow, the one with the teeth. Harry had laughed out loud at the memory of wrestling Hagrid's textbook to the ground. He hadn't even considered that one. Harry took his time replying to this letter. In the actual conversation, Draco had admitted to finding the first book in Harry's favorite series and had started reading it in the last few days. Harry was thrilled and asked several questions about where he was and what he thought so far. He'd been given the series for Christmas several years before after Dudley decided he no longer cared for reading and needed the space on his shelves for more trinkets. It was one of Harry's few possessions and he had gobbled it up at the time and had read it at least six times since then. As he finished the letter he paused, trying to brainstorm more questions. He didn't find himself particularly funny but he was trying his best. He eventually settled on: Out of these three: Snape, Umbridge and McGonagall. Which would you fuck, marry and kill?

D's response came off as a bit reserved. He said he was enjoying the book and that he was about half way through, but he didn't elaborate. He asked a few questions about muggle books in general and ended his letter with: God, can I just kill myself instead? I suppose if I had to, I'd fuck Snape, marry Trelawney and kill Umbridge.

Harry answered his questions and made him promise that they would discuss it in depth once he'd finished it. Harry insisted that he wouldn't spoil the novel for him by talking too much now. At the end, he teased: I didn't know you were gay for Snape, D. I'll be sure to send him your regards next semester.

The next letter was shorter, D having apparently lost any interest in the book. He wrote a few sentences replying to Harry's insight on Muggles before ending with: Bisexual actually. And honestly, I'd rather have a threesome with Snape and Dumbledore than touch Umbridge with a ten foot pole. Maybe Bisexual isn't the right word, I'm whatever-Umbridge-isn't-exual.

Harry responded: Wait, are you really? I can't tell if you're joking haha

With all other topics dropped now, D's next letter was quite short. Nope, I am actually bisexual. If you ever tell anyone I'll fucking kill you but I had the biggest crush on Professor Lockheart in second year.

Harry wasn't sure how to respond. He hadn't considered his friend's sexuality until now and it had been brought up so casually that Harry was a little stunned. Eventually he decided on a response.

Now THAT'S a secret worth keeping. Pre or post memory spell?

The conversation continued, moving back to the sillier questions and topics but Harry kept finding himself revisiting the confession in his mind. He wasn't sure why the information felt significant to him but he felt just a little bit lighter for the rest of the day.

"And don't get those organic eggs, they never bake right in my recipes." Petunia mumbled, handing Harry a few twenty pound bills. "And I know how much that should cost so I expect change. And be quick about it!" Harry nodded in understanding, pocketing the money and continuing to lace up his shoes. Petunia looked at him silently for a while, finding some flaw in his appearance he was sure. Eventually she tutted disagreeably and walked back towards the kitchen. Harry got up, not bothering to call a goodbye and left the modest little house on Privat Drive.

Today was a special day for him. Petunia found herself so busy in the kitchen, preparing for a bake sale at Dudley's school that she had asked Harry to make a run to the grocery store to gather a few more ingredients. Usually, Harry was the last person Petunia wanted to be seen in public but the stress of the day had finally worn down on her. Which meant for Harry that he got to have a nice afternoon taking the bus downtown, unaccompanied by his overbearing aunt and uncle. It didn't happen often and Harry had made a point to not act too excited when it did. Petunia had a habit of taking away things she knew he liked when she was angry and Harry didn't want his little excursions to be caught in the crossfire.

It was a perfect day for it too. A gentle breeze was at his back and the sun shined brightly, giving the day a warm glow. Harry felt better than he had in ages and the solitary walk to the bus stop was easily the best gift Petunia had ever given him. The bus arrived 5 minutes early and quickly dropped him off a block from the market. In no rush to return home quite yet, he meandered around the streets for a while, taking the longest possible route.

He came to a stop just outside the public library and an idea popped into his head. It surely couldn't hurt to browse.

It had been three weeks since his first encounter with his pen pal and two since the strange change and momentary disappearance. D still hadn't told him what happened to incur the strange behavior but even now, it was obviously still affecting him. While the handwriting had slowly gotten neater and less shaky, D had yet to fold any of his letters like he had the first week of their correspondence. He made references to how exhausted he was often and when he wrote of things he loved, it was in the tone of someone watching someone else experience it. Harry didn't want to pry, but he could tell D was going through something and Harry was nothing if not a meddler.

Harry left the library with a spring in his step, two books in hand. He'd picked out one that looked accessible as a starting point for someone of his… limited capabilities. He'd also picked out another that had just looked intriguing, a book focusing on more complicated bird origami. The patterns in it were insanely above his level but the ambitious part of his brain insisted he could figure it out in no time. It didn't hurt that he knew D would be impressed if he pulled it off.

Content with a successful venture, he finally walked the last block to the market and began his actual task. It took about twenty minutes to gather everything to Petunia's specification and soon enough he made his way, shopping totes in hand, back to the bus stop. As he had ambled through the grocery store, his excitement for the prospects of the books grew steadily. By the time he arrived at the bench, he could barely contain himself. He was excited to start experimenting and more so, excited to see the reaction from D.

The image of D in Harry's mind changed constantly. Sometimes he was a tall brown haired boy with lanky arms and other times he was short and stocky with curly hair. Each time Harry tried to picture him, a new person seemed to form in his mind. His favorites were the versions of D that were tall and slender with long elegant fingers. It made the most sense to him, picturing the person who wrote so immaculately and folded paper so delicately. He imagined him most often with blond hair, but Harry could admit that he might just be biased. He didn't have any blonde friends and he'd always thought it looked pretty. Of course, he knew it really didn't matter though. It just gave him something to think about while he passed the time in between letters.

When he finally arrived back at privet drive, he quickly hid the two books behind a planter and took the groceries to the kitchen. He gave Petunia her change and she waved him away, lost in the chaos of her double chocolate fudge brownies. Harry was happy to oblige, retrieving his books before running up to his bedroom.

D's next letter drifted down to Harry just as he finished his sixth attempt at the real crane pattern. His dissection of the way D had folded them helped a little bit in figuring out the steps but Harry had apparently misunderstood the order of several folds, no doubt adding to his previous struggles. He happy for an excuse to take a break. He grabbed the letter and unfolded it, noticing the paper was much larger than usual and yet had even less writing.

To your question, yes absolutely, but only in worst case scenarios.

You may also notice that this paper is a bit different. I've been messing around with some spells recently to make it easier to talk. Go ahead and try writing something but don't use the charm, just like writing with a quill yaknow.

If that doesn't work, what's your favorite flavor of bertie botts' Every Flavor Bean?

Harry looked at the paper, examining it closer. It seemed pretty normal as far as he could tell. Harry stretched and grabbed a bic pen off his perpetually cluttered floor and wrote: Hey D, what is this?

The ink seemed to shimmer above the paper for a moment before indenting itself slightly down. Harry quirked his head, watching expectantly, but not knowing exactly what he was waiting to happen. New words seemed to rise up from the parchment, bleeding up from inside of it. Harry's breath caught in his throat.

YES! DUDE I'M SO GODDAMN GOOD. The words appeared in D's classic handwriting, every letter capitalized and written quickly.

What the hell? Harry replied.

I just invented instant messaging bitch

Again, What the hell?

I charmed two papers so anything written on either will appear on both. I wasn't sure the charm would survive getting sent over so this is pretty cool for me :)

Damn. That's sick! Were you just getting tired of waiting for me to reply? Miss me much?

Hell no. I just thought we were wasting a fuck ton of paper 3

Harry realized he was grinning painfully wide. Quickly composing himself, he reread the sheet of paper, somewhat shocked at his friend's ingenuity. Another sentence appeared just below the last.

Sorry, is this too weird? I probably should have asked if you wanted to talk this way. Harry could almost feel D physically pulling away with the words. Harry had taken too long to respond to his excitement.

No! Dude this is so cool! I was just a little shocked by the magic. Haha, are you sure you're not an auror?

Positive:) Though I will listen to you compliment me for a while if you wanna go that route.

It's kind of a shame we won't send letters anymore though. I finally figured out how to fold a crane today. Like a real one. Not the kind I've sent before

Wait, really? What for?

Don't make fun of me but I thought it might cheer you up haha. I got 2 (two) books on how to do it properly.

D didn't respond for a minute or two and Harry started to feel a nervous anxiety as he stared at the blank space on the page. His eventual answer had a similar sensation of pulling away.

You didn't have to do that for me.

I know. I wanted to though. You're kind of a twat when you're mopey :)

I'll save the thank you card for later then I suppose.

Petunia rasped her boney knuckles on his door and Harry started, pulling his blanket over the papers. "Yeah?" He called, double checking that everything was covered. She opened the door, looking around at the scattered state of his bedroom. She made a face.

"Uegh, it is filthy in here. You've got to clean this up." Her eyes scanned over the pile of laundry and scattered socks, books were piled in a corner and random hand me down toys from Dudley were littering his desk. The only thing Harry had consistently kept tidy were the letters from D which he kept in a neat stack in his desk's bottom drawer.

"I can do that right now." Harry offered, hoping for his aunt to make a speedy exit.

She looked at him, her face giving away how much she'd rather just empty the room of every object and inhabitant. "N-no, no no." She seemed to remember why she had come up here. "I need your help cleaning the kitchen. Come along." Harry paused, thinking of his conversation with D.

"I'll be right down!" He assured, waiting for her to leave. She looked skeptical but disappeared down the stairs. As soon as she was gone, Harry pulled out the paper. New words had appeared.

But honestly, that was really sweet of you to do. I'd love to see your cranes :)

Harry couldn't help but grin again. He would fold as many as D wanted, as many as it would take to make him smile. The thought made him falter, forgetting himself. What the hell? He shook his head, unable to pinpoint exactly the feeling that was making him think like that. He grabbed his pen and wrote a quick excuse.

I'll be sure to send some, only the best ones though and if you tease me, I will never send another :) I've got to disappear for a bit though, my aunt needs me for slave labor. Can we talk more tonight?

Harry waited just long enough to see the response before ducking out of his room and joining his aunt in the kitchen, a stupid grin plastered over his face.

I'd love to.

By the time the last of the dishes was washed, dried and put away, Harry was absolutely exhausted. His aunt had spent her entire day baking and had seemingly not thought to do a second of cleaning along the way. He wiped down the counters next and swept the floor, cleaning anything that the mixer had blown flour onto. He'd taken a break midway to eat a quick dinner, opting to eat by himself in the kitchen while the Dursley's ate in the dining room. He was very rarely invited to eat with them, but he liked to compensate for that fact by insisting that he would rather eat off the floor than have to make small talk with Vernon Dursley.

It was almost 10 pm when he finished and as he double checked his work and excused himself back upstairs. With their usual letters, they had gotten into the habit of stopping around 5 pm and picking it up the next morning. Harry actually knew very little about the sleeping habits of his friend. He doubted D was still awake. He really hadn't expected the kitchen to take that long.

He kept his main light off, opting to turn on his bedside lamp and curl under the covers, parchment and pen in hand. D hadn't written anything since his three word response and Harry nervously tested the waters.

You awake? Sorry that it took so long. D didn't reply instantly but about four minutes later, a new message appeared.

No worries, I didn't mind waiting. What did they have you do?

Just the usual. Petunia needed the kitchen cleaned.

Doesn't it ever get old being treated like that? How do you put up with it? Harry had told D about his living situation a few times in the past.

It never wasn't old to be honest. But you get used to it. I've never had anywhere else to go so I kind of just had to. It's gotten better with Hogwarts though. They treat me a bit better and I don't have to see them 7 months out of the year.

I see. I'm sorry you have to deal with that though. Harry smiled, noticing the lack of sarcastic retorts. It seemed D got softer as the night got later.

How are you doing these days? Be honest with me. It took a few minutes to respond

I've been better. I've been healing pretty well but my family is putting a lot of pressure on me recently. I feel stuck if I'm honest.

Do you want to talk about it?

I don't think I can. Not because I don't trust you. God, it's just a lot.

That's okay:) Just know I'm here for you if you need to talk about it later.

Thanks Harry.

Harry wasn't sure what to write next. D had taken to calling him by his name sometime during the last week, and everytime, it struck him a bit speechless. Harry couldn't remember if he'd ever mentioned his name but he supposed it wouldn't be hard to guess. And afraid it might make D stop, Harry had yet to bring it up.

Hey D, can I ask what you look like? It had been on his mind a lot recently and the question seemed to ask itself involuntarily of Harry's will over the pen.

Like a twat, I suppose. A devilishly handsome twat. The sarcasm was back.

Haha, okay I get it. I won't ask.

What do you think I look like? I'll tell you if you're wrong.

Well, I imagine you with blonde hair, maybe brown eyes.

Yes to the blond, no to the brown. Harry's heart fluttered a little at the confirmation.

Are you taller than me?

We're about the same height, I think. I've never checked honestly

I bet I'm taller. We can stand back to back when we get to Hogwarts.

A drawing started to float to the surface, eyes, a nose, D was drawing Harry. It wasn't a very good drawing but Harry could tell it was him as soon as the lightning scar appeared. Harry followed suit, trying his best to draw what he imagined D to look like. He thought about what he now knew: average height, blond, and not brown eyes.

They drew together for a little while, neither writing any words as they focused on their portraits. Harry thought D's drawing of him was actually quite good. Recognizable at least. Harry's drawing of D barely looked human. Harry gave up on his drawing long before D, and he sat watching the delicate wisps of ink curl to the surface. His mind traveled yet again to their earlier conversation.

How did you know you were bisexual?

Having a gay crisis are we?

Not quite yet. We gotta wait for Lockheart to come back for that. I'm just curious honestly. If it's too personal, it's fine

I just tend to be more drawn to personality than appearance or gender. I've never been able to differentiate between falling for a man or a woman's personality.

Have you ever had a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend I suppose

I dated a girl in my house for a while but it didn't work out. I've never dated a boy but I've kissed one.

Did kissing a boy help you figure it out for yourself?

Kind of. I already knew what I was. But I suppose it helped solidify it.

Neither wrote anything for a minute before D continued: How did you know you were straight? The question caught Harry off guard. He'd never thought about it before. He'd kissed Cho last year but that had felt more like a boy wanting to kiss someone than Harry wanting to kiss a girl. Has he ever wanted to kiss a boy?

I honestly don't know. I've never thought about it much. I've only kissed a girl so I always just assumed I was straight.

Assumed?

I wanna talk about something else.

Coward.

Harry was relieved when D complied with his request though, allowing Harry to ask him about his drawing. They quipped back and forth about the ability of the other, D insisting that he looked absolutely nothing like how Harry had depicted him. Harry acted insulted and added a handlebar mustache to his portrait. D added stink lines above Harry and they continued, Harry chuckling softly.

Looking at the clock, Harry realized they'd been talking for two hours, now forced to write their messages on the back of the massive paper. Interspersed with conversation, little doodles scattered themselves across the page. Each taking turns drawing while the other wrote their reply. Harry could feel his eyes growing heavy but he wasn't ready to say goodbye yet. The instant connection that the paper allowed was addictive. No more waiting for an hour or having to think about his reply. It was easy, and not just because of the new magic. D made it easy, Harry thought affectionately, drawing a tiny owl in the top corner of the page.

My birthday is this week. I think my mother's forgotten. Harry paused as the words appeared, unsure of how to reply.

Why do you think that?

She just hasn't said anything. A lot's been going on in our house and I honestly don't blame her for forgetting. I'm not even sure I want her to remember.

You don't want to celebrate your birthday?

Not really.

You're too cool for cake, buddy? What day is your birthday?

June 4th so Tuesday. I'm more of an ice cream man myself.

Well, if it was up to me, I'd take you to get a whopping ice cream sundae and I'd sing you happy birthday at the top of my lungs in the cafe.

Mortifying. D interrupted, not waiting for Harry to finish writing.

And then I'd make you blow out your candles and everyone would look at you cus you are the special blonde birthday boy. Perhaps a birthday hat too

Shut it Potter. And Harry smiled again, imagining a small ice cream shop with his disgruntled friend. Teasing him in public would be incredibly fun, he could almost imagine it. His smile fell, realizing the impossibility of the situation. Would they ever get to spend time like that? In person? Maybe D didn't want that kind of friendship. A deep sense of longing seemed to flood him, and he didn't know what to write. He had promised not to ask again and he didn't want to scare his friend away.

I hope you have a really good birthday, D. I mean it.

Thanks, Harry.