There were owls over the summer. There were so many owls that if Moody hadn't intimidated the life out of his uncle, he would have been thrown out.

Concerned owls from Hermione, overly cheerful owls from Ron, business-like owls from Remus. Owls from the Ministry on the estate of Black, owls from Dumbledore about Hogwarts. Hedwig kept holding her leg out to take a reply but Harry always read the notes and then tossed them into his closet, never sending anything back unless he had to.

His notes to the Order were sent out every three days, as ordered of course, but they were short and precise, a simple "Here. -HJP" that Hedwig carried in her beak.

The notes grew more desperate as the summer wore on, Hermione asking if everything was fine. Ron saying he was going to steal his dad's car if Harry didn't write back. Remus sounding emotional, not like the collected professional he'd always appeared. For the life of him, he couldn't pick up the quill long enough to just scrawl back a short reply to each person other than "I'm fine".

Hedwig nipped his fingers when he wrote that, trying to get him to do more. The gleam of ink was black though, and whenever he stared at a row of freshly scribbled letters it all blurred. Glasses be damned, the words turned into strands of inky hair, and whenever he looked up it was a spectre at his bedside, lounging against the closet door.