He watches the packages flown by the owls with envy and adds another point to his list.

Correspondence.  

Mentally, he awards himself two points for using a word that Ron would likely frown at.  

He didn’t have to have presents.  He wouldn’t know what to do with them.  But . . . receiving a letter here and there.  That would be nice.

Absently, he rubs his chest as the old familiar pain resurfaces.  

“When did she let you out?”  Ron asks him, sliding in beside him.  

Hermione takes the seat opposite and watches them curiously.

“I told her some.  It’s not like I had a choice!”  Ron growls, freckles standing out against his still too white face.

Harry grins and adds another line to his list.  

Worry.   Concern over well-being.

He should know that term well enough.  He’s heard it dished out by both Hermione and Pomfrey.

“She let me go just before breakfast.  I only got here a couple of minutes before you guys.”

“What are you going to do, Harry?”  Hermione looks at him searchingly.

He bites his lip.

“I need to find a new guardian,” He says quietly.  

“What about the headmaster?  He’s not gonna like that,” Ron asked.