A/N: Thank you to everyone who alerted/favourited after last chapter. I know I make jokes (well, attempt to at least) but I mean it – thank you. Without you I'd just be some weirdo with a laptop and too much spare time. After all a story isn't a story unless someone is listening.

Special thank you to InkTeardrops and Wazlib88. Both of you have been around since I started this whole fanfic nonsense (or at least very close to the start) and are, at the time of writing, the only two to have reviewed the past couple of chapters. You're both awesome and I don't tell either of you that enough.

Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter, as well as being into mergers and acquisitions.


Flutter.

Catch.

Flutter.

Catch.

Flutter.

Catch.

This is how Harry had spent the past few hours since breakfast. He would let the Snitch he inherited from Dumbledore hover above where his head lay on the sofa for a few seconds before catching it. The game reminded him of watching his father in the pensieve years ago now, but with none of the trickery and skill - just simple catches.

His stomach grumbled as he watched the Snitch for a few seconds. Food had been sparse this past week. He was used to it, but it had meant that Hermione had become a bit tetchy, especially when she had the horcrux. Last night as they sat at the kitchen table, drinking tea and ignoring the lack of dinner, they had barely spoken. In fact, the only time Harry had talked had been thanking Hermione for washing his mug when it was empty. He tried to remember the last conversation they had had but couldn't. It must have been weeks ago.

Catch.

Harry considered going to look for some berries to eat, but he knew, deep down, there would be none.

Flutter.

Nothing could grow on this hillside, not with the ground frozen like it was. Nothing would survive.

Catch.

Because that's all he was doing at the minute, surviving, hoping each breath he took wouldn't be his last.

Flutter.

Getting through the day was his challenge. Seeing the sunrise at dawn was his reward.

Catch.

But for how long would he keep winning?

Flutter.

"I miss having my hair cut."

Harry lost focus and the Snitch slipped through his fingers. He looked over at Hermione, lying on her bunk, the book she had been reading, closed on her stomach and one of her arms tucked behind her head. Her eyes were focused on the roof of the tent and her dainty fingers were curled in a strand of her matted hair. When they first started living out here, she had somehow managed to keep her hair presentable, but recently she seemed to have stopped caring.

"I miss being able to shave properly," Harry said, shifting slightly so he was lying more comfortably on the sofa. He scrubbed his jaw and felt the stubble there. Three years ago he would've loved having to shave every day, but now it was an extra thing on a list of tasks he couldn't see the point in doing any more.

"I miss…" Hermione pondered. "Quidditch. I miss Quidditch."

Harry turned to face her. "Quidditch? You hate Quidditch!"

Hermione looked at him with a slight frown and pursed lips, an expression so perfectly Hermione that Harry nearly cheered after seeing her so zombie-like the past few weeks.

"I don't hate Quidditch," she corrected him. "In fact, I love watching it. I just don't think it's the be all, end all that you seem to think it is."

"Fine," Harry exhaled, wracking his brains for something else he missed - something that wasn't Ginny. "I miss Hogwarts."

"I miss the library."

"Shocking."

"Be quiet."

"I miss the trick step," Harry laughed, still smirking. "Y'know, the one Neville always missed?"

"Why on Earth would you miss that?" Hermione asked, bemused.

Harry rolled onto his side to look at Hermione properly.

"Dunno," he shrugged awkwardly. "I just miss all the little things about Hogwarts."

"Like how the suits of armour sing at Christmas?" Hermione asked.

Harry hummed in agreement and closed his eyes. He could picture himself walking through the front gates now, gazing up at the vast castle in front of him, the grounds rolling out around him. The smell of the place pounced upon him and his heart picked up the pace at the thought of crossing the threshold, knowing he was where he belonged, knowing he was home.

"Seeing Hagrid in his pumpkin patch."

"The portraits," Hermione enthused. "It's fascinating how much they pick up because people forget that they're there."

"I miss the train ride in," said Harry, closing his eyes and savouring the memories of years past. "All the sweets and knowing that I won't see the Dursleys for a few months…"

"I miss the twins' pranks."

"Really?" questioned Harry, quirking his eyebrows at her. "You always try and foil their wicked plans?"

Hermione gave Harry a mischievous look that he found a bit unnerving. "Everybody loves a challenge, Harry."

"I miss Mrs Weasley constantly trying to feed us up."

"Yes!" cried Hermione, a huge smile on her face. "And Mr Weasley asking us about Muggle things!"

"Did I ever tell you," Harry asked as he propped himself up on his elbows, "about how he asked me how lightbulbs worked once? I had no idea so I just sort of winged it."

"You-" Hermione exclaimed as she copied his position. "Was this not last summer, but the summer before?"

"Er…" Harry thought, casting his mind back through the months that had passed. "I think so."

The moment he had spoken, Hermione's face screwed itself up into a picture of anger and Harry swallowed hard.

"He came to me afterwards for follow up questions!" she squeaked in annoyance. "You had told him completely the wrong thing and I had to start from scratch! After an hour he hadn't remembered anything I had said, but remembered your rubbish about tiny, yellow, running men perfectly!"

With all that he had, Harry tried not to laugh. It took him a whole five seconds to fail.

"Sorry."

Both of them erupted with laughter, a sound that had not been heard for longer than either of them could recall. Harry had the strange desire to bottle this moment and live in it forever because here the outside world didn't matter; it was just him, Hermione and a reason to smile.

"Anyway," Hermione said as she fell back down on the bed, "it's your turn."

"What? Oh, washing machines. I miss washing machines."

"Oh yes, I miss the days when my clothes didn't smell of moss."

"Ah, the days of not living out of a handbag - a nice handbag of course," Harry added with a quick glance at Hermione.

"Thank you."

"I miss solid walls," Harry commented, staring at the murky brown canvas to his right.

"I miss Crookshanks."

"I miss Hedwig."

There was heartbeat in which Harry thought he heard Hermione's breathing hitch in shock, but soon it was over. The loss of his beloved owl still hurt but Hermione didn't give him time to think about it for too long.

"I miss Grawp."

"Okay," snorted Harry, "and I miss Dudley."

"I miss Pansy as well," mused Hermione, her eyebrows furrowed. "There is something satisfying about out-witting her and that stupid face of hers…"

"That's not a nice thing to say," Harry said in a mock-serious voice.

"Like you don't enjoy getting one over Crabbe and Goyle," she fired back defensively.

"All right, all right…" placated Harry. It did make him smile to think of all the times he got one over on either of them. "I miss proper showers. The one in there is shit," he grumbled, nodding towards the tiny bathroom in the corner they shared.

"Language, Harry," chastised Hermione as a reflex. "I miss new books."

"You've brought half of Hogwarts library with you!" cried Harry.

"You can never have enough books," she replied simply.

"I miss Buckbeak."

"I miss having my own room."

"I miss treacle tart."

"I miss my mum's carbanara."

"Seamus' jokes."

"Having a proper schedule."

"The Giant Squid."

"Working out whether the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is really after you or if you're paranoid."

"Dreading the day the house-elves storm Gryffindor Tower and appoint you their Queen, complete with a tiny crown made of spoons."

Both of them, propped up on their elbows, glared at the other, before they both cracked at the same time and ended up clutching their stomachs in mirth.

"The tree by the lake we always sat by," reminisced Hermione when she could breathe properly again.

Harry folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. Why couldn't every day be like this? Somehow by addressing all of the things they missed, the most the tension in his muscles had lessened slightly, as if hearing that someone else remembered them as well meant they weren't just a vivid dream he had had once upon a time; they were real and waiting for him when he had got through this.

"Flying."

"Butterbeer."

"Hogsmeade Weekends."

"A real bed."

"Fang."

"Tonk's pig snout."

"That fat gnome at the Burrow."

After a few moments, Hermione had yet to respond so Harry turned to face her. She lay on her back, one hand tucked behind her head, the other, fingering the locket that rested on her chest. Unlike before, however, her eyes were sad and her face was straight.

"I miss him," she whispered just loud enough for Harry to hear.

Harry's eyes snapped back to the roof of the tent and he rolled onto his side so his back was to Hermione. Out of everything they had both listed, that one was by far the one he missed the most and the one he wanted to think about the least. After a few minutes, the now-familiar sound of Hermione trying to hide her tears filled the tent and Harry fell into a restless sleep, filled with dreams of the face of a young, jubilant man, while the Snitch whizzed around them, all but forgotten.


A/N 2: Ten gold stars to anyone who gets the OBatR reference.

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