A/N: I continue to not own the Potterverse. I struggled mightily with this prompt, so instead of a normal length story, this chapter ends up being more of a drabble. Hopefully, that does not lessen your enjoyment of it.
sehnuscht - (n.) the inconsolable longing in the human heart for we know not what; a high degree of intense, recurring, and often painful desire for something, particularly if there's no hope to attain the desired or when its attainment is uncertain, still far away [german]
There were nights when he wondered why he was traipsing about the wilderness with his friends. When he wondered why they were following him, despite his clear lack of a plan. When he wondered why this burden had been placed on his shoulders, a boy of barely 17 years destined to fight a man of approximately 70 years (depending on how one qualified the time he was disembodied). Why must everything come back to him? Why couldn't his life have just been normal? Sometimes, it felt like the only place he could be normal was in his dreams…
Harry opened his eyes, a content smile on his face, and the distinctive red hair and form of Ginny Weasley lying next to him. He loved these moments, just before she awoke to start her day. So peaceful, so right. She stirred, slowly, sleepily opening her gorgeous eyes. Her smile matched Harry's perfectly. No words needed to be said between them.
They got up and prepared breakfast together, moving fluidly as though they had done this same dance thousands of times before. A table set, a meal prepared, and as they fed each other bites the same thought ran through both of their minds: This is how life should be.
Suddenly, Harry's eyes opened, and he slowly realized that, as always, it had only been another dream. He was not contentedly lying next to Ginny Weasley, or anyone else for that matter. He was sleeping on a cot in a thankfully magical tent, but still a tent nonetheless. It was not peaceful, it was not right, and it would continue to be neither of those as long as the Dark Lord still lived.
Harry turned to drape his legs over the side of his cot as a painful cramp made its way through him. Normalcy was for other people, he mused. They could never know, could never understand why he wanted none of his fame, why he wanted no part of the task that he had been prophesied for. They did not comprehend why he would want to live the life of the everyday wizard, rather than "bask" in the "adulation" of being the so-called Boy-Who-Lived.
Some day, Harry thought, he might yet be normal. But not today.