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Draco had always thought he wasn’t allowed to be happy. His whole life was to act as a pawn to his father; to Voldemort. But the war was finally over; the pain was allowed time for healing and the bloodshed has slowed. The sticky red of war and hurt was slowly fading to a tepid peach. They were rebuilding now.
Draco woke with a start, his breath catching and heart beating wildly out of time. His palms were sweating and he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. His brain being stared into. He sat up, drawing his knees to his chest. The war is over. The war is over. The war is still raging inside me.
There was a stir from beside him. A warm hand reached out and settled on his side.
“Dray?” A questioning whisper, “you okay?”
“I’m fine, love, just a nightmare.” He slowly lay back down, rolling to face Cormac. Draco didn’t expect Cormac when the war got bad, he didn’t expect the kindness or the slow-to-develop, quick-to-need feelings. They had been drawn together in tragedy, and they remained in rebuilding.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nah, just- cuddle me, bitch.”
Cormac let out an unattractive snort, the loudest noise for the whole night, and Draco fell that little bit more.
3:12 AM.
They may have won the war, even if they fought for the wrong side in the beginning, but it festered inside them. The little moments of heartache he allowed were painful but with Cormac he wasn’t so scared anymore. His demons were dead.