Harry expects something like the aftermath of the war: waking up screaming, sweaty, and the half moons of his nails carved into his palms. But it’s nothing like it. Post-war grief had felt like a weight on his whole body, mourning Draco feels like a hollow space in his middle that will never be filled again.
Oooof. The soft MCD from last week needed a mean companion and I accidentally spilled my house-move emotions into this little ficlet. This one is all hurt and no comfort so proceed with care and keep some tissues around, just in case.
