"Exactly," Harry said, looking at him. He felt... almost guilty that he was upset that so many people could pretend that the war never happened. He knew that was the PTSD talking and his own way to grieve. It will never truly ever go away. He'd likely always be somewhat... too paranoid and ward any home he had to the inch of its capacity. But, he was told, it would eventually bother him less. "Fuck, I know that logically... that the result of the war was so that people like them could live normally. But it also pisses me off that they can pretend that nothing happened..." He didn't admit that to just anyone.

He tilted his head. "Just because my sleep is absolute shit doesn't mean anyone else's should be," he said, looking down at the coffee cup he held between his hands. "Waking up with Harry Potter's wild magic isn't what you signed on for..."