Sometimes houses could be like humans. They hid stories in the far corners and in their old walls that were as unique and meaningful as the people who once lived in them. When Harry went through strangers' homes during work missions, he often thought about what had happened between those cold walls.
A family – broken by a nasty fight, like a fragile glass. A loving couple that has lost a child after birth. An old man who left the world alone because he was forgotten by his family. An angry woman, throwing a wineglass against the wall after catching her husband in bed with another man.
There were stories Harry could easily erase from his memory. But at the same time there were a few broken stories he couldn’t forget because it felt like a duty to remember them – like the stories that shaped the house he just went through.
As Harry walked down the long hall, he recalled what Draco had told him about the house on the lake – it was where the Malfoys had spent the hot and long summerbreaks before the war. A place Draco has both good and bad memories of.
On the green meadow in front of the house, Draco had sat on a broom for the first time. And on that same meadow – a few years later – Draco was beaten by his father for the first time. In this house his mother had always read stories to Draco while he was lying in the bathtub full of bubbles. It was the basement of this house where Lucius had shown his son what the avada kedavra means - demonstrated by the two dogs that Draco had since he was a toddler.
By now Draco had a new dog, but the puppy also belonged to Harry. Thank Jack, the small Beagle, that Draco wasn’t alone while Harry was at work - at least a small comfort. The said dog was just coming to Harry as he went into the living room; looking around for Draco.
"You're not alone here, are you?" Harry asked, looking around. Harry had woken up beside an empty and cold bed half, expecting Draco to be in the living room, but his boyfriend wasn’t here. Jack whirled around Harry, as the Gryffindor walked into the dark kitchen and into the empty bathroom.
"Draco?" Harry asked loudly into the darkness. He didn’t get an answer, but Jack barked loud and pleased, as if he had been praised for something.
Harry called for Draco again – feeling the fear slowly flow through his veins. It wasn’t the first time that Draco got up at night and left the bedroom to sleep elsewhere in the house - but it was the first time that it happened in the lake house, where they normally spent a few good days, without getting attacked by horrible nightmares and thoughts about the past.
Despite all the bad memories, it was a place for Draco to relax. There was only the peace of the nearby forest and the silence of the lake - even this night. Harry heard a few crickets chirping and … the front door. He could hear them through the front door.
Harry almost tripped over his feet as he ran down the long corridor, but he stopped abruptly as he stood on the porch in front of the house. He let his gaze glide over the meadow and on the shore of the lake, where the moonlight was glistening on the water.
He almost missed the silhouette on the wooden jetty - but only almost. The warm summer breeze blew through Harry's dark wild hair as he walked slowly towards Draco and Harry swallowed hard, as he saw his boyfriend sitting there with his shoulders hanging. As Harry set foot on the jetty, the old wood cracked slightly under his weight, and Draco looked at him, startled.
"Quiet," Draco whispered, pointing with his hand to the reeds and calm water surface. Harry's gaze followed Draco's hand and he smiled mildly as he saw the little fireflies in the air. It was their fourth day at the lake house, but it was the first time ever Harry saw the fireflies with his own eyes, of which Draco had spoken.
"They come every year," Draco had told him, and now Harry could believe his boyfriend. The little greenish-yellow lights danced above the lake and reflected in the smooth surface of the water. Harry walked slowly over the jetty and looked over his shoulder to Jack, who was sitting in the meadow and watched him.
"It has to be warm, like tonight, and you have to be quiet, so you don't scare them away," Draco said quietly as Harry sat down next to him. Their legs dangled over the edge of the dock and their toes touched the mild water.
"They are beautiful," Harry said impressed and he looked at Draco, who was smiling sadly and weakly. It was night, but Harry saw, thanks to the bright moonlight, that Draco's eyes were flushed, and his cheeks were wet.
"What's going on?" Harry asked worriedly, wishing he'd woken up much earlier so Draco wouldn’t have to sit out here alone.
Draco looked away from the fireflies and looked at Harry blankly. He seemed lost, though his voice had sounded firm before.
"I couldn’t help it," Draco whispered, and Harry's breath quickened as he looked down at Draco's left arm. The blood was already smeared on Draco's gray pants and his pale shirt – and it didn’t seem to bother him that the fine cuts were still bleeding. Harry felt his chest tighten painfully. He had seen Draco like that many times before and yet he couldn’t bear the blood and the pain in Draco's eyes when he hurt himself.
Harry felt bad that he couldn’t help Draco - no matter how much he loved his boyfriend, he felt like Draco had to help himself. Harry couldn’t pull him out of the dark gorge, no matter how much he wanted it. On some ways, Harry couldn't carry Draco – only support him, because Draco really needed to want it.
It didn’t matter how many times they talked about it, it didn’t seem like Draco would stop cutting the skin on his arms in the near future - everyone suffered differently from the aftermath of the war. The desire for vibrancy – everyone satisfied it differently.
"It's okay," Harry said in a shaky voice, gently reaching for Draco's arm – he felt the damp and warm blood on his fingers.
"Is it deep?" Harry asked softly, reaching for Draco's wand between them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco shrug. Draco's gray eyes were back on the fireflies above the lake and near the reeds.
"Did you know they're going to die soon?" Draco asked quietly.
“What?”
Harry couldn’t concentrate on Draco's words. Instead, he glanced at the cuts to gauge the wound, and let out a sigh of relief when he saw that Draco hadn’t cut too deeply. It was just a fresh scar from earlier that month, that had caused a lot of blood. Harry pointed the wand at Draco's arm and mumbled the healing words – he could watch the cuts close.
"The fireflies – when they light up, that means they're about to die soon," Draco said in a fragile voice, leaning against Harry.
"You know you're not a firefly, right?" Harry asked, pulling his feet out of the water, to pull Draco into his lap. The blond man buried his face in Harry's neck and Harry felt Draco's warm breath on his skin.
"I know I'm not a firefly," Draco said softly; in a muffled voice.
"I mean … you’re not going to die, if you begin to light up again, love," Harry said quietly. He felt how Draco tensed in his arms; straightening up to look at Harry. "What do you mean?" Draco asked.
"Well ... I mean ... you told me the fireflies are nearing their death, when they start to glow in the summer, right?"
Draco nodded hesitantly, and Harry felt Draco look at him thoughtfully.
"I know it's hard to go out into the world again - work, make friends and rediscover hobbies, but you don’t have to hide away at home or here at the lake house, Draco," said Harry.
"When you start to shine again - to live, to laugh and to feel - that will not kill you, you are not one of these fireflies. If they light up, it is because they start to die. If you would light up again, it's only because you're starting to live again," Harry added softly.
Draco leaned back against Harry's shoulder and said nothing for a moment. The crickets kept chirping, the fireflies still danced across the water and the shore of the lake, but suddenly it was terribly quiet between Harry and Draco.
"I'm sorry," Harry said out of habit because he didn’t know if he had hit a sore spot or not.
"I know you're right in some way," Draco whispered. "But I think I'd like to stay in the dark for the next few months," Draco added quietly and Harry nodded. They both knew what that meant.
Draco would continue to avoid contact with Pansy and Blaise, no matter how much he suffered from it. He would also not contact his mother, who always wrote him a weekly letter. And Draco would continue to spend more time with Jack, than with other people. Draco would live in his isolated world with Harry until he was ready. Ready for the world, for society's expectations - ready for himself and his thoughts, which hopefully wouldn’t make him hurt himself in the future.
“I'll stay in the dark with you until you're ready," Harry said softly. He could feel Draco spreading tender kisses around his neck – kisses that were as gentle as the silky wings of a moth, which rose from the darkness and flew toward the light. Harry was the light for Draco and one day he would light up again; but not in the same way like the fireflies in front of them.