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'suddenly you're ripped into being alive.
and life is pain, and life is suffering,
but my god you're alive and it's spectacular.'
[joseph campbell]
><><
Night had fallen, but Harry still hadn't come back to the tent.
"He's okay," Ron said quietly, noticing Addie's concern as she stared at the tent flaps from the couch, waiting for his return. "He's done this a lot. Needs a bit of air every now and then, y'know?"
"Yeah..." She chewed her lip.
He spoke softly, mindful of Hermione's sleeping figure on the bed across from his; her hair strewn over the pillow. "I can go get him if you want," he said. Addie turned, studying the warm glow of candlelight as it hit his red hair. "He wouldn't have gone far."
"It's okay," she strained a tired smile and stood, stepping toward the tent door. She slid on her shoes. "I'll go."
"You sure?"
Addie nodded, and slipped outside of the tent into the cool night. The ground was dewy from rain, and it squelched underfoot as she cautiously stepped away from the warm glow of the tent.
Arms hugging her chest, she looked around, but only the dark silhouettes of trees met her gaze; stars hidden from the canopy they created. Vivid moonlight seeped through the gaps in the leaves, illuminating the forest floor in a milky glow.
"Harry?"
No response.
"...Harry?" she said a little louder. Again, no response. Just the hum of crickets; the gentle hoot of owls.
Addie ventured further into the dark, goosebumps rising on her skin as a cool breeze brushed her neck. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she stepped over unearthed roots, navigating her way between the trees.
Something rustled past her feet, crunching along the dead leaves, and she stiffened. Addie looked back to the tent, a distant orange glow against the heavy blues of night. She could go back now and wait inside the tent; she could turn on her heel right now and leave these scary woods. Her ribs are starting to hurt again. The shadowy trees feel like hundreds of death eaters just waiting for her.
Even so, Addie stayed. She closed her eyes, concentrating on her breath; mustering every last ounce of warmth left within her.
"Expecto Patronum," she whispered, and despite the wave of dizziness that betrayed her balance, her fingertips glowed, and a small, silvery butterfly emerged from them in wisps of white light.
Something soft glittered in her chest. Although her Patronus was more faded than usual, less poignant against the shadowy dark, it was there, and that was enough.
