The fire crackled as it shimmered and shifted, its warmth penetrating the evening chill that had settled over the small glade where they'd set up camp for the night. Empty bowls rested on the ground beside the lounge Hermione had transfigured out of a fallen leaf, and the three friends huddled next to one another as they watched the flames flicker. It would have been the picture of relaxation and good humour were it not for the general sense of exhaustion and discontent that seeped into their attempted celebration.
Over a month had elapsed, and they hadn't yet made any real progress on the Horcruxes. All they had was a locket and the vaguest of ideas of what the other ones might be. Their spirits were starting to fall like a Chaser knocked from her broom, and they all knew that it wasn't long until they'd have to reckon with that. They were all fighting to remain strong for one another and for their cause, but their façades were starting to crack.
In an attempt to restore morale, Harry, who had been keeping a tally of the days spent on the run so they'd have some sense of their temporality, had decided to do something special for Hermione's birthday. His organising efforts were hindered by his lack of experience planning parties and their need to stay hidden, but he'd managed to slip into a small Muggle bakery just before it closed to buy one of their discounted cakes and their smallest packet of candles. It wasn't festivity-specific and there hadn't been much for him to choose between, but it was better than nothing. The boys had sung Happy Birthday and Hermione had blown out the candles and wished for success in their quest. The whole evening had been a shabby excuse for an eighteenth birthday party, but they had all cherished it after the weeks of stress they'd endured.
Still, despite the fact that there were technically only three people there, it felt as if Voldemort were also present. He was represented physically, of course, by the part of his soul entombed in the ornate locket, but his influence also hung over them like a lunar eclipse, blocking out the moonlight and tainting them with its shadow. It was like the small fire they huddled around was the only thing deterring the darkness from consuming them.
Wherever they went, he was always there, souring things.
So, in the gloom and despondency that had befallen them, they clung even tighter to the hope of a coming dawn.
A/N: Written for the Cluedo/Clue Challenge for the prompts 'Lord Voldemort', 'birthday' and 'strong' and for the If You Dare Challenge for the prompt 'fire'.
June is, like, the Month of Birthdays for me. Eight people who are close to me have birthdays in June. Eight.