Author's Notes: My bestest of friends told me to write about being a ghost crab patronus. So, er...this happened. (Can be read as about Luna, in which case, obviously her Patronus changed. Deal with it. :p )

Light. Streamers, clouds, sheer, glittering radiance billowing forth. Warmth, curled around a thin strip of wood, the pale-faced witchwizardboygirlperson holding onto the other end. Basking in joy, happiness, the blush of a girl's first kiss, the dawn of the first day of summer, the excited twirl of a merry-go-round and a piping trill of "More, Daddy, more!" The gossamer sweetness of fairy floss melting on your tongue, the crackle of fallen leaves under your socks. When you wake up early to watch the sun come up, to see the rain patter against your windowpane as your cheek rests against the cold glass and your breath fogs its surface into a realm you can barely imagine in your dreams.

Can light hold a form? Can the embodiment of happiness take a face? Gathering inward on itself, twirling into the embodiment of your soul, of your mind. Pincers of ghostly shimmers click soundlessly in the air. A delighted laugh trails after, beating against the cold.

The cold-yes. The darkness. It lurks just beyond the edge of your radiance, the warmth of your presence. It is emptiness, it is despair, it is the thump of the cemetery dirt on the coffin, it is the way he turns away from you when it's over. It is the blood that slips down the drain in the bath when you've had enough, the jeers at school that linger in your ears when you've curled up in bed at night and can't sleep. It is a swelled lip, the haunting echo of loneliness, the tears that gather and slip down your cheeks.

It is wrong and it doesn't belong here, not anymore, and the stick, the wand, propels you faster, farther, and you collide against it with an intensity almost painful. Bright, bright, good and the dark falls back, you can feel it slide away from you, ephemeral wisps of black-slicked fog, exhorting you to stay away, but you can't. It is a victory almost painful, a triumph so intense you shine brighter, hotter, lighting up the whole world, or so it feels.

Until the wrong fades away, and you can relax, curling back into yourself like a contented cat at the end of a long day. I will be back, you promise yourself, with assurance too deep for words.

Then you fade away, and all that's left is the chirrup of birds in the trees, and the morning dew glistening on the grass.