Pitter-Patter of Little Feet

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Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters. The characters and concepts used in any of my works of fanfiction are owned by their respective creators. No profit of any kind other than the satisfaction of being able to borrow and play with well-loved characters is being made in the making of this story. Anything that is familiar is purely coincidental.

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Author's Notes: Hello, readers!Although it's been a few years since I started this story, it has not been abandoned, even though life has given me very little opportunity to sit down and write. It has, however, given me the chance I needed to develop and improve this a bit more, which is why this story is undergoing a massive rewrite. This means that if you've read this story before, the following chapters are going to be vastly different from the ones previously posted, as I'm taking this story to a whole new direction.

Rest assured, I'm going to see to this story's completion and I will update as often as I can (and I'm proud to say I'm a couple of chapters ahead, so yay).

.:oOo:.

Prologue – Mother Goose

.:oOo:.

12 Midnight, 21st March 2009

Saturday, Spring Equinox

The Forbidden Forest, Scotland

Few people would agree but there was beauty to behold in the Forbidden Forest, particularly on a night when magic was at its most potent. The moon was high in the sky, full and luminous; a beautiful ball of light that cast down soothing silver beams to everything within its reach, lending an otherworldly glow to every straining branch, every sprouting leaf, every growing shrub littered across the woodland. Not a wisp of cloud in the sky dared to obstruct the wondrous view of the stars as they twinkled from above, winking down at the onlookers by the million, the Milky Way and many of its constellations on display.

The midnight air was cool, so rife with the raw energy of the earth that it glowed in soft lights of yellow and green and blue and red, weaving through the forest floor in swaying, shimmering blankets, through roots and trunks in a graceful display of nature's magical beauty. It was the kind of magic that the creatures that dwell within the enchanted forest recognised on the most basic of levels—one that they revelled in and celebrated with their very being.

It was a night of mystery, of harmony.

Of magic.

"Mummy, da—da wights," a little boy giggled from where he sat upon his mother's lap, laughingly looking at the floating essence of magic around them as he pressed himself closer to her comforting embrace as if to escape its feather light, shining caresses. "Da wights are tickwing me."

"The lights are tickling you?" His mother clarified from behind him.

"Yeah," he nodded, giggling.

"Well, that's because those lights are alive," came his mother's conspiratorial whisper near his ear, a gentle smile gracing her lips, wrapping herself around him as they gaze out at the bright spectacle before them, cuddling him teasingly, "with magic."

At the mention of a word he recognised, the toddler turned to look at her, a curious glint radiating from his eyes through the psychedelic swirls of colours that was reflected in its deep hazel depths. "Magic? Wike wights dat—dat…Wights…wights from wands?"

"That's right," the woman averred, her tone, though soft, was high with praise. "What a smart little boy you are."

Her son pouted sourly at her description of him. "I'm not wittwe. I'm big, wike daddy."

Mummy chuckled and amended her earlier error, enfolding her arms more securely about him. "Of course, you are." She rubbed their noses together playfully. "Big and brave."

"Wike daddy!" The little lad beamed.

"Like daddy."

Then he paused, a little frown puckering his brow like it always did when he was thinking hard about something, his head tilting to the side inquisitively. "Mummy, where's daddy?"

"Well," Raising a hand to sweep her knuckles gently against his upturned cheek, she answered the innocuous question with a solemnity she had been avoiding since they had arrived at the forest two days ago, her smile waning at the edges, a detail that went unheeded by her little infant, "he's not here right now, love. But you shall see him again soon. I promise."

"Oh." For a moment, the little boy merely regarded his mum seriously, looking for all the world like he understood what was beneath the surface of her words. Fortunately, it was not the case, as the eager grin that suddenly encompassed his boyish features told of the youthful innocence he still carried, as yet unmarred by the taint of the world. "Okay. When he comes back, can I…can…Daddy and I can pway?"

The mother gave an answering grin. "Of course, honey. I'm sure he'd love to."

"Okay," he acquiesced, nodding his satisfaction.

Smiling her endearment at his antics, the woman looked upon her son's face, so innocent and so full of joy, and a rush of love and affection washed over her. This was how she wanted to remember him, happy and radiant, filled with life and laughter. He was her reason for living, for her sacrifice, the very reason she carried on each day with hope and love and magic in her heart, in her very essence. For him, she would do the impossible.

Overwhelmed by her sudden bout of emotions—emotions she had tried to get a handle on for what seemed like a lifetime—she ran a hand through his unruly mop of dark curly hair, smoothing it back, and hugged him to her fiercely, trying to convey her feelings in the best way she knew how. "I love you so much, my little darling."

"I wove you, too, Mummy," came the child's automatic response, his tiny arms going round to wrap themselves around his mother's neck, unconsciously finding comfort in the warmth of her embrace as he rested his head against her shoulder, burying his head into her wealth of thick curly hair. He yawned.

Taking her cue, the young mother pulled back and settled her baby more comfortably, leaning back against the trunk of the sturdy tree they sat under so he could rest his head easily on her chest, arranging him into the cradle of her arms. "Sleep," she crooned.

"Mummy?"

"Hmm…?" she hummed in query as she started to rock him to sleep, a lilting melody on her lips.

"The wights…" he heaved out a great yawn once more, and he squirmed to find a better, more acceptable position, squinting up at her drowsily, "…the wights stiw tickwe."

"Shhhh…" she soothed.

Finally, his eyes fell shut and then there were just the familiar strains of a wordless lullaby. The droning tune filtered into the peace of the night, melding with the forest's nocturnal orchestra, the beams of magic streaming to and fro and the rustling leaves dancing with the whistling breeze. From a distance, owls hooted and large spiders scurried, revelling in their hunt for sustenance. Creatures of the enchanted forest fluttered about their business, soaking in the essence of tangible magic. In the turmoil that ravaged the world, life at the Forbidden Forest continued. It continued because it still could. Because it was natural.

Not for long, she thought grimly.

If she didn't succeed, all that would be left would be chaos and devastation. All forms of life and all that was natural would cease to exist. It was a future, now a true inevitability, that she would protect her son from. Even if it meant defying logic and shaking the very foundations with which the magical world thrived upon.

Moments later, when the babe was fast asleep and his breaths were as deep as his dreams, the rhythmic sound of clopping hooves permeated through the bubble of timeless serenity that had settled upon mother and child. A centaur emerged from the darkness, his strides confident and sure, his posture as regal and proud as his race. He stopped before her and tipped his head to her politely.

"It is time."

She looked up at the tall beast standing before her, his shock of white hair shining a silver gleam under the bright kiss of moonlight. "Thank you, Firenze. You don't know how much this this means to me."

"It is a common fate that we wish to avoid, and in that we are of kindred hearts. Even my colony recognises that to be the truth." Firenze declared matter-of-factly. His brilliant blue eyes pierced her with its luminosity. "It is you to whom we should express our gratitude. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten."

She smiled up at him wryly. "We haven't succeeded yet, Professor."

"What the stars have writ in the heavens only serve as a guide, Hermione. We may call it fate, but there is also something to be said about free will."

She looked down at the babe in the cradle of her arms, the gravity in his words a reminder of what was to take place. "Then I hope to all the gods that it is to our favour." Hermione murmured quietly, dolefully.

"We can only hope. Are you ready?"

She nodded, never taking her eyes off her drowsing son. Mummy will always keep you safe, my darling.

"I am."

Remember that.

.:oOo:.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be up on Sunday! Ta! :)