A/N: So this is my first multi-chapter (or fanfic in general really) and I hope that won't be painfully obvious as you read it (forgive me, readers, I know not what I do). Anywho, I just had this little idea that's a bit of a mishmash of the books, the movies, Pottermore, and me making up stuff. Hope you enjoy it!

Prologue: Chasing Lights

The full moon illuminated the whole of the manse and the border of the nearby forest that Scottish summer night, throwing the shadows into sharp relief and lending the area a silvery sheen. Wearily making his way up the path to his home, the minister turned his head towards a moving shadow he saw out of the corner of his eye. His forehead creased in confusion, was it his imagination or did that little silhouette look familiar?

"Minerva?" he called out disbelievingly. He was still under the impression that his exhaustion was merely playing tricks on his eyesight, it was rather late for his five year old daughter to be out.

The small shadow stopped abruptly and slowly turned around, its little voice squeaked with the fear of being caught out of bed and out of house, "Dad? I thought you were sleeping."

He frowned at her, "No, though that's what you should be doing right now. I went to Old Mr. Wilkinson's; his family thought it would be a comfort if I was with him as he passed on."

She cocked her head to the side, "Did he go on a trip?"

He sighed, his tiredness returning with the idea that he really didn't want to have this conversation with her tonight, "No, lass. But what are you doing out in the middle of the night? It's way past your bedtime. Come on let's get inside."

She looked back to the forest regrettably before running through the tall grass towards her father. He swung her up into his arms and continued his walk home at a slower pace than before.

"Now would be a good time to explain yourself, lass," he prodded her.

"I saw a will o' the wisp," she said quietly. Seeing his wrinkled forehead, she continued, "It looks like a little blue light ball. I saw it through the window all the way in the forest. I wanted to see if I could catch it, it was really pretty and just like how Mum says it is in her stories."

Her voice had been getting more animated as she continued her explanation, most likely suffused with the hope that he would be too tired or disbelieving to punish her. He needed to talk to Isobel about telling these stories to Minerva, "That's no excuse to go running off in the forest; it's even more dangerous at night. And most likely it was somebody's torch, maybe a hunter or someone camping. Will o' the wisps don't exist, and even if they did, gallivanting around the forest in the dark serves no purpose."

She scowled at him and retorted crossly, "They do to, Mum said they do." He had turned his face away from her so she wouldn't see his eyes roll. Then she added matter-of-factly as though it were the most obvious thing, "I was going to follow it, because that's what they're for: following. That's why it came to me, so I could follow."

He stopped and looked down at her in his arms, his voice incredulous, "And pray tell where it was you were going to follow this phantom light?"

Minerva stared at him for a second before grinning sheepishly, "I forgot where. But I am supposed to follow them!" This time he didn't bother trying to hide his eye-roll.

At that moment a loud drawn-out howl sounded from a distance. Hearing it, the little girl scrabbled out of her father's arms, trying to stand up, and leaned half her body over his shoulder. He tried grasping at her, scared that she was going to fall over and crack open her skull on one of the stepping stones.

"Did you hear that?" she was saying excitedly.

"Of course I heard that! What are you doing?" he said exasperatedly, trying to regain balance.

"It was a werewolf! I know it was! It was howling at the full moon, just like Mum's stories!"

Resigning himself to her leaning all over him, he resumed his slow walk, "I'm sure it was Mrs. Peterson's dog howling at a stray cat… or Mr. Peterson coming home from the pub."

She beamed down at him and completely disregarded his rebuttal, "I bet that's where the will o' the wisp was going to take me, to the werewolf so I could calm it down and save the village from being bitten!"

"No such things as werewolves and will o' the wisps," he muttered to himself, knowing that she wouldn't listen, before saying out loud, "I don't see how much help you would be, lass. With your temper, you'd be helping the creature bite every villager, not stopping it."

She frowned at him, and he realized she looked just like him with that expression, "That was only one time, and Kyle Richards kept pulling my braid during Sunday school, it was his fault!"

"There's no excuse for biting hard enough to almost draw blood," he said sternly, "You're the minister's daughter; you're supposed to set an example. Starting with no fights in the churchyard and including no running into the forest after make-believe creatures."

"They are to real," she muttered stubbornly as he set her on the doorstep.

He stepped back and was about to tell her that none of it was real and that she could expect her punishment in the morning when the door suddenly swung open. Isobel stood in the doorway, her bathrobe hanging loose exposing her nightgown and her eyes wide with fright. She swooped down on Minerva holding onto her tightly and hoarsely whispered into her raven hair, "You scared me half to death, child." She put her daughter at arm's length and looked at her questioningly, "What were you doing outside? And why are you only wearing a nightgown? You could catch a cold."

"I- I- I saw a light and I thought it was a will o' the wisp," she said ashamedly as though she had just realized how thoughtless it was to go running off into the night.

Robert looked down at Minerva's bowed head, and thought to himself that it was strange how she was so sure of what she was following when she was explaining it to him, but appeared to have doubts when telling her mother. He wasn't sure if it was because Isobel was the expert on such things or if it was her reaction to the situation. Glancing at his wife, the minister expected her to rebuke the young girl, to tell her how foolish she had been and that she should never do that again because will o' the wisps are most certainly not real. Instead, she stood up again, clutched her daughter's hand and led her back to her bedroom. Closing the door behind them, he quietly followed the two and watched from the nursery door as the mother tucked in the daughter.

She brushed back the little girl's long hair, and softly said, "Minerva, I want you to promise me that you'll never do that again."

"But, Mum, I'm supposed to follow them. You said I had to follow them," she responded so sadly that Robert could practically hear the tears welling in her eyes. "You said."

He could see that Isobel looked stuck, how could she possibly explain why; she would have to tell Minerva the truth. In his opinion, it was the only way.

"Do you remember why I said that you had to follow the will o' the wisps?" Minerva gave a small shake of the head, and with a warm smile Isobel continued, "I thought not. You have to follow will o' the wisps because they show you where you are supposed to be. And where are you supposed to be in the middle of the night?"

"In bed," she answered in a small voice.

"Exactly, so obviously that wasn't a will o' the wisp you were trying to follow."

He had to commend her; she managed to make their daughter see logic while keeping her fairy tales intact. While he would prefer that she just put this nonsense out of her head, this was a good start. With this train of thought, he wasn't expecting what came next.

"But then what was it?"

"Something that leads you astray: a hinkypunk."

His jaw dropped but he caught himself and closed it, his forehead wrinkled. She was definitely making this up.

"A hinkypunk?" the little voice sounded confused.

"Yes, dear, a hinkypunk. They're these little one-legged creatures that look like they're made out of mist and they carry a lantern to lead travelers astray. So you shouldn't be going out so late at night because there are lots of hinkypunks in the forest that will make you lose your way, and then I'll miss you terribly because I cannot find you, and you'll be scared because you can't find your way home." She brushed back her hair again before looking her straight in the eyes, "Will you promise me, Minerva? Promise that you won't follow the lights in the forest?"

"I promise, Mum."

Robert turned from the doorway and went down the hall towards his own bedroom. He was nonplussed that Isobel would cover up her fairy tales with even more tall tales. And how did she come up with a hinkypunk? A creature of mist carrying a lantern, that didn't even sound possible. He shook his head at Minerva's gullibility and Isobel's attempts to keep her innocence. Most families had Father Christmas; they had will o' the wisps, hinkypunks, and werewolves.

He had just gotten into bed when Isobel slipped in through the door, quietly closed it, and then leant up against it. She let out a long sigh, as if she just had a close call.

"I can't believe you lied to her," he said with some minor reproach.

She pushed herself off the door and padded over to her side of the bed, "I know, but I didn't know how else to keep her from leaping out of bed at the first sight of a firefly in the forest."

"Telling the truth might have been a good start. Honestly, a hinkypunk? Where did you even get that from?"

His wife turned to him in confusion, "What? That wasn't the lie; hinkypunks are real. I lied about them being in the forest. They lead travelers astray in peat bogs and marshes; as far as I know, I don't think they live in any forest let alone ours."

He stared at her in disbelief then slowly turned onto his back, "Never mind, dear, I don't even want to know."

They lay there in silence for a while, each brooding over the scare their daughter had given them and the ways that they had dealt with it and how their spouse had reacted to their way of resolving the issue.

He broke the quiet with what she might think was a non sequitur, "You're going to have to explain death to Minerva tomorrow."

She turned towards him; he could see the tears in her eyes from the moonlight streaming in through the window, "Mr. Wilkinson?" He gave a nod in affirmation. "She's going to be heartbroken. She loved visiting him and seeing him at the church services, he'd always split a ginger newt with her, even after she bit Kyle."

"I think you mean ginger nut."

"That's what I said," she responded absentmindedly. "Maybe it'll make her feel better if we make some biscuits for his funeral service. Ginger newts were always their favorite."

He didn't bother correcting her again, "I'm sure his children will appreciate the thought."

In the nursery, Minerva rolled over in her bed and faced the window. She could see the dark forest, a handful of trees visible in the moonlight while the rest were little more than black shadows. Stupid hinkypunks, she thought to herself, she wanted to know where she was supposed to be. She wasn't so sure about where she was now, it was like it didn't feel right. Her father was always trying to dissuade her from believing what he called "her mother's fairy tales," and her mother would tell her that he just didn't understand. Minerva reached out her hands towards the bookshelf on the other side of the room; her black cat plush toy floated towards her open arms. She hugged it tight. She could still vaguely remember when Old Mr. Wilkinson had given it to her for her third birthday. He told her that he got it for her because he remembered how much she liked playing with his old tabby Mr. Tibbs and its fur was as dark as her hair. She hoped that he was okay, he had a very bad cough last time she saw him. He had told her that she would have to break the biscuit in two because he didn't want to get his germs on her half. It made her proud that he would trust her with something so important; the biscuit breaker always had to be fair, especially when it was hard. Because of that she gave him the bigger piece; she wasn't very good at splitting and it was only fair. Maybe Daddy was lying and he did go on a trip, probably to the coast so the ocean air could make him feel better. She scrunched her forehead in thought, but why would he lie? He probably didn't want her bothering the Wilkinson children (who weren't really children which she thought was odd) about him getting her a souvenir. She snuggled into her blankets, satisfied with the conclusion that she had reached. Minerva decided she would ask about him tomorrow, and then she could let them know that she wanted a pretty shell from the coast. And hopefully a tin of ginger newts to split between them. She never understood why he seemed to chuckle at her when she called them that. And with that random thought, Minerva drifted off to sleep.

A/N: As an American I don't really know much by way of British slang, but I try to make an effort of appearing like I do (that was my apology for whenever it's overtly obvious). Flashlights are called torches in the UK (just in case you thought he was talking about a flaming stick). Also, ginger newts are a parody of ginger nuts which is the British equivalent for what Americans call ginger snaps (just wanted to throw in that little fun fact). A review would be lovely, please and thank you. Criticisms are just as appreciated as compliments so long as there's reasoning so I know where I could improve.