Title: Harveste

Crossover: Harry Potter and The Addams Family

Summary: He'd done it, finally. Death stained his hands, filling him with exhilaration. Now what?

Warning: Death and bad language (It's the Addams Family, what do you expect?)

I couldn't resist. Walking to the market can give you very strange ideas. Here, Pugsley is three years older than Harry, and Harry is two years older than Wednesday.




He'd done it.

It had been long overdue, but he'd finally done it.

The knife in his hand gleamed under the stark white light of the living room chandelier. Blood, redder than rubies and twice as precious, stained the sharp edge, a few drops sparkling before they hit the floor.

There was a whimper, quickly shushed.

His rage simmered just under the surface. He could still feel its banked fire, but in a curiously detached manner, like seeing a sliver of something from under his cupboard door. It was still accessible though. All he had to do was want it.

How he wanted it.

To anyone watching from the window, it must have seemed so strange: a small boy, no more than five, standing like a predator over his prey. His black hair fell over his face, unkempt and unruly, but his eyes shone like emerald fire from under the fringe. In the corner, trying to fit into a shadow, hid a thin, long-necked woman, her arms barely reaching around a beachball of a boy who was nursing a broken arm. The woman herself sported a few wounds, none of them immediately fatal, but he could remedy that. The stench of mortality was in the air, almost but not quite overpowered by the smell of fear and urine.

The body of Vernon Dursley lay on the floor, looking for all the world like a beached whale. His piggy eyes were glazed over in death.

Harry felt the urge to laugh welling up in him, but he restrained himself. His job wasn't done yet.


His cousin was chasing him again. He was running as fast as he could, but overweight though he was, Dudley had the tenacity of a bulldog and he knew the neighborhood better.

Harry tripped over an uneven crack, and in a flash, Dudley was on him, punching his face and stomach with his fast little fists.

"Stupid, dumb little freak!" he yelled. "Who told you to look at my friends? Stupid freak! Stupid freak!"

Those words...

In a short life filled with neglect and pain, piled high with those abusive words, those few had been the last straw. Fury dropping over his eyes in a blood-red haze, he reached out, pulled and struck. There was a crack.

Dudley scooted off him, his mouth already stretched around a wail, his face paler than a ghost's. His arm was bent at an unnatural angle, and he instinctively held it close to his body as he ran towards the house. Harry followed, quicker than a dart, his brain suddenly aflame with possibilities.

His cousin ran straight for the living room, but that didn't matter. The kitchen did.


Harry's devilishly insane grin had been the last thing his uncle ever saw.


And now here he was, with three dead bodies and nowhere to put them.

Harry sat back on his heels, tapping his lips idly with the tip of the knife. He had drawn the curtains, of course, and locked the door as well. He was young, not stupid.

"Is this the place, querida?"

"Maman did say No. 4 Privet Drive." The doorknob rattled, bringing Harry to attention. His head whipped around, venomous eyes narrowed. "It's locked, Gomez dear. Do you mind?"

"Of course not! Anything for you, cara mia." There were faint smooching sounds, then the snick of the lock. The hinges squeaked, and then there were footsteps.

"I do wonder what Maman was talking about. You know how she gets when she's been at the crystal ba – Oh my."

"She's your mother, Tish. Wha – oooh!"

The tall lanky man caught the knife as it was flung at him. His smile didn't waver. "Nicely thrown, young man!"

"Who are you?" His hand was already closing around another knife. He had brought in the whole set from the kitchen to make sure he had everything he needed, and now there were intruders in his home. No matter. What were two more bodies?

But he didn't expect the woman, beautifully pale with dark shadowed eyes and a smiling crimson mouth, to crouch down next to him, the hem of her black dress inches away from the pooling blood. Her hand, strangely cold, closed over his, removing the knife. He let her, curiosity taking over as he looked up into her eyes.

Her voice was like velvet over roses. "Such a clever little darling. Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"I killed them." He said, lifting his chin a little. There was no need to be ashamed of what he'd done. Not that they would understand.

"Good man, good man." The man chuckled, one finger smoothing over a thin moustache as he inspected the still-warm bodies with the air of a wine connoisseur. "A stand up job, if I do say so myself. Your first time?"


Harry nodded, the ghost of bemusement making itself known.

"Well done!"

Glacial fingertips smoothed over his brow, across his scar then over his cheek, smearing the blood specks there. He felt a twinge of pain. He still had a black eye from a few days ago when Vernon had realized there was no milk in the icebox. "They hit you, my little darling?"


"Ah. Will you wait here for a moment?" At his nod, she smiled. There was a hint of fang. "Gomez, my love, we need to talk."

Harry blinked as the two adults, still very much alive, moved into the kitchen. How strange. They didn't seem frightened or disgusted by what he had done. He looked down at his cousin's bloated face, face still frozen with terror, and prodded the pudgy nose with his knife. He wasn't disgusted either. The weight of the blade had seemed so right in his hand, its smooth glide into flesh sending satisfaction through his core. It had been exhilarating, the first time he had ever felt the emotion in his life.

"He's got the Addams spark, doesn't he?"

"Quite, darling. I'm wondering, would you ever consider -"

Their words washed over him. He couldn't concentrate on them now though. He had work to do. Now where did he put those plastic bags?

"He would make such a lovely playmate for Pugsley and Wednesday."

"I don't know, Tish."

"Please, Bubele."

"Ah, Tish, you know what that does to me."

Over the sounds of more smooching, Harry worked quickly and deftly, the steel flashing between his hands. He had jointed chickens before, forced by the Dursleys when they were in the mood for something other than roast beef. This was no different though the parts were bigger and much heavier.

Shoulder, then elbow, then wrist. Harry cocked his head thoughtfully before starting on the fingers. The more weight was distributed, the easier it would be to dispose of. Though perhaps the hatchet would have been better. Uncle Vernon was a hassle even in death.

A pair of strong-looking hands appeared beside him, each hefting a wickedly curved machete. The tall man smiled merrily at him, at odds with the fact that he was starting to saw at the obese flesh. "You go on with Tish, young man, and leave me to this. I haven't done a proper dismemberment in months!"

"You are strange."

There was soft laughter behind him, reminding him of lightning and midnight bells.

"How right you are, little viper." Harry smiled at the nickname, and her laugh dwindled away into a pleased look. She took his hand and led him into the corridor. "Where is your room?"

"I don't have one. I live there." He pointed to the door of the cupboard under the stairs. Small though he was, he could almost brush the top of the doorjamb with his head.

It was as if the room had darkened, the gloom oozing out from under every surface like thick tar. The lights flickered, dimming slightly. Harry looked up at the woman, who was suddenly standing as still as a tombstone.

"I see."

And then it was gone, and the lights warmed everything with their pale yellow glow.

"You will make a fine addition to our family, little viper. Can you say 'Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc'?"

"Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc." He repeated dutifully. "What does it mean?"

"It's our family motto. It means, 'We gladly feast on those who would subdue us'."

She smiled down at him, her teeth glinting like the edge of a saber. After a moment, Harry smiled back.


"Daddy, who is that?"

Harry, still wondering about the giant of a man who had opened the door, now blinked at the boy standing at the foot of a grand staircase. He had a lollipop in his mouth. His short build was thick with muscle, unlikely Dudley who was – had been – covered with blubber. He didn't seem threatening. Still, Harry shifted into a defensive stance, a movement that Morticia noticed.

"Now, now boys. Let's not have any fighting before dinner. Pugsley, this is your new brother. He's just killed his family."

"Really? I'm so jealous!"

A bat-like screech sounded throughout the house, setting Harry's nerves on edge. Now that the euphoria was ebbing, he felt increasingly jumpy. A knife appeared in his hand as if out of nowhere.

"That's him, is it? Come now, look at me."

A frizz-haired woman hobbled towards him from one of the big double doors. She was more wrinkled than anything, the very epitome of old age, her face as pale as death. Harry caught a glimpse of bubbling cauldrons and roiling steam before he was caught in a hug that smelled strangely like lavender and locker room socks.

"Welcome my pet!"

"Maman, don't choke him. At least, not yet."

"What's his name?"

"Why, I don't know. My little viper," Marticia cooed, a vampire's smile tainting her lips. "You never told us your name."

"Does it matter?" Gomez said cheerfully, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "What is in a name? Mindless destruction by any other name would be just as divine."

Harry looked at all the smiling faces. He was so lost. This was all so strange, so sudden, so soon.

But…they hadn't flinched. They had accepted him and what he'd done. It was almost like…they were used to it.

He swallowed. They were all looking at him right now. It was a new feeling, being the center of attention, in a good way.

He liked these people, he realized belatedly. No matter that they were strange, with eyes that glimmered like blood drops under fluorescent light and skin colder than the inside of the ice box. The man with the pencil moustache had never stopped smiling, even when he was doing all the cleaning up and disinfecting afterwards, not like Uncle Vernon, who had never mopped or dusted anything at all. He had even shown Harry how to set an old-fashioned alarm clock, though it had shown entirely the wrong time, and explained what a fuse cap was. The lady in the black dress had been nice too, the complete opposite of Aunt Petunia, and she had said that she would like for him to be her son. Aunt Petunia had never said anything like that.

If he stayed here, he would have a family of his own, and he would never, ever have to share with Dudley ever again. That alone was enough of a reason to stay.

Harry was suddenly reminded of a book he'd fished out of the trash, and the words sprung unbidden to his mind, as fresh as the day he'd read them.

- Fear thee the Harveste when it cometh/ Ande blood spilt by righteous hands/ And glory falleth not upon the Vain/ But upon those stained with Life's own grace/ So fear thou the Harveste Moon/ As it doth rise in the velvet nighte/ For Death will engulf thy world/ Ande strangle thee with silent Raptor's wings. -

"Harveste." He whispered softly, almost shyly. "My name is Harveste."


Harry could still remember the first time he'd seen magic at work. It had been so simple, yet he felt so drawn to it. He had seen Morticia lighting candles on his first Halloween at 0001 Cemetery Lane, caressing the wicks gently before they burst into flame of their own volition. He had shivered when he saw it, felt the tingling something in the air as she continued on her sensuous way. She had seen and beckoned him over and shown him…how.

The Addams Family was known for their use of obscure Dark magic and more. It was part of the studies that he, Pugsley and Wednesday were getting, along with physical combat, potions, fencing and ballroom dancing. The power was easily accessible in their house due to it being practiced there for generations, but not anywhere else. It was one of the reasons the Family was so indestructible. And it needed the constant flow of blood and pain to keep strong, something they eagerly provided every moonless night.

The children had craved the exotic, drugging feeling of the pure magic, Harry more than most. It felt like home, like the warmest hug he'd ever received. He needed it so much it was scary. He had confided in his Mother that first year, baring his fears like offal on a table. He knew he wasn't one of the Family, so he had thought the pure magic would reject him, wouldn't answer him when he called.

"My little viper," She had whispered into his dark hair, so like her own. "You are part of our family. I should know, I did the spell."


"Yes, darling. You are ours in every way, just as if I had given birth to you myself. You are Harveste Addams, and there is no one in the world that can take it back."


"I'll tell you when you're older." Lips, colder than a new grave in the winter, brushed over his forehead. "Just remember, there is nothing blood cannot achieve. Remember that, my darling viper, and everything will be fine."

Under Grandmama's tutelage, he grew to love potions. Wednesday excelled at dueling, being the only one to date that had actually gotten their father on his back and in a chokehold. Pugsley just…loved explosions, much to Lurch's chagrin.


He was six years old, ten months after the Addams had found him.

He was paler now. His hair was longer, brushing over his once-sunken cheeks. Grandmama had taken it upon herself to feed him into near-Pugsley proportions. Somehow, no matter how much he ate, he never seemed to gain enough weight. It was probably high metabolism. Still, he had filled out, and he could no longer trace his ribs under his shirt.

Harveste smiled, the lipstick he had tried on smearing his lips with a macabre stain.

A hand tapped his shoulder.

"Hello, Thing. What do you think?"

The dismembered hand flashed him a thumbs up, then tugged something into a neat pile on the desk. It was a green satin ribbon.

"It's lovely. Thank you."

As he gathered his hair up to tie it, he noticed movement in the mirror.

The senbon fell to the ground with a faint tinkle, blocked by an expertly wielded dagger. Gomez laughed lightheartedly as he strolled into the room. "Well done, my lad! Almost got me there. Your mother's taught you well."

"Thank you, Father." His hands paused, watching the other man in the mirror. "Is everything alright?"

"That's quite the unconventional look you have there, my lad."

The green eyes dimmed in disappointment. Oh dear. He snagged a tissue and started to dab. "I'm sorry, Father. I was just experimenting. I know it's not what boys do. It won't happen again."

"Why ever not?"

Harry had a second in which to look confused before he was picked up and swung around.

"My deadly little viper! You're an Addams! We live for the unconventional!"

"So…so, you don't mind?"

"Mind? Dear boy. Come along, Thing. Morticia, we're going shopping!"


The moan of the ancient organ drummed through the house, dust falling from ancient beams and rattling spiders from their webs.

It was a haunting yet pleasing melody, quick and light, unbelievably, inhumanly swift.

"Can you believe," Gomez said with pride as he looked at the small figure dwarfed by the huge brass pipes. "That he hadn't touched an instrument in all his life, and now after three months…"

Harry's fingers floated effortlessly over yellowed ivory and silky ebony. His thin wrists and delicate fingers belied the strength needed to coax out such strong notes. He was wearing his hair tied back today, a hint of satin green among the dark locks. A storm-grey dress hugged his slim seven year old body, paired with sensible leather boots that tapped along to the beat.

"He composed it himself." Morticia's lips curved into a sultry smile as she leaned against her husband. "Such talent in our beautiful little viper."

"He takes after you, cara mia."

"Oh Gomez. The torture rack tonight?"

The sound followed them, the maddening tempo building ever higher.


"You look positively ravishing today, darling."

"Thank you, Mother. Good morning, Father."

Eight year old Harveste sat down, at home in the gloom of the kitchen. Granny Frump bustled by, putting a plate of breakfast in front of him. It burped.

"Mother, when can I have a dress like Harry's?" His younger sister slid onto the seat next to his, her hair still in the severe braid from yesterday. She was a darling, as macabre and as fascinated by death as any little girl could be, with a penchant for homicide.

"It's called a cheongsam, Wednesday." His smile was lizard-like, scuttling across his face like a snake on a hot rock. "I'll make you one if you like."

"But I want cat's eye buttons, not skulls."

"Maybe Grandmama has some lying around, hmm?"

"Top left jar." Their grandmother grunted, waving a gnarled hand at the dusty racks. "Mind you, they're a bit fresh."

"Nothing a little liquid nitrogen can't fix." He smiled again, skewering a scuttling bug with his fork and flicking it into the cauldron. It was always on nowadays. He couldn't imagine what Granny put in it, but after the bug had glooped in, the seething brew turned a bright yellow.

"Thank goodness! I've been trying to do that for ages. You've got quite the talent for potions, Harry."

"I learned from the best." He said demurely, long lashes dark against his pale skin. Then he blinked and moved his head to one side, just in time. The metal dart whispered past his cheek.

"Dammit, missed again."

"Better luck next time." Harry flashed his swift smile at his brother. "Happy birthday, Pugsley. Good morning, Uncle Fester."

Pugsley Addams ran his hand through his short bristled hair. He had toyed with the idea of getting it shaved, but he knew he couldn't pull it off with his Uncle's pizzazz. Fester was just meant to be bald. Their father had done well by scalping him when they were younger.

"Eleven years old today!" Gomez' ever-pleased voice boomed. "What shall we do to celebrate?"

"Explosions!" Fester said immediately.

"A feast!" Their grandmother cackled, her dull eyes burning with unholy light. "I'll get the eunuch."

"We could kill someone and drain their blood and offer it to Kali for blessings." Wednesday offered.

"Been there, done that."

"We could kill a lot of someones."

"A party." Harry hid a chuckle behind his hand as they all turned to look at him. "We haven't had the whole family together since Uncle Fester came back. We could even dig the graves, wake the old ones up."

"Splendid idea! An old-fashioned Addams family reunion! Lurch!"

"You. Whined. ?."

"Invitations! We have to – what's that?"

Harry flung his hand up in the air, just a few seconds faster than his siblings'.

The skewered bird thumped onto the table, a senbon through its still-beating heart. There was a letter attached to its twitching leg. "Pericles Feioso Addams," he read. "New penpal, Pugsley?"

Their mother seemed to focus, her blurred features becoming sharper under the stark light that seemed to follow her eyes, obscuring the rest of her face. "That's a Corvus Brachyrhynchos." She said breathily. "An American Crow. Oh Pugsley darling, it's your first wizarding school letter!"

"That'd be Salem then, eh?" Their father nudged Pugsley in the ribs and winked. "I got kicked out in my first term. Good times."


Morticia Addams looked like a devastating fallen angel, nine year old Harry decided as he watched her and the rest of the female cousins with the tambourines. The beautiful sound of the Addams Family Mamushka was in the air. They were dancing it for Lumpy, their grotesquely handsome cousin who had just gotten engaged to Maleficent Penumbra.

"I wish I could be like her." His sister whispered beside him. Her dark eyes were on their mother too.

They were perched precariously on one of the railings of the west tower, high above the banquet hall with its glass ceiling encasing everyone below like insects in amber. Their legs swung in the cold November air.

Harry looked at his sister. At seven years of age, she was starting to show the grace and poise so inherent in the Frump blood. Her long braided hair lay heavily on her back like a hangman's noose. She was wearing a gothic dress, one he had made a few weeks ago, the black spider-like lace like knife cuts against her pallid skin.

"One day, you'll be as devastating as she is."

Wednesday smiled thankfully at him, a curve of pink on her heart-shaped face. "Hey, Harry?"


He had worn leggings today, in honor of the occasion, and an emerald-green corset laced in a putrid yellow that stood out like lemons in a wound. Privately, Wednesday thought that Harveste looked more like Morticia than she did, as graceful as lightning and as deadly as poison.

"What's it like to kill someone all by yourself?"

An edge that flashed in the light. Dark warmth spilling over his hand, forming a river he never wanted to dam. The thrill, the desire coursing up his arms and into his soul. Freedom.

"It's like…breathing air for the first time." He purred into the night sky, remembering that night almost four years past. "More delicious than cake with the weevils in. You can't describe it. I'll show you some time."

A metallic flick made him look around.

"Wednesday! I thought we were going to quit smoking!"


Ten year old Harry threw himself off the chair just as a dagger thudded into where his head had been. He rolled and ran, hearing the 'thudthudthud' of blades biting deep into the carpet behind him. As a safety precaution, he grabbed a letter opener, using it to pin up his hair. No use in fighting with liabilities. He flung his hand out for a distraction, knowing better than to hope the senbon would work this time.


The double-headed axe was heavy, but he grabbed it off the wall and swung it with the ease and precision of a warrior. It crashed against a shield, making a sizeable dent.

"Good one!"

He caught the knife in one hand and, pushing off against the desk to get airborne, sent it right back. It thunked into the bookcase, skewering a first edition copy of A Tale of Two Cities. His father retaliated with a rapier. A bulky axe would be no match for it, but a throwing dagger might just connect.



Harry scooted backwards, his eyes aflame with excitement and adrenaline. There was a tear in his sleeve, sliced open by the flashing blade, and the first drops of blood started to ooze down his arm.

They tasted exquisite.

He smirked widely, darkly, before dashing forward, his razor-lined fan at the ready. He ducked under the quick defense and whirled around, the fan flared, its sharp edges shining like silver.

Gomez was the original duel master though. But that didn't mean he would stop trying. He used his speed to his advantage, moving in to strike before dancing out of the way of the following riposte. Gomez was the next to take a hit, the fan slicing shallowly over his cheek.

A laugh like a midnight bell cut through the haze of age-old dust and the clash of metal on metal.

"How enthusiastic. Harveste, make sure you leave enough of your father to eat dinner with."

His pupils were dilated with adrenaline, bottomless pools over a shark-like smile. "I'll try, Mother."


"Wednesday, I know you've got my hatchet!"

He knew his sister resented the fact that he too had received his school letters, but actually go so far as to hide his weapons…


"Calm down, Harry." Pugsley, now fourteen, had grown into the Addams bone structure. He wasn't as tall as Lurch, but he was getting there. He wore his strawberry blonde hair slicked back now, like their father. "We could always hunt her down."

"I've half a mind to send Cerberus after her."

The timber wolf hybrid raised both its heads off the floor, ears perked at the sound of its name.

"Better not. You know the scrap he got into with Kitty Cat."

"Loki's womb," Harry muttered, his long hair falling over his face. "She's being a real -"

"What have I told you about invoking gods in this house, my viper?" Morticia stood in the door war, arms crossed imposingly over her stomach. Little Pubert clung to her dress like a leech, a thumb in his mouth.

"Been at the graveyard again, my little demon?" Harry purred, sweeping the toddler off the ground and pulling the appendage out of his greedily working maw. It looked livid enough to be fresh, gravedirt barely clinging to it. Pubert whined and he gave it back. "Forgive me, Mother. No invoking without proper sacrifice, I know."

"Good." She crept forward into his room, her dress clinging like a loving vine to the floor.

One of his suitcases was open, half-filled with neatly folded peasant blouses and skirts, interspersed with rolled-up stockings and vials of poison. Along the edge were his knives, still managing to look painfully lethal inside their plastic sleeves. They were made of tempered steel, sharper than his mother's tongue and imported from her contacts in Japan. The full set had been his most treasured present from his eleventh birthday, and he loved them. They were his next favorite weapon, next to the senbon and the razor-edged fan. They wouldn't be complete without the hatchet though, and his eyebrow twitched in irritation when he noticed a mousetrap hidden in one of his shoes.

"You know she's just being supportive in her own way. She's going to miss you so much."

"I know, Mother." He shook out the mousetrap. It snapped shut a few inches from his bare toes.

"I still don't get why you have to go all the way to Scotland." Pugsley said, picking up the trap and ignoring the needles that had been hammered to its underside. He threw it out the window. There was a crash and a distinctively un-Addams yelp. They smiled, Pubert taking the dismembered digit out of his toothless mouth to gurgle his pleasure.

"In case you've forgotten, I didn't receive a letter from Salem. One Addams is enough for them, I think."

"But it's Scotland."

"I can't exactly go to Beauxbatons, Pugsley." Harry said, now arms-deep in his closet. Pubert sat with him on the floor, severed thumb now forgotten in exchange for a vial he had found. "Ah, there's my henbane. Put it next to the belladonna, will you, Pugs?"

"You look enough like a girl for them to accept you." His brother caught the vial and batted away the inevitable senbon, but then widened his eyes at the smoke rising from his fingers.

Harry winked at him, a smile still on his face as he searched for other essentials. "My own recipe. Where is that darn bathrobe?"

"Wonderful use of Doxy wings, my viper. Maman will be so proud."

Pugsley hmmed noncommittally as he licked a fingertip. "Tangy."

"Glad you think so." Harry huffed in annoyance, then gave up and stepped into the closet. There was a scream, quickly cut off. His voice was muffled but clear above the sounds of clashing metal. "I don't want to go to Durmstrang either. And we're still banned from Haiti and Indonesia."

"Ah, yes." Morticia sighed happily in remembrance. "There's nothing like the feel of the earth rending beneath your feet. Best honeymoon your father and I ever had. Good old Dementia, always keeps her word."

"Hogwarts is the only place left for me to go. Besides, they haven't had an Addams there in years, or so I've heard. It'll be nice to…reacquaint them with our family." An explosion rocked the house and Harry stepped out, primly dusting off his shoulders. Green slime covered one arm, and he dabbed at it with a tissue. "Bloody boogeymen again. I swear, they never learn."

"All the better to deal with, my dear." Their mother flashed them her fanged smile. "I just know you're going to slay them over there, my viper."

Venom gleamed in his eyes for a moment, and he felt like laughing. "You can count on it, Mother."




I hope I did it justice. I didn't want Morticia too over-protective like I've seen in other fics. I'm hoping I gave it just the right amount of darkness.

I'm loving on my idea of Harveste right now, wahahaha. Let's hope I get inspired enough to write his first year as well.