Title: Harveste Addams and the Sorcerer's Stone
Crossover: Harry Potter and the Addams Family
Summary: A little death can change so much. Delightful, isn't it?
Warning: Addams Family Sadism and Cross-dressing
I can't believe that as I'm writing, I'm getting more reviews! I must have hit a gothic goldmine. It's a damn wrench writing this though, as I haven't read the books in ages. Thank the gods for online books. Though I must warn everyone, I've never read the seventh book, never will. I am actually denying that it and the sixth book ever existed.
Thank you to Shadow Eclipse who inspired me with the mention of Blaise. I haven't decided who to pair him up with, though knowing his parents' penchant for indiscriminate lust, it may well be everyone in Slytherin. To tarnished silver things, in the pre-Hogwarts fic, Harveste was wearing his mother's lipstick when he was six years old, so that was the unconventional bit. From then on, he's wearing dresses and skirts. A cheongsam, incidentally, is the traditional dress worn by women in China. And thank you thank you thank you to everyone who reviewed. Totally made my day and inspired me like whoa! I hope you all like this next installment!
There was a large puff of smoke on Platform 9 and ¾. It smelled like lavender with a hint of locker room socks.
"Bless me, I haven't done that in a while."
"Cool! Let's do it again!"
"On the way back, darling. I'll let you hold the foot."
The smoke cleared. Adderworth Bulstrode blinked in disbelief.
It couldn't be. It couldn't be That Family.
But there was no way it wasn't. No one normal looked like They did.
There was a woman holding a mustachioed baby, her face shaded by a veil and further shadowed by a black lace umbrella, standing stoically in the midst of the motley crew that surrounded her. It included a madly-grinning man puffing on a monster of a cigar, a giant that wouldn't have looked out of place in a morgue, a wizened old crone that put storybook witches to shame, a muscled strawberry-blond with what looked like a crossbow, a young woman with her face hidden behind her fringe and Chinese fan, and a little girl with a beheaded doll.
And a hand that didn't look like it belonged to anybody. There was a hand, all by itself, tapping its fingers idly and looking as bored as a dismembered body part could.
There was also luggage, as if someone from That Family was going to Hogwarts.
"Who are they, Father?"
"Hush, Millicent!" he hissed, his mind unfurling in cold horror.
It couldn't be. Not Them.
Syrena Zabini dabbed at her eyes as she watched her son push his luggage onto the train.
"Don't cry, Mother. It's just until the holidays."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I just…" She smiled tearfully at him. "Who's going to help me hide the bodies now?"
"Technically I shouldn't know about things like that."
"Yes, yes." Syrena sniffed, waving her handkerchief. "But I shall miss you so, my dear. I'll have a new husband by the time you get back, don't you worry."
"An unplanned romance, I'm sure." Blaise smirked sardonically. Something made his nose twitch and he looked around curiously. "What is that smell?"
His mother fluttered her eyelashes as she looked around. "What are you – Oh, my gods!"
"What's the matter?" Blaise blinked as the piteous look on his mother's face was replaced with something close to giddy awe. "Do you know those people?"
"Those are Addams!" She said breathily, yellow-tinted eyes wide. "Oh, Blaise darling, the stories! They haven't been seen on the Isles for over a hundred and eighty years, but I'd know them anywhere!"
"What on earth are you talking about, Mother? Who are the Addams?"
"Oh, my darling. You'll soon find out. You're so lucky!"
"Lucius Malfoy, old man!"
Lucius Malfoy was not a man given to surprise. But when a strange man gripped his hand with the strength of a stampeding bull, he supposed that he could be surprised just this once.
"Gomez Addams! We met a few years ago, June I think it was, in Oregon. There was an explosion?"
"Ah, yes." How could he forget? The carnage had been dreadful.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. The trip, the sound of happy children and all the damnable sunlight were getting to him. "Grandmama, you've outdone yourself. I think your Trans-Atlantic potion has got me a little woozy."
Thwack. Thwack. Thu-thunk.
"I just keep on missing, every single time. 'S enough to make me hang myself."
"Honestly, you two, I said woozy, not slow." Harry looked down at his sister. She looked like a little Morticia, her arms crossed over her chest, mutinously glaring at the ground. "Wednesday, are you still angry at me?"
"You're leaving." She hissed between her teeth. "And I'm going to be all alone with no one to kill."
"You've got Pubert."
"He doesn't run fast enough."
"My vile Valkyrie," He said with a smile, picking her up so he could kiss her nose. At nine years old, she was still petite enough to hide in the smallest of crevices, like a trapdoor spider waiting for its unsuspecting prey. "I'll be home for the winter solstice, and I'll help you prepare your first mass sacrifice, how's that?"
"So, your children are going to Hogwarts this year?" Lucius was saying.
"Just the one. Harveste, come say hello to Mr. Malfoy."
Harry looked up and walked over, still whispering macabre ideas into his sister's ear. He dark eyes grew wider and wider with glee. He ended it with a little kiss on her marble cheek before smiling his best Addams smile at the imposing blond in front of him. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Malfoy."
The tall aristocrat inclined his head perfunctorily, then reached behind him to pull what looked like an exact, if smaller, version of himself to the fore. "This is my son, Draco. Slytherin, naturally. All our family has been in Slytherin."
"Is that so?" Gomez said cheerfully, his eyes sparkling. "That's where all those Deatheaters came from, yes? I read all about it. Vicious killing machines, the lot of them, dealing out torture after heinous torture, leaving broken bones and rotting flesh behind on blood-soaked grass…Absolutely demented."
Harry smiled wider, hiding it behind Wednesday's braided hair. "Oh Father. Don't tease."
Harveste looked out at the overcast sky, pine trees and fields zooming past at a stomach-churning rate. He felt like that sky, full of a burgeoning feeling that weighed down his heart. His mother had warned him that other people were not as open to mindless violence as their family was, and he had to exercise special care with his weapons so as not to hit anything crucial. Where was the fun in that?
Although… Mother had mentioned weapons, but nothing about the use of poisons. Presumably magic in the United Kingdom was advanced enough to deal with at least that. And explosions. She hadn't said anything about explosions. A corner of his mouth tilted upwards as he re-crossed his legs, the soft cotton of his skirt tightening over his skin.
There was a searing tingle, and he licked his lips reflexively. Acromantula blood and tree frog poison. He must have gotten it when he'd kissed Marie Antoinette, Wednesday's doll, goodbye. The little minx.
He was sitting in a train compartment with four other people. There had been other people in it before, older years from the look of them, but they had mysteriously scampered out when he had smiled. Draco Malfoy sat opposite him, flicking through his potions book. The other two, a Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, hunched over their food. Harry felt a pang of homesickness. They ate like Uncle Fester did, disgustingly and with no grasp of table manners at all.
As for the last one…
"So, you're an Addams."
Blaise Zabini peered at the young lady beside him. A closed silk-lined fan was tapping a slow rhythm on her blood-red lips, her enigmatic eyes strangely shadowed. She was a little darker than the rest of her family, but not quite tanned. Blaise remembered just how pale the tall vampiric-looking woman had been, not just pasty but literally chalk-white. Anyone would have looked tanned next to her.
The curl of her lips was inscrutable, bordering on necromantic. A shiver of fear slid down his spine, and he cleared his throat self-consciously. That was no way for a Zabini to act.
"My mother was…pleased to see your family, but I've never heard of any Addams. You don't sound like you're from here. Are you purebloods?"
"We live in America." She smiled again. "And we practice Dark magic too, if that's what you mean. But mostly we use the old magic."
"What do you mean by old?" This was Draco now, grey eyes shifting like quicksilver under the light. "The old spells?"
"Yes." She turned the same smile on the blond who, to his credit, did not shrink back, though Blaise noticed how his hands tightened on his book. "And the magic before the division of the Arthurian Wars."
"Oh." Blaise watched the blond's eyes flicker down briefly before glancing upwards again. "Merlin was responsible for the distinction between Light and Dark, wasn't he? Well, and the Lady le Fay."
"That's true. I'm talking about base magic, the type used before their time. Blood magic." Her smile didn't waver an inch, though it did grow more gruesome. "It wiped out the dinosaurs, you know, and started the Black Plague."
Blaise couldn't believe his ears as she kept on talking, her words capturing a horrified yet fascinated Draco. It was…it was the same type of magic his mother practiced, and some of the older families as well, but they didn't talk about it. She was talking about Blood magic, something darker than Dark, tinged with shame and guilt and horrible consequences. Syrena Zabini did it out of necessity, or so she had reassured him after every funeral; it was the only way she could survive as a Black Widow. But to mention it so nonchalantly, as if the world didn't look down on it, and to speak of it with such relish…
Harveste Addams took creepy to a whole other level.
Harveste Addams was an enigma, Draco decided as he looked at the dark head a few paces away from him.
His father had taken him aside when the eccentric family had moved on. He had noticed the luggage following obediently behind them, like a pack of the queerest dogs he had ever seen, but he hadn't mentioned anything just in case it was a spell he hadn't studied yet.
"Draco," His father had said, his voice low and his eyes haunted. "Draco, you must make friends with this Addams girl, no matter what happens, no matter what house she is sorted into, do you understand?"
"Even if she gets into Gryffindor?" The taste of the accursed word had been heavy on his tongue.
His father had laughed, if a strangled bark could be called a laugh. "There is no way in the nine hells that that girl will be placed in Gryffindor. Dumbledore may be a lot of things, but he would be absolutely deranged if he even considered it. You must make friends with her, promise me that, Draco. And stay close to her."
"Just trust me."
Trust me. His father had never said that before. Even his mother had looked afraid, and he knew that she had been fearless enough to not take the Dark Mark, not even when the Dark Lord had been at full power.
And then there had been that talk on the train about Blood magic. Her green eyes had been alight, as if she had been talking about her favorite subject and not the most gruesome and forbidden branch of the magic arts.
There was a whisper, growing louder with every step as she sort of drifted towards the front of the Great Hall. He had noticed that about her, the way she moved like fog, like her feet weren't even touching the ground. It was probably the dress.
The whispering came from the teacher's table as well, surprisingly from one dark-haired, hook-nosed professor who was also his godfather. Draco wondered what he was so agitated about.
"An Addams, in this school? Dumbledore, are you mad?"
She wasn't that bad.
Or maybe she was, because when she reached the podium where the Sorting Hat was, all she did was stroke a finger over the brim and it began to SCREAM.
It was the sort of scream that no mortal could make, but banshees could come close if they had their wings ripped off first. It reached the rafters, high and tortured and so full of heart-wrenching pain, and it just went on and on and on until Harveste decided to lift her hand. She smiled.
"S-Slytherin," The Hat panted in a strangled and shaking voice as it shrank away from her. "Slytherin."
The Parkinsons had been the queens of Slytherin ever since Hogwarts had started. Her ancestor, Virelle Parkinson, had been the first and the best. Pansy had heard that she had been worse than Grindelwald and more blood-thirsty than the Dark Lord. She had been looking forward to her chance for years, ever since her mother had told her. There was no way she was going to dishonor the Parkinson blood by allowing some American upstart to take her place.
Pansy glared at the new girl who was lounging on one of the couches in the common room. There was a space around her and the couch was otherwise unoccupied, though the rest of the other chairs were filled, as if people didn't want to go near her. It was as if they were frightened.
A bunch of idiots, she thought to herself. Just because the Sorting Hat had to be taken away for a few minutes before the Sorting was continued. Well, she wasn't scared.
"I'm going to talk to her."
"You don't want to do that, Pansy." Millicent, her childhood friend, hissed. "My dad told me about them-"
"Don't be stupid. She can't be worse than anyone else in this room."
She ignored the collective gasp as she marched up to the girl and sat down next to her. She extended her hand, though the look in her eyes was sharp. "I'm Pansy Parkinson."
From under the dark fringe, emeralds glinted with something, and then a smile was tilted at her. "Harveste Addams, nice to meet you."
Her touch was freezing, as if she had never felt the sun. Her skin also felt slightly scaly. It was all Pansy could do not to recoil.
Benjamin Urquhart broke the silence with a cough. "Bed everyone. Your classes start tomorrow."
"Indeed." The girl smiled again, and Pansy felt her heart thudding away a mile a minute. "Well then. Miss Parkinson."
She uncoiled from the seat, like a cobra from the grass, and started for the boys' dormitory. Pansy resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her skirt. Millicent patted her shoulder, the look on her face saying 'I told you so'.
"Where are you going, Miss Addams? The girls' rooms are on the other side."
Her laugh was like the peal of a church bell at midnight, the sort that was only used during funerals or times of imminent disaster. Everyone shuddered.
First class was Potions with the Gryffindors.
There was another circle around her – him. The rest of the class stuck to the shadows, five people to a table, though there was only enough space on each bench for three. It was probably the first time Slytherins had shown such open trepidation. Severus Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. Typical.
Even his traditional start of the year speech lacked its fire. The Gryffindors didn't even look intimidated. They were all, down to the very last one, looking at the demurely smiling brunette dressed in impeccable green and silver. He was wearing the girl's uniform, naturally. Even Dumbledore hadn't said anything, but his usual sparkle had noticeably dimmed at breakfast.
This would not do.
"Mister Addams, our newest…celebrity," he sneered, ignoring the start most of the Lions made. "Mister Addams, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
"So many things, Professor, depending on the other ingredients and circumstances in which the potion is brewed. With Demiguise hair, you could achieve invisibility at the cost of your own soul. When stirred under the half moon with a pinch of graveyard dirt, you get a potion that could turn anything inside out. With silver and a mermaid's heart, an offering that would raise the Kraken from the depths of the sea." The green eyes looked up at his stoic expression before curving upwards happily. "But I suppose you're talking about the Draught of Living Death, the most common application of those two ingredients."
"Where would I find a bezoar?" He managed to not-croak. His mind was in a whirl. That knowledge about the Kraken had been banned from everything except the books of Darkest Art.
"Stomachs of nearly any living thing in the world. My grandmother has one from the fourteenth century, taken from the stomach of a girl who wouldn't stop eating her hair. It was such a pity when she didn't survive the operation."
There were sounds of retching.
"Monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"Aconite, also known as Devil's Helmet. I'm partial to aconitum carmichaelii myself. Which species do you use, sir?"
"Aconitum lycoctonum." He said blankly, still stunned. He shook his head free with a growl and turned a ferocious glare onto the other students who were staring at them. "Well? What are you waiting for? Write this down!"
Half an hour into the class, Snape had completely forgotten about the perplexing Addams. He shouldn't have.
"Idiot boy!" he hissed at Neville Longbottom, who was sporting a skin covered with pus-filled boils. "Porcupine quills after you take the potion off the fire! You are a catastrophe in the making, the worst thing to ever touch a cauldron!"
Harry smiled down into his potion, the expression hidden by the thick steam. Pugsley wasn't the only one who liked explosions.
People were still talking about it. Harry tilted his umbrella forward to hide his smile.
He wasn't as sensitive as his mother was to sunlight, but too much of it was just plain irritating. He had thought that the weather in this part of the world would be delightfully dreary and overcast all the time. How wrong he was.
"Hold your hands out over the broomsticks and say 'Up!'" A yellow-eyed woman said. Madame Hooch, he thought her name was. Her eyes were beautiful, like a deadly raptor before leaping on its prey.
"Up." He said, dutifully, along with the rest of them.
His broom stayed on the ground. He looked down at it and snapped his fingers. It leapt into his hand, faintly quivering.
He sat primly on the handle, sidesaddle as his grandmother had taught him. It was only proper.
A whoosh made him look up. Neville Longbottom, the glorious potion disaster, was rising in the air, his face as pale as a new corpse. His fall was inevitable, accompanied by the hard crack of bone. A broken wrist, how fortunate.
"Everyone on the ground," Madame Hooch said, rolling her lovely eyes. "If I catch anyone in the air, you'll be in detention faster than you can say Quidditch. Come along, Longbottom, it's the infirmary for you."
"Did you see his face, the great lump?"
Draco was a little bully. He could see a young Pugsley in him. He was missing his family more and more every day.
"That's Neville's, give it back!"
That was Ronald Bilius Weasley, with his family's red, red hair. It looked like spilt blood in the sun and Harry felt another pang of homesickness. His hand itched for the ridged handle of knives or the sleek smoothness of his senbon. He hadn't held a weapon in so long. It was driving him mad.
He watched with interested eyes as the two brooms soared into the air. They zoomed backwards and forwards, taunts flying faster than the brooms.
"Catch it if you can then!"
Draco Malfoy nearly felt his heart stop when he looked around into blithe green eyes. He hadn't even heard the effeminate boy rise up behind him. The Remembrall fell from his nerveless fingers.
Harry caught it without a thought, his skirt rippling in the wind like strands of darkness in the blue sky. He was still holding his umbrella in one hand, and how he stayed on the broom was an absolute mystery.
"Give it back, Addams." The redhead said, his usually boisterous voice subdued now. Everyone in school knew about Harveste.
The sound of his name on those stained lips was like sensual satin over thorns. Weasley caught the Remembrall and managed not to drop it.
Harry looked at the blond, who was staring wide-eyed at him, and he couldn't resist. He leaned over and purred. "Come now, Draco, you naughty thing. You don't want to be punished, do you?"
A bit late for that though. Madame Hooch had given all three of them detention with Filch. Then she had gone and told Professor Snape that he was an exceptional flyer, worthy of being Seeker. How droll.
Harry walked back to the dungeons, alone. Apparently, the eternal enmity of the Weasleys and Malfoys was reduced to nothing against the apprehension an Addams could induce.
It was probably why he'd been pushed into this room.
Harry looked around in the gloom. He could smell dog spit. And he could hear snarling.
He took a candle from his pocket and caressed the wick. It flared.
The next day, Draco Malfoy was wallowing in guilt, certain he would be in Azkaban by nightfall. He didn't know what had come over him. He had just felt so ashamed that he'd been beaten, and disgusted at the fact that he had to serve detention next to a Weasley, of all people. And the Addams boy had just smiled and scrubbed and looked completely at ease among the grime and dust of the dungeons. It was all just so damn annoying and he had to do something about it.
His godfather cared deeply for him, despite the fact that he was a completely sadistic Professor, and had wanted him to understand just why they weren't allowed there. Addams was probably long gone by now, ripped into a thousand pieces by the three-headed dog that Snape had shown him during his first night. He had done it impulsively, in the heat of the moment, and now he was going to be in so much trouble. If only the dark-haired boy wasn't dead, if only he had gotten out before the dog had smelled him - Draco would never do anything impulsive again -
A frigid fingertip slid over the nape of his neck, making him start. And his heart nearly stopped again when Harry sat next to him, as cheerful as ever.
"Thank you for the present, Draco. How did you know I liked dogs?"
Harry looked around questioningly. His fan flapped open, hiding his mouth from the approaching boy. He mentally flipped through all the names he had memorized. "Yes, Terence?"
Terence Higgs looked down at the slim figure and paused. Even the older students were reluctant at the thought of talking to an Addams, and yet here he was, in front of the creepiest person that ever walked the halls of Hogwarts, about to say something that might just piss him off.
"I-I heard that Professor Snape was thinking of making you Seeker for the Slytherin team."
Gods, this was hard. "Um…I don't know if you know, but…"
"You're our current Seeker, isn't that right?"
Harry nearly laughed, but stopped himself. The boy looked like a mass of nerves already. "Don't worry, Terence. I won't be on the team this year."
"W-What?" Terence blinked in surprise. It was like he was a mind reader or something. "But Madame Hooch said you were good at flying! You were a natural, she said!"
"So? Don't worry." Harry repeated, emerald gaze gleaming in the sunset. "There are other ways of flying."
"Er…er, ok then. Thanks."
Harry watched benevolently as the student left. Then he licked his lips free of blood, folded his fan, and continued on to the Great Hall.
Blood dripped down from the severed head, oozing thickly between his fingers before splashing into the cauldron. The dark liquid already there moved in unnatural ways, bubbling like hot tar even though there was no fire under it. It smelled like floor polish, coffee and fresh vomit.
He tipped in a little spider venom and stirred the whole thing with the dead lizard's claw. He had killed it two hours before, but that was probably alright.
A ghastly face appeared on the surface of the potion, the stuff of nightmares, looking like it had been dredged from the depths of hell.
"Grandmama, how lovely to see you."
"Morticia! Gomez! It's Harry!"
More faces appeared, and he smiled down at them. "Happy Halloween. I've missed you all."
"Deathly so, Mother."
"I'm so proud."
"How are your grades, eh?" His father said jovially. "Worse than Armageddon, I hope?"
"I'm at the top of my class in Potions and Transfiguration and Defense."
"That's my boy!" Granny Frump cackled.
"I got your present, Harry!" Wednesday's face glowed like a werewolf's moon as she raised the caged tarantula for him to see. "I love it!"
The potion flickered, and Pugsley's face appeared, tinged corpse-grey by the use of another potion. He was in Salem now, but he looked no worse for the wear. "Hey, Harry. Hey, all."
"Pugsley! I heard you blew up your fencing teacher!"
His older brother scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. "It was nothing."
"My son, the Fusillade Murderer. I love it! And you, my viper? Killed anyone lately?"
"Haven't had the chance, Father." He looked trite. "I haven't even had the chance for senbon practice. I'm getting rusty."
"Does that mean I get to cut off your head when you come back?" Wednesday perked up. "I've re-designed the guillotine."
"You may well try."
Harveste raised his head suddenly, his nostrils twitching at the over-powering smell of bad eggs that had made its way into the room. The soles of his bare feet could feel the reverberations in the stones and excitement suddenly welled up in him. There was only one thing that could smell like that.
"I'm afraid I must cut this short. There seems to be a troll in the castle."
"Trolls? They're much more advanced than I thought."
"That's no fair." Pugsley muttered. "We don't have trolls in Salem."
"Have fun, my viper." Morticia smiled proudly at him from the depths of the cauldron. "Remember to aim for the 'takgonha'."
"Tish, that's troll language!"
Harry ran through the dark halls, his heart drumming in his ears.
A troll! He'd never killed a troll before!
He ducked behind statues to avoid the stampeding students and prefects, weaving in and out of the shadows, leaving the torchlight flickering in his wake. His blood, sluggish from the long period of inactivity, was suddenly coursing through his veins like fire. He could taste it in his mouth and it inflamed him even more.
Finally! It had been so long!
His eyes gleamed an unearthly hue as he hid in the nearest doorway, his feet still bare so he could feel how far his prey was. His hair was pinned up, but the fringe hung low over his eyes, shadowing his face,
He wisely kept the senbon hidden in his hand as he whirled around. The girl shrank back, her tear-stained face now cast with terror.
"Hermione? What are you doing here?"
"Shh." He slid next to her and she fainted dead away. He rolled his eyes. Honestly.
The troll burst in, knocking the door of his hinges, and he forgot about her. He could feel the urge to laugh clawing against his chest and his mind was suddenly filled with dark gleeful promises. It was an addictive, familiar chant, pushing him closer and closer into the abyss from whence the first Addams had emerged. He'd heard it in his soul when he had first felt blood spill on his skin and every dark night since, in the silence of his dreams, in his mother's voice, in his father's laugh.
The troll's movements were ponderous, like every step, every swing was fighting against gravity. The senbon barely scratched its cement-like skin, and he swallowed the crow of delight at the delicious challenge that was before him. This was what he was made for, what he was, what all his Family was. And it was the dark of the moon.
Things couldn't get any better.
Blaise looked at Harveste from the corner of his eye.
They were well into the second semester and he still hadn't revised his opinion of the brunette. Harveste Addams was still creepy. Even Professor Snape was scared of him. Ever since that first day in Potions, the teacher had barely said two words to his most enigmatic student, no matter how many explosions he caused. And he caused a lot.
"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor!"
The whole school had learned about how Harveste had dealt with the rampaging troll that had somehow found its way into Hogwarts. When the teachers had arrived, there had been nothing but chunks left, strewn all over the girls' bathroom, its stone-grey blood splashed even on the ceiling. Harveste had been spotlessly, unnaturally clean, sitting quietly in one corner and coaxing Hermione Granger into drinking a bit of water. Or least they hoped it was water.
"- back to Johnson and – no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle -"
Surely it had been water.
"- he's going to sc – no, stopped by an excellent move -"
The Granger girl had apparently been alienated by the Gryffindors, and now she sat meekly next to the enigmatic Slytherin that everyone else was scared of, one hand on his cloaked arm as she looked up at the Quidditch players. Perhaps he had brainwashed her.
"- OUCH, that must have hurt, hit on the back of the head by a Bludger -"
"The lucky darling." Addams said in his smooth, pleasant tone. "That must be exquisitely painful."
"You really are a sadist, Harry."
Harry? She could call him Harry? Without dying?
"No sign of the Snitch yet?" Draco asked, scooting closer to Blaise. His eyes were on Harveste too, as if by examining the brunette minutely, he could solve the whole mystery that was the young Addams.
"I suppose not."
A breeze picked up, and Draco suddenly wished he hadn't been looking at Harveste Addams. He wished he had been born blind.
On the smooth, pale forehead, always hidden behind the long, dark fringe, there was a scar. A scar shaped like a lightning bolt.
He looked at Blaise and knew that his friend had seen it too.
They were going to be in so much trouble.
"You are Harry Potter." Albus Dumbledore said disbelievingly. "Harry James Potter."
The only other person in the room chuckled darkly. "In another life, Headmaster. My name is Harveste Addams now."
"My dear boy, this…this is astounding! We thought you were dead!"
"Why ever would you think that?"
"We found Dursleys' bodies in the River Thames! They were brutally butchered!"
The pale cold smile barely flickered. "Indeed? How…fascinating."
"How did you end up in America? With the Addams? Why can't I find any record of you?"
Harry laughed behind his fan. "As much as I would like to see a heart attack, Headmaster, I must ask you to desist. I cannot answer your questions. You would have to ask my mother."
"But…but…there is no trace, not a single thread that links you to Harry Potter. You were born Harveste Addams."
"Yes, I was. I am an Addams through and through."
That was that. Even Albus Dumbledore couldn't get an answer, quailed under that smile, and had to let it go.
He was standing in a pool of blood that reached his thighs, a knife edge gleaming under the full moon's light. His sister stood beside him, the proverbial Valkyrie, hair flying though there was no wind, an stained axe hefted onto her shoulder. His brother was on his other side, a smear of dark red on his cheek, teeth bared in a wicked smile. Pubert was on a rock, toothlessly gnawing on a fiery arrow. His dear mother, father and uncle were flying in a sky the color of a bruise, hunting, killing. The house on 0001 Cemetery Road rose forbiddingly behind them, wreathed in thunderstorms and lit by demonic lightning.
There was so much blood.
Harry liked this mirror. He smiled.
A crack appeared on the ornate frame.
Detention again. Father would have been kicked out by now, but neither he nor Pugsley had their father's raw talent for mayhem. They could only hope that Wednesday and Pubert had inherited the gene.
Hermione and he had bumped into the Weasley brothers as they emerged from the Astronomy Tower. Harry had smelled the distinctive tang of dragonfire, and hadn't cared, but McGonagall's eyes were sharper than any cat's, and since they had been out after curfew, were sentenced to detention. Now they were in the Forbidden Forest, a half-giant tromping on the leaf-laden ground before them.
Somebody had been killing unicorns, apparently. What a novel idea.
"I want Fang," Ron said quickly.
"I warn ye, he's a coward." Hagrid said. "Addams, Granger, you go with him. The twins and I will go this way. If there's any trouble, send up sparks."
"Harry," Hermione whispered once they were encased in the darkness of the forest. She was a sweet girl, not a patch on Wednesday, but she had stuck around after the troll. It was nice having someone to talk to about classes, if not maiming techniques, and she had been quite interested in the history of weapons. "I've never seen your wand, you know. Do you have one?"
"You don't use it in class." Ronald said, listening in. They were whispering now. The weight of the Forbidden Forest's secrets hung heavily between every branch.
"I don't have to. Addams have a talent for wandless magic. It's in the blood." He smiled to himself at the little inside joke.
"Can I see it?"
He pulled it out of the sleeve of his coat wordlessly, his eyes on the silvery blood that glimmered enticingly on the ground very few feet. It was hauntingly beautiful. He was sure Wednesday would love it. Then he remembered something. "Don't touch the tip."
The girl paused from her intense scrutiny. "Why not?"
Weasley would have said something if the bushes hadn't rustled then. His mouth closed with a snap.
Harry stepped forward, interested.
There was a cloaked figure on the ground, kneeling next to the dead unicorn. It was hooded, cloaked to its very fingertips, and bent over the neck of the animal. It looked like it was drinking its blood. Or was anyway. At the sound of Herimone's voice, it looked up. There was nothing to see in the folds of the cowl other than shadows upon shadows. It was a interesting trick that he would have to learn sometime. The creature stood up fluidly and began to slither towards them.
Senbon peppered the ground before it and Harry's razor-edged fan scythed at where its neck should have been. It darted backwards, faster even than his father.
It disappeared, flitting away like a ghost.
"Harry, what- what-"
"I don't know." Harry purred at the challenge in the air. "Hermione, take Fang and find Hagrid. Ronald, go with her. I'll wait here."
"A-are you sure?"
Sweet girl. He could taste her fear, and still she was protective. "Yes. Go on."
He waited until they had gone, then approached the tragically magnificent dead form. It glowed even more than its blood did, a stark shining star against the overall midnight that surrounded it. He reached out to caress its blood-soaked flank.
"I would not do that, Harry Potter."
The centaur caught the fan inches away from its bare torso and saw the look in his eyes. "Harveste Addams," it amended.
"Thank you, centaur." Harry sat back on his heels, his palm on the gleaming horn. It was delightfully sharp, enough to cut into his skin.
"It is true, the stories about you. The stars do not lie."
"They rarely do." The wound, a simple gash over his fingers, wasn't too deep. It would heal in time. He licked up the last trickle, relishing the full, metallic taste, and reached out again.
"Do not, Harveste Addams. Those who taste the blood of a unicorn are doomed to half a life. The man you saw is cursed forever, never to truly be part of the world."
"Really." The silvery blood really was beautiful. It glimmered over his skin like diamonds on a lake. He would have to take some home. "Why should he have all the fun then?"
"It was you in the forest that night." Harry said. It wasn't a question.
Professor Quirrell glared haughtily at him, his trademark stutter gone without a trace. "Yes."
They were probably miles under the school. Quirrell had invited him into his office to discuss his exam, and he had followed. One step through a doorway and he was once more face-to-face with the three-headed dog. It had shied away from him. Then there had been other obstacles, all of them trivial, almost playful. The last one was fun though. He hadn't had Acromantula blood in a while. Quirrell had screamed at him for taking the wrong bottle, but it had tasted quite nice actually, with a faint hint of peppermint. Snape really was a genius.
He had followed because it was interesting, and he hadn't cut off the turbaned head because the puzzles were entertaining, but really, everything had its limits.
"What do you want with me?"
"You are Harry Potter."
'Harry Potter.' The mysterious voice wound through the air. It was impressive the way it could actually hiss a name that didn't have anything to hiss.
"You people have an unhealthy fascination with that name. I haven't been Harry Potter in six years, and I'll thank you to call me by my real name."
Quirrell blinked, obviously wondering why he wasn't a quivering mass of frightened little boy. Harry rolled his eyes.
"Listen, Professor, tell me what you want so you can be done with it. The moon is dark tonight, and I haven't even begun to clean my tools."
"L-look in the mirror and tell me what you see."
Harry turned obediently, his mind already on the sacrifice he would be offering tonight. He hoped to find something a little bigger than lizards, but the denizens of Forbidden Forest were growing quite scarce. He wondered whether the centaur had anything to do with it.
"Tell me what you see, Addams!"
"Blood." He said noncommittally. "I always see blood. Oh, and a cup of tea. I haven't had tea in a long time."
"What? But the stone! Where is the stone!"
"What are you talking about?" Silly man, Harry thought, starting to scowl for the first time in a year.
'Let me ssspeak to him.'
"Master, you don't have the strength!"
'I have ssstrength enough for thisss.'
Harry's lips pursed. 'Does he have a snake under that turban?'
It wasn't a snake. It was worse; a noseless face stuck to the back of Quirrell's hairless head, its florid bloodshot eyes gleaming out of a horrifically ashen complexion.
"You don't use baking powder, do you? My mother swears by it."
'What? Do not play gamesss with me, boy! I am Lord Voldemort!'
"Oh." Harry blinked. He'd seen scarier things in his bedroom closet. But then again, that was a whole other kettle of wriggly things.
'Yesss!' The head said, mistaking his silence for fear. The line of the Addams had truly been gone for too long. 'Now tell me, where-is-the-ssstone?'
"I am growing exceedingly tired of this game. What damn stone?"
'The Sssorcerer'sss Ssstone, Potter! The magic that will bring me back to life!'
He had sharpened his wand. It slid through flesh like a hot knife through butter. Then the poison started to work. Quirrell didn't even have time to gasp.
The shocked ruby eyes were wide, and this close its dark irises were flecked with gold. Harry smiled into them, the barest hint of fang among the pearly whites. "I did warn you."
And now it was the last day of school.
Slytherin had won the House Cup, through no fault of his own, and now his housemates were celebrating. They had better sense to disturb him though, and around his chosen couch, there was a little bubble of respectful silence.
He had invited Hermione too. Benjamin Urquhart had tried to explain that Slytherins did not invite Gryffindors into their common room, but a smile had him stuttering to a halt. Now his frizzy-haired friend sat next to him, a senbon shining in her fingers.
"I can keep it? You're serious?"
"Of course. I have more." He slanted his smile at her. "Perhaps next year, I can teach you how to use it, hmm?"
"I would like that." She looked up at him shyly. "I've never had a friend like you before. I'll miss you over the summer."
Harry turned his head at the echo, catching both Draco and Blaise in his sights. He chuckled. "Is the fact that I might have made a friend so inconceivable to you?"
"We'll miss you too, is all." Blaise said hurriedly, elbowing his blond friend in the gut. "Isn't that right, Draco?"
Draco's face took on the look of someone who'd just swallowed a pickled frog. "Eh?"
"Is that so?" Harry said teasingly, fighting to urge to laugh yet again. "Then the three of you wouldn't mind visiting me over the summer."
"I'd love to, Harry!"
*Dies* Ohmigosh, I can't believe I wrote all of that. Ten hours! Yeesh. Anyway, thank you all so very much. I would appreciate any and all comments that you may have. Please continue to support Harveste Addams!