Title: Harveste Addams and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Crossover: Harry Potter and the Addams Family

Summary: A madman has escaped from prison? Are you sure you aren't talking about Uncle Fester?

Warning: Addams Family Sadism and Cross-dressing

To answer a few question, no, I haven't decided who to pair our Harveste up with, no Wednesday shall not be joining him (obviously by now), I shall naturally mention Cousin It, I separated them into different posts because I knew they would get long and longer the more depraved I become, and I SHALL write the sixth and seventh book even if I have to smoke like a chimney to do it. Also, Harveste willing, I shall put in this chapter exactly why our dearest darling wears women's clothing. And the Addams Family calls him Harry because that's short for Harveste. You see how no one but Wednesday, Hermione and occasionally Pugsley call him that. Draco and Blaise don't have the guts, and his Parents call him Viper, Darling or Harveste. The correct way to spell it would be Hari, but I decided it would be more fun in the original way.

Little PotC line here, let's see if you can spot it.

Edit: Thank you Vilkath!




Harry looked up from under his umbrella as Remus Lupin, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor and werewolf, sat next to him on the bleachers. In a slightly cloudy sky, yellow and red specks were zooming around. Hermione had convinced him to sit outside instead of in his common room. For some reason, she was afraid for him. The five mini-Death Eaters had upped the ante since his little trick with Anthony's clothes. Today, someone had doused his school uniform with Aldier's Blister Burn potion, a scalding mixture so potent that it had to be diluted before being bottled. From the feel of it, they hadn't bothered with dilution.

They were watching him now. He tilted his head in their direction, smiling to himself.

"Professor Lupin?" Hermione asked from his other side. Draco and Blaise were busy booing the Gryffindors. Something about the Quidditch cup and points, apparently. "Is this about my essay on Red Caps? I know I went a bit overboard in my comparison with the Japanese Kappa, but I didn't think you'd mind-"

"Ah, no, Miss Granger – Hermione," Lupin said, startled. "What are you doing over here? I thought – Shouldn't you be over with the Gryffindors?"

Hermione's hand tightened over his arm and her mouth opened, but he spoke first. "Inter-House friendships are not uncommon, Professor."

"Of-Of course not…I myself…" He looked a little flustered, then he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they sparked with resolve. "I was friends with Severus Snape, once upon a time. Mister Addams – may I call you Harry?"

"Harveste, if you please." The man had a crestfallen look, and something nudged his mind. This man was a Dark creature, though he routinely denied it. It called to his own Power, and he felt a little pity. "But you may, out of class, of course."

"Thank you. I - well, I came to – You know about Sirius Black?"

"Yes. You were friends with him, were you not? You and James Potter and Peter Pettigrew. You were called the…the Marauders, if I remember correctly."

"How do you -"

"I read." He offered the Professor a smile as unthreatening as he could make it. The wolf was calling. "You were saying about Sirius Black?"

"It's a bit…sensitive. Perhaps Hermione should -"

"I'm one of his best friends." The frizzy-haired girl said hotly, annoyed that she was being ignored so easily. "I've been to his house. I've met his family. There's nothing you can tell me about a psychopathic murderer that I haven't heard already."

"I'm so proud of you, darling."

"Well, I…the fact of the matter is, Ha-Harry, Dumbledore and I, well, and the Minister too, we think that Sirius Black is after you."

"Oh? Professor Dumbledore is back from Haiti?"

The werewolf blinked. "How did you know -"

Harry smiled as he reached for his thermos. It was getting lighter though he had topped it up with a bit more poison. Perhaps Draco would consent to a little donation in the name of friendship. "Why do you think he wants to kill me as opposed to finding a way to kill our dear Headmaster? Wasn't he the head of the revolution against Tom?"

Tom? Hermione mouthed. He winked at her.

His Professor was looking more and more surprised, but he pressed on regardless. "Because he told You-Know-Who where the Potters were hiding. There was a prophecy about the only person that could kill him. You were that person, Ha-Harry, and Black was the secret-keeper and he told-"

"Really, Professor, you are a source of fascination." He leaned closer, his Mother's sensual smile on his lips. It was not a nice smile. "Are you worried about me?"

Before the man could answer, lightning tore through the sky and an eerie silence began to take over the cheers of the crowd. The temperature dropped to freezing point, quenching the slight ticklish burn from the Blister potion. Pity, he had been starting to enjoy it.

In the teachers' box, there was pandemonium. All the Professors were standing, their magically enhanced voices booming through the sudden shriek of the wind. Students were screaming, and some had collapsed. Down on the pitch, beneath the players, dark forms were beginning to mass. They were tall and forbidding, tattered cloaks flying as if in the teeth of a gale, and they were all looking up. He could hear their distinctive rattle even from this distance.

"Expecto Patronum!" Lupin cast beside him. A silvery light shot from the tip of his wand, and Harry watched it fly straight at the Dementors. It was joined by many others, but they shimmered against the sheer number of Dark creatures.

"You know, Professor, if you let your wolf run every now and then, that spell would be stronger." He said conversationally, his chin propped on one hand as he continued to watch. "Light spells work better when the soul is completely at peace, or so I've heard."

If Lupin's jaw fell any more, it would be disjointed.

"Ha-Harry," Hermione choked beside him, and her grip was vice-like. He looked at her.

She was holding her own admirably. The only signs of stress on her face were the tightness of her lips, her narrowed eyes and and bone-white knuckles. She was staring straight ahead and whispering calming words to herself. Draco and Blaise, on the other hand…

"As much as I like to see them in pain…" He sighed, and stood up. Thank the gods he had had some blood. He would have a headache afterwards as it was.

But the Power wouldn't come. For the first time since becoming an Addams, Harry felt out of his element. He stared at his hand, the silver ring glinting though there was no light, and felt…nothing.

"Oh dear. I shall have to get messy after all."


The snow was a dazzling, pristine shade of white, like crushed opals and diamonds strewn on the quaint storybook picture town that was Hogsmeade. Harry stepped on it with a vengeance. He was still sore about the state of his favorite skirt after he had dealt with the Dementors. He had soaked it in bleach, scrubbed it with sand, drowned it in gallons of Helia's Patented Spot Remover and still he couldn't get the smell off. A squished Dementor was surprisingly akin to a barrelful of crushed violets and roses. It was disgusting.

He was currently burying his pent-up anger in a bagful of Cockroach Cluster, but it wasn't working.

Hermione had a vaguely green look on her face when she saw him viciously bite one in half. "Maybe we should've bought you those Blood Lollipops…"

"'Taste of real blood', my bottom. They shouldn't even be allowed to sell them to decent human beings."

"They don't." Blaise said. "They're for vampires."

Harry knew he was acting like a petulant, spoiled child and he took a deep breath. The weight on his chest had been bothering him immensely, but he shouldn't let it get in the way. There was fun to be had, and if there wasn't, he would damn well find and have his wicked way with it.

"I need fabric." He decided. "Yes. That would make me feel better."

Twenty minutes later, he was feeling a touch more normal. Now, Draco and Blaise were the ones fidgeting. He buried a smile in a handful of velvet. Hermione was watching him with a smile of her own. She had chosen a wine-red satin patterned with small silver numbers. It wasn't his sort of thing, but it would be beautiful with her eyes.

"All right, that does it."

Draco had marched up to him. The slightly vain boy was painstakingly thorough with his skin care regimen, and this close, Harry could safely say that it was working. There was not a hint of dry skin or pimples or blackheads. It was a complexion most models would die for, coupled with dove-grey eyes and amazingly silky frost-white hair. He would have made a lovely corpse.

"Listen, Harveste, we get it about the blood and the senbon and the smiling, but the dresses? The skirts? The girls' uniform? You – you – you're an attractive person, and I don't see why -"

"Draco, did you just say I was attractive?" He said with interest. Hermione and Blaise were watching with their patented shocked expressions, but his eyes were on Draco's tomato-red face. "I'm flattered."

"Well, yes." Draco seemed to check himself and forged onwards. "Yes, I think you're attractive, and so does Blaise, and Hermione too. We all think you're not a bad looker."

And we're not the only ones, so you can just stop looking at me like that! were the unspoken words that screamed through the air.

He didn't think that dying of laughter was an appropriate response, so Harry restrained himself. Barely.

"The thing is, well…you're a boy. With boy parts. So, right, the girls' uniform…"

The blond was starting to look like he wanted to cut off his own tongue so he could stop talking. Harry took pity on him. He'd been taking pity on everyone these past few days. It must be Hermione's blood. She was such a nice person, too nice sometimes, but a few more summers would cure that.

"Harry, you don't have to answer – Draco, you're so stupid sometimes. - "

"It's alright, darling. I'm actually surprised they waited two whole years."

"If you only knew how creepy you look -"

"Gods, Blaise, this isn't the time -"

They bickered all the way to The Three Broomsticks, where the bartender gave Harry a strange look when he asked for a Rothbean Gunslinger instead of a plain Butterbeer. It arrived at their table anyway once the wizened old man realized he was that Addams. The ceramic mug was scalding to the touch.

"Harry, it's…it's... What is that stuff?"

"Ogden's Firewhisky 1326, pickles, cherry tomatoes, a raw egg, two spoonfuls of pepper and a chocolate biscuit. Oh, and some turkey ham. Very classy. Would you like some?"

Hermione blanched as he took a sip, radiating enjoyment.

His eyes gleamed over the cup. "So, you've finally asked me why I wear women's clothes."

Draco looked like he wanted to faint. "I'm sorry I asked. Please don't answer."

"Nonsense. We're friends. Now…let's see. Where do I start?" He thoughtfully tapped on the rim of his mug. "Ah, the first time I ever wore makeup."

Hermione leaned in, suddenly all ears. "I've always loved your mother's lipstick, you know."

"She has the skin for it. I could never pull off smoky eyeshadow either. Wednesday is very lucky. I have to stick to darker shades, but I remember… when Mother and Father came to pick me up from my old house, it was like the world had been in black and white, and suddenly I saw a new color. It was like I had been looking for it all my life, that red lipstick. And the blood, of course. Such a beautiful shade."

Blaise winced into his Butterbeer.

"Then we visited this mental facility when I was six. I forgot the name, but it was one of those that was set aside for the most incurably insane killers. My Aunt Ophelia had a very nice room, sixth floor, plenty of restraints and three monogrammed straitjackets. She told us all the stories, all the killing sprees, all the fly-by-night operations. It was so enlightening. And she told us the real secret of murderers everywhere, that the person who is the least suspected is the person who looks the least harmless. People always underestimate women, it's a part of the human psyche. Just because they look weaker doesn't mean they are. A female can swing an axe and fire a gun just as well as a man." Harry explained happily. "Even with us, you see. Everybody who isn't an Addams thinks that my brother is more dangerous. It's true that Pugsley can level a school with a single well-made bomb, but Wednesday could cut everyone's throats just as well."

"I am definitely not visiting you this summer."

"But Harry," Hermione asked, discreetly kicking Blaise in the shin. "It doesn't make sense. If a woman can kill as well as a man, then a man can kill as well as a woman. You don't have to dress that way."

"Hermione, you're taking this a little too well."

"It's just good sense, darling." Harry said over Draco's yelp. "You can just hide so much more in women's apparel. Stilettos, padding, pleats…they have the excuse of fashion on their side. If I tried it in men's clothing, I would clank most inappropriately and I would feel so…unprotected."

"So that's how you can hide so many senbon. Oh Harry, you have to show me how."

"There'll be no living with her after this, you mark my words." Draco sighed to Blaise as he watched their two friends talk about all the places one could hide a knife.


Harry flung his hand up in the air and a thoroughly skewered bird fell into the scrambled eggs of the person two spaces away. It just so happened to belong to Daphne Greengrass.

"So sorry. May I have my message please?"

Daphne was completely alone today. It was her fault for getting up so early on a Saturday. She quailed under the benign smile, her usual venom-laced expression hiding somewhere behind her scared eyes. Truly there was magic in numbers.

"Harry, that's a lovebird." Hermione said, aghast at the sight of the colorful plumage covered in blood.

"It's an agapornis fischeri, actually. A Fischer's lovebird. My sister sent it from Beauxbatons." Harry said absently, scanning the tightly rolled-up parchment. It read: 3-2. "Vile little Valkyrie."

"What does it say?"

"It's a tally." Harry felt a small smile tugging at his lips. His sister was having fun, it seemed. It was time he had some of his own.


Draco was a pureblood wizard raised by pureblood wizards. He'd never seen a movie, never rode a taxi, never been on the subway or done any of the thousand and one things he thought were too Muggle to be even considered.

So, for him, a perfectly understandable way to react when confronted by the thought of a transfusion was to hide behind the couch. Blaise sighed and dragged him out by the collar.

"Why is it me? Why is it always me?"

"Stop being so melodramatic, Draco." Hermione said, looking up from her Muggle Studies project. It read: Barney, Delighting for Decades. She was trying to counter the almost physical sugary-sweetness of it with black coffee. "It doesn't hurt."

"Look at that thing! It's huge! It'll go right through my elbow!"

"Not unless you don't want it to." Harry said smiling. His gear was laid out in a professional manner. Grandmama had been a fount of knowledge when it came to medical practices. She had dated a surgeon once, long ago, but had broken it off when she'd realized he was trying to save lives.

"How about Blaise?" Draco said desperately. If his nails had been long enough, he would be leaving scratch marks all over the couch. His eyes were so wide, as if he had forgone the use of his eyelids, and Harry could see his brain dart like a rabbit's trying to find anything to postpone the moment. "He's got… great big veins."

"Keep my veins out of this, Malfoy, and take it like a man."


It was the winter solstice. It was a holiday the Addams didn't usually celebrate, aside for the occasional gallon of burning oil that they introduced unwary carolers to.

Which was why Harry was looking suspiciously at the one gift which had been placed at the foot of his bed. It wasn't ticking or smoking or bleeding or moving in anyway. He briefly thought about setting fire to it, but that was before Draco finally rolled his eyes and just ripped it open.

A broom fell out. From the looks on Draco and Blaise's faces, it must have been akin to seeing gold in a pile of dragon excrement.

"That's a Firebolt." Draco breathed. "A Firebolt."

"What's a Firebolt?"

"You're attending eleven classes and you don't know what a Firebolt is." Blaise said, his eyes nailed onto the broom. "That's…that's a Firebolt."

"So I've heard." Harry picked up the wrapper and turned it over in his hands. There was no return address or name. How interesting. "I've no need for a broom. You wouldn't like to keep it, would you, Blaise?"

The look on Draco's face was pure murder.


Dementors are among the foulest things that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places in the world and glory in decay and despair. They feed off feelings of peace, hope and happiness. To get too near to a Dementor would be tantamount to death – they reduce any living being into a version of themselves, soul-less and evil, filled with nothing but your worst memories.

Harry tapped his lips thoughtfully. Then he crossed out the word 'Dementors' at the beginning of the paragraph and put in 'Pubert'. Madame Pince would probably get angry that he'd besmirched one of her precious library books, but even she would have to agree that he had just made it more accurate.

"You got a Firebolt, Harry?"

"Not you too, Hermione."

The bushy-haired girl scrambled into place beside him, her bookbag now double the size it had been last year. It was an excellent way to get a little musculature. "What's that?"

"Just reading up on our visitors from Azkaban. I'm starting to wonder whether we have a little Dementor blood ourselves." As soon as he said it, ideas for experiments began to fly through his mind. Ah, the possibilities. Pubert was going to be such a help this summer.

They were on the bleachers yet again. He was starting to think that this whole Quidditch nonsense was responsible for his sudden onslaught of freckles. It was another abominably sunny day, and a little wind was picking up, smelling of fresh lavender for some unimaginable reason. He could only hope the rest of the Dementors would make an appearance today as well.

And bluebells as well. He stuck his nose inside his thermos to get rid of the odious smell.

Blaise was looking sullenly up at the blue and green specks in the sky. One green speck, topped with white, was zooming around just a little faster than the others even though Harry knew he couldn't have possibly seen the Snitch yet. Draco, it seemed, was enjoying all the aerodynamic capabilities of the Firebolt, and well he should. He had exercised his considerable Addams-given skills on Blaise all throughout the week; laxatives in his juice, all his homework mysteriously erased, itching powder in his underwear, until his auburn-haired friend had finally given in and let him use the broom for Quidditch. It was enough to bring a proud tear to his eye.

"Look at them, Harry. They don't even look like they can stand each other. There's no way they were ever friends."

Harry looked away from Blaise to scan the direction where Hermione was pointing. In the teachers' box, he could see the distinctive shine of potion-greasy hair and the tousled dusty brown head of one werewolf. Snape was saying something scathing, he was sure, but the Defense Professor was taking it in his stride, only wincing occasionally.

A scream made him look around. Then he stood up.

A strange creature had erupted out of Blaise's nose, a black bat shape streaked with blood. As he watched, another and another came pushing out, their high-pitched squeaks and screeches adding to Blaise's pain-filled howls, until he had a veritable cloud of winged things flapping around his body. Harry caught one and absently crushed it. His friend's face was pale, and he had bitten through his lip. The Bat Bogey Hex was painful the first time, but cast repeatedly, it had the same effect as a glass-wired cat-o'-nine tails when applied to a small and specific area of skin. It looked like quite a bit of time in the infirmary.

He brushed a chilly kiss over the sweaty forehead before pressing a point on Blaise's throat to send him to sleep. He could feel the vibrations in the wood of the bleachers. The Professors were coming their way, alerted by the black aura that had suddenly appeared over the Slytherin side, like living shadows dancing their macabre salutations to the gods.

He didn't mind. His eyes flashed above the ruddy strands of his friend's hair, singling out the culprit amongst the dozens that surrounded them. He was gratified to see the look of shock and fear that crossed the pudgy face.

The moon was dark tonight anyway.


"You shall join me for a walk tonight, Vincent Crabbe."

The large, muscular boy whirled around with surprising fluidity. He was in the midst of a growth spurt, standing at least two heads over everyone in his year. Not even Gregory Goyle could keep up. His fisted hands were like two sledgehammers and he was as bulky as a gorilla. But even he shrank back when the lithe body of Harveste Addams materialized out of the shadows. His eyes were burning, and Vincent would swear that the pupils were slitted like a cat's…or a snake's.

As if it had heard his thoughts, the Black Mamba sinuously made itself known, crawling over the flagstones with ease and creating a gun-metal half circle around his feet.

Vincent tried to step on it out of reflex.

There was a flash of pitch-black at his heel, then a stinging pain. He watched with stunned eyes as the silvery snake shot off towards the figure still half in the shadows, draping itself around his throat like the most dangerous necklace in the world. There was another silver gleam, but Vincent was glaring with all his might at the stupid, Muggle-loving boy. He took a threatening step forward

"What are you -"

Another step later, and then he could barely think for the sudden dizziness that had somehow burst behind his eyes. He stumbled, his knees and palms hitting the rough surface of the stone floor. His chest constricted, and his throat closed up. It was like someone had put pillow over his face and was pressing, pressing, pressing down. His leg twitched as he gasped desperately, and then he was on his back.

If a volcano had green lava instead of red, then Harveste's eyes would have surpassed it. Even with his heartbeat hammering in his ears, the Slytherin boy felt even more fear enter him.

"It wasn't a request, Vincent Crabbe. It was a promise."

Then Vincent understood, and his soul quailed in the darkness that was rapidly overtaking his sight.

The last walk.

A walk with Death.


Blaise floated around his blank white unconsciousness. He could hear voice just on the edge, the very edge, of what he didn't know but he could hear them and he didn't want them to get any louder, because dammit he was starting to get a headache. For some reason, that particular thought brought Draco to mind, the pouty, immature berk going mad all over the Firebolt, and Harveste just smiling as if he'd known that Draco was going to torture him to the verge of distraction.

He let out half a laugh, and that brought the headache screaming back, and then suddenly all he knew was pain.

Gentle hands swept over his forehead, over his arms. Someone called out that they, whoever they were, should hold down his legs now and put this spoon in his mouth before he bites off his tongue, Miss Granger stop crying, this is not the time…

Hermione. Draco. Harveste. The Bat Bogey Hex.

The light was blinding. Madam Pomfrey noticed his wince and instantly tugged on the curtains. "How are you feeling, Mister Zabini?"

"Like I had a dozen bats rip me a new set of nostrils." He said dryly, clearing his throat. There was still a slight taste of blood, and he smiled thankfully as Draco handed him a glass of water. He lapped at it cautiously though. Draco had gotten his hands on some very strong laxatives. "So…"

"You've been out for two days," Hermione said into her handkerchief. Her brown eyes were still welling with tears, and the hand she had on her lap was white-knuckled. "You were so pale, and there was so much blood…"

"I'm alright now, Hermione." He never thought he would feel so discomfited at the sight of a crying female, let alone a halfblood. He hadn't realized…

Blaise blinked as something in his brain clicked into place. A year and a half. They'd been friends for a year and a half already. This was his little group, and they were standing around him as he lay in the infirmary for the first time in three years, looking at him with varying stages of worry. Hermione was still sniffling, Draco was glaring at his coverlet and Harveste… Harveste was looking at him.

"What?" He said defensively. A stray thought popped into his head; he wasn't scared of Harveste Addams. He knew he wasn't, and knowledge freed his heart from a pressure he hadn't known had been there.

"Nothing. Darling." That familiar ice-cold sensation cupped his cheek, then withdrew. Then the everyday smile appeared, and somehow, though there were people who would swear up and down that it was the creepiest expression on the face of the earth, it made him feel better than any potion. "Sirius Black has found me. Our dormitory was turned upside-down tonight."

"He's what?" Suddenly his pain wasn't important at all. His eyes darted to Draco, eyes scanning the slim form quickly. No blood, no tears to be seen, not that Harveste would let that happen. He didn't bother checking out the brunette. Nothing could hurt Harveste, the three of them were very sure of that. It would be like trying to blow up the sun. "Was anyone…did you-?"

"We were at dinner." Draco said, scowling. "Fucking bastard tore up my Transfiguration essay – two rolls of parchment, wasted."

Hermione gave a little choked laugh. "I'll let you look at mine, just this once."

When they had left, Blaise lay back and looked at the ceiling. Five years ago, if anyone had told him he would be friends with a snotty Malfoy, a Mudblood and a blood-thirsty sadist, he would have pulled out his wand and cast a Bat Bogey himself. But he was, and the devotion and care he felt for all of them was… well, his mother would be pleased, at the very least. This would probably secure her a permanent pass to the Addams house. He sighed.

Something poked his side, and after a terrifying moment, he pushed the covers back, silently praying it wasn't the Black Mamba come to keep him company.

It wasn't. It was much worse and oddly, much more satisfying. He held it up to the lamplight, and the length of wood glowed warmly. It was strange that he would recognize it, but sometimes, in times of stress, your mind can conjure up the most vivid memories. It was something he had seen almost every day, in every class, but he had never paid attention to it before.

It was Vincent Crabbe's wand.


Harry pulled Draco out of the way just in time. An arrow thudded deep into the grass where he had been standing.

"Well done, Hermione. Remember to factor in wind resistance next time."

Hermione beamed at them before she ducked out of sight. Blaise sighted down the barrel of his blowpipe before taking a deep breath and taking his shot. Harry caught the red-feathered dart without looking, then danced out of the way of the serrated knife that Draco had swung.

Harveste had decided it was time for them to learn more about the art of self-defense. It was, he said, very important that they didn't rely just on magic. A wizard would expect another wizard to use his wand. He would not expect a knife in the neck. Blaise wondered whether or not this was his own roundabout way of apologizing for what had happened that day in the Quidditch stands. The spell that had been cast on him by one of the Five –now Four – had been undoubtedly meant to hit the Addams.

Harry smiled in his direction and a circle of senbon appeared exactly one inch from his feet. The bastard wasn't even trying.

It was like they were training for some sort of maddened, killing spree marathon. The smiling brunette had them running laps around the Lake thrice a week, on the heels of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. Draco had taken it as some sort of challenge, and had crowed about beating Cedric Diggory two days ago. Blaise had said nothing about the sheer size of the weights he had seen strapped around the boy's ankles. Maybe, just maybe, there was someone just as sadistic as Harveste Addams in this school.


They were in Charms Class, and Harry was looking at his wand. Finally he raised his hand.

"Professor Flitwick," He sighed softly. "I can't cast the Cheering Charm."

His partner, Hedon Vaisey, nearly collapsed from thankfulness. Blaise blinked. Harveste had failed in something? Surely the world was about to end.

Their tiny teacher carefully took the wand. It was made of a strange reddish wood, slightly knobbly, the base wrapped with strips of black leather. The end of it was pointed, as if it had been sharpened. Beside him, Draco shuddered. It looked exactly like what they had thought an Addams wand would look like. It looked lethal.

"There's nothing wrong with your wand, Mister Addams." The cheery professor squeaked. "Try it again."

"Capricia Gigelen." Harry said obediently. The wand end sparked, but nothing happened. "Oh dear."

"Not to worry, not to worry!" Professor Flitwick said. "Like the Patronus Charm, the Cheering Charm depends on your projection of your happiest memories. Indeed, those who have felt the Patronus pass through them have reported feeling the exact same way, as if the Cheering Charm had been cast. It is only different because the Patronus Charm is cast to protect, while our Cheering Charm is cast to enlighten. Now, let's try again. Think of whatever brings you the most joy, the best memory in your life, and cast at Mister Vaisey."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, appearing to think hard. When he opened his eyes, even Professor Flitwick took a step back. At the mention of 'happiest memories', Draco and Blaise had already utilized a desk for cover.

"Capricia Gigelen." Harry whispered, and it was like someone had whispered with him, two twining voices that reverberated in the shadows and made you think of every scary nightmare you thought lived under your bed.

Vaisey started to scream.

The next morning, Draco quietly told Blaise that he had been carted off to St. Mungo's.


He drank and drank and drank, and still it wasn't enough. Possibly because it was lizard. He craved human blood. Even unicorn would do. Or centaur, or merman, or goblin, or dwarf. Anything.

He had never felt like this before, this itchy, irritating feeling that overtook his mind and wouldn't leave him alone. There was something inside him, something foreign, something maddeningly annoying. It sat on his chest like a blue-eyed kitten, or a puppy with really huge eyes and one ear inside out. It grated against everything he had learned, took his poise and composure and ate it up until he was a bundle of raw instincts. It was so annoying.

Power filled him, but it wasn't the right power, didn't feel the same way, didn't move the way it should. He flung out a hand. A tree branch fell before him and his eyebrow twitched. There should have been an explosion of sawdust, red flames licking at the sky, demonic creatures slithering to life. Not this…this…

This wasn't him. This wasn't Harveste Addams.

He screamed with rage, and the Power boomed through his fingers.

"You're so powerful."

Senbon whispered through the night.

The man, unkempt though he was, moved with a werewolf's grace. Whoever he was, he leapt upwards, evading the deathly shower and, quite unexpectedly, moved to attack. The Black Mamba slid to the forest floor a few seconds before weapons clashed, metal on metal, the noise loud in the quiet night.

Harry scooted backwards, his eyes aflame. "Who are you?" he hissed threateningly.

The man said nothing, ducking instead to his blind spot and attacking again. Despite himself, Harry was impressed. The haze cleared from his head with every movement until he could see clearly in the gloom. This was what he needed, someone to spar with. All his excess energy from the blood-drinking poured outwards, sharpening every thrust and parry.

There, an opening.

He swiped with his fan, and when the man blocked it with a piece of wood, he drew out the dagger he had stashed between his shoulder blades and struck hard.

It would have been a fatal blow, but the man was just too good. Still, he had drawn first blood, and it glistened wetly under the light of the moon.

"Enough. I've seen enough." The man said hoarsely, as if unused to speaking.

"Who are you?" he asked again, delicately licking at the ruby-red substance. The taste calmed him down even more, and the strange Power he had been tapping into melted away.

"Sirius. Sirius Black."

"Ah." He slid the dagger back into its sheath and knelt down to pick up his snake, his stance open. He kept his eyes on Black, who stood in the shadows. "I should have known. The man who killed the Potters."

"No, never!" He croaked, and for a sliver of a second, there was a decidedly mad gleam in his eye. " James was my friend, you must believe me."

"Why should I? It's no concern of mine who you are or who you murdered. I am-"

"An Addams, I know. No longer a Potter. I'm glad."

Harry blinked, suddenly discomfited. "That's the last thing…Why would you say that?"

"James and Lily and I were close. I knew what her family was like, a bunch of magic- hating screws, the whole lot of them. I'm glad you didn't grow up with her sister. She was the worst."

"I know. That's why I killed them." Harry said, looking closely at the shadow-wreathed man. Black didn't move, didn't shift away from his scrutiny. "You are my…godfather, I understand. Come into the light."

"I don't…want you to see me like this. I have been ill."

"I have seen worse, I promise you."

The man hesitated, then stepped forward. Moonlight shone on a sharp nose and piercing black eyes set in a proud if too-thin face. He was dressed in filthy rags and his tangled hair was greasier than Snape's, festooned with twigs, leaves and a small bone or two.

"You look fine to me."

The man barked out a laugh. "Truly an Addams."

"I would not think that you would be happy about that. We are a Dark family, and you left your own for the Light."

"I…I can honestly say I don't care about the distinction." The man crept closer and he saw the desperation tainting the haunted gaze. "Just as long as you're happy, my Harry. You are happy, aren't you?"

What could have possibly broken such a proud, strong man? He was sure Wednesday had never been to Azkaban. He scrutinized the gaunt, unhappy face and felt affection welling up with him. It was the same sort that he felt for his parents, for Lurch, for Thing. This man was family, and an Addams always looked after family.


"Today, we will start on crystal balls." Professor Trelawney quavered in the dusky gloom of her Tower. "The fates have informed me that the Orb will be in your examinations."

"I don't think I'd mind too much if you cast the Cheering Charm at her." Blaise whispered to his friend. "She's halfway to St. Mungo's as it is."

Harry smiled at him, the glow of the crystal ball casting eerie shadows on his face.

"Crystal-gazing is a particularly refined art -"

"These fumes are making me sleepy." Draco sighed. He was doodling in the margins of his Potions notes. Professor Snape had assigned them another four feet of homework, again.

"- relaxing the conscious mind and external eyes -"

"Who's she fooling with this crap? She's practically blind herself, external damn eyes, I tell you."

"- some of you will be able to see before the end of the class."

"If I'd been able to see, I wouldn't have taken this class in the first place. Bunch of crock-"

"Hush, Blaise."

"You can't be taking this seriously."

Harry smiled again and motioned for him to look into his crystal ball.

A fight under the canopy of the Forbidden Forest… Dementors on the train…a great black dog…a wolf in a silver cage… Professor Snape looking at a potion like he wanted to spit in it… Wednesday, also looking at a potion, with a vague humanoid shape wriggling on the floor behind her…a rat…a ring…

"What the hell-"

"All you need is practice, darling. How do you think I've been doing all my classes?"

Blaise blinked at the nonchalant statement, then he began to grin. "Hermione's going to be so pissed she dropped out of Divination."

"Really now! This chit-chat is disturbing the clairvoyant vibrations!" As Professor Trelawney sort-of-marched towards them with a clash of bangles, the crystal ball went blank. Blaise doubted that she would have been able to see the images anyway.

She peered theatrically into their crystal ball, then reeled back, a dramatic wrist on her forehead. "Oh no, oh dear dear me! You poor boy!"

Blaise rolled his eyes. What a charlatan.

"Mister Addams, my dear, you have…you have…the Grim!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. Behind him, Draco choked on his laugh.

"You, my dear, have the worst omen possible, the great, ghostly dog that haunts churchyards! An omen…of death!"

"Thank you, Professor." Harry smiled up at her. "That's the best news I've heard all year."


It was the last Quidditch game of the season. Harry was perched daintily on one of the benches as he re-read his notes on Moste Potente Potions. It was quite a good read, though he'd seen most of the potions already in Grandmama's cookbook.

Hermione was beside him, lost in his Arithmancy notes. On his other side set his godfather, hidden behind the Invisibility cloak that he used sometimes to attend the classes that didn't have any other Slytherins in it. It was an old Addams heirloom, made the old way with human blood and hair, but he hadn't mentioned that when Black had borrowed it.

Sirius Black was an enigma. He had escaped from Azkaban to find him, and now that he had, he didn't seem inclined to leave. He had the look about him, the one he saw in his Father and Uncle when they looked at each other. It was the promise of death, extracted with nothing but bare hands.

"I tried to kill one of your Professors once, you know." The man whispered in his ear.

"Really?" he said, turning his head with interest. "Which one in particular?"

"Snape. I nearly got him too, slimy git."

"You don't say. Would you care to try again?"

"It'd be something to look forward to." Sirius smiled, unseen. "But I don't think…ah, I shouldn't tell you. He's much better off not knowing about me."

"Professor Snape?" Harry asked. "Or Professor Lupin?"

There was a sheepish laugh that sounded natural in his godfather's husky voice. "I shouldn't be surprised. You know everything, don't you?"

"Enough to know that my family would welcome you." Harry smiled devilishly. "Most emphatically."


It was as if the weather itself was celebrating Slytherin's win of the Quidditch Cup. It was unbearably cloudless, with the sky a china-blue and the breeze as peppy as a cheerleader on steroids. Harry took a deep draught of Blaise's blood. He had laced it with a generous dose of Firewhisky, but it didn't have the same kick as Acromantula blood or venom. He was due to visit Aragog anyway.

Hermione was sticking close to him today. It was the week for exams, and there were double subjects for every time slot. Today was the day she would finally find out how he had been getting to all his classes.

The Power shuddered through him for a moment. He had been feeling much better with the weekly sparring, and ring or not, his own magic was coming through.

"Harry, we've got Arithmancy and Transfiguration at nine today. Which do you want to go to?"

"You choose, darling." He said with a smile.

"I'll be there, whichever you chose." A second voice said in exactly the same way, and another arm threaded through hers.

Draco saw them – the three of them- walking down the corridor and headed straight for the infirmary to get his eyes checked.


The exams were the most fun he had had in a while. His Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Astronomy and Muggle Studies had been a breeze, much to Hermione's jealousy. He had written more than the three feet required for History of Magic. There was a bit of a hiccup in Transfiguration when his mouse-into-teapot had run away from him and all the plants had leaned away from him in the greenhouse, and a few Mandrakes had screamed at the sight of him, but he had good marks anyway. His Confusing Concoction had been a tad strong though; testing it in the Potions classroom had Professor Snape stumbling around for five minutes, swearing to all the desks that he was the Pink Cockroach of Guatemala. He had been excused from Cheering Charms, but had conjured a very believable spider that had sent Ronald Weasley screaming. His lengthy essay on the Black Mamba had gotten him Hagrid's forgiveness and full marks.

Professor Trelawney had been sent to the infirmary. She was a Seer, in the end.

She had blurted out a prophecy at the very last minute, a true one. He had heard enough to know the difference between a tortured scream and a divinatory screech. The parchment he had written it down on was neatly folded in his pocket. It seemed he was due for an informative time in the Ministry's Hall of Prophecies. Perhaps his siblings would accompany him and they would make a little trip out of it.

Now, though, he was staring at an obstacle course that Professor had set up. At the end, he knew there would be that thrice-blessed Boggart. Well, he knew how to deal with that now.

The Grindylow had exploded the minute he stepped into the pool, and he stepped over the mangled body, his eyes narrowed at the old trunk he would have to climb into. The Hinkypunk wisely kept its mouth shut when it saw what happened to the Red Caps, and finally he was at the trunk. He took a deep breath as he stepped in and was assaulted by the smell of a blooming meadow, the bastard.

The trunk closed behind him.

There was a hair-raising scream, like something was being tortured to within an inch of its waste of a life. It quickly turned inhuman, lasting longer than any living being could have possibly drawn breath. Then there was a muffled boom, and Harry stepped out, long hair unbound and hanging over his face, covered in some sort of grayish sludge, and smiling more dementedly than Draco and Blaise had ever seen.

"Er…full points, Mister Addams. I suppose it's too much to hope- " Lupin glanced inside the trunk and blanched. "Thank goodness I found a spare."

Harry said nothing. He was feeling good.


They were in the Shrieking Shack, Harry having followed his godfather when he had seen him cross the school grounds. The Whomping Willow had posed no problem. It, like the Thestral, remembered him from last year. Then the rat in his godfather's hand had transformed into a weasel of a man. Then Professor Lupin had arrived, and Professor Snape on his tail. It was turning into a damn reunion.

Then his ring flared, hotter than it had ever gotten before, and suddenly all the annoyance, all the maddening feelings it had been inducing in him had built up, and he ripped it off and threw it onto the bed. He had revealed himself to the other four, but it didn't matter, because now, a ghostly figure had condensed into being above the piece of jewelry and he felt. Like. He. Wanted. To. KILL. Something.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, stop bothering me!"

There were various cries of "Voldemort!", "My Lord!", "You bastard!", and "Addams?" but he ignored all of them in favor trying to grab the corporeal ghost by the throat and trying to throttle it away.

"Harry, get away from it!" Black cried, letting go of Pettigrew for a moment to clutch at his arms. "That's a Horcrux! It's dangerous!"

"Not as dangerous as I am. No, you don't, Pettigrew." His arm flashed, and a knife embedded itself in the wall. The fact that it had also gone through the weasel-y man's shoulder was inconsequential. His scream was like music in the still air.

"What is going on here?" Snape demanded. "Black, you…you piece of shit, how dare you show your face!"

"Shut up, Snivellus."

Apparently, the Potions Professor's normally quick retorts failed in the face of the pure venom that he wanted to pour all over his school rival. He spluttered, trying to find the words that continued to escape him. Professor Lupin's eyes were wide and worried. He looked a little like Hermione when she was in between one of Draco and Blaise's catfights, and all of the tension in Harrys' shoulders drained away like they had never been.

"Enough." He said, freeing himself from Black's grasp. All the adults stilled, feeling the Power that filled the room. They had never felt this power before, the power from before wizards had become wizards, before the distinction of Dark and Light. No one in Britain had, not in a hundred and eighty years, but he would remedy that, starting now. No one messed with an Addams.

His eyes bored into Peter Pettigrew's, and he smirked when he saw the dark patch growing in the man's trousers.

"Pathetic little man," He whispered, so only his prisoner could hear. "Professor Trelawney told me about you, Peter Pettigrew, the chained, faithful servant who will break free and join his Master. You were the one, weren't you, the one who betrayed the Potters? Not my godfather, but you. You told him where they were hiding. You were responsible for me being sent to the Dursleys, weren't you, you silly little man?"

"Addams, what are you-"

Harry waved a hand behind him and Professor Snape's mouth was sewn shut. Painlessly, of course. He wanted none but Pettigrew's screams to fill the night.

"Answer me, little man." He hissed, and his voice was dark and heavy.

"N-no, I would never! Lily – James -"

"Don't say their names, you traitor!" Black roared, but Lupin caught his arms. His amber eyes were glowing with the wolf's energy, but he held it back, like he always had. It was howling, though, he could hear it in his ears, calling for the Power that it could smell.

"Remus – Sirius – my old friends -"

"You have no friends here, little man. But you have use. Yes indeed."

And this was the feeling that he craved, this Power, beautiful delicious Power in his mouth, filling him, making him stronger. It spilled over his hand as he thrust it into Pettigrew's stomach, past skin and muscle, into the hotness that was like a smooth burn. Wednesday would be proud. He had never let this visceral ferocity fill him before, but it was this that he had felt the night he had ended the Dursleys. Ended their lives and their beatings and their words and all the stupidity they had heaped on him for five years, all their hatred for anything different, and it was because of this man at the end of his arm, this worthless, slimy little man, useless except for his blood and his pain and his screams.

He ripped his hand out, trailing stomach lining and intestines and cast a Blood-Replenishing spell directly into the almost-corpse. Another wave had the gaping wound sewn up without anesthesia. There was still much more fun to be had here, and he was absolutely going to have his wicked way with it. He allowed Pettigrew to faint. It would be just as fun waking him up later.

He licked his hand and turned, his eyes now on the silent ghost. He could still feel the pull at his Power. He knew what had been going on now. Tom had been sucking at his Power, using it to become stronger, and replacing it with his own damaged magic. It showed in his darkening hair and the color of his eyes, reddish still though there was little light.

"Crucio!" the ghost intoned, and a red light shot out of the ring straight at him.

It struck Lupin in the chest and the werewolf fell with a scream.

Harry was on the ring before anyone else could move, and he did what he had wanted to do ever since the train. He bit into the silver, found the dark, pulsing, filthy core and ate it.


"So, now you know what my family is really like, how do you feel about living with us?"

They were in the Forbidden Forest, sitting in one of the Acromantulas' clearings. He could hear the clicking of their fangs high in the forest canopy, and the howl of a werewolf being free for the first time. Harry was sitting on Pettigrew's bound body, watching his godfather. Snape was there too, lashed to a tree because he had tried to flay Black's skin from his bones the second he had had his mouth untied.

"I- I don't know, Harry. I don't approve of torture, but…after what Pettigrew did…" The haunted look in his godfather's eyes had returned. "It's wrong to like it, I know…"

"Wrong? Why would it be wrong? He deserved it." He stepped down on a wriggling hand and heard the satisfying crunch. "And so much more. Would you like a turn?"

"But Dumbledore has-"

"He is no clean soul, as much as he would have you believe it. He has done a few Dark things in his time, much worse than what I have done tonight, and the only reason he is shining so much now is because he is trying to atone for what he perceives as mistakes." He saw his godfather's eyes wander to the shadows of the forest. Harry knew his thoughts were on his only surviving best friend. "He will feel better after his run, much better than if he had tried to continue in his denial. The more you try to ignore something like that, the more it will get out of control. Being a werewolf is not a curse. It is a weapon, and like every weapon, it merely depends on the user. He will be happier."

"How do you know?" Black said, a sob in his voice though he was too proud a man to actually let the tears fall. "You are the only family I have, you and Remus, and all I want in this world is to know you're happy. It was all I could think about in Azkaban, being with you, being free. So tell me, how do you know?"

Ice-cold lips left their imprint on his forehead. "You'll find out soon. You and Professor Lupin are coming with me to America, and I won't take no for an answer."


Harry had been right. His family had been ecstatic at the thought of more people filling the ancient house, and when they had heard that they wouldn't just be visiting, well…

"This, old man, is our piece de resistance!" Gomez said proudly to a stunned Sirius as he showed him to the library. He pulled out the book Greed, and the passage opened, leading them into the Room of Chains. "Pull one, any one!"

"Harveste has told us that you are a werewolf." Morticia said with a smile. Remus stood with her in the old ballroom as they set up for another family reunion. "It's wonderful news. Fester will have someone to howl with him at last. And of course, you have to meet Cousin It and his family. It's an old family legend that their great-great-great grandfather on their side was a werewolf. He has abnormally luxurious hair."

The water tube beside them bubbled as two forms zoomed past in the sky-blue liquid.

A few seconds later, Gomez and Sirius were spat out into the garden in a cushion of fish. Sirius was laughing for the first time in thirteen years, his eyes alight with boyish glee.

Draco ran past them, a trail of darts and arrows in his wake. He shimmied up a dead tree and jumped down at Blaise, who nimbly stepped out of the way and parried with an axe. Hermione was on the both of them in a second, a huge staff in her hands. Wednesday was digging another grave for one of her cats. Pugsley was watching the sparring trio, waiting for the right time to throw a smoke bomb filled with forks.

And Harry sat on Aunt Maladora's tombstone, his arm around the marble bust, smiling at the scene before him. It was good to be home.


Harry ran his fingers over the smooth ivory keys. He hadn't played in ages.

But the music was still there, hiding behind his eyes. All they needed was a single note to bring them out.

The music was light, lilting gently through the air, rousing everyone from their beds. It coursed down his arms like a breeze, his fingers sure and steady, never missing a beat. He composed as he went along and slowly, his eyes slid shut, the notes becoming more physical. He could feel them, whispering past his ear as he played, glancing over his skin and cheeks before disappearing into the early morning air.


An arm crept around Morticia Addams' waist as she looked over the banister at her son, taller now than when he had started playing all those years ago, but still dwarfed among the huge copper pipes. Only the bulk of Lurch could even attempt to be larger than the ancient organ. Harveste's hair was tied back, his favorite green ribbon now frayed but still in use.

"Oh, my Gomez."

"What is it, querida?"

"The music," She whispered, her gleaming dark eyes unblinking and looking a little teary. Now she knew what was wrong with her beloved, her deadly nightmare of a viper, why he had been feeling so out of sorts. "Can't you hear it? Our son's in love."

"Ah, another ladykiller. We need more in this world."




Waaaaaah, it's darker and more serious than the other two! I think I'm delving into the first Harveste I made. Should I have killed Crabbe? It wasn't it my notes, but Harveste was all pouty that Wednesday was already three down… And Blaise was getting very angry that Draco and Hermione were having all the fun *smile*

May I just say, twistyguru, that merely looking over your fics has given me very, very, very bad thoughts as to Cedric's…position later on. I'm afraid to read them, but I shall, totally, later, when Harveste lets go of my braincells. Well done to Fez8745, who guessed what the ring was! Thank you for the support, everyone, I love reading your reviews! Please continue to shower our Harveste Addams with your dark love, and look forward to the fourth installment! With Horcruxes! Aaaaaaand our dear Tom!