Title: Harveste Addams and the Goblet of Fire

Crossover: Harry Potter and the Addams Family

Summary: Let's have a little FUN this year, shall we?

Warning: Addams Family Sadism and Cross-dressing, Spoilers -do I have to write that?-

I love how my reviews are getting longer and longer! The more I read, the more inspired I get! Though, I haven't smoked this much in ages, and I am drowning in all the black coffee…

BDSanta2001, Harveste was just thought up on my way to the market, but that game sounds fascinating. And the staple gun? Epic! Hermione loves all the attention she's getting, and Blaise and Draco are getting quite jealous. I wonder why I'm not getting any slash fans… I used to be quite the SasuNaru writer in the day, but no promises. Pairings, pairings, let's see…

May I just say that when I found out that Fred Weasley had died in the seventh book, my mind shut down. So! Look forward to our darling Weasley twins!

This story is dedicated to Nicole Fox, winner of America's Top Model Cycle 13. I don't usually watch it, but when I saw her, I would swear I saw Addams written all over her forehead. She is adorable!




To rende thee soul is first and foremoste thee vilest thyng in thee world. Itte ys but a cruelle ande unjuste Manne, steep'd in thee Most Demmonic of Urges, who canst subjecte to thys hys owne soul and those of others upon whych he hast extracted thee Steepest pryce: that of Deathe ytselfe. Ande upon thys extraction, ande only by thys means, may he take but a peace of hys soul ande confyn yt in a Vessele of hys choice. Thus, he ensureth himself freedom from thee grasp of thee Bone Walker; Immortale ande yet Cursed to suffer ane eternity of tormente yf ever he lose hys Vessele.

Harry trailed his finger down the crackling parchment one more time, looked at the words 'cruelle and unjuste', then looked up at his grandmother curiously. "Grandmama, you don't have a Horcrux, do you?"

"No," Granny Frump cackled, fingers still furiously knitting. She was making a jumper for Pubert. It had four arms. "That would be cheating."

"Don't we always cheat?"

"Not when it comes to Death." She said, hissing the last word with relish. "What's the point of stopping it or trying to run away from it?"

"Cousin Arture made a Philosopher's Stone for you five years ago." He said thoughtfully. He had read up on that too, after his first year, intrigued by the nonsense Quirrel and Tom had been spouting. It was created in an alchemist's circle, a condensed form of a thousand lives given unwillingly and harvested at the same time. The last they heard of Cousin Arture, he had moved. Again.

"And I threw it away." His grandmother smiled gruesomely at him, her teeth rotted and black. "Death is glorious. It's what we Addams live for."


The dirty, wasted form chained to the wall started to shiver as soon as the door was opened. It was long past screaming now.

"Good morning, Peter." Harry smiled at his captive as he settled himself on the cold stone floor. Rats and cockroaches scuttled out of his way. "How are you today?"

"P-please…" It pleaded from cracked, bleeding lips. "D-don't…"

She had only practiced on pets and the occasional stray bear, but he could see the evidence that she had not only inherited Mother's looks but her talent as well. Wednesday was getting good.

"Now, now, I just wanted to talk today. I assume you know about dear Tom and his Horcruxes. I would like you to tell me about them, if you don't mind."

A shimmer of defiance entered the sunken eyes. "N-no…"

Well, well. That was certainly admirable. It seemed his loyalty hadn't been erased just yet. Tom Riddle must have been quite the speaker in his day. Harry had read up on the speeches he had made as well, all about pureblood supremacy and extermination. He had read a lot this summer. It had been quite enlightening.

Reading wasn't the only way to gain information though.

A sharp edge gleamed for a moment in the candlelight.


Remus' fingers twitched as the leather straps were tightened even more. The cables were humming with electricity. He could see sparks leaping from the ancient lever board.

Sirius stood a little way in the corner, his hair on end. His hands were shaking around a cup of water but he had a mad grin stretching from ear to ear, so he was probably alright.


"Harry, this…it's safe, isn't it?"

Wednesday snorted, her hand on the throw lever already even though the device was still warming up.

"Valkyrie, don't tease him." Harry smiled benignly from beside Sirius. He patted his godfather's shoulder and more sparks appeared. "Don't worry, Uncle Remus. Your magic will cushion the blow, protecting you automatically. You will probably feel a slight tingle. Wizards are harder to kill by our regular means."

"Doesn't mean we're going to stop trying." Wednesday muttered. "Ready?"

Somehow, he was not comforted.


Sirius walked into the kitchen, stomping his feet. He left behind a trail of black loam, and Thing followed him, fastidiously brushing away.

"Uncle Sirius," Harry greeted from the table. "How was your first burial?"

"Surprisingly restful. Though the spiders were a bit much."

Harry looked at Pugsley.

"I thought it'd be a nice change! People aren't often buried with tarantulas!"

"There's a reason for that." Sirius grinned wickedly. A large, furry body was thrown into the strawberry blond's bowl, its eight legs curled up in the manner of dead spiders everywhere. It looked very familiar.

"Mother, I can't find Hector!" Wednesday called from upstairs.

Pugsley and Sirius looked at each other. Then they started to run.


Getting all five of them into the narrow telephone booth was a touch claustrophobic. Harry stepped back as Pugsley, who had grown even more muscular in school, tried to take advantage of the close quarters.

"Honestly, Pugs. Can't you wait just a second? There's all sorts of targets downstairs."

"They're not half as fun."

Wednesday stomped on her eldest brother's foot. She was wearing sharpened cleats.

Sirius, wearing a long fake beard, contacts, and one of Lurch's hats, squeezed in after them. Remus, still a bit woozy from his first Trans-Atlantic Potion, was hauled in after him and the door was closed. There was ensuing confusion as both Harry and Wednesday blocked attacks from Pugsley and Sirius tried to get to the dial without getting skewered, cut or blown up, but in the end, an inanely cheery voice started to chirp, setting all their nerves on edge.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic! Please state your name and purpose!"

Harry grabbed his sister's hand as she moved to punch the telephone and spoke up. "Harveste, Wednesday, Liverworth, Lumeno and Pericles Addams for the Department of Mysteries please."

"Seriously Harry, 'Pericles'?"

"At least you're not 'Liverworth'." Sirius muttered.

"Thank you, visitor! Please attach the badge to the front of your robes and enjoy your visit to the Ministry of Magic!"

"Where is the operator located?" Wednesday asked mutinously, grabbing her name tag like it was an insulting bouquet as they started to descend. "I want to have a few words with her."

"There'll be time enough for that, my Valkyrie." Harry said with a smile, patting her head. She took a swipe at him.


Pugsley looked at the Fountain of Magical Brethren and slipped something into the water.

A few minutes later and the entrance room was filled with London smog, poisoned, polluted and thicker than Grandmama's house specialties, minus the eyes. A siren started to whine piercingly and footsteps began to thunder, dark, cloaked forms passing them by on the way to the Atrium. Uncontested, the five of them strolled through into the Ministry and into the lift.

Wednesday's eyebrow kept twitching at the elevator's tinny music. Sirius and Remus inched away from her.

Finally, they were on Level Nine. Since Pugsley's little trick had summoned all the Unspeakables, they went straight to the Hall of Prophecy.

They all heard the prophecy. Sirius ground his teeth under his fake beard. Remus' hand clenched on his wand. Harry and Pugsley smiled at each other over their impatient sister's head.

Then they went home. They brought the operator with them.


"Harveste tells me that you are the Black Widow of Britain."

Syrena Zabini looked away from the window. Out in the graveyard, the children were playing again. There was a muffled series of explosions, then something hit the window hard enough to crack it.

"I wouldn't give myself the honor," She said demurely, raising her teacup. There was frogspawn in it. "It's merely a name the wizarding press thought up."

Morticia smiled across at her from over her own china, her shadowed eyes glinting slightly. "Four husbands though. Where ever do you put them?"

"Blaise has been such a help in that area." Syrene sighed happily. "He digs like he was born for it."

"And was he?"

"Of course."


The observatory, also known as the great ballroom, shone in the night, lit with a thousand tallow candles. In the corner was the band, playing music that was actually suitable for human ears. Remus was surprised at that, but then again, he thought as he gazed upwards at the glass ceiling, the Addams seemed to enjoy beautiful things. It made sense. They were a beautiful, if macabre, family.

Harry certainly fit in well. He stood with his baby brother in his arms, dressed in an emerald green corset and a full-length skirt. Hermione had explained the reason why his late friend's son seemed overly fond of women's clothing, but however innovative an idea it was, it didn't detract from the fact that Harveste Addams, with his delicate cheekbones and sultry eyes, looked positively bewitching.

And also very up-to-date with today's current fashions, judging by the amount of tulle and chiffon in the room. It was like a museum dedicated to the styles of the late 1400s to 1700s.

"We dance for the dead! We dance for the living! We dance for old friends and the new! And now, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin…we dance for you!"

Remus blinked at the mention of his name then watched as, with a clash of tambourines, Pugsley, Wednesday and Harry began to circle each other, Pubert still hugged to his chest. Gomez, in a vividly red silk shirt with a high black collar, was proudly introducing something called the Mamushka.

The music was insidious and enchanting. All the Addams women were singing as the silver coins shook and the hides were tapped. Morticia herself was in the midst of the band, her lithe, somber figure looking at home with a blood-red violin.

The children were amazingly acrobatic, and very, very willing to risk Pubert's life. The child was five years old now, and it must have taken considerable strength to keep tossing him in the air. First he was in Wednesday's arms, then back to Harry, then he was thrown to Pugsley, who drop-kicked him back to Wednesday, who did a sort of backflip twist-and-flick that sent him soaring back to Harry. Pubert looked like he was enjoying himself.

Then he landed in the punch bowl with a splash, and knives were shining in the candlelight. Remus tried to count how many there were, but they were moving too fast for even his werewolf-enhanced eyes to follow. They leapt and glimmered in the air like a shoal of fish, faster and faster until both Wednesday and Harry winked at each other. Suddenly all the knives were flowing towards Pugsley, with only the occasional knife being thrown between the two brunettes. The strawberry blond was spinning now, showing off inhumanly fast hand-eye-foot coordination. Each time he kicked at a knife, his foot always managed to find the handle rather than the blade, and he sent it rocketing towards Morticia, who kept playing away, looking completely unconcerned at the fact that she was inches from death. The knives always seemed to miss her somehow, thudding deep into the wall behind her instead. Then, as all the remaining knives were tossed into the air, Wednesday's left hand tightened around a handle, and Harry's right hand did the same, and both of them dashed at their brother.

It looked like he wouldn't be able to catch them all in time. It looked like they were going to cut his head off.

There was a twirl, a sweep and a rain of thunk-thunk-thunks, and then Pugsley was holding his siblings by the hand, and they all took a deep bow, the knives still vibrating from the force with which they had been thrust into the oak floor.

"Harry, that was awesome!" Hermione exclaimed as their friend walked up to them, barely in a sweat. "You've got to teach me how to do that!"

"Me too!" Draco said, eyes wide at the sheer number of knives that had peppered the wall around the Addams matriarch.

Blaise narrowed his eyes at the smiling brunette. "You've never done that at weapons practice."

"Addams Family tradition, young comrades!" Gomez said, one heavy hand on Pugsley's shoulder. "You can't be taught unless you're one of the family!"

Hermione blushed at the implication. So did Draco. Blaise threw pureblood dignity to the wind and buried his face behind a gigantic ostrich drumstick.


The house was crooked and dusty, standing like an eyesore in the midst of impeccably maintained, whitewashed manors of Grimmauld Place. The air inside No. 12 smelled like the Chamber of Secrets, but with a touch more mildew.

"I see why you were so comfortable in our house."

Sirius scratched his head sheepishly as they walked on the creaky floorboards. "My family wasn't as accepting as yours, so this place isn't really home for me."

"Blood traitor! Disgraceful, worthless trash!" A hateful voice screeched. "I curse the day you were born into this world!"

"That's one of the reasons why. Dear Mother. How I'd love to rip her tongue out."

"Wish granted. Wednesday?"

The thin girl stepped forward, her Addams smile already firmly on her face and an Addams knife in her hand. "I've never done paintings before. Do they feel pain, you think?"

"Trespassers! The blood traitor! Get you out of my mistress' house!"

"Ooooh, a house elf."

It lasted two minutes, its tortured screams following the rest of them up the stairs.


The place was full of dangerous Dark Artifacts, most of which Pugsley and Wednesday had fun with and took home as souvenirs. There were multiple containers of blood, which were for Grandmama, and quite a few shrunken heads, which would go into Mother's cabinet. There were weapons of every size and shape, some dipped into an exotic sort of poison that would have their Father clapping his hands with glee. There were also a few crates of explosives, which was surprising since Sirius had told him that the Black family was against everything Muggle. Apparently pureblood superiority also loved a little mindless mayhem once in a while. Uncle Fester would be pleased.

They went from room to room, bombarded by Doxies and leeches and whatnot. Harry allowed his sister to let her hair down, figuratively speaking, and rock the house, literally. She used her hair for the exact same reason he used his skirts, and not even her first year in Beauxbatons had changed that. Beauxbatons, she had sneered, was full insultingly easy pickings.

There was one thing that had caught his eye though, through the haze of Dark Magic. It was a familiar feel, the same kind of wispy tingle that he had felt last year. It was centered around a very tacky-looking locket with a big stylized S in the front. It said something about dear Tom that all the things he had chosen to hold pieces of his soul were all gaudy, chunky and perceived as being something very important in the wizarding world. It was like he was trying to compensate for something.

He swept it up and went into another abandoned room, away from his busily chattering family. The silver shone strangely in the light that streamed through the window, and yes, the pulsing, damaged magic of the Horcrux tried to latch onto his. He smiled grimly. Dear old Tom, what a character.

It had been quite an unusual taste, the last time he had done this, even stranger than the things Granny Frump usually cooked up for them. It was probably an acquired taste. His teeth dug deeply into the corroded silver and he was smugly gratified to hear the tinny, pained wail.


He walked back into the other room, feeling satisfyingly full, only to find his family crouched around a large stone bowl. It looked like it had been hewn from the side of a mountain, runes he wasn't familiar with scored deeply into its sides. It was filled with an unctuous, slimy liquid that swirled languidly though no one was touching it.

"Something to drink?" he asked, settling down beside them.

"Heavens, no." Sirius looked vaguely sick at the idea. "Those are memories, the ones my family treasured and loved to share with each other. They would use this Pensieve to store all the murders they watched, all the tortures they had a hand in, all the miserable, disgusting, fiendish things they ever did, and they would show them to the whole family on special occasions."

"You don't say."

"Harveste Addams, don't you dare-"

But he was too late. As one, all three siblings plunged their heads into the bowl. Sirius managed to pull them out after a minute. They were all grinning.

"Oh, the ideas."


Harry watched two shaggy forms streak across the moonlit graveyard. They dodged around the gravestones, playfully nipping at each other's heels. One was a dusty brown streaked with silver, and the other was blacker than tar.

"Watching our dear werewolf again, my viper?"

Harry turned his head to smile at his mother as she stepped from the shadows. On the roof landing, the air was fresh and sweet, smelling of pondscum, rotting plants and whatever Grandmama was stewing downstairs. It was revitalizing.

"And Uncle Sirius. Or Liverworth, I should say." He smiled as his mother put one hand on his shoulder. The moon gave her an unearthly glow, and her eyes were dark and haunted. "Thank you for letting them stay with us, Mother."

"They're family." Was all she said with a vampiric smile, and he knew that was that.


Harry sighed. Quidditch was the one bane of his life that he could never get around to liking.

Sirius was dashing around like a madman, yelling with blind ecstasy at the top of his lungs. "The Quidditch World Cup! The Quidditch World Cup!"

Remus rolled his eyes at his seaweed breakfast. It had no eyes, so it waved a tentacle instead.

"What is this 'Quidditch World Cup'?" Gomez asked curiously, folding his newspaper to watch 'Uncle Liverworth' rampage his way up the stairs, dance around Lurch, and rampage down again, two steps at a time.

Pugsley answered. "It's a game played on broomsticks, Father. I was Chaser for our team on Salem, but I kept getting disqualified. What fun is a bat if you don't use it on heads?"

"Draco sent us tickets to see the finals." Harry said miserably to his orange porridge. "Sunshine, yet again. What a blessing."

"But that's wonderful!"

Harry looked up to see his father's eyes gleaming with more madness than usual. Absently, he noted that Sirius was getting quite close to his Father in terms of personality. It was a frighteningly delicious thought.

"We shall go, of course! Maman, ready the potion! We're going to Britain!"

Harry met Pugsley's eyes. The last time their father had been interested enough to attend a game of football, there hadn't been a stadium left and the surrounding hospitals had been full for weeks.

Harry started to smile. This would be fun after all.


"What is that horrible smell?"

"Who are those – why does her doll have no head?"

"Is that Syrena Zabini?"

"Is that a hand?"

Blaise pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to drown out the whispers that broke out behind them. In front, his mother was chatting gaily with Morticia Addams and Granny Frump, who was trailing her usual odious smell of gunpowder, squid ink and incontinence. Beside him, Harveste and Wednesday were talking about the last torture session they had seen in the Black Pensieve. Uncle Liverworth strode behind him, vibrating with excitement, Uncle Lumeno's hand the only thing keeping him from running amuck once more.

"Lucius Malfoy!"

And Gomez Addams was striding across the green, greeting the stoic aristocrat with offensive effervescence.

Lucius Malfoy was surprised twice in his lifetime.

Draco stood beside him, his face lighting up when he saw the figures strolling calmly up the hill. "Harveste! Blaise!"

"Won't you introduce me, Draco?"

Blaise didn't envy Draco his mother. She was like Morticia Addams, minus the niceness. She had a stare like a dragon on her, and she leveled it at the motley group.

"Certainly, Mother. May I introduce Mister Gomez, Mistress Morticia, Mistress Esmerelda, Pericles-"

"You've given me a blessed name, Mother, I swear. It sounds so wholesome."

"- Harveste, Wednesday, Mister Fester, Mister er-Liverworth, Mister Lumeno and Pubert Addams. And Thing. And Lurch their butler. And Mistress Syrena and Blaise Zabini." Draco took a deep breath before continuing. "Everyone, this is my mother, Lady Narcissa Malfoy."

Granny Frump cackled. "You've got her bone structure. Very clear, defined. Good for jointing."

"Maman," Morticia scolded gently. She floated up to the stern woman and extended a red-taloned hand. "It's a pleasure, I'm sure."

Narcissa Malfoy took it, and did not shiver. Blaise was impressed. Then her gaze flickered over Harveste's forehead and his mouth formed a little O. Surely she wouldn't…

"Let's go see the pitch!" Draco, filled with self-preservation, grabbed Harveste's hand and stalled his mother's untimely death. "I hear it's bigger than last year's."


"Draco," Blaise hissed, once they were a distance away. His eyes kept darting back at the dark hillock where all the parents were still talking. "D'you think your mum…your dad-"

"I don't know." Draco said quietly. "They're just so…Father says his Dark Mark's been getting stronger. I just-"


Draco and Blaise stopped, their insides twisting. Harry cocked his head at their expressions. They were deep enough in the forest that no one would hear them. He ghosted a fingertip over both their cheeks. "What's wrong?"

Blaise said nothing. His mother had never openly served the Dark Lord, and now that she had met the Addams, she never would. The Addams were the real deal, soaked to the elbows in Blood Magic and loving it.

"My parents - my father-" Draco started, then tried to begin again. "I would never, but my father, he -"

"He was one of Tom's Death Eaters, yes?"

"It's not his fault," Draco tried to explain. "It's-it's a pureblood thing, but I would never – Hermione is my friend, but-"

Freezing lips touched his forehead, and Blaise's as well.

"You worry too much, my darling." Harry said fondly when he drew back. Wednesday's eyes were flicking between them. "My family would never hurt yours."

"But you were Harry Potter." Blaise said, then he saw Wednesday's dark gleam. "I said were. We're just worried about you."

"Such good friends you are." Harry chuckled as he took his sister's hand. "Let's not talk about this now, hmm? Your precious Quidditch awaits."


Blaise looked at the tent. He knew it would be big inside; it would have to be to fit in both Lurch and Pugsley, but from the outside it looked like it wouldn't have stood up in a dead calm. The canvas was greasy and when it flapped, it actually creaked. It smelled like someone had drowned in it, then been cut up and stewed with lots and lots of onions and valerian. Knowing Granny Frump, it was pretty damn accurate.

There had been a delegation from Salem, a hugely muscular bunch that looked like a jock's worst nightmare, but they had all run off when they had seen Pugsley. It had been the same thing with the Beauxbatons' delegation when they had seen Wednesday.

Not that he should have expected any different. All of their classmates from Hogwarts had hidden from them as well, except for Cedric Diggory, the unassuming yet sadistic-minded captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, who had waved at them. And, of course, the Idiot Four.

Wednesday had made for them, but Harveste had waved a finger admonishingly. "No playing with my toys, Valkyrie. You've got your own."

He loved the Addams family, honestly he did, but sometimes, even he couldn't deny that they were just plain disturbing.


"Coo-ee, anyone in?" Syrena asked, poking her head into the tent. She was a small woman, just an inch taller than her son now, and she stepped inside the dank recesses of the Addams tent without having to bow her head. "Anyone?"

"In here, dear." A blood-curdling screech answered. It was the sort of thing one heard before they were received a blow to the back with a rusty axe.

"Granny Frump. What are you cooking today?"

The gnarled old crone snorted with derision, then spat into the turbid muck that was in her cast-iron cauldron. "Roadkill. Nothing worth eating. What I wouldn't give for fresh meat, from a fresh kill…"

"Really? I'll be glad to help." She said cheerfully. Her hand was already reaching for the chopper that was holstered to her thigh.

She always came prepared to these sort of gatherings. One never knew when a potential husband might come strolling along. There would always inevitably be the instance of the inconvenient wife, who was always quickly and discreetly dispatched. Her smile, hidden in the gloom, would have given Blaise the shivers. She was a nice woman, Syrena Zabini, but Blood Magic took you to heights Dark or Light Magic had never even seen, and once you had tasted the rainbow, then you just had to keep coming back. The bonus was that it didn't stain your soul or make you feel like a hypocrite. It just…set you free.

"Light meat or dark?"


They were high in the top box, seated next to the Weasleys and the Malfoys. Harry had nodded at Ronald and Ginevra, who had fainted at the sight of Thing. For some reason, Narcissa couldn't look at Morticia without shuddering.

Harry smiled behind his fan and feathered his fingers over Draco's, tilting his head as the blond looked at him curiously. Draco's eyes darted between both their mothers for a second before a small smile tugged at his lips.

Gomez was still talking to Lord Malfoy, who was starting to look like he wanted to be struck with irreversible deafness.

There was a huge blackboard level with their eyes, suspended just above the pitch. Harry could see his brother's hand inching towards one of his many pockets. He was wondering whether or not he would intervene, when all the lights winked out.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"

Blaise had been at the Addams house long enough to know that Wednesday detested any happy, non-gruesome noise. He leaned out of the way as the knife whispered past him, but Harveste blocked it with a senbon before it could hit Ludo Bagman.

"And now, without further ado! Let me introduce…the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

"Veela!" Gomez said suddenly, leaning forward. "Look at them!"

Morticia raised a perfect, thin eyebrow, and Harry hid another smile. Their father was going to get it tonight, and not in a good way.

The music started.

And it ended. Harry looked at Wednesday and shrugged, not seeing what the fuss was all about. A quickflicker of senbon had both Draco and Blaise pinned to their seats, but otherwise…it was nothing special. Pugsley hadn't moved either, but that was because his first love would always be anthrax and strychnine.

"At least I know what's on the menu tonight." Granny Frump cackled.

"With a side of leprechaun." Harry added as he watched the small green specks with their lanterns. Wednesday smiled wickedly.


Screams filled the air, underscored by the stampede of hasty, frightened feet. People were rushing blindly everywhere, trying to get to, get from, or get away. There was a smell of potent, malignant magic in the air, and it had nothing to do with the Addams.

Now this was fun.

Harry held back a laugh at the smell of the pure Dark in the air. It bore into him anyway like a sweet, tantalizing drug. Wednesday and Pugsley were beside him in the blink of an eye, their macabre grins as stark as bone. Morticia had already gone into the night, Gomez close behind, an unholy light shining from his face.

It was the dark of the moon and they would be unrecognizable, shaded by death on its swiftest wing, painted with blood and cursed by the gods.

"To Kali."

"To Loki."

"To Baron Samedi."

"Let's slay them."

Harry danced among the pandemonium, covered in the dark, silver flashing between his fingers. He knew his family wouldn't go after weak targets, and he knew they wouldn't be blamed for any death incurred tonight either. He could see the ghoulish white masks of the Death Eaters as they stomped around with their heavy boots, scaring and taunting with their magic. There was a group dangling a family of non-magical humans and tossing them around in the air. Like it was even remotely frightening, this stupid little game they were playing, like they were some sort of righteous death-dealing squad instead of just gormless bullies, like they had any courage.

He laughed then, high and piercing, like a hawk as it dived for its prey, and darted for the nearest Death Eater. Blood spurted, gleaming in the green light of their spells. His first kill tonight, and it felt glorious. He crouched over the body, ignoring the outrage of the others. There would be time enough for them. Then he lifted his face, sniffing, eyes immediately going to one form. He could smell Malfoy in the air, not Draco, but Lucius.


This was his chance to protect his friends, to keep them, to own them like a true Addams. He grabbed the cloak of the stunned man, knowing it was Draco's father without looking under the mask, and before he could move away, Harry hissed in his ear. "Draco is mine, and Blaise, and Hermione, and these Muggles. So stop it."


Harry pushed Lucius away and rolled in the grass towards the Death Eater who had cast the Cruciatus Curse. His fan sliced effortlessly through cloth and skin and bone. And then he was up and in the throat of one of the Aurors that ran up to them, and another, and another, until his hair and his hands were soaked in blood. He weaved through their spells, his own Power a shield that he pushed forward, growing stronger and stronger, just as the gods had promised. He could hear voices, whispers in the wind, and he moved accordingly, striking with just his fan. It would be beyond stupid to leave a trail of senbon. His classmates were around after all, and the Idiot Four, and they would love any chance to get him sent to Azkaban.

He howled into the night and the dark moon answered him.



He couldn't stop his leg from bouncing all throughout the trip, energy lashing through his veins like an untamed wildcat. As soon as they had landed on Addams ground, he darted away and into the minefield. Pugsley and Wednesday went after him

No holds barred. This was true practice, not the baby steps he was taking with his friends. This was real and true, the promise of death with every slash and parry, ever step potential danger, as daggers and axes and senbon shone in the morning light. He didn't even care that it was sunnier than usual.

Pugsley's favored weapon of choice was cutlery, something ordinary and so everyday that no person in their right mind could have thought that it could cut into stone and marble. His dear sister, firebug that she was, dropped vial after vial of flammable liquid, her hob-nailed boots kicking up sparks that soon had them in the midst of an inferno. Harry tucked his hair up as he parried the oncoming shower of poison-tipped forks, then he ducked a morningstar that appeared out of nowhere. He looked around.

"Uncle Sirius?"

The dark-haired man grinned ferociously, then took a step backwards as Wednesday slashed down with a saber. Harry blinked, then slowly started to grin himself.

Remus looked on at the four of them, bodies barely visible in the black smoke, the shine of sunlight on metal the only way he could pinpoint their movements. "It's all fun and games until someone steps on a landmine." He sighed.

"It's not as entertaining without the threat of the unknown." Morticia smiled, then moaned rapturously as her husband bit her neck. "Mon sauvage…do excuse us, Remus…"

"Take your time." He said, though he was completely unheard. He watched the two of them disappear inside the house, already lost in each other's erotic kisses, then he sighed again. Perhaps Granny Frump would like some help in the kitchen.


The paper rustled in the silence of the kitchen. Harry and his siblings were panting, happily exhausted, though Pugsley still making an effort. Harry blocked with little effort, humming into his smoking fish, then flicked a senbon between his brother's eyes.

"Look at this: Twenty-four Dead in Quidditch World Cup Massacre! Good tally, well done everyone!"

"Let me see that," Sirius said, peering over Gomez' shoulder. Harry smiled. His godfather was fitting in perfectly, and Remus was too. It was so nice to have family together.

"Ha, look at this, old Barty Crouch in the papers again. He must be having a field day with all this."

"Who's Barty Crouch?" Pugsley said, rubbing at the red welt on his forehead. He had caught the senbon just in time, and he sent it back. Harry snatched it out of the air and it disappeared into a pleat.

"The bastard who sent me to Azkaban without trial. He's a real hard ass, cracks down on everyone he thinks is a Death Eater. He sent his own son to prison."

"How lovely." Morticia said. "The children have only ever been to detention centers. Perhaps we could visit some time."

"Count me out." Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "I've had enough of that madhouse to last a lifetime."


Harry felt his smile grew a little more. Then he looked up at the bird which flapped in. It was Draco's owl, and it landed on his shoulder with all the assurance of a messenger that knows it's in no danger. Its wickedly curved beak nipped at his ear.

Harry took the message curiously and unrolled. He scanned the hastily scrawled words, and his smile became decidedly demonic.

"Lucius Malfoy has invited us to his house."


Draco had never felt more nervous in his life. The last night of the World Cup was still vivid in his memory. He had known that the Death Eaters were around; some had even greeted his father in that secret, hidden way that just screamed underworld organization. What he hadn't known was they would have the guts to pull such a blatant stunt right under the noses of the Ministry. And the Addams too.

The Addams. Harveste.

His father had stumbled back into their tent, his poise shot to hell. He wouldn't say a word to his mother, but Draco had seen his face and recognized the brand of terror that was uniquely Addams. They had been bundled home unceremoniously and his father had been at the drinks cabinet ever since.

What had Harveste done that had scared his father so much? He had thought and thought, and absently he noted that he wasn't angry at Harveste at all. He was mad at his father. Then he had looked at his lunar calendar and everything had clicked into place. That night had been the new moon. A cursory glance at the Daily Prophet had just cemented his conviction.

Twenty-four dead. With six of them there – seven if you included Pubert, and he wouldn't hesitate to – he was surprised that there hadn't been a bigger death count.

And now Father had invited them. He didn't know what Harveste would say to him, and that scared him more than anything.

"Darling, you didn't come to say hello."

Draco turned from the window. He was used to his friend's sudden appearances by now, and he said nothing as a gentle icy hand cupped his cheek. Harveste was different when he was around them, or maybe they were different when they were with him. It was strange. It was probably the way the Death Eaters felt when they were with the Dark Lord.

"Come, let's see your father, hmm? Mother and Father are with him, and we shouldn't leave them alone with a breathing body for too long."


Lucius could remember the first time he had lain eyes on Tom Riddle, the man who would become Lord Voldemort. The boy, almost a man, had been a few years ahead of him, but he had a presence and a Power about him that was nearly physical. He couldn't have helped himself even if he wanted to, and he had joined Voldemort's ranks as soon as he had graduated. The feel of the Dark Power had been like a drug, and they had, all of them, felt invincible. Their strength and their ideals were all His own, and He took them and changed them until they couldn't recognize what they had become, and still they couldn't stop, couldn't leave. He had them by the particulars and there was no going back.

His Dark Mark had been getting gradually darker by the day, and it was starting to hurt again. It meant only one thing: He was getting stronger and He would want them at his side.

Blood before pride, and family before glory. That had been his motto ever since he had married Narcissa, ever since he had seen his baby boy and heard his cry. He would have to go and answer the call when it came. There was no other alternative. He had to keep his family safe.

But Draco was deviating from the plan. He sat next to this Harveste Addams –this Harry Potter – with his ghoulish, abominable nightmare of a family, and the amount of Power in the room buzzed like a saw over his nerves. This wasn't the cool touch of the Dark Power that he was used to. This was something different, something… animalistic.

"What do you want from my family?" he said suddenly, his hand tight around his wife's. She sat ramrod-straight, like she was carved out of marble.

"Nothing at all, Mister Malfoy."

"Then why – that night, you told me -"

"Draco is important to me." Harry said with a smile, ignoring his friend's sudden jerk. "All my friends are. Hermione Granger is born from non-magical parents, and I understand that our mutual friend does not like non-wizard folk. I also know that you were with him during his first little power trip. I know that you know that I was Harry Potter, and I was responsible for ending that trip. And I know he's coming back. Addams protect our own, and I will not see Draco torn between his family and his friends. So, Mister Malfoy, it's not what I want from you. It's what you want from me."




End of Part 1

*hides from Blaise after he reads Alexandraya's review*