I found this very difficult because I am too obsessed with cannon and proper characterisation but it's been bugging me and lying about in my head since I decided that Alan Rickman as Snape and Anjelica Huston as Morticia could easily pass for siblings. So I did it, I went there and it was delicious, if painful to do so. I might carry it on, I may not. I can't see where I'd take it but I hope everyone enjoys it.

Snape stared across the office out into the velvet of midnight, his hand shaking with a modicum of control. Of desperation to try and contain the fear coursing through him. He took the child from Hagrid but couldn't bear to look into those eyes, crystalline and vivid - deep and jade coloured. The child stared, his forehead glittering with the fresh, shining new scar. As if he had already chosen to loathe the man who held him.

"I have to leave this in your hands," Dumbledore stood beside the tree, "The Dursley's are nowhere to be found, perhaps Voldemort had already got to them…had he?"

Snape shook his head, "Not that I know."

"And you would know," Dumbledore's eyes were disconcertingly vivid, his mannerisms entirely calm.

"Yes," he nodded, holding the swaddling bundle, unnaturally still in his arms, as if it were cursed. It was though; it embodied all he resented and hated, as well as all he loved at the same time.

"Alright," he muttered, "I can…"
"I think you know what to do," Dumbledore smiled, with distinct pity that Snape resented, "But be back by tomorrow evening at the latest, the community is celebrating now but retribution will come and it does you no good to be absent. Show your face and I will be your defence."

Snape dared a look at Hagrid, who was sneering at him through tears. Snape did not blame him, though he loathed the Gamekeeper, because he understood his hatred against all he thought Snape was. No one knew about how he loved her, how he had not been a Death eater since that night Voldemort had threatened her - how he had begged for her life.

"I understand," Snape nodded distractedly and turned to go, "I will be back by morning."
"Severus?" Dumbledore called after him. He turned uncomfortably, as if he were under scrutiny. The child wriggled uncomfortably in his arms.

"I think your sister. Tell her I wish I might see her more, and hope she is well."
Snape nodded. He had thought the same. Because his sister would understand, she knew things about love - things he couldn't comprehend.

She woke up with a start, her husband grumbling beside her, as the doorbell rang through the house.

"I'll get it," he offered gallantly.

"No," she shook her head and kissed the side of his head, whispering in his ear, "You should be exhausted."
He laughed and held up his wrists, on which there were vivid, fresh bruises, "I am."

"Good," she pulled on her dressing gown and lifting the lit candelabra from the dresser, made her way to the door.

She was startled, in the dim light of the candles to see him at the bottom of the stairs. He was hunched over, the bundle in his arms wriggling. She hadn't seen him for nearly a year and he looked worse than he had even then. His eyes were sunken into his skull and his hair hung lank, drastically around his face.

"Darling!" She exclaimed, making her way quickly yet gracefully to the bottom of the stairs, placing the candelabra on the table and feeling against the wall for the switch. Suddenly the hallway was flooded with a dull light and in that she could properly see her brother, her older brother in full relief against the damp walls. He was paler, more than usual but not of a becoming hue. He looked exhausted as he fell against the wall finally, a strangled cry coming from the bundle in his arms.

"Severus?"
"Tish," he shook his head and handed her the baby, dropping the child into her arms. She was startled, not knowing who this child was, or indeed why her brother had him. The little boy had the most beautiful eyes, the most lustrous dark hair. She stared at him momentarily, then motioned with her hand to the drawing room. He followed her without protest, using the assorted furniture and items along the hall to support himself every few steps. She feared he would pass out, not a desirable collapse but one that came from severe emotional pain. She could see it in his eyes. She seen his arms stretch out. The mark on his arm was revealed when he reached to support himself on the huge dresser. She felt a flash of nauseating nostalgia.

The drawing room was cold, comforting for them both as she motioned him to the seat beside the fire. He took out his wand and swiftly, a roaring fire erupted in the hearth. He smiled at her weakly.

"You bet me to it," she laughed.

"You never do," he shook his head.

"Why are you here, in the middle of the night darling?"
"I need your help, Tish," her brother bent at his middle and covered his face with his hands.

"What has happened?" She placed the gurgling baby in the basin under the window, draped in dark silk. Wednesday's little doll was at the bottom, with it's head lying apart from the body and Pugsley's tiny little toy wolf. She had meant to take them to their room's, not that her toddlers would miss them, but she had gotten tangled up with her husband instead.

"He's gone," Severus lifted his head. The baby smiled up at her, placating, as if he already knew. She touched the child's forehead gently and took in the horrible powder blue of his romper suit. She was tempted to turn up her nose at it but she didn't, instead she smiled at the glittering eyes. She attempted not to be judgmental, for she loathed people that were that way. That was why she had came here in the first place, to escape the world of Britain. That was why she had left France, that was how she had met her husband. She had indulged his lack of knowledge of her world and had abandoned it too. Now it was coming back to haunt her.

Morticia stared at him and leaned against the old dresser, "Oh?"

"I know you don't-'"

"Severus, I never ever did. What you have done-"

"Tish, do not lecture me," he shook his head at his eccentric yet unbelievably intelligent, somewhat more than adorable sister.

"Listen to me," she demanded. She had a disconcerting ability to never speak above a whisper, while roaring her opinion in a very convincing way.

"If that had been us, my husband and I…"

"I know that," he shook his head, "He killed her, he killed Lilly."
"Lilly Evans?" When she said things from her past her English twang, the nomadic accent from France and England and America came out. He smiled slightly. But she wasn't nomadic anymore, in fact she had ensconced herself in this life. Here she looked like she belonged. She looked so different from him.

"Yes," he shook his head, the horrid truth crashing over him again. She was dead, gone from him forever.

"I am sorry," she whispered, "I had no idea."
"No," he stood up, "Don't be. I couldn't protect her but the child," he pointed to the basin but did not dare look at it, "I can do something for her child…for Potter's child. For Harry."
"Alright," she shook her head, half-understanding, half-dreading what she knew he would eventually come to ask her.

"How are the children?" He questioned.

"Wednesday has your passions, she loves chemical and potions, she reads like her father…and you," she was enthusiastic about her toddling daughter.

"Indeed!" He laughed half heartedly, "How wonderful."
she smiled, "You look exhausted."
"I am," he leaned back, "I Haven't slept for hours and they are after me, they think I deserted him."
"You did," she sighed slowly, "Your choices have never been the best."
He knew all of this but his sister saying it, his half sister with whom he had a strangely emotional bond - even thought hey were a continent away and never saw each other from year to year - he felt suddenly ashamed, for he knew she was right. He was a mudblood, she was a pureblood and she had married a Muggle. Regardless of his sometimes inhumane agility or creepy ability to stay alive, Severus generally entertained Addams and his little peccadilloes. His adoration of his sister made him uncomfortable but reassured him nonetheless that Tish would always be safe. Addams was the only Muggle he had ever felt was an equal and that, above all was most disconcerting. He did not ,to put it mildly, like Addams.

"I know," he tilted his head, "I understand that."
Maybe," she came toward him and bent in a very motherly way, to kiss his forehead, "Go to your room."
"You still keep 'my room?," he laughed slightly and it echoed in the cavernous space.

"Of course!" She smiled back, and though he could see the disapproval in her eyes he knew that she would love him whatever - because she knew about love. In fact her insight into romance, passion, lust and desperation was disconcerting. Her refusal of anything but ancient magic really. Yes, she was proficient with a wand and it did help around the house but her insight into human nature was so much more powerful. Severus had witnessed his sister cut down a man with one word, drive a man insane with lust at one mere look. His sister understood, he did not.

"Where is Gomez?" He questioned as she scooped up the child in the basin.

"In bed," she smiled slightly, "He's tired."
he stared at the grandfather clock in the corner, "It is after 3 am."
"Indeed," she held the child to her and he was surprised by his sister's maternal instincts. Then he remembered she had her own children now, that life had been going on in his sister's house while his had been fragmenting in Britain. The thought was horrific, made him angry that he had ever known Lilly or that he had ever stayed in Spinner's End.

"Do you want to take him?" She offered the swaddling bundle, which gurgled and wriggled softly.

"No," he shook his head and diverted his eyes from the child.

"It's alright," her eyes pierced his, "I'll take him."
"Where shall you put him?"
"In the nursery," she nursed the child, regardless of his white blanket and awful powder blue romper suit, "Wednesday and Pugsley have their own rooms now, they don't need a cradle."

"Of course not," he climbed the stairs with her and parted at the old room he frequented on his short visits.

"I'll see you in the morning," he reached to kiss her cheek, and to any outsider the similarity in profile would be startling in the dank light of the corridor. The strong jaw and sharp cheekbones, the pale palour and aquiline nose. The strange, underlying determination in their eyes. But they were different people. Morticia accepted everyone, Severus had problems accepting himself.

She crawled into bed, her husband reaching out to pull her near. His hand curled round her hip, his lips kissed the back of her neck.

"Who was it?"
"Sev."
"Severus?" His voice was tinged with surprise and the slightest hint of a childish dislike, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she muttered turning in one movement to face him and bury her head in his chest, "We'll speak tomorrow."
"Alright, cara mia," he settled her in his arms.

It had been a while since she had been woken with piercing cries of a hungry baby but she sat up swiftly, automatically. Gomez flew up beside, rubbing his eyes.

"What on earth?" He turned to her, "What's that? A child?"
"Harry Potter," she sighed, "We have to speak."
"Tish?"

"Come with me?" She turned to him. He nodded with a smile, however confused and climbed out of bed. She could trust him always to support her and this time, it was no different.

"Why Tish!" He stared at the baby and laughed, "He's not mine."
"Of course he's not," she muttered, cradling the child in her arms, "He's an orphan."
Gomez handed her the pewter bottle of sweetly curdled milk, the baby refused it at first but soon took to it. Her husband didn't ask anything, for he knew he didn't need to. He knew she would explain in her own time.

"An orphan," Gomez's tone was thoughtful, sad, "That's terrible."
"Of course it is," she whispered, setting down the empty bottle and placing the baby again in the basin under the window. She had changed him, put on a fresh ivory coloured night gown that had been in the family for years and wrapped him in a coarse wool blanket. H looked more comfortable, more in tune with the surroundings - more like a baby should be.

"The children aren't awake?"

"Mama was taking them away early this morning," she answered him and sat down, tucking her legs under herself and leaning against him, "Hunting. It's just as well…"
"Of course," he nodded, "Tish, you look worried."
"I am," she inclined her head to the basin, where the child was snoozing peacefully. Her husband folded her in his arms and kissed her gently, reassuringly.

"Severus?" He questioned, "When shall he wake?"
"He's so exhausted, I wager he could sleep for a week."
"Really?"
"The Dark Lord fell," she shook her head.

"Oh?"

Gomez had never been uncomfortable with her past, or what she was. He had embraced everything about her and her complicated family. And he knew all abut the magic, the dark side and her brother's inclination to the Dark Arts. They shared that passion, Morticia and Gomez but they had never made anyone suffer for it. A little torture was fun but only on those who were willing. But back home, with him, it always went further.

They knew they did not conform and in all honesty, they were willing to accept everyone, not to encourage racial distinction or suffering. She had met her husband on his grand tour, in London. He an American scholar on his grand tour and her, a girl who had disappeared in the dark of a night.

Morticia had offended her own brother by marrying a Muggle and she had known the very fibre of what she was and what her marriage was would suffer if the Dark Forces had ever crossed their path in the early years. First, they had settled in a house in the English moors, Gomez writing to his Mother and brother on a regular basis, then when Voldemort had grown even more they had fled to France and she had found herself carrying Wednesday when they made the definitive decision to abandon what she was and move to America.

"A relief," he touched her hair.

"Not for Severus," she shook her head, "He will be hunted. But he stopped supporting him after…"
"After Lilly," Gomez finished, with much more insight than she gave him credit for.

"How did you know?" She turned her shocked eyes on him.

"A hunch," he shrugged and took a puff on his cigar.

"A clever one," she kissed him.

"Indeed."

"Wake up," she shook his pale back gently, their skin almost the same colour. Her brother grumbled then moaned painfully as reality washed over him, as those blissful moments of being unaware disintegrated into painful realisation. She had never heard such a terrible sound before, like an animal in murderous distress.

"Come now," she held him to her, his tears soaking through the silk of her nightgown, "We have things to discuss."
"I don't want to go back," he swept his attractively greasy hair aside as he lifted his head.

"You must face your mistakes," she said quietly, but her terrible words seemed to reverberate round the room, "They are your own and they are…paramount."
He had known her terrible ability to reduce him to the very bare bones of his flawed character was going to rear it's ugly head and he had dreaded it. Yet here he was, knowing that next to Dumbledore, she was the only person who could tell him how terrible his mistakes had been. But it was no better coming from her lips.

"Morticia, what will I do?"

"Live with what you have done," she answered quietly and simply, stroking his hair, "You did terrible things and you must live with them. "
"I know!" His tears became angry, raging sobs, "If I could go back-"

"You can't," she whispered sharply.

"I know."
she bent to kiss the side of his head in a very motherly way. Even though he had always been her older 'brother', she had almost always been the older one - the one made to protect him. When she had fled with Addams, his life had fallen from there on in, slowly apart.

And now it had come to this crashing finality, with no one to live for. But his sister.

Every man he had ever known had been a little bit in love with her, from the weak father he had called his own, who had doted on her when she was his child, to he himself. Her half-brother. And then every man who's life she had slithered through had adored her too. But none more so than Addams, Addams who she had abandoned her status and conventional magic life for. . He had loved her more than the others, even the wizards she had been with in her youth. It was Addams that she had left Malfoy for

"Come on," she whispered, "Let us get you breakfast."
"I don't want to-"
"You need to," she insisted, pulling the sheets back, "I'll leave you to dress."

"How is he?"
Gomez looked up from his vantage point at the kitchen table, Wednesday on one knee while he cradled Harry in his other arm. Pugsley was running a toy hearse up and down the table of his high chair, being intermittently fed gruel by Mamma.

"Distraught," she bent to kiss him. He reached out to touch her face and smiled kindly, wisely, as Wednesday slyly wrapped her arms round Morticia's neck. She laughed gently and settling herself beside her husband, began feeding her daughter. But much like her, the little girl's appetite wasn't huge.

"It will be ok," her husband squeezed her knee gently.

"I hope so."

"What will?"

Wednesday, though only 2 years, had begun to speak absolutely fluently, both English and French. Much to their pride and amusement. Pugsley was only 3 and was yet to mutter anything more than a grunt of pleasure but was already fully developing his ability with explosives. Not that it particularly bothered them - they had almost always been advocates of everything being in it's own time.

Harry was nestled contentedly in Gomez's arms and how she loved his ability with children. Perhaps a subconscious attraction she had to him. She on the other hand, had never been strictly maternal until the moment she had realised she was with child. And even at that, sometimes she struggled with the maternal aspect of herself, as if it had been a part of her that wasn't really something she had belonged too.

He watched her watching him and smiled, "I have become rather attached."

That was what she was petrified of.
Wednesday's head snapped up as she stared inquisitively at Harry, but had not time to make comment as Severus came into the room.

He looked worse that he had the evening before; nightmares had taken their toll. He slumped into the kitchen and sat at the table, pulling his plate toward himself, then pushing it away.

"Hello, old boy." Gomez was making an attempt to be his friend, in that kind of way that wasn't friendly at all.

"Hello, Gomez."
Wednesday had clambered from Morticia's lap, slowly making her way round the table to her uncle. Whom she could not have possibly known.

"Hello."

Severus startled slightly.

"Hello," he answered, moving his hands as she examined them. She stared at the fine, bony fingers, ideal for potions.

"Name?"

"Severus."

"Severus…" she tried the taste of the word on her tongue and then a rarity, smiled. He even managed to return it.

"When will you leave?" Morticia looked at him.

"Tomorrow morning," he answered, "Perhaps afternoon."
"Alright," she smiled, "After breakfast, you should go back to bed."

"I need to speak with-"
"I know," she interrupted him, holding up a pale hand, "But you can't converse cogently when you obviously feel terrible."
he nodded his agreement and smiled.

"Morticia's right," Mamma added and then smiled, motioning to his full plate "Now you best eat some of that."
Snape stared at the plate, thought of the food at Hogwarts and gagged slightly.

"I thought I'd find you here."

The voice behind him was a flash from the past, a little sister he had loathed when he first found out about her but was now the only thing he could depend on. Sitting on the dirty banks at Spinners End, waiting on their father to come back and their Mother to grow strong. It had been years they had waited, sometimes they still did. But it had turned out that Eileen had a secret, a secret that made Morticia a pureblood. A secret that drove Severus to tears sometimes; jealous, angry tears that his mother had risked an affair with a pureblood to create the beautiful and gifted witch that was his sister.

"Yes."

"Are you avoiding me?" She sat down beside him, on the old wooden bench that had worn down to rounded sharp edges. The room was fuggy with blue, thick smoke.

"Yes," her brother hung his head, "Not you, but what you say. You're too honest…"
"Too honest?"

"Too honest," he smiled at her, "Always. And it is often uncomfortable to hear what you have to say."

"I can't imagine losing Gomez, it hurts too much to think about it."

He turned his head sharply to stare at his sister and her revelation . She smiled serenely. He thought about Lucius and shook his head.

"What happened to Morticia, the woman who every man proposed to when she flittered past them?"

"She fell in love."

"With a Muggle," he muttered.

"A Muggle," she sighed.

"You don't use magic."
"You make that observation every time we are together," she whispered darkly.

"That I do," he sighed, " Have the children exhibited any signs?"

"Yes," she nodded her head but said no more and he had learned not to push. Regardless if Wednesday did, it would always be Morticia's choice and Severus wagered that her choice would be to raise them with minimal magic. Just the old magic. Love.

How is Addams?"
"I hate that you call him that," she said quietly.

He laughed, "I do it just to irritate you. It's horrific how calm you are."
"Sometimes it's a façade."

"It must be terrible up there on that pedestal."
"You're too hostile for me to converse with you," she whispered coolly.

"I'm sorry Tish," he sighed, "maybe I am…"

"Maybe you are what?" She questioned.

"Jealous…"

"Jealous." She pondered the word and every meaning behind it.

"I fear that if I allow you tell me exactly why you're jealous of me, of us, of what I have that it will tear us apart."
"I am jealous of your abandonment, of the fact that the person you love- well…I don't know," he shook his head, his sheets of hair moving lankly as he turned to her, horrific tears in his eyes, "I wish that the woman I love had loved me."

She wanted to make him better, she wanted to take this emotional pain from him. Yet a little part of her wanted him to suffer, for his sins. Lilly would have loved him had he given up his urge to belong to the side of Dark magic and she was tempted to say this to him but she resisted. It would only add to the part of his soul that must have been dying. That part she knew that in her own, was only kept alive by 'Addams'.

"Dumbledore asked after you. You were always one of his favourites. It was his idea that I bring the child here…"

"He always has a larger plan, always in possession of the bigger picture that seems obtuse to everyone."

Her brother stared at her, then looked swiftly to the cobbled floor. She could not say she missed what she left behind but sometimes, when she found herself in the small hours of the morning, she podered over what it would have been like.

"Malfoy asks after you somet-

"We'll look after Harry," It was one small thing she could do for him that would not seem like a burden. She wa grateful to cut in anyway.

"I didn't know how to ask…"

"You didn't need to."

"I trust you," he whispered, "As does Dumbledore."

"Even Addams?"
"Even Addams," he laughed and let it die, so a comfortable, yet decidedly thoughtful silence descended over them - and the dungeon.

"Do you miss home?"
"Home is here," she motioned to the surroundings, "Home is wherever Addams and my children are and where there is only old magic. Love."

"You sound like Dumbledore, he always was fond of you…the only person who thought you made the right choice."
"I think I made the right choice," she laughed slowly, "That makes two of us, three if you include Gomez."

"Three…sometimes, even 4," he smiled, "Sometimes, you can include me."
"You think my abandoning of the way of life I had always known is a 'right choice'."

"Right now," he whispered, "I think it could be."

"When you sit here," she pointed at the bubbling cauldron, "How can you say that?"
"It's the only aspect you still practice," he whispered, avoiding her question.

"It's useful," she raised her eye brow.

"Why do you need essence of dittany?"
she shrugged and smiled, "Cautionary. I brew things and keep them."

"what other things do you brew?" He smiled at his little sister, who had the secret sparkle of a woman.

"Ahh, that is very much my business," she smiled and stood up, "Stay for dinner?"

"Of course," he managed a smile, "Your Mother-in-law's cooking is unrivalled."

"Hmmm," she smiled, "I'll be-"

"Wherever your husband is," he teased, "I know."

She moved to the door, "I was going to say I'd be in the den, but yes, that's just as good."
"Just as good," he smiled, "I am going to refine this potion."

"it's fine," she muttered, a smile curling her lips.

"It is," he rolled up his sleeves, finding his sanctuary in the bubbling liquid, "But I've seen better."

She stood at the door of the den, taking in the sight before her. Her husband was on the rotting Axminster, surrounded by their two, she corrected herself, perhaps 3 children. He had settled Harry on a bundle of dusty, red velvet cushions - the child cooing pleasantly to himself. The other two were avidly watching their father building a tiny, yet intricate train set he had recently purchased, his justification being to her that they had to 'start them young.'

"You're supposed to be working," she reprimanded mildly, leaning against the door frame and thoroughly enjoying the portrait.

"I couldn't resist," he laughed, motioning to the packaging, "It came when you were down stairs."

"I see," she came into the den, watching him watch her.

"Father…" Wednesday opened her often quiet mouth, "Father, can I build it?"
"Yes," he handed her the intricate pieces that must be put together, which she handled with a delicate reverence. Something Pugsley did not possess, as his ham fists clamped round the rails.

"I shall leave this in your capable hands," her husband smiled at his children and left them to it, ruffling the ebony hair on the top of baby Harry's head.

"Harry," she muttered as he sat down beside her, "I don't like that name."

"I don't like Gomez," he said firmly but softly, "But it's the name I was born with. We change his name, we change who he is. And that little boy needs all the identity we can give him, he needs to be Harry Potter."
"I know," she muttered, leaning into kiss him. He smiled against her lips.

"You taste good," he muttered, biting her lip.

"Mhmm," she nodded her head, "I bet."

Harry Potter (sometimes he wished it was Addams) was five, and growing at a disturbing rate. He had a messy look about him, which Gomez continually tried to amend with expensive tailoring for both of 'his boys'. He was playing in the cemetery, hiding behind his favourite, predictable tomb stone when Wednesday found him without much effort.

"Hello," he smiled, his oddly American but not -quite accent coming out. The only child of the three that had a truly American accent was Pugsley. They must assume that this was coined from Morticia's Anglo-American-European and the Latino side that came from Gomez. They both had strangely verbose ways of speaking, with the intellectual aspects of Aristotle and Plato being read to them from their tiniest years.

"Hello," she muttered, brandishing a red hot poker, her face pan, "I guess I caught you first."

His eyes lit up, "I know."

He showed her his forearm, which was blotted with recent, oozing burns. She smiled gleefully and brought the poker down onto the skin there.

They had the entire run of the house during their youth. Sometimes they would wander outside but most of the time they would stay inside, finding entertainment in the attic. Today however, they had been assigned with a task.

"Where's Pugsley?" He questioned, thrusting his hand into a threatening looking hole and retrieving a golf ball, clutched in a muddy hand. Gomez had promised them new swords if they collected his golf balls from the cemetery, after Mamma had complained she could barely navigate her way to the herb patch where the nightshade grew.

"I do not know," Wednesday muttered, trailing the bucket behind her as they came to the edge of the swamp, "He's being strange."
"Strange?" Harry rolled up his trousers and removed the suspenders for his socks - pleasantly darned with spiders - and placed everything meticulously on the muddy bank.

She leaned toward him with the air of being covert and cupped her hands to his ear, "He's joined The Boy Scouts."

Harry nearly chocked on the shock alone and his eyes widened with malicious delight.

"Oh, when Morticia finds out…"

Wednesday glowered (her under-developed version of a smile) and laughed coldly. The sort of noise an outsider would have found disturbing in a 5 year old.

"It's my birthday soon," Harry commented, sliding into the viscous, toxic liquid. Wednesday rolled her eyes as she dangled the rusting bucket or freshly retrieved balls over the edge so he could place them in.

"I kn-"she began to answer as he disappeared under the gooey surface. Only to resurface five minutes later, gasping desperately for air.

"The giant slug?"

"Hmm," he gulped and nodded his head with a smile.

Wednesday laughed again and began to remove her boots. For five year olds, their lack of fear was exceptionally unusual. She plunged herself into the swamp and right on top of him so he cried out in shock. They began to wrestle, flinging mud everywhere. The gold balls all but forgotten.

"I thought you were supposed to be collecting my golf balls."

The voice stopped them mid-fight but it was a kind, loving tone with the slightest hint of mirth. They both looked up sheepishly, their pale faces obscured by a thick layer of mud. Harry unable to see through his glasses muttered sheepishly;

"Sorry Gomez."

"Sorry Father," Wednesday concluded as both scrambled from the shallow bank to stand before him.

"Harry my boy, give me your glasses to wipe," he crouched down and wiped the glasses on the pristine edge of his shirt, "That looked like fun."

"It wa-" but Harry didn't get time to finish his sentence because Gomez had pushed them back into the swamp and dived in after them.

They traipsed home, swinging from Gomez' neck, the golf balls left forgotten on the muddy ground. Their filthy footsteps all the way from the door to the kitchen.

"You look…muddy," Morticia raised her eye brow as they came into the room.

"Mhmm," Gomez sullied toward Morticia, the only thing visible his huge eyes and wrapped his arms round her., "And now, so do you."

"I love this dress," she warned in her low voice, wrapping her arms round her husband, "You should clean yourselves up," she ordered quietly, detaching herself from Gomez and taking the tea pot from the burner and placing it on the table. The children eagerly awaited as she poured them their tea and fetched pumpkin flavoured toffee from the cupboard, placing it on a pewter plate in the centre of the table.

"Where is Pugsley?" Morticia had only noticed the absence of a third of the trio.

Harry shrugged but Wednesday, in possession of no loyalty at all, giggled evily.

"We haven't seen him all day."

"Morticia raised a brow and sat down at the table, "Oh?"

"It's my birthday in five days," Harry interrupted, showing Morticia the five fingers of his hand, "Which means only four nights of sleep."
"I know," she laughed.

"You know," Morticia smiled at him, the child she sometimes unwillingly called her youngest, "You start school in the fall."
"School," he placed the book down, 'Les Miserables', and stared at her, "Wednesday says it's miserable."

"Yes, school," Gomez lifted him on to his knee, "You know your magic?"

He knew about it too, for they had always encouraged him to understand himself and that part of him. Sometimes she even taught him little things, like small charms, things she had forgotten she had known until it came to her - until she felt the warm rush of magic in her fingertips.

"Yes, I am magic" the little boy laughed and straightened his cuff-links, a habit he had developed from Gomez.

She touched his face, "In so many more ways than one. But Gomez means your magic, the things you make happen."

He nodded.

"Well, sometimes people scorn that. You understand? So we must hide it."

She tilted her head and smiled at him.

"Like you do?" He questioned. She smiled gently at her husband.

"I suppose, yes."

"Ok," he nodded, "So making Pugsley grow a tail is not allowed at school?"

"I didn't know you could do that!" she laughed.

"Well, if I screw up my eyes very tight and wish it very, very hard, it sometimes happens."

"And how do you reverse this?" she questioned.

"Wednesday does that," he jumped from Gomez's knee, "You may ask her."

She looked at her husband and then the retreating back of the little boy. He was easily there's, though sometimes they both had to step back and remind himself that his fate wasn't their's to have. That instead he was merely theirs to look after, until she had to hand him to a fate that neither were particularly fond of. They would, as it had always been agreed, send him to Hogwarts in the fall of his eleventh birthday. They would hand him back to that which she was terrified of. The only thing she had ever been frightened of in her life.

"I know he has to," she rubbed her hands together, "But Wednesday…"
He went to the window, "Sometimes I see you with him, teaching him things. And there is that little part of you, the part that holds a wand that you never take out of your drawer, so perfectly."

"How did you know I kept it there?"

"It's also where you keep your underwear, if you pardon my forwardness," he smiled at her, "I just think that when I see you like that, it's as if you are meant to be doing it - like it is integral to you."
"Are you reprimanding me, mon amour?"
he turned to her and smiled, "And you are trying to distract me with French?"
"Touché," she smiled and leaned back in the chair. He came to sit in front of her, on the desk.

"I mean to ask; do you miss it?"
"I haven't completely left it behind," she muttered, "I just don't need it like my brother, like Severus, does and I hate what it can do. How many people it has made victim of. How it encourages inequality. People may not like me but I always try to be civil. Magic is not civil, it's about power and I don't use it for that."

"Mmm, yes. You just use it to tie me up. Isn't that about power?"
"A very good excuse to revert to my old ways and don't you love it Mr. Addams?"

He nodded and groaned.

"I don't miss it at all. I don't miss the days when I was worried for the fate of my brother, the nights watching friends sob over the way their fiancee's would dissapear and return, smelling of murder and know that Severus was the same. I couldn't bear being one of those women too. I remember watching Lilly marry Potter and knowing that that happiness wasn't going to last and knowing that she, and old friend, has been murdered by it. If you had seen the way it is done. You have seen the way Harry wakes with the nightmares. You would know why I had left it. And the Dark Lord and him…I have told you…"

She stared at him, "I have told you what it was like…what it would have been like had we stayed. - we would have been one of the first to be hunted And I couldn't be like Potter and Lilly, like so many other people. I was a dark witch and pureblood who married a Muggle, I was the woman who abandoned what she was supposed to be and committed the utter betrayal. I enjoy pain but not like them," she smiled slyly at him, trying to lighten her dark conversation, "I only inflict it on those who are…willing."

He laughed and willed her continue, it was not very often that Morticia would speak about things like this. But he was in the safe knowledge that he was the only person that knew all of this about her, that when it was stormy outside and they would lie in bed talking for hours, he was talking to the only person he knew inside out. And vice versa.

"If I had never met you," she smiled and grasped his hand, "I would be there still. I would be using magic, I would be waiting for a husband that I did not love to come home after doing things I did not agree with. I wanted to leave it all behind. Yes, I'll use it to stir a pot or get my way when I'm making love to you but I don't use it like they do, I do not want it to consume my life."

She stood to grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him to kiss her.

"The only thing I want consuming my life is you," she muttered as he made his way along her collarbone with his cold lips, "Love. Old magic."

Severus would write the occasional letter, inquiring after them and their health. It would arrive by owl, sometimes only annually. When they would sit across the breakfast table, Wednesday playing with her food like her mother, Pugsley eating more than the rest of them and Harry eating like Gomez, she would sometimes find herself staring at Harry's eyes. Or sometimes she found Lilly eyes and her soul staring from them. Morticia had been her friend, even when she had gone to Beauxbatons and Lilly to Hogwarts, they had written every other week. But when Lilly had broke with Severus, she had broke with Morticia too. She had miserably tarred them with the same stick.

"Harry?" she smiled.

"Yes Morticia?" He questioned and smiled at her. Never had they called him their son, or had he called them Mother or Father but he may well have been Gomez's son for his athletic streak and fascination with swords was rivalled only by her husband's.

He had known how he had come to be here, how he would go to Hogwarts and his destiny, from a young age. Daily, she told him things she could remember about Potter and Lilly and the good things about the magic world she cared to remember.

But she had never said about his eyes.

"Your eyes are so like your Mother's."
"They are?" He touched his eye lids.

"Yes."

She turned to her husband, to stare into his near black eyes. She knew that Severus would never be able to bare those emerald eyes. It would be like staring into guilt, like watching a re-run of mistakes again.

"Mother?" She lifted her eyes from her book to smile at her daughter.

"I thought you were playing with the boys?"

"I am, well, I was," she stared into her mother's eyes, "Can we speak?"
"When have we ever not been able to speak?" she lifted her body from her reclining position and sat up, sliding along to make room for her daughter.

"What can I help you with?"
"I have magic," her daughter muttered. For some time now, Morticia had been dreading this conversation. Yet it came when it always would have. When Harry was about to go. A little part of the family was about to disappear and the trio would be separated. And she had seen Wednesday watch and had known she must be curious about the world she had every right to belong to. But that was the very thing Morticia did not want.

"You do indeed," she smiled.

"What…what will I do?"
"You do what you wish," she finally gave her daughter the choice that the girl was looking for, "You can go to Beauxbatons or stay here and go to junior school. Your father and I will leave the choice to you. And whatever you want, we will support and indulge."
"I don't know," Wednesday stood and shrugged, "I don't know if I like it. I like chemicals and books and other things sometimes but other times I like to feel the magic. But I like ordinary things too."
"You do? That's the Muggle in you."

"Muggle?"
She had forgotten her daughter had never heard that before. In fact, it was a word she hadn't muttered for years. She had never seen Gomez as a Muggle, she saw him more capable than any wizard at making her happy.

"I don't like that word," Wednesday muttered.

"Neither do I," Morticia smiled slowly, "It hasn't come from my mouth for years."

"Since you married Father?"
"Yes," she nodded.

"I don't think we should use it."
"Neither do I."
Her head shot up. Gomez was standing at the door, arms crossed. He nodded his head to his daughter, who smiled at him and seen this as her cue to leave. She raced from the room.

"Your very own Muggle, at your service." He bowed mockingly, and smiled at her. She took an old cushion and threw it at him. He sauntered toward her and she watched him, sighing at his strutting manner.

"I booked the ship," he sighed, "We'll reach Southampton a week before he starts."
He bent at the waist, to kiss her lips. She pulled him to lie on top of her. He smiled and pulled away.

"I don't want him to go…" her voice died and he counted this as the third time in his life he had seen his wife cry. He probably cried more.

He lifted her up and pulled her against him, "Want to make another child?"
"No," she laughed, letting him dry her tears with his silk handkerchief. He motioned to the piece of material.

"Only reserved for you, my darling wife."

She laughed slightly, "When do we leave?"

"Tuesday," he answered.

She nodded quietly.

"I love you, Morticia," he whispered.

"I know."

In all her life, it had always been the one thing she was certain of.

They rose early to catch the boat. They had spared Lurch the task of rising early too and Gomez drove them through the city. Though he hadn't driven for years, he still knew what to do. Ignoring red lights and pelican crossings. Soon, they'd reach the docks but she already found herself sitting in the back, Harry lying across her lap while the children rode up front. He was asleep, but it didn't stop her patting the hair on his head, trying unsuccessfully to smooth down the unruly tuft at the top.

There were some things that could not be made smooth in her cocoon and in the world, not without the horrors of magic. She caught her husband's eye in the mirror. He smiled and nodded.

They were travelling First class, and the stench of the docks was overwhelmingly pleasant as they boarded the boat but she could not lift her malaise.

Their rooms were liveable but not homely. Everything was decadently mimicking antique and the ship was a real travel steamer from the 30's. she draped some black silk over the sitting room of their cabin but it was the best she could do.

She fell asleep for a long time, until dinner, in fact, when Gomez had woken her.

"This looks good," he nudged her with his arm as he lay down on the bed.

"Where are the children?" She questioned sleepily.

"Roaming the boat," he smiled, "They are making the best of their last days. They came along earlier to tell me they weren't having dinner…I think it's safe to say they found the boiler room."

"Perish the thought," she whispered as she sat up. She was entangled in her cloak and her hair was mussed.

"I put out some clothes for you," he whispered, "One of your favourite dresses. We can make dinner, darling."

She did not really want to but she bathed quickly and oddly enough, Gomez did not indulge in his ordinary ritual of sitting on the edge of the bath to chat with her. Instead he gave her space, allowing her time to indulge in the things she did when getting ready. Taking time to apply her make-up, the finest baking powder, which she never went out without.

She emerged into the sitting room an hour later. He smiled at her and she heard the momentary rasp of breath in his throat.

"How do I look?"

"You will turn heads," he muttered.

"As will you."

She came toward him straightening up the bow-tie of his tux. Their was something utterly maternal about it, yet entirely romantic at the same time.

He offered his arm, "Mrs. Addams." she knew it could have been so different.

Dinner was small, quiet and she ate nothing. But she never ate anyway, so this was nothing unusual. Gomez had the steak, raw, which the waiter found an unusual request. While she indulged in some requested stale bread. The waiter complied however, for it was hardly apt to refuse when he knew Gomez had paid the money he had for the best rooms aboard the ship - as he had the best table in the restaurant. And the fact he had ordered the most expensive bottle of champagne on the menu.

Dinner talk was normal, something they hadn't done in a while. Ordinary conversation that she had missed in the last weeks of the intertwining worlds of magic and ordinary, which didn't fit.

The string quartet in the corner had begun to play a waltz, something old and familiar to both. She leaned forward and watched them while Gomez took a long draw of a cigar.

She thought that somewhere in time, a Wizard must have invented music for it was the one thing in the world that made her feel heady; spare her husband. She had long ago decided Mozart was a wizard, one that had hidden it like her. And when both music and her husband were mixed, it became a deadly concotion she was quite addicted to.

He stood up and bowed, "Shall we dance?"
"I have been desperate for you to ask," she smiled and joined him.

Her husband was a fantastic dancer, with apt skill and deft ability to be thoroughly inappropriate while maintaining propriety.

The last dancer she had danced with who had been on par was Lucius Malfoy. The other man who had been in her life, the man before her husband and the one mistake she so wished to forget. She didn't want to think about him, or how she may have loved him - for she loved Gomez more than she ever had anyone else. Instead she let her husband move her round the floor in a classic waltz.

They didn't tango or steal the floor for he could feel her desire to just have his hands on her back. He loved to dance, it was sometimes so much more intimate than making love to her. Pressed to her in public, and letting everyone know she was his exclusively always filled him with lust.

She leaned against him, her lips barely touching his neck, "Take me back to our cabin."
"Are you alright? You are not unwell?"

It was one of those rare times her husband had not understood. She shook her head.

"I want…"

"Ah!" He laughed, "Well, my wish is your command."

His lips were on hers, his hands had raised her dress to her thighs were his hands were cold against her skin.

"Kiss me, please," she begged him as he pulled her onto the bed. Already masterfully having disregarded every item of clothing bar his trousers.

"No magic," she whispered, desperately, "Just you and I."

"Always," he muttered, "If you just want to kiss… I can do whatever you want. If you need anything…" he smiled.

"No just slowly, I never want this to end," she held his face in her hands, "Tell me you love me."

"I love you," he whispered, "With every inch of my being." He kissed her painfully slowly, staying true to his word.

"You remember the first time we made love on a boat?" he crawled down her body, to kiss her wrists, each in turn.

"Mmmm," she startled as he clamped his hands round her hips. His favourite part of her body and she sat up, to meet his mouth again. There was nothing better than this, no magic could compete with him - no other wizard, not even the blonde one.

It was summer. And how she loathed summer. It played havoc with her skin and her moods and meant these tedious, inane garden parties with vapid smiling and awkward questions. But he had insisted she join him, so she did for in all truth, she would do anything for him.

"You look lovely," he smiled as she came to the foot of the stairs. He found her beautiful, even if she insistently wore black.

"Thank you," she reached out to kiss his mouth, the soft cold lips. His hands rested on her hips, which he so loved.

"Morticia," he muttered, "You taste good."

"Thank you," she smiled at him and ran her fingers through his hair. She saw the loose summer robe fall from his arm and the nark burned on his forearm. She loathed to look at it. She should have found it attractive, but it seemed to make her blood curdle.

She smiled again and sullied ahead of him.

"Tell me you love me," he insisted, holding her hand as they made their way out onto the terrace of Malfoy Manor.

"I love you."

Blonde and ebony had always made a startling contrast.

Diagon Alley had not changed, she conjectured as they made their way down past all the shops. In recent days her wand had become a permanent fixture in her hands and it did not sit well with her - it transported her into chaos. But at least here, they looked as if they fitted in. And the children were having an uproarious time, particularly in Knockturn Alley. But here was the sight of so many of her nightmares she had to leave and return to the bustling of the main alley. Gomez in tow.

She had grown exhausted, but he was not, he was invigorated by his evil deeds. He was insistent upon her body as the rain pounded down on the slimy cobbles and she didn't want to - he was forcing her to commit an act of love under the duress of hate. Had he not smelled so terribly of murder, she might have enjoyed this - after all, it was a very appealing location. And she loved making love to him.

"Tell me you love me," he growled against her. Slamming her hand, complete with engagement ring, against the wall.

"I -" she pushed him away.

"Morticia?" He suddenly became concerned as he pulled his cloak back over himself. One thing she could not accuse him of was forcing her into something she did not want. She was the only one doing that,.

"You stink of murder," she closed her eyes against the urge to vomit as she stayed pinned, by disgust, to the wall.

"I'm making a better world for our children," he smiled as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "Pureblood wizards. You and I, their pureblood parents. You want this."

He smiled and kissed her hand.

"No," she shook her head, "I don't want you to, it's not right."

"I murdered a few muggles," he threw his hands up in frustration, "That is all."

But she valued human life more than that. She didn't believe in this cause that had so consumed him, that had not been his ideal two summers ago when they had mingled at inane garden parties. She fled from the alley then, her hand covering her mouth as she pounded the cobbles in her heels and her usual too-tight sheath. She had never ran so quickly in her life before.

Outside the Leaky Cauldron, which contained only it's patron her body refused her anymore liberties and she vomited, out of sheer disgust. Falling against the wall in the most undignified state ever. She had never, ever been like this. She prized her ability to remain cool, aloof - cold even.

"What is a beautiful creature like you doing out alone in this glorious evening?"
she stared at him, reluctant even to answer. But the kindness in his eyes made her smile. And his dress sense was quite unrivalled, even by Lucius' standards.

"Falling apart," she laughed bitterly, and straightened up even more.

"Come on," he motioned with his head and she noted his strangely latino-american accent, "It can't be all that bad. I am lost in a city I don't even call home, Miss…?"
"Miss Snape," she answered as he offered her his handkerchief.

"I only reserve that for very special people."

"I am flattered," she smiled.

"I think," he tapped his cane against the cobbles, "My hotel is just round here. Care to help me look?"

She was so enthralled by him, that she didn't want to say that Muggle London was as new to her as it was to him.

Harry Potter was enthralled by Diagon Alley and couldn't quite imagine being without this place, even though he had barely been here ten minutes - and Knockturn Alley was even better. Wednesday and himself were quite amused by a rotten old hag, who was trying to scare them but wasn't being remotely successful. However after they tired, they found that they had lost track of Gomez and Morticia. Lost but not afraid, they managed to make their way into the alley.

"Mother, Father?" Wednesday made her way confidently to her parents, who had been anxiously waiting at the turn where the Alleys met.

"Where did you go?"

Harry couldn't remember Morticia's eyes being so angry before, or perhaps it was because she was framed by the blazing sun - which admittedly did not suit her and was uncomfortable for them all.

"We just turned round and you were gone, Morticia" he muttered defensively but childishly. Then he hung his head.

"Harry," she shook her head but smiled slightly, "Don't go anywhere without me. Not until you know your way."

"Alright," he smiled and clutched her hand as they made their way through the bustling people.

As they did, a few people pointed at him but Morticia had prepared him for it. She had told him what he had done, without even knowing it - the sacrifice his Mother had made. The Old Magic. Love. It was something she had waxed about - that old magic that he would so come to learn about in years to follow.

"Where are we going?" He questioned, after tiring of allowing people to stare at him and wishing he could disappear somewhere quiet.

"Bissel's Café," she answered, and whether she was unhappy was unclear to Harry for she seemed devoid of any expression at all, which was unusual in her. It was unusual for her not to be near Gomez too, usually she clung to him with the fluidity of smoke but he stayed two steps behind, with Pugsley and Wednesday instead.

Bissel's café was cool and dark, with an array of odd and wonderful foods - which in all fairness they were used to thanks to the wonderful cooking skills of Mamma. The seats were all different, and they rearranged themselves intermittently. While the glasses and cups of coffee independently refilled themselves. Harry was quite amazed, though not as he might have been - he sometimes saw Morticia make a wooden spoon stir a pot to assist Grandmamma. And he remembered the time when Gomez had misjudged a triple flip and broken a Ming vase. She had sighed, smiled and repaired it after she had fetched her wand.

"Why are we here?"
Wednesday was the only one of the three of them not afraid to ask questions - they used to nominate her to be the dare devil, for she was eloquent like Morticia and deadly with her tongue too like her Mother. The boys had developed Gomez inability to see danger, to always see the best in people. Wednesday was more astute, more sensibly sceptical.

"To meet Uncle Severus."

Uncle Severus was like a family legend. He flitted in and out of conversations and dark corners, when he was least expected -they had never seen him before though and he had never visited. They knew only three things of him; that he was Morticia's older brother, that he was a gifted wizard and that he taught at the final goal and destination; Hogwarts.

The three children sat patiently, making small talk and exchanging excited glances in their silences. While eating the mud flavoured gateaux that Gomez had bought each of them a piece of. It said on the menu that it was decorated with exclusively supplied 'Bertie Botts Mud beans'. Which Harry took as a lucky sign.

It was odd that each of the three knew exactly who Uncle Severus was when he came in the door. Sun didn't suit him either. He looked just like her, the male version. It would appear that even though they had different father's, Eileen Prince had dominated only one thing; their appearance.

But it was easy to see as Uncle Severus fell into sharp relief his skin was older and his features even sharper. And his face was twisted with an old emotion, he didn't even smile when he saw his sister. Which Harry thought rather rude, given Morticia was such a kind person, who smiled dazzlingly and knew what was right for everyone.

But he held her, which did not seem as if he was meant to. It seemed like embracing someone was very unnatural for him - like it was a motion he was compelled to make, rather than voluntary.

"Hello Addams." Severus countenance was dire, but Gomez smiled.

"Hello children."

The children smiled at him, even Wednesday - who knew it only right to be polite to new people. But Harry couldn't smile for long, because his scar pricked a little ( for the first time ever) and Severus had locked eyes with him - rather disconcertingly.

"Severus!" Morticia demanded after a moment, and Harry was grateful to her for her attention and kind smile after Severus had taken his eyes from him. The bat like man seemed even more severe after looking at Harry's eyes.

"Dumbledore say's he'll have you at the school, a few days before. I have to go."

"You haven't even sat down," Wednesday had been looking for a kindred spirit, interested in potions, but he seemed not to care.

"Sorry," he answered tersely, "I'll see you soon."

Gomez merely looked puzzlingly at his wife, who raised her eye brows and narrowed her eyes. She sipped her tea with measure and when she thought Harry wasn't looking, glanced a moment at those emerald eyes.

Later that night, when they had settled in their rooms in the Leaky Cauldron (they had all been too tired after meeting Uncle Severus so had still to buy Harry's school supplies tomorrow.) Harry finally left the children that he thought of as siblings at their game, which was 'surgeon'. He was Wednesday's assistant, but had grown bored when she had cut a small laceration in Pugsley's arm; and anyway, he had to see Morticia.

They were in their room of the dreary, yet homely place. He thought he might miss this, creeping to their room to ask them something when he took the notion. Both were lying on the bed, Gomez was reading, holding the book in one hand and stroking Morticia's hair with the other. He wondered if his parent's were like this, often. She was lying against him, her eyes closed. But as if she sensed him, she opened them. Her eyes held so much affection for him, that he recognised even at his age. Yet she had never lied to him; she had always been Morticia, second to Lilly, his Mother. She had never put him under any childish illusion and for that he was grateful.

"Hello darling," she sat up, Gomez smiling at him now had put down his book and was absently rubbing his wife's back.

"Can I speak to you?"

"Yes," she patted the dusty sheets and he took her up on her offer.

"Isn't this place homely?" He questioned first.

"Yes," she smiled, touching his forehead, "What would you like to ask us?"
"You know Severus?" He twisted his fingers in his hands nervously.

"Yes?"
"He brought me to you but he didn't even smile at me, he kept on staring at me; like he didn't like me."

She pulled him closer to her and wrapped her arm round his shoulder. He played with the lace on her dress.

"He was only the messenger."

It was the one and only time she'd lie to Harry Potter.

"And he was a Death eater."

Gomez's eyes darted toward her and he frowned.

"Harry, sometimes I don't know my brother - but I promise you can trust him. Even if it may not seem so."

Harry would come to find it was the one thing Morticia Addams had told him that was very hard to trust. But he smiled in the present.

"Ok," he kissed her cheek and stood.

"We will come say goodnight to you," she informed him softly, "You should all get ready for bed."

He nodded and scampered from the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Maybe he didn't need to know that."
"Severus did terrible things," she turned to her husband, and it was one of those rare times that anger danced in her eyes which was aimed at him, "And Harry has to know. I imagine that if my brother can be trusted, Dumbledore will affirm it in time to Harry."

"Alright," he nodded and opened his arms to her. She turned away from him and went to the window, where the heat of the summer sun was dying behind the sky line of London.

"The Dark Lord will come back," she touched the warm glass, watched the dust dance in front of her eyes, "And Harry will have to fight him. Sometimes I look at him and wish we had never taken him. For if something happens to him, we will have to suffer it too…"

She sobbed slightly.

"I could not help but get attached," she turned to him for now he was behind her, holding her, "He is like my own…stupidly, I have let this happen."
"Not stupidly," he answered softly, stepping back from her, "We knew it would happen…we made the choice."

She nodded, "He has no idea of the terrors, of the torture in the past."

"And he will learn," her husband muttered, "Everything in it's own time."

"Come to France with me, marry me…" he whispered, touching the skin of her abdomen with the lightest touch.

She turned away from him but not from the prospect of loving him - for she already did. Four short weeks and Addams had taken her heart and shown her things outwith this world she never thought possible. And made her laugh like Lucius couldn't and made her smile in a way the blond man was not capable of. And how happy he made her - he was not escapism, for that would be blinding herself. No, with him she had found something she thought did not exist - she found utter contentment at even the thought of him.

"Please, my darling witch," he bit her shoulder slightly. His indulgence of pain and pleasure enthralled her. And his acceptance of her and her world was quite startling.

"Leave him," he whispered, wrapping his arm round her and locking his leg over her. Outside the heat was stifling and the silk sheets were too warm. The sun was burning her, the feeling of his hands on her was like fire. Even though they were cold.

"I have to tell him," she answered, clutching his fingers with her own.

This character, the 'him' of their conversation had become another being; from another world. He had become startlingly immaterial to her, the man who had once had such power over her with his arrogance and humour.

That night she went to Malfoy Manor, where already the elves had come to accept her as the Mistress of the Manor and left a note with her massive engagement ring. In Paris, Gomez replaced it with a larger, brighter one. She wrote a long letter to Severus, the best friend of Lucius, pleading her case. In a strange, interconnecting way - he understood her quest for love. She later heard Lucius had married a Black sister, the blonde Narcissa from one of Severus letter's. it had been a sensible, suitable marriage - she conceited without much pain or any jealousy. She wondered if he doted on her as he had herself, if they had spent those tantalizing, crazy hours in bed or laughed like they had. But then she remembered that all of those things were not Gomez, those things did not fill her every minute with passion and laughter. Old magic. Love.

Hope you liked it. =] I could not resists.

Xx