Harry Addams - Tumblr Posts
𝐌 𝐚 𝐬 𝐭 𝐞 𝐫 𝐥 𝐢 𝐬 𝐭
𝙰 𝚂𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝙸𝚌𝚎 & 𝙵𝚒𝚛𝚎:
𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚 (𝙏𝙮𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙇𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧)
𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞:
https://jessicawhitlockswonderland.tumblr.com/post/659439904331382784/%F0%9D%99%8F%F0%9D%99%9D%F0%9D%99%9A-%F0%9D%99%82%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A1%F0%9D%99%99%F0%9D%99%9A%F0%9D%99%A3-%F0%9D%99%8D%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A8%F0%9D%99%9A
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞:
https://jessicawhitlockswonderland.tumblr.com/post/659541880324980736/%F0%9D%99%8F%F0%9D%99%9D%F0%9D%99%9A-%F0%9D%99%82%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A1%F0%9D%99%99%F0%9D%99%9A%F0%9D%99%A3-%F0%9D%99%8D%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A8%F0%9D%99%9A
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨:
https://jessicawhitlockswonderland.tumblr.com/post/660145273970049024/%F0%9D%99%8F%F0%9D%99%9D%F0%9D%99%9A-%F0%9D%99%82%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A1%F0%9D%99%99%F0%9D%99%9A%F0%9D%99%A3-%F0%9D%99%8D%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A8%F0%9D%99%9A
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞:
https://jessicawhitlockswonderland.tumblr.com/post/660779290479198208/%F0%9D%99%8F%F0%9D%99%9D%F0%9D%99%9A-%F0%9D%99%82%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A1%F0%9D%99%99%F0%9D%99%9A%F0%9D%99%A3-%F0%9D%99%8D%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A8%F0%9D%99%9A
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫:
https://jessicawhitlockswonderland.tumblr.com/post/662355360142721024/%F0%9D%99%8F%F0%9D%99%9D%F0%9D%99%9A-%F0%9D%99%82%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A1%F0%9D%99%99%F0%9D%99%9A%F0%9D%99%A3-%F0%9D%99%8D%F0%9D%99%A4%F0%9D%99%A8%F0%9D%99%9A
𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙿𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛:
𝓗𝓪𝓻𝓻𝔂 𝓐𝓭𝓭𝓪𝓶𝓼 𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼
𝘽𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙊𝙣𝙚: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝘼𝙙𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙋𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙤𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙎𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙚
(Harry Potter-Addams x Reader)
❝𝙒𝙝𝙮 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩?❞ ❝𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩?❞ ❝𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙖 𝙛𝙪𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙡. 𝙒𝙝𝙮 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙙,❞ ❝𝙒𝙖𝙞𝙩.❞
𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘗𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘴? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘞𝘦𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘗𝘶𝘨𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘗𝘶𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘵? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺'𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘎𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘻 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢 𝘈𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘴? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘈𝘥𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘴?
𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛'𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝙷𝚘𝚐𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑 - 𝙸 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢 - 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞??
𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚: 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘼𝙙𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨
𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙊𝙣𝙚: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝘼𝙙𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙨
𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙬𝙤: 𝙊𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙖 𝙁𝙧𝙪𝙢𝙥
𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚: 𝘿𝙞𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙣 𝘼𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙮
𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚: 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘼𝙙𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨
Minerva huffed as she paced her empty and dark classroom at Hogwarts. Her emerald green robes swished and moved with every step she took. Her arms were crossed over her midsection in worry, with her bottom lip tucked in between her teeth as she gnawed at the skin. A few strands of her graying hair came out from her tight bun on top of her head, and she brushed them away with her fingers, all while she paced restlessly. It's been only a few hours since she and Dumbledore dropped off poor Harry Potter at his muggle relatives. And in those few hours, Minerva has only had anxious and unpleasant thoughts about what might happen with poor young Harry Potter.
He's just a babe. A helpless one at that. But he's a babe, and he shouldn't live with his awful aunt, uncle, and cousin.
Minerva huffed once more before stalking to her desk, pulling out a spare piece of parchment, her quill, and a pot of ink, before sitting down. She stared at the blank piece of parchment. Her left hand shook as she held the quill between her fingers, unsure of whom to address her letter to. She sighed and let her eyes wander over to the back wall of her classroom, where moving photos of students met her eyes. A smile tugged at her lips as she overlooked each one.
However, one picture stood out the most. In the photo was a tall woman with high cheekbones, pale skin, luscious red lips, with long black hair tumbling down her shoulders. She wore a blue and bronze tie around her neck and a black skirt, shirt, stockings, and shoes. Morticia Frump. One of Minerva's most skilled transfiguration students she'd ever had.
A gasp fell out of her lips and a smile played at her lips once more. A wonderful idea came to her. Who wouldn't be better to trust than Morticia Frump, now Addams? Minerva heard that once Morticia graduated (with O's of course) and she moved to America to visit a cousin or two that lived there and found her husband, Gomez Addams, at a funeral (which apparently he was a suspect in the murder trial). Two years later they married and bought a manor in New Jersey.
Yes, she must write to her. Morticia was always her favorite student. Maybe she can be of help. So Minerva dipped the tip of her quill in the ink and started writing, hoping in every inch of her bones that a miracle will happen.
***
Petunia Dursley hated her sister's son with a passion. She hated how her idiot sister got her and blasted husband blown up, leaving their strange and abnormal son for Petunia to deal with. The boy's name was Harry, and he shared only one thing with her sister. Her green eyes. Everything else about the boy was all his father.
When Petunia opened her front door on the first of November to put out the empty milk bottles, she screamed loudly, when her eyes landed on the small boy wrapped in a blanket. Vernon Dursley, Petunia's husband, rushed down the stairs of their home to his wife, who stared blankly at the boy on their doorstep.
"Petunia? Dear?" he called out, fat arms coming around his thin and frail wife. He shook her, trying to make her snap out of it. She did not. All she could do was stare at the boy who opened his eyes, Lily's eyes. Vernon looked over at the baby on his doorstep and he made a choking noise at the sight.
Did someone leave their god-forsaken child on his doorstep? How dare they! They didn't run an orphanage or charity! His face became purple with anger while Petunia bent down and picked the boy up. A letter that was tucked in his blankets fell onto the ground and Vernon bent ― which was very difficult because of his large gut ― and showed it, Petunia.
A gasp flew from her mouth at the sight of the familiar green ink and seal. She craned her neck, looking to see if anyone was watching them, before dragging her husband into the house and shutting the door. Vernon locked it and Petunia sat Harry down in Dudley's highchair.
"Petunia?" asked Vernon. "What is it?" She sighed and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Let me see the letter, Vernon." he handed her the letter, and she tore it open.
***
Rain pelted against the cracked windows of an old Victorian mansion on 1313 Cemetery Lane. It was a gloriously gloomy Wednesday evening in Westfield, New Jersey. It was a perfect day, according to Morticia Addams (née Frump), one resident of the old Victorian mansion. Morticia was a very tall and beautiful woman, her hair a glossy black, with red-blood lips, and a killer smile. Her eyes held a glow, as if she captured the light of the moon in her dazzling eyes. Her nails were long and red, as if she dipped them in the blood of her enemies. When she walked, she looked like she floated from place to place, giving her an ethereal look, making any transfixed on the woman.
Morticia watched the rainfall, and the thunder rumbled in the sky, her hands clutching the delicate parchment in an elegant script from an old professor at Hogwarts. She read the letter a thousand times, repeatedly, until she memorized it and could recite it without even looking at it. How could she breach this subject with her husband? Of course, she wanted to help, but how could she. She and Minerva were on different continents, different countries. A sigh escaped her red lips, making a man with bronze skin, dark brown hair, and a mustache look up from the paper he was reading.
"Cara Mia? What is wrong, my darling?" he asked, worry etched in his face as he looked at his beloved wife. Morticia turned away from the cracked window and looked at her husband. "Oh Gomez, there's something I have to tell you." She walked gracefully over to Gomez and sat down on her peacock chair. "What is it, my love?"
Morticia inhaled a deep breath before speaking. "Do you remember when I told you I went to a school in Europe?" Gomez nodded his head. "Well, a couple of days ago, I received a letter. A letter from my old Transfiguration Teacher, Minerva McGonagall. She informed me of a situation concerning a baby boy."
Morticia placed her hands on her stomach, rubbing the swell. "Oh Gomez, the boy's parents were murdered and now my old Headmaster left him on the doorstep of his awful aunt and uncle."
"But isn't that good for the boy?" asked Gomez, confusion laced in his voice.
Morticia shook her head sadly. "Normally I would say yes, but I know the boy's family," a sigh escaped the woman's blood-red lips. "They are against everything we believe in. They'll hurt and ridicule the poor boy. And I . . . I just can't stand the thought of it." a tear leaked from Morticia's eyes and before she could even blink her husband Gomez was holding her in his arms.
"Oh please, my darling, not tears." His hand came up and cupped her face. A pleading look in his eyes. "My love, what shall I do to make this feeling leave you?" he asked, desperately. Morticia looked Gomez in the eyes before giving him a small, sad smile.
"My old professor wants us to take the child. To take him as our own and raise him." She looked down at the bump protruding through her black dress before continuing. "I wish to take him in and raise him." She looked back up and met Gomez's eyes. "I wish for us to raise him, to declare him as our own. To make him an Addams."
A smile found its way across Gomez's as he nodded his head. "Then it shall be done, my love. We shall take the boy in. And we'll give him our name."
"Oh, Gomez! Mon Cher!" Morticia wrapped her arms around Gomez's neck and kissed him furiously. Gomez's hands wove into her hair as he kissed her back with fever. As they kissed, Gomez dipped her back slowly, as moans and groans left their throats. Gomez pulled away suddenly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Cara Mia, my reason for living. I love you so."
"And I love you, my love, until the length of days."
***
"I want him gone.''
A glare was stuck permanently on Petunia Dursley's face as she stared at her younger sister's son. Young Harry Potter was lying on the floor in the kitchen, looking around with a curious gaze. "Of course you do," stated Minerva McGonagall, her accent thick with resentment for the muggles before her. "That's why I'm here."
"Good, Petunia and I shan't have any more dealings with the likes of you." Vernon Dursley exclaimed. "You won't." spat Minerva. She turned her head to look at young Harry and smiled at the little boy before turning back to his dreadful aunt and uncle. "Here, I've brought something for you to sign." she took out some documents from the pockets of her robe and handed it to the muggles.
"What is it?" asked Dursley, his meaty fingers were clamped around his coffee cup. "It's a document that's stating you're handing over your custody to another family to become Harry's guardians." Vernon unrolled the document and looked it over. The kitchen was silent except for the quiet coles Harry let out as his green eyes landed on something he was curious about.
"And all we need to do is sign this document and this boy will be out of our hair?" Minerva nodded. "Pardon me, but I thought we needed a judge's approval for us to sign away our rights?" said Petunia, a bitter tone was laced in her voice. Minerva narrowed her eyes at her. "A judge has already signed it, a judge I personally know and who knew Lily and James Potter. She knows what Lily and James wanted for their son," and you are not it was what Minerva wanted to say, but she knew that if she insulted these two hard-headed muggles, poor Harry might not leave this terrible household.
Vernon Dursley gave Minerva a nasty smile before taking a pen out of his vest pocket and signed his name on the line. He handed Petunia the pen once he was done. A jolly expression was on his fat, ugly face.
Petunia shuddered and sucked in a breath before quickly signing her name as well, signing away her custody over Harry James Potter.
Once done, she slides the document over to Minerva, who snatches it and looks over their signed names and the document. With a determined smile, she nodded her head before rolling up the document and sticking it back into her robe pocket.
"Thank you for your cooperation Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, if you don't mind, please give me everything young Harry came here with and I shall take him to his new family."
The Dursleys never stood up so fast in their entire life.
Two hours later Minerva was holding young Harry Potter in her arms, carrying him into her home, with a smile on her face as Harry slept away on her shoulder. Drool was coming out of his mouth and his right chubby hand clenched into Minerva's emerald green robe. Minerva smiled softly at the boy and ran her fingers through his black hair, whispering sweet nothings. In his sleep, Harry smiled, and for the first time in the last week, he finally slept peacefully and safely in Minerva McGonagall's arms.
***
Two days later Morticia and Gomez Addams were standing at the doorstep of Minerva McGonagall's humble cottage outside the small town of Hogsmeade. Morticia knocked softly on the cottage door, her hands twitching nervously. Gomez instantly took notice and wrapped his arm around her middle-back, bringing her body close to his.
"It's all right, Cara Mia," purred Gomez. A charming yet psychotic smile danced at the corner of his lips, making Morticia's back arch ever so slightly. "Oh Gomez," The door to the cottage opened, making the two lovers break their passionate trance of eye-contact. There, standing in the cottage, was Minerva. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight bun, round spectacles were perched on the tip of her nose, her cat-like green eyes sparkled with emotion, and a deep plum cloak and matching robes were on her person.
"Professor McGonagall," greeted Morticia.
"Miss. Frump, or should I say, Mrs. Addams?"
A small smile pulled at Minerva's lips. "Hello, my dear? How have you've been?" Morticia smiled brightly at the old witch. "Unhappy as ever. Have you met my husband? Gomez Addams." Gomez tipped his head at Minerva. "A pleasure to meet you, Professor. Tish hasn't stopped talking about you," A wail echoed through the cottage, making Minerva turn her head to look in her home. With a sigh and small mumble, she turned to look at the husband and wife.
"Mr. Addams, Morticia, please come inside. We have many things to discuss."
***
It was raining cats and dogs by the time Morticia and Gomez were back in America. Lurch was standing outside the terminal, holding up a sign that read ADDAMES in messy handwriting. People who were also waiting for their loved ones were staring at the poor butler, wondering what Lurch exactly was. He looked to be human but was very tall, with pale greenish skin and black hair that was slicked down on top of his head. In their eyes he looked to be the Monster in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, but less grotesque.
"Ahh Lurch, old man!" greeted Gomez as he and Morticia walked towards their butler and friend. Lurch groaned in response, giving them a small smile. "How was everything? I hope gate and the house didn't give you much trouble. You remembered to give the spirit its morning coffee, right?" asked Morticia, as she shifted her hold on the small babe in her arms. Lurch groaned and nodded his head before pointing to the sleeping baby.
"Ah yes, sorry about that, old boy. We didn't have time to explain, but. . ."
"We've adopted a boy!" finished Morticia, turning her head to look at Gomez with a heated gaze. Lurch let out a long groan. He looked between the couple before him, then looked down at the baby boy nestled in Morticia's arms.
"His name is Harry Potter-Addams," said Morticia as she looked down at the boy, a smile adorning her face. "Come Lurch, let's take little Harry home, shall we?"
Lurch drove the family of three in their 1932 Packard Twin Six car to the Addamses mansion, navigating the twisty paths with care and caution, as Gomez and Morticia looked and smiled at their recent addition to their family.
"Oh Gomez," sighed Morticia, as she leaned against her husband. "Unhappy darling?" he asked as he kissed her head. "Oh yes, completely,"
Lurch pulled up the gate, Morticia, and Gomez looked up as the gate opened up. Lurch drove up the dirt driveway and parked. "We're home," murmured Morticia. Gomez opened the door to their car and waited to help his pregnant wife out. She placed her delicate hand on his, awaiting one. "Thank you, Mon Cher," He gave her a loving smile and helped her up the front porch as Lurch opened the door for them.
The husband and wife walked into their home, smiles adorning their faces. "Ahh, you're back! Finally!!" said Grandmama as she walked in from the kitchen, her hair frizzy from the heat of her cauldron. "Yes, we are, and we have a surprise." Gomez smiled at his mother as Morticia showed her mother-in-law, Harry. "We've adopted a boy. His name is Harry." Grandmama squealed in delight. "Oh, look at him. He's so ugly. I love him already!"
Morticia smiled and looked down at the now-awake Harry. His green eyes wandered around the room until they landed on Morticia and Gomez. He let out a squeal before reaching his arms up at them. Tears welled up in Gomez's eyes as he took a deep breath. "Welcome home, my son,"
Next Chapter
𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙊𝙣𝙚: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝘼𝙙𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙨
"Three, two, one,"
The sound of the mailman's scream reached Harry's ear. The black-haired boy smirked in delight, as he and his two laughing siblings stuck their heads through the bushes of their home, watching as the mailman ran, screaming and waving his hands in the air, as a spider climbed down the mailbox and into his little sister's awning hands.
"Good job, Homer, you managed to scare that man out of his wits," commented Harry as he stood up from the ground, Wednesday and Pugsley following. "How did you know he was afraid of spiders, Harry?" questioned Pugsley as he looked up at his older brother, admiration and wonder in his piercing blue eyes. "Yes, how did you know, Harry?" Wednesday asked in a skeptical tone. Her eyebrows rose in question, as her noose braids (braids he helped her do early this morning before elementary school started) swayed as they walked back to the house.
Harry smirked at his siblings. "Simple. I gave him a ring last week and pretended to be a person from a cruise company, saying he won a free cruise to the Caribbean. I asked him a bunch of questions, where he was from, his favorite color, before asking what he was most afraid of. To which he answered, saying: "Spiders, I hate spiders". Before I hung up on him."
Wednesday gave a smirk of her own. She loved her older brother and his schemes. He was very good at plotting a plan and hatching it. Of course, their mother and father taught him from a very young age.
"How thrilling, who shall we prey on next, dear brother?" she asked. Harry gave her an amused look. "I was thinking, Mr. Tully, he should be easy. Knowing that he's a coward would make my job easier." mused Harry, before they walked up the stairs of their home and opened the door. The three Addamses strode into their home, their dirty shoes creating stains and footprints on the plush carpet in the entryway, right by the winding staircase.
"Children!" said a silky voice coming from the top of the stairs. Standing there in a tight-fitting black dress was their mother. Morticia Addams. Her long glossy hair was in waves, and her arms were crossed over her chest. Her blood-red nails tapped against her arm as she arched a brow at her children. "Have you seen your father? He was supposed to be back by now." Harry turned his head to look at his siblings before shaking his head.
"I'm sorry, mother. We have not. We'll let you know when we see him." Harry gave her a nod before trailing off to the kitchens, where he knew his grandmother would be cooking some delicious dinner. Wednesday and Pugsley tried to follow, but their mother called their names, making them stop. Harry didn't stick around to hear what his mother wanted from his siblings and continued walking towards the kitchens - passing portraits as he went.
There were many portraits of his family. A lot of them were portraits of his siblings, with a few of his entire family—father, mother, sister, brother, and grandmother,—and a couple of just his parents; who were usually in a passionate embrace; and a few of his distant relations.
Of course, there was a portrait of his mother and him. It was his favorite. His mother and Harry were sitting in the cemetery, his mother wearing her long black dress and her blood-red lips were pulled into a smirk. Morticia had her hand resting on a toddler, Harry. His unruly black hair was as long and curly as ever, and her nails were running through the locks. He wore black shorts and a white button-up shirt with black suspenders, and in his hands was a butcher knife he stole from the kitchens earlier that day. His pale skin looked sickly and his green eyes were narrowed in concentration with his round glasses perched on the tip of his nose, and a sneer was curled at his lips. The portrait was perfect for Harry, and it made his stomach tingle with a feeling he didn't understand.
After admiring the portrait, he made a mental note to tell Lurch to dust this portrait corridor and make sure this particular portrait was extra dusty. He sighed and ran his hands through his black curls before counting his journey to the kitchens. The closer he got, the better he could hear his grandmother screeching the lullaby song she always sang while cooking. His Grandmother's voice could send a man to an early grave, and the thought of it made Harry shiver in pleasure.
He pushed the doors open and smirked at his grandmother. Her hair was fizzy and in a matted mess, and she wore an apron with blood and rips, and in the pockets of her apron were bits and pieces of body parts and herbs. He could smell witch hazel and herbs brewing in the many pots and cauldrons, and on the walls were recipes and potion recipes tacked up. Dried herbs were hanging from the ceiling and the walls, and glass vials and bottles were stocked everywhere.
"Hello Grandmother," said Harry in a bored voice. Grandmama looked over her shoulder to see her oldest grandson striding into the kitchen. She smirked and clapped her hands together. "Ah! Harry! Come, come! It's time for our lessons." an eager spark was in her eyes as she brushed her white hair back. "Today I'm going to show the art of poison, something that every child your age should have perfected. Tell me, did you read that book I gave you?"
Harry smirked in response. "Of course I did." He laced his hands together and bent them back, cracking them. He was buzzing in anticipation of the prospect of poisoning someone. He knew the basics, but he wanted to learn how to become immune to the poisons and how to get away with murder by only giving the victim small doses at a time.
Poisoning is a natural art for the Addamses. And even though he wasn't born an Addams, he's still an Addams in name and because he grew up in this family of eccentrics and "weirdos". Maybe he could even poison Bradly Chiles — an annoying boy from his elementary class. He was pretty, blonde, with perfect blue eyes, and a dick. He was a bully and hated Harry. Although, he never tries anything with Harry. Not since the third day of school. Not since Harry embarrassed Bradly so badly, he pissed himself in front of the entire 4th grade. Yes, that was a delightful day. The memory made Henry smirk to himself before he shook himself awake and took in the information his grandmother was giving him.
For the next two hours, Harry and Grandmama were in the kitchen, cutting herbs and roots, brewing poisons, and learning how to cut a mandrake root the proper way. It wasn't until the shrill scream of the alarm in the kitchen did they stop.
"Oh! That's dinner." Grandmama shuffled over to the oven. "We'll continue this lesson tomorrow, Harry." Harry nodded his head. "Okay. I'll go let Pugsley and Wednesday know that dinner is ready." He strode out of the kitchen and passed the portraits and heard his family before he saw them. Wednesday and Pugsley were screaming at each other, trying to see who had the most terrifying scream, and his parents were dancing to Lurch playing the harpsichord. His parents—as always—sported loving expressions on their faces as they waltz, his mother's head leaning against his father's shoulders.
Harry's face muscles twitched at the sight before clearing his throat.
"Dinner is ready," Gomez stops and turns his head towards Harry, a smirk on his face. "Ah! Harry my boy!" He and Morticia glide over to Harry. Wednesday and Pugsley followed their parents close behind. "Grandmama has demanded that it's dinnertime," he explained.
"Oh, Grandmama, what would we do without her repulsive dinners and demands?" cooed Morticia as the family of five wandered down to the dining room.
•••★•••
It was a horrible Saturday morning. The blasted sun was out, and the birds were chirping, and children were riding their bikes outside. When Harry woke up this morning, he recoiled in disgust at the sight of the sun's rays streaming into his black and bleak room. Poor Wednesday had screamed in terror at the sight.
He sighed and rolled off his bed, donning his black shorts and black-and-white striped shirt, and pulled on his socks and combat boots before striding down the stairs. Lurch was currently dusting the house and as he passed, Harry dragged his index finger across the railing of the winding staircase and saw it covered in dust. He smirked.
"Thank you Lurch," Lurch groaned in response and watched as Harry walked down the stairs with all the grace he learned from his mother, and the confidence he learned from his father. He watched as Pugsley ran around the house from Wednesday, clutching the headless doll she slept with.
"Come back here, you big lump!!" she shouted as Pugsley laughed. Harry's heart softened at the sight.
The doors opened from Gomez's office and Harry watched as Tully slumped away, keeping his briefcase close to his chest. Harry noticed immediately that Tully's suit was ripped in a few places, most likely because of his father beating him once again at their duel. Of course, that's what Harry expected. Gomez Addams has years of Mazurka training and Addams blood running through his veins. He's a natural swordsman.
Tully ignored all the chaos around him and walked out of the Addames home. He didn't even realize that the pet lion; Kitty walked past him and into the home. Purring in contempt. Once the doors slammed shut, Harry smiled and placed his hand on Kitty's head.
"Hello Kitty, pleasant sleep?" the lion purred in response as Harry's pale, long, and spider-like fingers threaded through his mane.
"Harry!! Tell Pugsley to give me back my doll!!"
Harry let his eyes land on his 9-year-old sister. Her black hair was in braids and her eyes were filled with anger and mischief. He knew, once this was all over, Wednesday would play a dangerous prank or use Pugsley as a guinea pig for one of her newest torture devices she received from her subscription: "Torturous Tortue". His mother had insisted she'd get a membership for her 9th birthday.
"Pugsley, why on earth did you outright steal her doll?" scolded Harry. His eyes filled with disappointment. "Haven't I taught better than this? You don't steal the doll, you do something to the doll. Fill it with confetti, or worse, pink glitter." Pugsley looked down in shame.
"Now, Pugsley, give Wednesday her doll back," Pugsley sighed and gave the doll back to Wednesday before he slithered off into the manor. Wednesday smirked before walking off in the opposite direction, a gleam of mischief in her eyes.
Harry smirked and walked towards the dining room where Lurch was preparing breakfast while his mother sat next to his father's chair, opening up letters and muttering to herself.
"Good morning, Mother," greeted Harry. Morticia looked up and gave her eldest a loving smile.
"Good morning Harry, how was your sleep?" Harry kissed his mother's cheek before sitting down next to her. "Oh, it was horrible, filled with night terrors and darkness."
"Wonderful!" she chimed in. Lurch handed Harry a plate full of slop from his Grandmother's brew and he rubbed his hands in glee. His grandmother was the perfect cook.
As he ate his food, Morticia gasped at the sight of a letter. He looked up, his brows furrowing in confusion and curiosity. His mother hastily looked over the letter, reading the address and recognizing her old teacher's handwriting. She smiled softly before looking up at her son.
"Harry, darling, you are aware that we adopted you," started Morticia, as she placed the letter down on the table. Harry stopped eating and nodded his head. His parents never once kept the truth from him, that he was adopted and a mass murderer killed his biological parents.
"Well, my little snake, you have been invited by the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to attend their school." Harry looked down at his ringless fingers. "Is that the same school you attended, Mother?" Morticia nodded. "Yes, I had a lovely time there." She sighed happily.
"The school is in England and we would have to schedule a port key to take you there, and I would have to write to my sister to meet you and house you for a couple of weeks before term starts, and you'll have to do you shopping there as well." Gomez walked into the dining room and sat down next to his wife, kissing her cheek.
"But, I think you'll be able to go if you wish," Gomez looked up at his wife, confusion laced in his eyes. "Go where Cara Mia?" Morticia smiled and looked at her husband. "Oh my dear, Harry has been invited to attend Hogwarts, and I was just explaining to him what we'd have to do to ensure he goes." Gomez looked at his son with pride. "Oh, that's wonderful! Yes, we shall have to make all the arrangements."
"What if I refused?" said Harry, making his parents look at him in shock. "What do you mean, son?" asked Gomez, his brows shot up into his hair. "What if I do not wish to attend Hogwarts?" he repeated, his voice trembling. Morticia caught his tremble and smiled sadly at her boy.
"Oh Harry, this decision is not up to your father or myself. This is yours. You must decide, and whatever your decision is, we shall support you. No matter what." She reached across the table and held his hand in hers, rubbing her thumb on his pale skin. Harry gave his mother a rare smile and nodded his head.
"I wish to go, Mother, Father,"
Next Chapter
𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙬𝙤: 𝙊𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙖 𝙁𝙧𝙪𝙢𝙥
Harry had everything packed and ready for his trip to England. He checked and double-checked his trunk to make sure he had everything, and placed his travelers’ ID he received from MACUSA in his suit jacket he was to wear tomorrow.
Everything was in order. He had a port key scheduled for 10:30 AM, and was to meet his dear Aunt Ophelia at the British Ministry of Magic. Then after that, together they would go get his supplies for his first year at Hogwarts. Apparently, Aunt Ophelia was excited to see her nephew again and reassured Harry that her eldest daughter was in her second year at Hogwarts, so he wouldn’t be alone.
It amused Harry to no end that his mother’s twin was so different, though she looked the same. They were two sides of the same coin.
“Harry?”
Wednesday stood in the doorway of his room, clutching her doll. He looked at his sister with his cold green eyes and patted the space on the bed next to him. She scrambled in and sat down. Wednesday’s hair was loose and in waves and she wore her long black nightgown. She looked up at Harry and he noticed that his little sister’s eyes were red and tears flowed down her corpse-like cheeks.
“What’s wrong, little spider?” asked Harry. He gave her a concerned look and watched as her bottom lip quivered. “I don’t want you to go,” she whispered. Harry brought his arms around her and held her close as she sobbed into his shoulder. “I-I don-don’t want you to-to go,” she hiccupped. This was the first time Harry had seen her cry and let out so many emotions. His usual level-headed sister, who thought emotions were a weakness and tried her best to remain as cold and distant as possible — broke in front of him.
“Oh Wednesday,” He rocked her back and forth, trying to provide comfort to his beloved sister. “I wish I could stay. I wish I could stay here and play headless dollhouse and show you all the ways to psychologically torture someone. But I can’t,” she looked up, sniffling. “Why not?”
“Because,” he sighed. “Because I need to practice and perfect my magic skills. I also wish to see the school that Mother attended when she was a girl,” he explained. Wednesday nodded her head, sadly. “One day you’ll understand that some decisions have to be your own and you must choose your own path.” Harry kissed the top of her head.
“But you’ll be home for Yule, right?” she asked, hope in her eyes. He nodded his head. “Of course, little spider. How could I miss out on Grandmama’s Chocolate death and Mother’s Yule cake?” She laughed as he tickled her, making her smile of death appear on her face. “You promise to write to me and tell me all your adventures?” “I promise.” Wednesday flicked Harry on the nose and scrambled off his bed.
“Night, Harry,” she bid. “Night Wednesday. I hope you’ll have pleasant nightmares.” She gave him a smirk and returned it with his own. He surely was going to miss his little sister and her antics.
•••★•••
Harry waited patiently for his aunt to show up. The office of the Department of Magical Transportation was spacious, yet it felt suffocating. The two Aurors were stiff and didn’t engage in small talk — which Harry was grateful for—and stood in silence. He didn’t mind the stiff nature of the Aurors, but he did mind when their eyes kept flip-flopping between staring at him or the door.
Every time their eyes landed on him, he knew they were staring at the scars that marred his forehead and ran down his left brow and down his cheek. It was something he’d always had as a child, this scar, and he wasn’t at the slightest self-conscious about it. He was used to no-magic staring at him and his scar, always wondering what happened to him and always thinking it happened because his family was the Addames.
Harry didn’t care what they thought in their small minds, but these “Aurors” kept staring at it like it meant something to them. As if they wished they had the scar on their face. It made him want to deploy a smoke bomb and slip out and wait for his aunt at the Atrium in this Ministry.
Finally, after throwing glares at the Aurors, the door opened and an exact replica of his mother walked in. However, she wasn’t wearing her long black dress, or had sharp dipped red nails, or even blood-red lips. No. She was wearing a yellow sundress with white polka dots littering the fabric. Her hair was black but was up in an elegant twist on her head, and she wore white pumps on her feet. Behind her was a young girl with the same black hair as Harry’s own sister, but instead of wearing a scowl, she wore a small smile and wore a light green skirt with a white oxford button-down short-sleeve and had black mary-janes on her feet.
Aunt Ophelia’s eyes were bright, making her black eyes seem like a dark brown, and she smiled prettily at the Aurors and Harry.
“Beloved nephew!!” She pulled Harry into a hug and his body immediately stiffened up. He didn’t like hugs unless he was the one to initiate them. In fact, he didn’t really like to be touched and would rather prefer to keep a distance. Aunt Ophelia pulled back and patted his face, smiling at him. “How good it is to see you! You’ve grown!” Her eyes traveled down the length of his body, inspecting his growth. He was tall for his age, he’s been told that many times. But he was also very lanky.
“Aunt,” he greeted, after realizing his aunt was waiting for him to greet her. She smiled even wider — if that was even possible — before turning to speak with the Aurors. The young girl behind his aunt gave him a shy smile and wave.
“Hello, I’m Beatrice, your cousin.'' She had a quiet demeanor and Harry liked that. Perhaps she would be the tolerable one in his aunt’s children. “I’m Harry,” he said, quickly and quietly. “I know. I think everyone knows who you are.” Harry gave her an odd look. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well,” she blushed, her fingers started trembling, and she started making weird patterns on her skirt. “What I mean is that, your scar. Everyone knows who you are because of your scar.” She pointed her index finger at his forehead.
Harry was still confused but was saved by his aunt before he asked his cousin another question.
“Come darlings, let’s get going. We have to shop for both yours and Beatrice's Hogwarts supplies.” Harry shook his head. “What about my trunks?” He asked, pointing to the trunks piled up. Ophelia smiled at him and chuckled.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ve scheduled a few Aurors to take your trunks to my place. I’ve also asked them to place some more protective charms around the property and house. That way, we won’t have any paparazzi or wizards trying to break in and see you, my famous nephew.”
Harry tried to speak, but was interrupted by Ophelia once more. “Now, come along. We must get going if we’re to beat the noon rush. I’d really hate to get stuck in Madam Malkins for hours. That place is terribly dull.”
She ushered her nephew and daughter out of the office and they made their way to the lift/elevator and she pressed a button before a lady spoke in the overhead and they were off.
~~~~
Next Chapter
Harry Addams
Harry Addams and the Philosopher's Stone
𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚: 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘼𝙙𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨
𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙊𝙣𝙚: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝘼𝙙𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙨
𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙬𝙤: 𝙊𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙖 𝙁𝙧𝙪𝙢𝙥
𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚: 𝘿𝙞𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙣 𝘼𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙮
𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙁𝙤𝙪𝙧: 𝙐𝙣𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙, 𝙐𝙣𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙, & 𝘼𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙙
𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙁𝙞𝙫𝙚: 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚 & 𝙐𝙣𝙪𝙨𝙪𝙖𝙡
Harry Addams Pic Set
𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙁𝙤𝙪𝙧: 𝙐𝙣𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙, 𝙐𝙣𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙, & 𝘼𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙙
Rain pelted against the windowpane of Malfoy Manor. A soft lull of the wind blew against the hundred-year sturdy walls. While the occupants slept soundly in their beds, a lone candle burned brightly in the library of the manor. Curled up in a winged-back chair, with her legs tucked under her, was a girl with silver eyes, (h/c) hair tucked behind her ears, and soft skin that warmed beneath the candle flame. The silver-eyed little girl bit her bottom lip softly as she turned the page of a scrapbook. Her eyes studied the moving pictures, almost as if she was memorising the figures' movement. As she turned the next page, she smiled softly. A picture of her father and her when she was very small.
Her father, Sirius Black, was a figure in her life that she barely knew. She was too young to really remember him before he was imprisoned. Too young to understand what was going on. Too young to remember. From what she could gather, through scraps of memories, she knew he smelt like leather, tobacco, motor oil, and firewhiskey. She knew he had the same silver eyes as her—eyes that were hard until they landed on her. The silver melted and became kind, warm, and soft. She remembered he liked to kiss her forehead.
The little girl didn’t know what he sounded like. She didn’t know if he called her affectionate nicknames. All she knew was one day, after putting her into bed at the small apartment they shared, after kissing her forehead, he left and never came back. He didn’t come back for her.
Men and a woman in weird robes carrying sticks came into her room, their gazes landing on her small figure. She remembered crying and holding onto her stuffed animal of a dog, Paddy. After the weird people took her away, she stayed with an old woman in green robes and had a tabby cat that slept with her when she napped. After a few days of staying with the old woman and her cat, the same people came and took her away. The next thing she knew was being dropped off at Malfoy Manor, into the arms of her father’s cousin and her husband. And ever since, she’s lived in their home, under their care and supervision. They were her guardians now.
Though she did love her cousin, Draco, she sometimes wished she could leave the lonely and cold walls of the Manor. She wanted to be scooped up into warm arms and held close. To be kissed and hugged, to spend time in the sun.
Draco’s parents weren’t warm, not like the parents she’s seen in the Wizarding and Muggle world. And at times, when she couldn’t sleep, she wondered. Was her father warm with her? If he was here right now, would he be warm and hold her close? Would tell her goodnight and warn off the nightmares? Would he come running if he heard her screaming instead of telling the house-elves to place silencing spells in her room so she didn’t disturb Draco or his parents?
She had questions. Questions that never would have answers.
Her father was a murderer. It was because of him that led to the murders of the Boy Who Lived’s parents. He murdered twelve muggles and the war hero Peter Pettigrew. He was in Azkaban and she was stuck in the dark house. Alone.
She didn’t know when tears started flowing from her silver pools, but they fell from her cheeks into the scrapbook. Onto the picture of her and her father, smiling at the camera as he held her in his arms, his eyes bright with laughter and love.
Underneath the photo, written in sloppy script, was:
Me and my little girl, April 1981.
~~~
“(Y/n)?” Someone was shaking her. She groaned, opening her eyes. Sunlight streamed into the library. The sound of birds tweeting and the smell of last night's rainstorm hung in the air. (Y/n) sighed and looked at her cousin. Draco wore a smirk on his face, and she noticed he’d already slicked back his hair with Otists' Hair Solution-Gel .
“You slept here?” Draco sneered at the chair she was sitting on. “Why’d you do that? Is the bed not comfortable enough for you? I’ll tell mother—I’m sure we can get you a new mattress that’ll suit you.”
(Y/n) shook her head, sitting up, stretching her arms over her head.
“No, my bed’s fine, Draco. I just fell asleep after reading, that’s all.” Draco sniffed at her explanation. His own grey eyes—the same colour as hers—narrowed before he shrugged his shoulders.
“Alright. If you say so.” Standing up from the chair, (Y/n) walked over to the library’s doors. “I’ll let mother know you’ll be down for breakfast in a few.” He sauntered off, leaving her in his invisible dust as he made his way to the dining room. (Y/n) yawned, trying to wake herself up, as she walked into her bedroom. The light blue walls greeted her, and she smiled softly at the french doors of her balcony.
Draco’s distinctive voice reached her ears when she walked down the stairs heading towards the dining room. As she grew near, she could hear him speaking about the newest Nimbus broom they recently released to the public. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Draco was obsessed with all things relating to Quidditch. Though (Y/n) never quite enjoyed the game, she did like flying. It was one of the few times she felt free. As if she could fly into the blue sky and bask in the rays of the sun warming her skin. It was when her soul felt light as a feather—no longer tied down to the weight of the world. She was free.
“Morning (Y/n), sleep well?” The voice of Narcissa interrupted (Y/n)’s train of thought. Blinking away the last remnants of her inner thoughts, she smiled and nodded her head at the blonde-haired witch.
“Good morning Aunt Cissa, and yes, I did. Until a blond goblin woke me up,” she snapped her head towards Draco, glaring at him. The blond vampire just snickered, shooting her smirk. In retaliation, she hissed at him.
Laughing, Draco rolled his eyes and (Y/n) went over to the vacant chair next to him.
“Prat,”
“Lazy witch,”
“Children,”
Together, Draco and (Y/n) shot apologetic glances to Narcissa. She raised a perfectly shaped blonde brow and had a gleam of mischief in her sapphire blue eyes. Narcissa was beautiful. Anyone had to admit that.
She was pale as a marble statue, always had perfect hair and posture, wore clothes deemed suitable for her station in Wizarding society. But she was beyond terrifying when angered. If Draco and (Y/n) feared Lucius’s punishments, Narcissa was a whole other battlefield. Like the mascot of her house, she was silent and quick as a snake. She always found the perfect moment to strike, and when she did, her strike was hard and true, sinking her fangs into your helpless skin, forcing the venom on her sharp fangs into your veins, paralysing you.
Yes, Narcissa Malfoy scared her.
As (Y/n) placed a waffle on her plate and spooned some berries onto the cooked batter, Narcissa cleared her throat.
“Draco, (Y/n), since you two have received your letters of acceptance from Hogwarts, today we're headed to Diagon Alley to pick up your supplies.” Draco would have shot up from his chair sprung up in the air like a monkey if his mother’s stern eyes weren’t on his person, daring him to lose his cool.
“And after, we’re going to be hosting the Parkinsons over for dinner,” At that Draco audibly groaned. (Y/n) patted his back sympathetically. She knew how troublesome and loony Pansy would get at times.
The loony girl was somehow convinced that she and Draco were to be married. When they were little, Pansy would always want to play wedding, which involved trying to kiss Draco—who in turn ran around the Manor screaming his little head off while (Y/n) and Theo watched on, confusion and annoyance in their eyes, before they continued speaking about the book they were reading.
“Must she come, Mum?” Draco asked, a whine in his voice. It was a good thing Lucius wasn’t present. He would’ve scolded Draco about it, claiming that Malfoy Men don’t whine like pathetic little simpletons, and Narcissa would snicker into her wineglass, while he gave her a glare. It seemed to be a private joke between them.
“Yes, dear. She is a part of their family. It would be quite rude to exclude her from the invite.” Draco sighed pathetically before nodding in defeat.
His grey eyes snapped to (Y/n).
“You better not abandon me like last time.”
(Y/n) smirked and laughed. “Why not? Last time, the outcome was hilarious. In fact, I want it to happen again.”
“(Y/n)!!”
~~~~
(Y/n) had only been to Diagon Alley a handful of times, but each time, it always made her buzzing with excitement and nervousness.
After being taken in by the Malfoy’s, the Daily Prophet made a whole ordeal about it; praising her cousin’s parents about how generous and gracious and how compassionate they were to take in a felon's abandoned daughter. Saints, they called them. All while they released story after story about their generosity and the story of her father’s imprisonment. When she was in public with Lucius and Narcissa, many witches and wizards would stare and point and whisper, talking all about the mass murderer Sirius Black and his daughter.
For a while, strangers would send her birthday letters wishing her a ‘Happy Birthday’ before saying how lucky she was to be raised in the Malfoy’s home and how she should be careful to not end up following in her father's footsteps.
It hurt. To only be reminded of her father's faults. Never his achievements or greatness. Just his crimes. Unwanted. Unloved. Fatherless. Abandoned. Neglected. Words to describe her and her relationship with her estranged father.
She assumed everyone in the Wizarding World—except muggle-borns–er, mudbloods—knew about her father and her. It was probably the reason Mr. Olivander never truly looked into her eyes—probably didn’t want to look in the eyes of the daughter of a mass murderer and supporter of You–Know–Who. He looked as if (Y/n) was You–Know–Who himself. It was the reason why she hid in the stacks of Flourish and Blotts, their last stop in Diagon Alley.
(Y/n) tucked herself into the bookshelves themselves, trying to find the titles she needed for Hogwarts before finding a few volumes to read for pleasure. Sliding down to the hardwood floors, (Y/n) tucked herself into a book about dragons and their cousins' wyverns.
Losing herself in the book of mythological creatures, she hardly noticed the figure coming closer and closer to her and her foot until she felt a thump against the shoe and the figure fell to the floor. She gasped at the sight. Books were scattered, and a boy, with shaggy black hair, was sprawled on the floor. Sprouting like a flower up from the ground, (Y/n) sprung into action.
“Oh, Merlin! I’m so sorry!” She apologised whilst picking up the pile of books. “I didn’t see you and I—well, I was reading a-a-and I was so lost in the story I sort of forgot where I was and—oh I’m so, so sorry.” She stacked the books into a pile while the boy groaned and rubbed his head, scrunching his messy black hair.
“Again, I’m so sorry. I thought I was out of the way, truly I did! I feel so terrible that I tripped you. Oh! Your glasses, right?” She scrambled over to where the boy’s glasses fell while he rubbed his chin. “Here you are, all fixed!” She placed—shoved, really—his glasses into the boy’s hands and smiled when he placed the frames back on his face.
Silver met Green.
All the colour drained from (Y/n)’s face, turning it into a pale complexion. She looked ghostly. Her eyes took in the appearance of the boy before her. Messy black hair, porcelain skin, black shorts that reached his knobbly knees, and a striped shirt with black suspenders holding up the shorts. But what she recognized most of all was the scar spanning down from his forehead, across his left eyebrow, down his temple, and stopped when it reached the top of his cheek. It was gruesome. It scared her. She knew him.
Before her stood the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter. The boy who saved the Wizarding World from He–Who–Must–Not–Be–Named. And her father had helped in the murder of his parents, sold them to his Dark Lord.
He must hate her. No. Despise her.
(Y/n) felt the surrounding room become small. She never had enough breath, no matter how hard she tried to compensate for the shortness of it in her lungs. She bet she had a sheet of sweat glistening on her skin as well.
Her hands shook at her side, and she unconsciously took her bottom lip into her mouth, sucking it and biting it hard. It drew blood. The tangy metallic taste flooded her taste buds.
“I—I—I,” She tore her eyes away from the boy, focusing on her Mary-Jane shoes as if she found those more interesting than him. (Y/n) didn’t know what to say or how to get out of this without running from him and causing a scene. Oh, the Prophet would love this. She could picture the headlines. Daughter of Mass Murderer Sirius Black meets The Boy Who Lived and a sparring match accrued between them in the stacks of Flourish & Blotts.
As if the forgotten gods heard her, Draco’s voice travelled up the stairs.
“(Y/n!) let's go!” (Y/n) turned her head towards the spiral staircase before looking back to the green-eyed monster before her. She whimpered before taking a deep breath.
“Again, I’m sorry. I…” She shook her head before striding to the staircase, leaving the victim of her father's crimes to glare at the place where she once stood, stuttering and whimpering. Pathetic.
Draco stood with Lucius, who was paying for their books when she remembered the dragon and wyvern book she’d abandoned.
“Ready?” Draco asked, smiling. He managed to convince Narcissa and Lucius to buy them both brooms—even though (Y/n) told him that first years couldn’t bring a broom or join the Quidditch team, Draco ignored her and was able to get the both of them the new Nimbus 2000s. They had plans to fly them after dinner with the Parkinsons, but seeing him had soured her stomach and day.
Did he recognize her? Did he know who she was? If he didn’t, he would. She was just as famous as him, but for a completely different reason. And when he found out about her father, he would hate her and they would be rivals. It was inevitable.
Next Chapter
Taglist:
Forgot to post the book cover of Harry Addams (Oops)
I created this book cover, however, the art (Harry) is not mine.
Art Credit @avendell found the photo on Pinterest
Harry Addams and the Philosopher’s Stone
𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙎𝙞𝙭: 𝙎𝙥𝙚𝙚𝙘𝙝𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝘽𝙞𝙧𝙙𝙨
September 1st couldn’t have come quicker, in Harry’s mind. It was a hellish month. Everyday his aunt's family would spend all day out in the sun, holy seven circles of hell. They flew on broomsticks (which Harry excelled at, of course.) and played with gobstones and their neighbours. A giant, loud, family of gingers. He remembered how his aunt had pulled him away from his reading (Poisons, Hexes to Use on Your Enemies, & Easy Curses by Bertha Nightlock) to meet the family of gingers.
"Harry, dear," A smile was bright on Ophelia's face. "These are our neighbours, the Weasley's!" She spread her arms out as if she was on a muggle gameshow Grandmama liked to watch but was always disappointed when contestants either won or didn't get mauled by a mountain lion.
"Hello there Harry!" A plump woman with red hair and a round face bustled out from her family, holding her arms out, a smile on her face. "I'm Molly Weasley, and these are my children," She pointed to a tall boy with glasses and curly red hair, he was the only one wearing a matching robe set. "This is Percy," His arms were crossed and he stood tall, unlike the others—his face was tight and his lips pursed. He looked positively dreadful. "My twins, Fred and George,"
"Hey there Potter!" The twins said in unison.
"Say do you—"
"Have that—"
"Scar?" They finished together.
Harry simply stared at them, his eyes glazing over. The twins looked exactly alike, down from their faces right down to their shoes. They both sported the same haircut, same clothes, and shoes. It was like they were carbon copies.
"And this is my youngest son, Ron, and my daughter Ginny. Ron will also be attending Hogwarts this year!" Ron was tall, taller than any 11-year-old Harry saw. But his shoulders were hunched, and his face was downcasted, his blue eyes kept flicking up and down, as if he was insecure. No, he was insecure. Harry could tell.
"So is Harry! My sister, who lives in the States with her husband, sent Harry to live with us this summer so he could get used to the magical world." Aunt Ophelia explained, her hands moving as she talked.
"Oh how wonderful! Where've you taken him, Ophelia?" Molly and her children were invited inside the house, out of the summer heat. Harry tried to creep back up the stairs but a quick glare from his aunt (that was fairly similar to his own mother's glare) stopped him.
"He's been all over the Alley, and we've taken him to Hogsmeade!”
Ah, yes, thought Harry. Memories of his timely visit to the village outside of Hogwarts was boring and uneventful. The only thing that struck Harry as interesting was an old pub by the name of Hogs Head—he hoped there was an actual event where you took the head of a hog, but alas he was entirely let down—and an abandoned “haunted” house, dubbed by the locals the “Shrieking Shack”.
Thinking about the visit made something in Harry ache. He knew Wednesday would’ve loved to investigate and look into this haunted shack and summoned devils from the depths of hades with him. A part of him wanted to go home, to be away from his too-smiley aunt and her family. His cousin’s weren’t as bad as the other children back home, but they weren’t on the same page as Harry. They did not play with headless dolls, nor did they have a subscription to “Tortures Torture”. Beatrice was the only one who actually was worth being around. She seemed to be the only one to inherit some sort of Frump genes.
After the ghastly introduction of the ginger family, Harry isolated himself back in his room, waiting for the hours to pass.
★
There were only a few moments of his dreaded summer with his aunt and her family that Harry did enjoy. For example: Aunt Ophelia was a Potions Woman and she had her own home laboratory that Harry found himself walking into one rainy day in the English country. She wore a white lab coat and black gloves that went up to her elbows. At the sound of Harry shutting the door to her room, Ophelia turned. Her big black eyes were huge and bug-eyed under the googles she wore.
“Harry! Come in!” A smile spread across her face before she turned her attention back to her plants and concoctions. Harry slumped in, the shadows warming his skin in the dark and dank room. He took a sniff—Nightshade, ahh home.
Ophelia patted a stole she pulled out from underneath the workbench and Harry took a seat. Together, Aunt and Nephew worked as they made a simple healing draught for certain native poisons from Hungry. It was the first moment that Harry felt relaxed and realised how he could be related to this woman. How his mother and her lived in England all their young lives.
A flash of gold made him pause.
“You were in Slytherin?”
Ophelia smirked as she finished writing on her clipboard the shipping information for the crate of potions.
“Of course.” Her gloves and goggles lay off to the side, allowing her to grab the metal she received. “I won the Slytherin duelling championship, beating all the pesky inbred purebloods.” She sounded proud. Harry watched her dust off the metal, though he didn’t see why. “Tisha won for Ravenclaw, she had to sneak into Slytherin to sleep. Her housemates were playing dirty and she wasn’t allowing a single curse or “misguided” spell to keep her from that metal. When she wants something, she’ll get it. It’s why we never tried out for Qudditch, if we both made it the games would be brutal for both the teams and the rest of Hogwarts.” She smiled and chuckled here and there. “It was better for everyone if the Frump Sisters weren’t against each other, but on the same side.”
Ophelia placed the metal back on the wall that Harry realised were moving photographs of what looked like his mother and aunt in their Hogwarts uniform. The only reason why he could tell who was who, was the colours of their robes. Aunt Ophelia had black hair??
“Your hair…”
“Yep, black. I only started to dye in my sixth and seventh year. I wanted something to make us stand apart. I can’t believe how many times boys went to the wrong sister. I knew it made Tisha angry. She once hexed a boy’s bollocks and he was in the hospital wing for weeks.”
Another photo of the sisters, this time where Ophelia’s hair was blonde, and they sat in what looked like a courtyard full of statues. They were laughing and Harry saw a man with white blonde hair in the back of them staring at the pair of sisters.
A buzzing noise yelled through the potions lab.
“Oh! That’s dinner!”
(Aunt Ophelia gave Harry the brain along with mashed potatoes that night.)
September 1st couldn’t have come quicker, in Harry’s mind. It was a hellish month. Everyday his aunt's family would spend all day out in the sun, holy seven circles of hell. They flew on broomsticks (which Harry excelled at, of course.) and played with gobstones and their neighbours. A giant, loud, family of gingers. He remembered how his aunt had pulled him away from his reading (Poisons, Hexes to Use on Your Enemies, & Easy Curses by Bertha Nightlock) to meet the family of gingers.
"Harry, dear," A smile was bright on Ophelia's face. "These are our neighbours, the Weasley's!" She spread her arms out as if she was on a muggle gameshow Grandmama liked to watch but was always disappointed when contestants either won or didn't get mauled by a mountain lion.
"Hello there Harry!" A plump woman with red hair and a round face bustled out from her family, holding her arms out, a smile on her face. "I'm Molly Weasley, and these are my children," She pointed to a tall boy with glasses and curly red hair, he was the only one wearing a matching robe set. "This is Percy," His arms were crossed and he stood tall, unlike the others—his face was tight and his lips pursed. He looked positively dreadful. "My twins, Fred and George,"
"Hey there Potter!" The twins said in unison. "Say do you—" "Have that—" "Scar?" They finished together.
Harry simply stared at them, his eyes glazing over. The twins looked exactly alike, down from their faces right down to their shoes. They both sported the same haircut, same clothes, and shoes. It was like they were carbon copies.
"And this is my youngest son, Ron, and my daughter Ginny. Ron will also be attending Hogwarts this year!" Ron was tall, taller than any 11-year-old Harry saw. But his shoulders were hunched, and his face was downcasted, his blue eyes kept flicking up and down, as if he was insecure. No, he was insecure. Harry could tell.
"So is Harry! My sister, who lives in the States with her husband, sent Harry to live with us this summer so he could get used to the magical world." Aunt Ophelia explained, her hands moving as she talked.
"Oh how wonderful! Where've you taken him, Ophelia?" Molly and her children were invited inside the house, out of the summer heat. Harry tried to creep back up the stairs but a quick glare from his aunt (that was fairly similar to his own mother's glare) stopped him.
"He's been all over the Alley, and we've taken him to Hogsmeade!”
Ah, yes, thought Harry. Memories of his timely visit to the village outside of Hogwarts was boring and uneventful. The only thing that struck Harry as interesting was an old pub by the name of Hogs Head—he hoped there was an actual event where you took the head of a hog, but alas he was entirely let down—and an abandoned “haunted” house, dubbed by the locals the “Shrieking Shack”.
Thinking about the visit made something in Harry ache. He knew Wednesday would’ve loved to investigate and look into this haunted shack and summoned devils from the depths of hades with him. A part of him wanted to go home, to be away from his too-smiley aunt and her family. His cousin’s weren’t as bad as the other children back home, but they weren’t on the same page as Harry. They did not play with headless dolls, nor did they have a subscription to “Tortures Torture”. Beatrice was the only one who actually was worth being around. She seemed to be the only one to inherit some sort of Frump genes.
After the ghastly introduction of the ginger family, Harry isolated himself back in his room, waiting for the hours to pass.
•••★•••
There were only a few moments of his dreaded summer with his aunt and her family that Harry did enjoy. For example: Aunt Ophelia was a Potions Woman and she had her own home laboratory that Harry found himself walking into one rainy day in the English country. She wore a white lab coat and black gloves that went up to her elbows. At the sound of Harry shutting the door to her room, Ophelia turned. Her big black eyes were huge and bug-eyed under the googles she wore.
“Harry! Come in!” A smile spread across her face before she turned her attention back to her plants and concoctions. Harry slumped in, the shadows warming his skin in the dark and dank room. He took a sniff—Nightshade, ahh home.
Ophelia patted a stole she pulled out from underneath the workbench and Harry took a seat. Together, Aunt and Nephew worked as they made a simple healing draught for certain native poisons from Hungry. It was the first moment that Harry felt relaxed and realised how he could be related to this woman. How his mother and her lived in England all their young lives.
A flash of gold made him pause.
“You were in Slytherin?”
Ophelia smirked as she finished writing on her clipboard the shipping information for the crate of potions.
“Of course.” Her gloves and goggles lay off to the side, allowing her to grab the metal she received. “I won the Slytherin duelling championship, beating all the pesky inbred purebloods.” She sounded proud. Harry watched her dust off the metal, though he didn’t see why. “Tisha won for Ravenclaw, she had to sneak into Slytherin to sleep. Her housemates were playing dirty and she wasn’t allowing a single curse or “misguided” spell to keep her from that metal. When she wants something, she’ll get it. It’s why we never tried out for Qudditch, if we both made it the games would be brutal for both the teams and the rest of Hogwarts.” She smiled and chuckled here and there. “It was better for everyone if the Frump Sisters weren’t against each other, but on the same side.”
Ophelia placed the metal back on the wall that Harry realised were moving photographs of what looked like his mother and aunt in their Hogwarts uniform. The only reason why he could tell who was who, was the colours of their robes. Aunt Ophelia had black hair??
“Your hair…”
“Yep, black. I only started to dye in my sixth and seventh year. I wanted something to make us stand apart. I can’t believe how many times boys went to the wrong sister. I knew it made Tisha angry. She once hexed a boy’s bollocks and he was in the hospital wing for weeks.”
Another photo of the sisters, this time where Ophelia’s hair was blonde, and they sat in what looked like a courtyard full of statues. They were laughing and Harry saw a man with white blonde hair in the back of them staring at the pair of sisters.
A buzzing noise yelled through the potions lab.
“Oh! That’s dinner!”
(Aunt Ophelia gave Harry the brain along with mashed potatoes that night.)
•••★•••
“Only one week until September 1st!” screamed Cordelia from her bedroom at the crack of dawn. Out of all of the Harrisons in the household, Cordy was the one who never ran out of energy. From dawn to dusk, she was up and about, zooming around her home and outdoors, playing with the Weasleys or Fawcettes. Her best friend, Sarah, joined her on a spy mission today. Their target? Harry Potter—er, Addams. Her cousin.
Sarah almost “shit-a-brick” once she found out he was staying over at her house. It was actually hilarious that Sarah, who swore off all boys after the Ronald Weasley crush fiasco, was now acting like a love-sick puppy. Her blue eyes were constantly on him, watching Harry in a star-struck manner.
“Shh,” hissed Cordy as Sarah inched closer to the crack in the bedroom door. Harry was sitting on the floor, reading a book that looked old and worn. He wore his weird clothes again. With a twitch of his hand, sparks flew from the tip of the wand he got.
“Wow!” breathed Sarah. Cordy rolled her eyes. Girls.
“Harry!” Her mothers voice shouted from the bottom of the stairs. “Your mother is on the phone!” The girls scrambled—tried to at least—away from the doorway as the boy with long legs rushed out and bounded down the stairs. Cordy just stared, her eyes must’ve deceived her. Because in the midst of chaos, her cousin had smiled and for once looked happy and joyful, his cold indifference left behind.
Harry spoke with his family for hours. Uncle Fester was back! A woman found and brought him back to the family. He could hear the joy drip from his fathers smooth tongue. Even his mother was happy for her husband. Harry had never met the famed uncle his father spoke about fondly. The only one he’s met is his aunt, his fathers and uncle Fester’s little sister, Tristessa.
The only one who wasn’t thrilled at the fact that Uncle Fester was found was his little sister.
“I don’t think he is truly his Uncle Fester Harry.” Wednesday spoke with a clipped tone. There was no room to argue or disagree. “Why do you think so, Spider?”
“He… smells off.” Harry understood what she meant. All her life, Wednesday was able to tap into her senses, if someone's smell was off, there was something wrong. Harry wondered if that was her magic coming through or if that was just her weirdness.
“Watch him. Closely. Don’t allow him to hurt our family, you’re in charge Spider.”
“I will brother. Write to me.”
•••★•••
Harry was thankful he asked Aunt Ophelia to cover his thrice-damned scar with the bangs he’d grown over the summer. For once, he was hidden within the crowd, looking … average. Standing on the mysterious platform with Beatrice, while his aunt and uncle fussed over their children, Cordelia and Olivia. Cordelia complained and whined about not being able to leave with Harry and her older sister, while Olivia tried to use popping sticks to scare older wizards and witches. (She succeeded, multiple times. Harry was so proud.)
“OK children, you’ve got your wands, familiars?” aunt Ophelia asked. She once again wore a hideous gown of blues and greens. Harry’s nose wrinkled in disgust.
“I have my wand.” He said. The wand in question was in his black satchel “backpack”. Beatrice nodded her head too, voicing her own response before checking the cage of her pet toad, William.
“Oh my loves,” Ophelia smiled sadly at the two young wixen. She brought Harry and Bea into her arms, hugging them close as Harry’s eyes widened and squirmed out of her hold, freeing himself. His green eyes were set in a narrowed gaze, all while Ophelia ignored him and led them both onto the train. Richard was in charge of their other two children, while his aunt levitated their luggage behind them.
The three searched for an open compartment, crossing over to the next car as they passed older students. Harry’s eyes watched on, taking in every movement, every person. His fingers twitched at his side. The noise of laughter and joy echoed in his head—what a horrendous and ear-scratching sound.
Soon, the trio found an empty compartment. Ophelia levitated Harry’s and Beatrice’s luggage on the rack above them, and with a final goodbye, she left, leaving the two on their own. Without words, the cousins opened their respective carry ons, taking out whatever they thought necessary for the long trip ahead of them. William croaked a high-pitch noise that Beatrice clarified was “singing” beforehand, yet Harry still glared at the amphibian creature. His fingers twitching at his side.
Ignoring the creature next to him, Harry settled in, leaning his back against the window and he splayed his long legs out. Beatrice did the same except her ankles were crossed, keeping her modesty in check. A book laid open on Harry’s lap as he read silently, memorising the wand strokes of each spell they were to learn in Charms. Beatrice read a muggle book, her eyes glued to the page as she read with William next to her. The train started to move and neither cousin got up to wave goodbye to their family, instead they took solace in the silence each provided for the long journey ahead.
(Y/n) learned long ago to ignore her cousin when he was with his Pureblooded friends. While Draco entertained these buffoons, (Y/n) and Nott, read their books silently, ignoring the bigoted conversations. Though she knew the reason why Draco was talking like this; his father, Uncle Lucius, threw around the phrases and the like without a care. Aunt Cissa never did, she would agree with her husband and his colleagues, but never use such phrases and names like they did. A part of (Y/n) wondered if the reason was Aunt Cissa’s sister and her family, or maybe something to do with that mark. Nevertheless, (Y/n) never grew used to the bigoted names and thinking and hated it whenever her cousin, her best friend, would say such things.
“Anything off the trolly dears?” (Y/n) didn’t hear their compartment door sliding open, not until the old witch who worked the magical train spoke in her hypnotic voice. Crabbe and Goyle rushed up to the woman and shoved a pouch full of money and grabbed whatever they could get their hands on.
She waited until the two pigs had sat down before she grabbed her own sweets, Draco whining loudly in the back, and giving some to the gaunt and skinny Theo. Soon the compartment was silent except the loud mouth sounds coming from Crabbe and Goyle. Hugging herself, she turned her attention to the wixen fairytale, trying to drown herself in the lyrical written word.
It was dark when the train pulled into the station. A while ago a voice had echoed all through the train for the students to change into their robes. That was where (Y/n) met a bushy haired girl named Hermione. They were the only ones who changed early—well, only girls that is—and they spoke in (Y/n)’s compartment while the boys were in the bathroom/changing room.
The girl—Hermione, (Y/n) reminded—was quite animated. Spoke with her hands and had excellent vocabulary and had a posh attitude. But if you looked deeper, (Y/n) could tell she was scared. Nervous. She was a muggle-born, and (Y/n) asked questions of her home life in exchange what growing up in a Wizard home was like. Of course she left out the feeling of homesickness, of longing for life she never quite knew. “Black? As in Sirius Black?” Hermione asked when (Y/n) finished explaining the Family Tapestry of Malfoy Manor—If Uncle Lucius was here he would’ve hexed her for telling their secrets to a muggle-born—and mentioned that her aunt was of the Black family.
“Erm… yes. That’s her cousin.” Hermione raised a brow. She didn’t ask what her last name was. She was grateful. In only just a few moments, soon the whole entire school of Hogwarts would know that she was a Black. And there were only two Blacks in the UK. If she was born in France and was of the French Blacks—the smaller branch—she would be going to Beauxbatons and wouldn’t have the dark cloud hanging over her. Since it was common knowledge that her Uncle Regulus disappeared and her grandmother had a traditional Pureblood funeral and it was all over the papers, there was only one Black that could be her Father. The man that had crashed the funeral and drank himself silly before being hauled out of there by his best friend and best friend's mother, Dorea Black (who got an invite because she wasn’t kicked out of the family).
Soon everyone would know that Sirius Black’s daughter would be in Hogwarts. Her stomach turned.
“Firs’ years! Firs’ years! Firs’ years, overhear!” The man was a giant. Wonderful. A slow smile crept on Harry face as he watched the bushy-bearded man wave a meaty paw at them, waving them over to the docks. Beatrice turned to look at her cousin, her bottom lip caught in between her teeth.
“Okay Harry, I’ll be heading over there–” she pointed to a few girls and a boy waiting by a carriage that was being pulled by skeletal horses he knew his parents would’ve wanted—”and you’ll go over to Hagrid—he’s the game keeper here at Hogwarts—and I’ll see you in the Great Hall for your sorting, kay?”
Harry nodded. “Be careful going in the boats Har, a few firsties last year fell overboard and got acquainted with the friendly squid that lives in the Black Lake.”
With a final warning, his cousin scampered over to her friends and began chatting with them as they climbed aboard the carriage.
“What are those?” questioned a weak voice.
“What are what, Nott?”
“You don’t see them?
A blonde, a brunette, and a black/(h/c) souls stood next to Harry, looking at the strange creatures.
“What are you two looking at?! I don’t see anything!” complained a white-blonde boy, his lips pouted. He scoffed. “Whatever. Crabbe, Goyle, let’s go.” He swaggered off with two big boys trailing behind.
“I see them too, Theo.” said the girl, she touched the brunette's arm, stroking it? Harry sneered.
“Oi! You three! C’mere!” The giant shouted, waving his lantern.
Harry rolled his eyes as he walked towards the man, leaving behind the boy and girl. Climbing into the unoccupied boat—well, except for a boy with straw blonde hair and a long face who was hiding the fact he was crying—as the man exclaimed “No more’n four in a boat!” as the boy and girl got in the only available boat with Harry.
“Everyone in?” Harry looked behind him and saw no one standing on the platform. “Right then! FORWARD!” He shouted, causing some students to jump at both his thundering voice and the sudden movement of the boats.
Students all around him ooooed and awwed at the display of magic and the majesty of the castle, Hogwarts, on the hill. Harry stared. His green eyes take in the dark surroundings. His mother studied here. As did her sister, and his biological parents. Though he never associated or thought of himself as the name he carried on his birth certificate. But a part of him, deep inside, knew that this was the place where he would get all the answers he needed. He needed to know who his parents were. Needed to know them beyond the fact they were war heroes and they died at Voldemort’s hand.
“HEADS DOWN!” The curtain of ivy kept the entrance of the boathouse hidden, Harry wanted to scoff. His parents, his father, had a better entrance to the family vault than this.
The boats docked and soon students were clambering about, while the giant handed the sniffling boy Harry shared a boat with a toad called Trevor. Memories of Beatrice's toad singing non stop while on the train made Harry want to chuck this toad into the lake. Harry and the rest of his future classmates walked behind the giant as he led them into the castle and up some stairs to reach a door, which the man knocked with a forceful thrust. It creaked open to reveal a woman, a mature woman, wearing emerald green robes and a black pointy hat he recognized. Grandmama rocked that hat during the forties while she was young, travelling the world.
“I’ve gotten them Professor McGonagall! The Firs’ years!” He puffed. Professor McGonagall flicked her cat-like eyes in their direction, landing on Harry for a brief second.
“I see that Hagrid. Well, come on then. Follow me.” She spoke with a Scottish accent, Harry noted. She led them through the castle, the marble staircase and suits of armour, with portraits of famous witches and wizards, monarchs, and animals, lined the walls, and creatures of myth were carved out of stone. Lit torches lined the walls and chandeliers hung from a high ceiling.
McGonagall stopped in front of a door, this was located through a lounge where knitting needles moved on their own, cups floated in the air still steeping, books and quills flipped their pages and wrote, and a few animals lay fast asleep in front a great fireplace.
“Now, through these doors lay your future. Your future housemates, your house, your teachers, and your future education. Before you start attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you must be sorted into your houses. Your house, dear students, will be your family through the duration of your stay. There are four houses here at Hogwarts, and each house has a long and magical history. There are Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Slytherin.”
She smiled, though Harry was not comforted by that smile.
“Your triumphs here at Hogwarts will earn you and your house points towards the House Cup, while your misbehaviour will lose your house points. The rules of Hogwarts are posted outside the Great Hall. After the start-of-term banquet, your House Prefects will give you all maps of Hogwarts, and direct you to your common rooms, and will assign you a group of students and a junior prefect to be your guide for the first month of term.”
Her beady eyes looked at everyone. “Now, any questions?”
A ginger haired boy—Ron, Harry realised—raised his hand.
“We don’t have to fight trolls or anything like that in order to get sorted now do we?” A few students laughed, a bushy haired girl among them, while others looked on nervously. Harry rolled his eyes. Honestly, he comes from a family of wizards and witches and he has to ask that question?
“No, Mr. Weasley, you do not have to fight a troll or any magical creature here at Hogwarts whether to get sorted or not. We have a sorting hat to do that. I believe that your brothers have something to do with your question?” She raised an eyebrow and Ron flushed red.
“Does anyone else have any questions?” No one raised a hand or asked.
“Right then, I shall pop in to let them know we're ready for you.” She opened the door and disappeared for a few moments before coming back in, leading them through.
The Great Hall exploded in colour, Red, Blue, Green, Yellow, with dashes of Purple and Orange as the first years walked in being led by Professor McGonagall. Students gasped and searched the crowd, Severus knew who they were looking for. He was looking for him too. He was looking for a boy with messy black-brown hair with square glasses and hazel eyes with a swagger in his step, overtaking McGonagall and cutting in front of everyone to place that blasted, raggedy hat on his head, and for it to scream GRYFFINDOR. But he wasn’t there?
Potter's brat wasn’t there to be found. But Severus knew him to be here. He knew his name was on the list and knew McGonagall sent him an acceptance letter.
McGonagall dragged a three legged stool over to the raised dias, the magical hat appearing in a flash, and she whipped out the parchment of names. The parchment of which his nemesis’s son’s name was on.
But before she could start calling out names, the hat sang a song. Severus rolled his eyes at the hat and its antics. He didn’t have time for this. His leg bounced up and down in anticipation. Finally, the hat stopped singing, and the sorting began.
“When I call your name, I will put on the hat and you shall be sorted.” McGonagall shouted.
She cleared her throat.
Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor—Severus sneered at the girl who looked overjoyed.
Finally, they got their first Slytherin. Though, Bulstrode wasn’t that much to brag about. Her father was a dimwitted business man and his parents had to go abroad to find him a wife. Sadly the girl received her fathers porky figure. (Damn all his gossip sessions with Narcissa.)
“Black, (Y/n)!” Severus perked up. His godson’s cousin and his other nemesis child. Sirius Black was a terror who got off on Severus' suffering, and he hated him. However, his child was innocent and got the brains from her mysterious mother. She was like a newborn baby deer, her legs shook as she took a few steps to the stool. He could hear the whispers of her name from the older students—her father was famous.
The Hat looked confused. She was a hat stall then. For ten minutes she sat on the stole, as she looked to be arguing with the hat. McGonagall shared a look with Severus and Albus, worried etching across her face. Severus inwardly scoffed. Of course she was worried for her. She was the child of one of her precious Cubs. Lioness Minnie wanted to march and break down Black's cell and got into a few arguments with Albus about his wrongful imprisonment.
“—SLYTHERIN!!!” Black looked upset as her robes magically changed to the Slytherin uniform. Two snakes.
She marched down the steps after ripping off the hat and headed to his House’s table as the Gryffindors made hissing noises—the Weasley twins, he mused.
The sorting continued, Severus barely paid attention, only clapped when Slytherin gained a new student. Draco was easy, the hat had barely touched his head when it shouted Slytherin. Nott’s boy took a few minutes before it settled on Slytherin as well. When they reached the P’s, Severus’s back seemed to grow straighter.
Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin…
Parkinson draped herself on Draco, trying to smile prettily for his godson. Severus did not envy Draco. As the Scion of the Malfoys, he would be well sought after from brides and their families, Parkinson was one.
“Potter, Harry.”
Severus drew a breath. A boy, tall and lanky, wearing his black robes with a crest pinned on his left, walked up, confident steps with a cold indifference. Before sitting down his voice rang out as he addressed McGonagall.
“Addams.” She raised a brow.
“Excuse me, Mister Potter?”
“My surname. My surname is Addams, and I would prefer to go by that instead of Potter. I was raised by the Addams family.” Gasps flew from Poppy and Flitwick, and Severus sneaked a glance at Albus. The twinkle died out from his blue eyes.
“V-Very well, Mister Addams.”
Satisfied, Potter sat on the rickety stool.
“—SLYTHERIN!”
Harry smirked.
No one made a sound. The hall was quiet. No one clapped and Harry relished in turning these people into speechless birds. No longer did they squawk, he clipped their wings and freedom was snatched away from them. How wonderful~
I finally just finished binge watching Wednesday... i can't wait to incorporate it into Harry Addams hehehe
yeah i'm late to the party but i just haven't had the time to sit down and just binge watch it---blame this on my period showing up earlier than expected.
but seriously!!!! so good!!!!
Dracula’s Sunglasses
Pet Peeve: There are people who actually think the sunglasses Gary Oldman wore in Bram Stoker’s Dracula are historically inaccurate. A Classic Horror page I follow has people whining about it (and ironically also about his facial hair and his walking in the sun … THE FACIAL HAIR AND WALKING BY DAY IS FROM THE BOOK, FOLKS!).
Now back to the sunglasses:
First those are not “Lennon Specks.” (or Ozzy specks) Those are called Pince Nez. Note the lack of arms and they are not actually round. Lennon specks did exist in that era, by the way. They were called Teashades at the time and were worn by those taking afternoon tea in bright sunlight. The Pince Nez are actually historically accurate in their colbalt color too because that color was believed to help with light sensitivity. Though Dracula did not wear them in the novel it does make sense that someone of nocturnal persuasion would wear them.
my life is a chaotic mess at the moment, and every single bloody time it becomes chaotic, my writing muse wakes up from her hibernation and decides now is the time to write …. Wtf??
The Addams Family
“Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc”
Selma Addams
October 25th 1919
Selma Addams is the first born of the current family head, Pollux Addams and his first wife, and is the older sister of Greta Hyde nee Addams and Lucinda Addams. She is the aunt of Fester, Gomez, Trisstessa, Adrienne, and Astaroth. Selma is described as headstrong, stubborn, and loyal. She is a self-taught witch and is the bane of Pollux existence.
The Addams Family
“Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc”
Greta Addams-Hyde
October 6th 1923
Greta Addams is the daughter of Pollux Addams and his first wife, the younger sister of Selma Addams and the older sister of Lucinda Addams. She is currently married to a German-French man Jacques “Jacq” Hyde, an old money aristocrat. Like her older sister, Greta is a self-taught witch and is prolific in love magic, specifically soulmate magic. Greta is the mother of twins, Adrienne and Astaroth. Greta currently lives in France with her husband and young twins.
The Addams Family
“Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc”
Lucinda Addams
February 23rd 1929
Lucinda Addams is the daughter of Pollux Addams’ second wife, and is the mother of Gomez, Fester, and Tristessa Addams. Lucinda, like her sisters, are self-taught witch who excels in potions, spells, divination/fortune telling, and knife throwing—-this is how she met and married her husband, Dexter Burton, an Italian-American acrobat in a travelling Circus.
Lucinda was the youngest and last child of Pollux Addams and his American wife. After the death of her husband, Lucinda traveled the world—loved her time in Eastern Europe—and learned from many witches in Russia, Austria, and Poland. After traveling, she settled down in New Jersey with her son and his wife, Gomez and Morticia, while her youngest followed in their mother's steps—-though Fester was never seen again, while Tristessa was in Asia.
Lucinda isn’t as close with Selma as she is with Greta, but the three sisters would do anything for each other and their family. She loves her grandchildren—-Harry, Wednesday, Pugsley, and future Pubert—-fiercely and would kill anyone for them. Lucinda is the only sister who allowed herself to age naturally.
