A Potter in The House Of Addams
Chapter 1: Acceptance Day
(Ten Years Later)
The sound of thunder roared through the semi spacious bedroom. If one were to look they would see that all of the necessities were indeed well taken care of, and the room itself was almost inviting, or at least inviting in a sense that a cave would seem inviting. It was dark, but given that the occupant was sleeping it would be considered somewhat normal. The occupant slowly opened his eyes, realizing that he was not alone in the room.
This too was not an odd occurrence. He waited a moment, to allow the feeling of something biting, slithering, or attacking to occur, but nothing happened. Sitting up his green eyes scanned the bed to find a young girl, his own age, fast asleep. A doll, with a severed head, clutched in her hands, and the look of someone so relaxed they could be a corpse upon her face. He watched as her eyes blinked open, and soft chocolate brown eyes looked into his own.
"Good morning sis," he said.
She nodded, sat up, and moved off of his bed. She gazed at him, her gray night gown flowing around her almost as if it was alive, and she cleared her throat.
"Not a word about my sleeping in here. If you do say something, we will play Buried Alive again."
He laughed, "Wednesday, that is your and Pugsly's bonding game," he said before he noticed the look on her face, "So, what's bothering you?"
"Nothing," she replied.
He touched her hand, "Sis, something's bothering you. This is the sixth time you've snuck in here, crawled into my bed, and slept beside me. So, you might as well let me know what's bothering you."
She glanced at him, kicked her feet back and forth for a bit, and finally sighed, "Something is coming. I don't know what. But I feel it, and I feel like it's going to change everything."
He grinned, "Change isn't bad. It can be violent, it can be messy, and it can lead to catastrophic events, but it's not bad. It just is."
She smiled, "I know, and usually I'm fine with Change, but this time I'm not. I don't like where it could be leading."
He nodded, and both of them listened to the creaking of their home. It was a soothing sound in and of itself. Before he could say a word she was up. She looked at him, her face almost an emotionless mask, but he knew better. She reached out, punched his arm, and then she turned and walked out. He looked toward the window, the graying clouds promising a thunderstorm, and he grinned knowing that it looked to be the start of a great day.
Getting up he found his clothes. A pair of black school uniform shorts, a blazer with a small emblem on the right breast pocket. The emblem itself was of two swords crossed, both covering a wolf's head, and around the picture was a small ribbon with Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc printed on it. He laid the blazer to the side and looked at the gray long sleeve shirt. Pulling it on he grabbed a tie, soft black, and quickly tied it around his neck before pulling on his blazer. He then pulled on a pair of polished square toed spats that his father had given him. He walked from the room and saw his younger brother Pugsly.
The youngest Addams was yawning as he scratched his head. His black and white striped shirt looked pristine. The two of them made their way down stairs where he saw a bald headed man carrying a large book.
"Uncle Fester, what are you doing?"
He turned toward them, smiled, waved, and then hugged the book tighter.
"Just looking at some old bylaws boys, just looking at some old bylaws. Don't want to be caught by surprise."
Pugsly tilted his head, "Bylaws for what?"
No sooner had the words came from his mouth than a letter shot through the mailslot in the front door, and landed before the boys. The older brother picked it up, and looked at the odd envelope. He studied it for a moment. It felt like it should belong to him, but the name was wrong.
"What do you have there?" Uncle Fester asked.
He shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know, but it says it's for Harry Potter."
Uncle Fester's face fell, and he shook his head, "Oh well, never mind, why don't I take it and I'll find a nice place for it."
He reached for the envelope, and snatched it from the boy's hand. Taking it he walked toward a large pile of citations that the local civil government had written about their house and placed it on top. Both boys watched as a tall, gangly humanoid being walked toward the stack of letters, gathered them together, pressed them into a bundle, and then carried the same bundle over to a huge iron cauldron that was in the kitchen. The being, dressed in a black funeral director's suit, placed the bundle under the cauldron, lit it on fire, and stepped back as the flames began to ignite the wood under the cauldron itself. Soon a healthy blaze of fire was roaring.
"There, perfect place for it!" Uncle Fester remarked.
"The mail already sorted this morning?" a voice said from the stairwell.
The boys turned to see a man wearing a pinstripe suit walking down the stairwell. His pencil mustache looked well groomed, his eyes bright with wonder, and his hair perfectly parted. Behind him a woman followed. She herself was a pinnacle of beauty. Her fair skin almost completely white, her hair black as the night itself, and her eyes a chocolate brown that seemed both calculating and warm.
"Oh absolutely," Uncle Fester remarked.
"Who's trying to burn a magic notice?!"
The sound of an elderly woman shouted as she coughed. She came out holding a blackened envelope that she shook, which caused the ash and soot to fall from it. She looked at it, and then at Fester. A sigh escaped her lips.
"Bound to happen sooner or later, okay, everyone to the table, breakfast and family meeting."
"But…" Fester began before she looked at him.
"It's not your choice Fester!" she barked, "Never was, now stop trying to protect him. He's already got a mother; he ain't needin' two of 'em! He's strong, and he's an Addams," she smiled, "That means he can face whatever comes and give it back ten fold."
Walking to the table everyone sat down as something was put onto plates and passed among them. The oldest son looked at it and smiled. It was still alive, and that meant it would taste extra fresh. He poked at it, causing it to squirm, and as he messed with it he looked up as the elderly woman took a seat. Grandmama Frump sat in her seat with a grunt and instead of tucking into her meal, she sighed heavily and looked out over the table, especially in the direction of Harry.
"So, we got things we need to tell ya, Harry," Grandmama started, "but how to start? Gomez, Morticia? You want to take the lead on this?"
"I shall, Grandmama," Morticia stated, turning herself to face her oldest son, "Harry, Beloved, your father and I have spoken to you at length about how you are an adopted son of this family, correct?"
Harry nods, unsure of where this conversation is going.
"Yes, we have spoken with you about your adoption into our family and we love you no less than we do your sister or brother," Morticia said, "that said, you were brought to us after you were orphaned. You know this because this, too, we discussed at length. Your scar, though, is not something we spoke of."
Morticia turns to Gomez with a sad smile. Gomez takes one of her hands in his own, and squeezes. From here, he is the one to drive the conversation.
"Your mother and father, the people who sired you Harry, were good people, fine people," Gomez said, "they were murdered, which is why you are here with us."
"I understand, father," Harry said, "but what does this have to do with my scar?"
"Your scar is the artifact of the night your parents were murdered," Gomez said, "and a reminder of the foul beast that tried to kill you. That man's name was Thomas Marvolo Riddle, but he is more widely known as Voldemort. He killed your father and mother, then tried to kill you. If that doesn't prove you are an Addams, I don't know what does!"
"So, I got my scar when he tried to kill me?"
Gomez nodded but it was Moriticia who continued, "he tried to curse you with the most lethal curse known to the witching kind: Adava Kedavra or the Killing Curse. It is- unknown why that curse was so effective in murdering your mother and father but not you, but your scar is proof that you survived that awful night."
Grandmama Frump spoke up shortly after, "the surname on the letter you received this morning, which Fester attempted to destroy, is your true family name, Potter. Your father was James Potter, a pure blood wizard of Britain; your mother was Lily Potter, née Evans, who was born to mundane parents. It ain't known why Tommy Boy went after your folks, nor is it known what motivated 'Lord' Moldy-mort to go after ya, but his well laid plans got laid well to waste. You're here in our home so you could grow up strong and fierce so if you face that charlatan of a fascist, you'll come out on top."
"It's more of a matter of 'when' not 'if,'" groused Uncle Fester, "the Dark Lord is powerful. I highly doubt a wizard of his prowess can die."
"Be that as it may," Morticia stated, "Harry has all the tools he needs to fend against that feind. And once he's well versed in magic, he should be equal to him, if not superior."
"Thanks, mother," Harry said, "can I still call you mother?"
"Of course you can, Harry dear," Morticia said, "that letter has waited eleven years to be delivered and even though you are so much closer to Ilvermony than Hogwarts, and though Hogwarts is your true home, that doesn't mean that you're not welcome here. Even in spite of the truth of the matter, you'll always be an Addams here."
"Mother," Wednesday spoke as the topic seemed to wind down, "what of me? I know that Ilvermony is an excellent magic school, but I worry for my brother."
"Why aren't you worried for me?" Puglsey asked.
"Because, Pugsley, short of having an acute, radical lobotomy done to you, you shall survive what slings and arrows life will throw your way," Wednesday said, "Harry, on the other hand, is a marked man. And who knows what those British witches will try to ensnare or bewitch him with?"
"Wednesday, darling," Gomez interrupted, "your zealous guardianship over your brother is admirable. I can understand why you're concerned. While I would prefer you on your home continent, a little adventure in a foreign country might not be so bad."
"We will need to make a sizable contribution to the Ilvermorny Scholarship Fund, mon amor."
The next three minutes make the children, and Uncle Fester, uncomfortable as Gomez and Moriticia flirt endlessly with each other. It took a smart rap on the table by Grandmama Frump to get the pair some breathing room.
"Where was I?" Gomez asked, then, "Ah, yes! We will need to send an owl to Professor Dumbledore to arrange for the both of you to attend. And I think we can make a Floo call to the headmistress of Ilvermorny regarding your transfer, Wednesday darling."
"Do remember that you will not be able to pack any daggers, dirks, knives, or swords for school," Morticia added sternly, "I'm certain that the school has plenty of utility knives for schoolwork but everything else would be a weapon; they will likely get confiscated if you have them on your person or in your baggage."
"Yes, Mother," Wednesday said.
The course of the following week was a bit more mundane than Wednesday, or Harry, would have preferred, yet it allowed them time to pack. Harry had considered getting a new trunk, but Morticia informed him that would be unnecessary. Instead he followed her to the attic where there was a huge wardrobe, dozens of trunks, and finally upon finding the right one she opened it. Harry watched as she climbed into the trunk, motioned for him to follow, and together they climbed down an impossibly long ladder. At the bottom of the ladder was what looked like a complete apartment. It was dated, much of the collectables ranging from the thirties and forties. Harry looked around a bit before Morticia rapped her knuckles on a small part of the wall.
The wall seemed to separate for a moment, forming a door, and the smell of rot and death leaked out from it.
"Uncle Knick Knack, would you mind if Harry used your traveling steamer for school?"
There was a short moan, and slowly, a decaying body walked out from the doorway that had formed in the wall. He, Harry was sure it was a he, had been dressed in a pinstripe suit, beside him was a violin case, his tie was actually a noose, and his rotting face turned toward the boy that lived. Harry saw a small smile form on the corpse's face.
"Of course," a raspy, rattling, and dry voice replied, "Although, I would like to travel with him."
Morticia studied him for a moment, "What are you planning on doing?"
The corpse shrugged, "Nothing, but I've been stuck in this attic since that lovely fellow in Chicago. It would be nice to have a little change."
Harry listened, and studied Uncle Knick Knack a bit more. He could see a few things he didn't notice the first time. Bullet holes riddled his midsection, a ticket for a theater that most likely had long since shut down was sticking out of his pocket. He would have studied longer but Morticia shook her head, "Uncle Knick Knack, Harry is going to Britain, and as you know, the magical community over there has a certain… distrust toward anyone who has been involved in both mundane and magical crimes."
The corpse sighed, "Very well," he stretched, "Take good care of my trunk. Oh, if you happen to see Alphonse let him know that I thought he did pretty well for a mundane in the magical world."
With that Uncle Knick Knack walked toward the ladder and crawled up it.
"Mother, is it right for us to take his trunk?"
She smiled, "Harry, my son, he has twelve, and honestly, in one of them is that nice Union man Mr. Hoffa. I'm sure he'll be fine."
Morticia began stripping the bed, checked the cupboards, found them mostly bare, and began the long process of taking down the inventory of what Harry would need at Hogwarts. Of course it was likely he would use the dorm, which only made sense, she did want him to have a piece of home with him. She was certain that Grandmama would want to prepare some canned meals along with some homemade desserts, perfectly preserved with a preservation spell. She took the time to study the kitchen. Granted, Uncle Knick Knack didn't need to eat, but he had let his kitchen go to waste. She took note that the stove would need to be repaired, something she was certain that Lurch could, and would, do.
The closet itself was filled with Uncle Knick Knack's summer and winter wardrobe. It would be necessary to move all of them to another of his trunks. As she checked the closet Harry himself checked the dresser. He opened the top drawer and found not clothes, but a small collection of dolls. He pulled one out, and took a good look at it. It was dressed in a suit, a small hat adorned its head, and he noticed that there seemed to be real hair woven into it.
"Ah, Uncle Knick Knack's Voodoo dolls. I'm afraid there most likely won't be a class over Voodoo at Hogwarts. Which is a shame really. There are so many applications on it. If you would like I can ask Uncle Knick Knack if he minds to leave these here for you. It could be an interesting extra bit of study."
Harry gave it some thought. While it was drilled into his head to take any and all advantages he could get his hands on, the idea of using voodoo when it wasn't being taught didn't excite him enough to want to utilize the craft. Also, he was certain that other members of the Addams Family would know when or if he used such magic. Having briefly encountered them, he was of the mind that a second encounter would be no less pleasant than the first.
"I think it might be better that Uncle Knick Knack keep those," Harry said, "I would rather not garner any undue attention if I'm already a child prodigy or celebrity infantile in the part of the world I'm going to. Who knows what the British think of voodoo, either?"
"Very well," Morticia said, "those can be moved to another of his trunks. It would allow you to hold more underwear and socks…"
Harry stifled a groan at the mention of underwear (and a recurring jest that Uncle Fester used with antediluvian Latin,) and instead began to inspect the local lavatory. This, thankfully, was in much finer condition that the rest of the trunk, albeit, that wasn't saying much. The seat to the toilet was cracked, the mirror above the sink was grimy and stained, mold permeated the shower curtain to the point where the original material's color was difficult to discern, and the tile was scuffed up, it was hard to tell the difference between the ceramic pieces and the grout. A thorough scrubbing of the place was in order. Harry was certain he could convince Puglsey to help him with the- proper incentive.
Moritica, meanwhile, was busy sorting out the cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink. The less said about that, the better. You would honestly think that a Lich would keep his house in order and more than a little tidy if he was taking contracts with the Mob! And yet, Uncle Knick Knack had a horrendous mold problem under the sink, likely from the amount of blood and viscera that he never properly scrubbed out after every hit. She and Thing would need to take to this place with bleach and a pressure washer. Maybe Grandmama would know a spell or three that would clean out all the entrails. Household incantations were never Morticia's forté.
With the inventory complete and a to-do list nearly a football stadium long, Morticia and Harry left the trunk. Lurch was waiting for them as they returned, accompanied by Thing. Lurch took the bundles of clothes that Morticia had taken from the wardrobe and the closet, then gave Thing instructions about the plumbing in the kitchen. Lurch set the clothes aside in another trunk (Harry noted that this trunk had the initials KKA emblazoned on a brass plaque,) then the laconic humanoid went downstairs to fetch a toolbox and duct tape to assist Thing with the trunk's aging plumbing system.
Over the course of the next several days Harry found himself seeing a transformation happening inside of the trunk. The color scheme was left to resemble the home he grew up in, but it became clean, almost new, and only a few small reminders were left to show that it had belonged to Uncle Knick Knack.
As his own trunk came together Wednesday was looking inside of the trunk she was being offered. The walls were covered with schematics of structural weaknesses of various types of buildings, reams of dynamite were stacked neatly in small cubbies, various devices of torture were hung caringly on the wall, and several swords were lined on a sharpening bench.
"Uncle Fester, are you sure you don't mind me using your trunk?"
The elder Addams Brother laughed, "Of course not, although we might have to remove some of this. I doubt that Hogwarts would really allow outside methods of torture on their grounds. Shame too, the bear trap is especially effective at getting answers."
Gathering the tools he had used at various times in his life Fester stopped and looked over the trunk. It had been home for a while, and in truth he had wished multiple times he had taken it with him to the Bermuda Triangle. As it was things still worked out for the best.
He glanced at his niece and hoped that the trunk would work well for her. Of course he planned on leaving his alchemist handbook. If nothing else it would give her hours of enjoyment. As they finished he sent her to go gather what she planned on taking to school. Climbing out of the trunk he saw Morticia.
"Fester, it is wonderful that you are allowing Wednesday to use your trunk."
He smiled, "It needs to be used, and besides, maybe she will brew up something more powerful than some old dynamite."
As the days went by both trunks were as ready as the children taking them. Lurch lifted the luggage, easily hefting them together, and carried both down.
"Now, who's up for a ride?" Gomez asked.
Heading down to the Rolls Royce Phantom II the entire family managed to squeeze inside as Lurch strapped the luggage into the top of the car.
"Mmmm not a good sign, this," Grandmama said as she looked at the bright shining day around them.
She laughed, plucked a few seeds from her pocket, and said a soft enchantment over them. Suddenly they shot into the air, and within moments black clouds covered the sky. A massive storm began to brew, and she smiled.
"There, that is much better."