"All right, what's our basic goal?"

That question asked by one of the three children in the unlit cabin save for what dim moonlight came through the uncurtained windows was promptly answered by the only male there, hunching forward in his eagerness while an actual glint of madness appeared in Pugsley Addams' eyes.

"To crush our enemies, see them driven before us, and hear the lamentations of their women!"

On the cabin floor, Hermione Granger glanced aside at Wednesday sharing their small circle of the seated trio with their knees nearly touching so that they could still see each other in the near-dark.

This other girl gave a faint shrug of her shoulders, effortlessly delivering an unspoken message of: 'Boys. What can you do?'

Turning back to Pugsley, Hermione told him kindly, "Why don't we just mark that as Plan B for now? I meant all of us want to go home as soon as possible for different reasons: you and her to stop your uncle from getting further involved with the nanny, and myself to convince Mum and Dad to let me return to Hogwarts. So, this leads to what we're here to figure out tonight."

Nodding, Wednesday explained to her confused brother, "We need a perfect excuse of some kind to get away from Camp Chippewa, Pugsley."

The portly boy brightened at finally understanding what they were talking about. Even better, he had right in his pants exactly what they needed. Pulling out from a front pocket a long wooden match of the kind used to ignite gas ovens, Pugsley adroitly used a scratch of his thumbnail to set the head of the match aflame.

He then said in his happiest tone while holding out the burning match now illuminating most of the room, "No problem! All these cabins are tinder-dry! Just let me do a last check of the wind direction, and this whole place will be turned into ashes— Hey!"

That concluding howl of protest was caused by Hermione and Wednesday hastily leaning towards in unison to do a simultaneous frantic huffing exhalation that easily blew the match out.

Darkness returned at once to the cabin they were occupying, along with Wednesday's wrathful hiss at Pugsley, "You idiot! Do you really want to tell everyone we're in here?"

The three children worriedly gazed up at the cabin windows. All of them held their breaths at the horrible prospect of being caught out of their bunks by the disturbingly-cheerful duo known as Gary and Becky Granger who governed Camp Chippewa with an exuberant ruthless zeal which would've made the brutal prison guards of any Siberian gulag dolefully admit they were complete amateurs compared to those presumed American relatives of Hermione.

Miss Granger herself still wasn't entirely sure what specific sort of family connection that young Briton had to those other two berks, but it'd resulted in her being sent by Hermione's parents to this despised overseas summer camp in the first place. Soon afterwards, Hermione fully showed her angry disdain about the whole exasperating situation right in front of Uncle Gary and Aunt Becky. That youthful defiance caused the older people to sorrowfully order a lengthy 'time-out' a few days ago for Hermione in the same cabin she and the Addamses were currently occupying tonight. Along with an additional punishment to make sure their misbehaving niece wouldn't ever do it again.

Looking across the room at the dim hulk of the tv set by the far wall, Hermione shuddered at the awful memories of her gruesome experience at being forced to watch over and over a videotape of some truly hackneyed animated children's show entitled Wildfire.

All the stupid details of that trite episode were now permanently engraved into an appalled Hermione's mind: the spunky Princess Sara in disguise brought from a magical planet to Earth by a mystic talking purple horse and their exciting adventures together. Adding even further insult to injury, Princess Sara's nemesis back at her old kingdom was an evil witch named Lady Diabolyn.

Hermione was abruptly brought out of her cringing recollections at a sympathetic pat on her knee from Wednesday who clearly knew what her new female friend was thinking.

A thankful glance was traded between the two girls, with Hermione also sending Wednesday an admiring expression for coming up with the idea for holding their discussion tonight in the discipline cabin that virtually every other camper avoided at all costs. It appeared to have worked, since there were no outdoor sounds of approaching Chippewa staffers about to find three children plotting their escape from this inhuman penal complex masquerading as an ordinary upstate New York summer camp.

Speaking of that, a reassured Pugsley now confident they could get back to their original purpose whined to his sister and Hermione, "What's so wrong with burning down this place, guys? Or anything else I suggested earlier, like setting loose the latest Black Plague outbreak here?"

Hermione and Wednesday both rolled their eyes in shared vexation.

His sister then acidly replied, "You ever heard about something called deviousness, Pugsley? Or, maybe, I don't know…not being the very first suspect questioned about smelling all over like gasoline and checking out every book from the camp library about historical epidemics?"

Seeing how sullen Pugsley looked, Wednesday still didn't let up on him when she next grumped, "Besides, did you forget the promise Mother extracted from ourselves while dropping us off here? How we pledged to leave the mundanes alone except for actual self-defense, if necessary?"

Pugsley was now genuinely pouting as he pointed an indignant finger at Hermione, "Well, what about her? She didn't swear anything! Got her own magic wand, too, ready to turn all of those jerks who look down on us into frogs or some other funny animals!"

Hermione glowered in turn at Pugsley.

She snapped, "You know very well I had all those restrictions placed on my wand when I entered the States! Every time I use it here, there's a record of this! Not to mention if I do some of the more powerful spells anyway, the local Aurors will instantly know it and show up to ask me why!"

Simmering down a bit, Hermione continued with a sigh and the beginning of an old habit of tapping her front teeth with a fingernail while thinking hard, "No, it won't work. Pugsley had a good notion in theory—" (At that point, this referred Addams looked surprised at an actual compliment coming his way, only to soon be disappointed.) "—but although Camp Chippewa somehow closing down would definitely send us and everyone else back home, what would be the whole point if we were found to be responsible for this? All that'd happen is for us to get into even more trouble and maybe sent to someplace a lot worse, if that's possible."

Wednesday and Pugsley glumly nodded at Hermione's last statement. However, their friend from England went on musing aloud in between every fingernail tap.

"Not to mention the restrictions placed on us. I can't use magic and your promise to your Mum fortunately prevents any, ah, regrettable consequences…"

Hermione trailed off into silence, her finger also stopping in the middle of one last tap. Eyeing each other in puzzlement at this abrupt quietude in the cabin, the Addams siblings next turned their attention back to where Hermione's pretty face slowly began to alter into a visage of utterly gleeful malevolence along with this Hogwarts student's every single revealed tooth showing in a smile of purest evil.

Immediately perking up at this welcome reminder of their own family's many occasions of jubilant wickedness, Pugsley and Wednesday next heard Hermione asset in a rather faraway voice, "It does solve a lot of things, doesn't it, if we turn it all around? I didn't make any promises, you know, and as long as there's no reason to suspect me in particular, my parents probably won't even ask any questions except for maybe wanting to know why it happened in the first place. Best of all, I can actually tell them the truth if it ever comes up that I had nothing to do with it in person. Because you'll be doing the spell."

Wednesday had to point out, no matter if it shot down whatever bright idea their friend had just evidently dreamed up, "Uh, Hermione…we, us Addamses that is, don't quite use the same kind of magic you do."

A happy giggle was the first response to that objection by Hermione, who then guaranteed, "Oh, that's no problem! I'll just write to them that their invention has to be something that can't be done with a wand, but I'm sure all this'll do is to make them work way harder at it before they eventually figure it out."

She beamed at the mystified pair before her, clearly about to explain further until an abrupt crestfallen look flashed across Hermione's countenance.

"Oh, dear," this young witch muttered to herself.

"What's wrong now?" Pugsley asked in concern.

Morosely shaking her head, Hermione answered to them both, "There's a potential catch, I'm sorry to say. It's likely my idea can be accomplished by them sooner or later, but the fact is it'll probably be 'later.' Perhaps even weeks or months from now, until they get a much better incentive than just doing me a friendly favor—"

"Hey, if that's all," jovially grunted an interrupting Pugsley while shifting on his large arse to reach into a back pants pocket. His hand next came out of there to reveal it was clutching in between the boy's fingers a massive folded wad of hundred-dollar bills thick enough to be used as a doorstop in a hurricane.

"Dad gave me this just in case. You think it'll be enough?"

Hermione speechlessly nodded at the sight of all that money. She unthinkingly began to reach across their circle to take the wad of cash, except her wrist was suddenly seized in an iron-hard grip by Wednesday.

Looking at the other girl in bewilderment, Hermione heard from Wednesday a cautionary, "You really want to touch that with your bare hands, considering where it's just been? Better do a serious cleaning spell with your wand first."

"Right," Hermione managed, drawing her wand and aiming it at the money still offered by Pugsley now appearing more than a tad insulted.

Two days later:

At the small shack hidden deep in the undergrowth of the furthest part of the Weasley property, a pair of heads covered with bright red hair looked up from the magical tome they'd been studying together at the impatient hoots coming from outside their shack.

An inquisitive wriggle of identical eyebrows in silent twin-speak showed neither of them had expected this, leading Fred and George Weasley to arise from the bench they'd been sharing in front of the rickety table. George was the first to exit the shack, staring upwards at the post owl circling a few yards above in the air. When Fred also came into view, the owl did a quick dive and released its carried burden, a thick envelope which dropped unerringly into George's ready hand.

With flapping wings, the owl hurriedly departed. Apparently, it knew better than to linger at a spot dotted with numerous scorch marks among the underbrush from the occasional explosions where the Weasley twins developed their magical pranks.

Ignoring that bird's sensible retreat, the two young men there contemplated their names written on the front of the envelope, obviously indicating this was meant for them both.

Giving Fred a puzzled shrug, George opened the envelope, pulling out several folded papers from inside there. They began to read the first sheet, with George soon muttering in bafflement under his breath, "Now, why would Hermione send us a letter and not Ron?"

Standing by his twin, Fred urged, "Go on to the next page, you wanker!"

"Don't rush me, mate," snorted George, who nonetheless did as he'd been told. Continuing to read, the twins eventually started to giggle together, which quickly developed into loud laughter.

"Oh, I knew there was a reason we like her!" chortled Fred, taking the last two papers while George re-read the letter.

While doing this, George heard from his brother, "You think it's doable?"

"Even for muggles, probably," absently responded George, who only now noticed a specific paragraph. "No, wait. She says these Addams people have magic, so there won't be any problem with the Statue of Secrecy. As for the concept itself…hmm…"

Hearing George already begin to work on it, Fred went back to staring at the frozen muggle photograph Hermione had also sent in the envelope.

There were some scribbled notes on the photograph's margins in a feminine hand, causing Fred to announce with some concern, "Our Ronnie-kins' little friend says there's nothing like that around here. We'll have to go all the way to London to find it. Look, there's an address, but it still sounds pretty tricky. Not to mention expensive— Gng!"

At Fred's startled grunt, George quickly looked up just in time to have a paper thrust abruptly in front of his face by the other boy. George's own jaw dropped at recognizing a bank draft from Gringotts for…five hundred galleons?!

Holding more money than their father earned in a year, Fred stared in awe at George looking back at him with equal wonder.

"You check the excuse file for the best one that'll get Mum to let us visit Diagon Alley on our own today," George ordered Fred. "We can sneak out of there into London. After that, we'll see how it goes!"

Eagerly nodding, Fred sprinted into the shack, clutching the bank draft all the way.

George beamingly regarded the letter he was still holding. He addressed this in a tender croon, "Hermy-dermy, the Weasley twins are on the case, and we're settling for nothing less than a fully satisfied customer! Just a couple dozen? Not bloody likely!"

One week afterwards:

Hermione Granger pulled along her packed rolling suitcase through the teeming airport terminal of John F. Kennedy International. Just ahead was the disguised terminal for overseas portkey travel by the magical community. In a few more minutes, she'd be at Heathrow and then take the tube home. She was already planning her campaign to get Mum and Dad to let her return to Hogwarts for the next term, until Hermione's attention was distracted by the news clip running on one of the wall television screens for muggle passengers awaiting their more prosaic jet flights.

Pausing to watch and listen to the television, Hermione saw on there a familiar scene of Camp Chippewa, along with a just as recognizable Uncle Gary being interviewed by some media reporter. However, for the first time ever, Uncle Gary's normal ebullient mood was replaced by a very haggard expression accompanied by a nervous tic on one cheek.

Around the camp, innumerable small furry beasts with flattened tails shuffled on the ground everywhere, placidly making their way to and fro without being bothered by the two humans standing among them. Drifting through the air was a very strange noise of intense crunching which sounded as if it were coming from the nearest log cabins.

"Hello, folks," announcing the reporter, looking into the camera. "We're here at Camp Chippewa where an extremely unusual event of a mass migration which has never been seen before is presently taking place."

The reporter's microphone was then pointed at Uncle Gary, who recoiled from it as if this electronic device was a deadly weapon out to end all his hopes and dream. In a way, this was quite true.

"Mr. Granger," the reporter began, "I understand the final count's been done by the Fish and Game Service. Just how many beavers are at your camp now?"

Almost as if every single word were being yanked out of his mouth with pliers, Gary Granger reluctantly admitted, "About two thousand of them."

"Two thousand beavers," marveled the reporter. "And there's still no scientific explanation for this fantastic invasion of these wood-eating rodents?"

"Not that I'm aware," hollowly replied Uncle Gary, who waited with fatalistic acceptance for the next question.

"So, until the authorities discover the reason for all these beavers overrunning your property, you can't get rid of them or do anything but send your campers home?"

"Yes."

After that defeated admission, both men's heads abruptly turned at the unexpected racket of a loud splintering sound. The news camera was then pointed at one of the cabins which began swaying on its foundations. For once, the dawdling beavers which had been surrounding this same cabin actually ran for their lives when this wooden structure on which they'd been hungrily snacking on commenced its slow-motion collapse.

Once the dust settled, it revealed a sobbing Uncle Gary.

The news clip cut back to the reporter, who announced, "Well, that's it for now, but if anything changes, we'll be back here to see Camp Chippewa's newest occupants busily…beavering away."

Grinning to herself, Hermione resumed her journey towards the magical terminal. She touched a blouse pocket which crinkled under her fingertips, indicating the terse message she'd received in her hotel room this morning from a messenger raven was still there. It read:

Hermione, we've taken care of Debbie. I'll send you a longer letter to your house giving all the details, but basically Uncle Fester and us narrowly escaped with our lives in the process. It was definitely fun for the whole family, though. Best of all, nobody's even mentioned what happened at camp to Pugsley and me.

Tell your Weasley guys they did good work, and they can keep any money left over. We might visit England soon and meet with them. Uncle Fester could use some cheering up, and from the sound of it, they'd get along pretty well. Your little argument with that stupid Dark Lord Voldemort needs a proper Addams meddling, too.

Hope to see you again!

Your friend, Wednesday

P.S.: Pugsley wants to swim with the giant squid. At least it'll make him take a bath for once.

Author's Note: This idea just popped into my head and demanded to be written as a sequel to 'Family Values Suck'.

The 80's animated children's tv show called Wildfire mentioned here is real and just as tacky as it sounds. You can watch the preview on Youtube, but don't blame me if you need brain bleach afterwards.