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Summary
A little death can change so much. Delightful, isn't it?

-3-

Chapter 1
Title: Harveste Addams and the Sorcerer's Stone
Crossover: Harry Potter and the Addams Family
Summary: A little death can change so much. Delightful, isn't it?
Warning: Addams Family Sadism and Cross-dressing
I can't believe that as I'm writing, I'm getting more reviews! I must have hit a
gothic goldmine. It's a damn wrench writing this though, as I haven't read the books
in ages. Thank the gods for online books. Though I must warn everyone, I've never
read the seventh book, never will. I am actually denying that it and the sixth book
ever existed.
Thank you to Shadow Eclipse who inspired me with the mention of Blaise. I
haven't decided who to pair him up with, though knowing his parents' penchant for
indiscriminate lust, it may well be everyone in Slytherin. To tarnished silver things,
in the pre-Hogwarts fic, Harveste was wearing his mother's lipstick when he was six
years old, so that was the unconventional bit. From then on, he's wearing dresses
and skirts. A cheongsam, incidentally, is the traditional dress worn by women in
China. And thank you thank you thank you to everyone who reviewed. Totally made
my day and inspired me like whoa! I hope you all like this next installment!
.
.

There was a large puff of smoke on Platform 9 and . It smelled like lavender with
a hint of locker room socks.
"Bless me, I haven't done that in a while."
"Cool! Let's do it again!"
"On the way back, darling. I'll let you hold the foot."
-4-

The smoke cleared. Adderworth Bulstrode blinked in disbelief.

It couldn't be. It couldn't be That Family.
But there was no way it wasn't. No one normal looked like They did.
There was a woman holding a mustachioed baby, her face shaded by a veil and
further shadowed by a black lace umbrella, standing stoically in the midst of the
motley crew that surrounded her. It included a madly-grinning man puffing on a
monster of a cigar, a giant that wouldn't have looked out of place in a morgue, a
wizened old crone that put storybook witches to shame, a muscled strawberry-blond
with what looked like a crossbow, a young woman with her face hidden behind her
fringe and Chinese fan, and a little girl with a beheaded doll.
And a hand that didn't look like it belonged to anybody. There was a hand, all by
itself, tapping its fingers idly and looking as bored as a dismembered body part
could.
There was also luggage, as if someone from That Family was going to Hogwarts.
Oh no.
"Who are they, Father?"
"Hush, Millicent!" he hissed, his mind unfurling in cold horror.
It couldn't be. Not Them.
-.-.-.--.-.-.Syrena Zabini dabbed at her eyes as she watched her son push his luggage onto
the train.
"Don't cry, Mother. It's just until the holidays."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I just" She smiled tearfully at him. "Who's going to help
me hide the bodies now?"
"Technically I shouldn't know about things like that."
"Yes, yes." Syrena sniffed, waving her handkerchief. "But I shall miss you so, my
dear. I'll have a new husband by the time you get back, don't you worry."
-5-

"An unplanned romance, I'm sure." Blaise smirked sardonically. Something made
his nose twitch and he looked around curiously. "What is that smell?"
His mother fluttered her eyelashes as she looked around. "What are you - Oh, my
gods!"
"What's the matter?" Blaise blinked as the piteous look on his mother's face was
replaced with something close to giddy awe. "Do you know those people?"
"Those are Addams!" She said breathily, yellow-tinted eyes wide. "Oh, Blaise
darling, the stories! They haven't been seen on the Isles for over a hundred and
eighty years, but I'd know them anywhere!"
"What on earth are you talking about, Mother? Who are the Addams?"
"Oh, my darling. You'll soon find out. You're so lucky!"

"Lucius Malfoy, old man!"

"What -"
Lucius Malfoy was not a man given to surprise. But when a strange man gripped
his hand with the strength of a stampeding bull, he supposed that he could be
surprised just this once.
"Gomez Addams! We met a few years ago, June I think it was, in Oregon. There
was an explosion?"
"Ah, yes." How could he forget? The carnage had been dreadful.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. The trip, the sound of happy
children and all the damnable sunlight were getting to him. "Grandmama, you've
outdone yourself. I think your Trans-Atlantic potion has got me a little woozy."
Thwack. Thwack. Thu-thunk.
"I just keep on missing, every single time. 'S enough to make me hang myself."
"Honestly, you two, I said woozy, not slow." Harry looked down at his sister. She
looked like a little Morticia, her arms crossed over her chest, mutinously glaring at
-6-

the ground. "Wednesday, are you still angry at me?"

"You're leaving." She hissed between her teeth. "And I'm going to be all alone with
no one to kill."
"You've got Pubert."
"He doesn't run fast enough."
"My vile Valkyrie," He said with a smile, picking her up so he could kiss her nose.
At nine years old, she was still petite enough to hide in the smallest of crevices, like
a trapdoor spider waiting for its unsuspecting prey. "I'll be home for the winter
solstice, and I'll help you prepare your first mass sacrifice, how's that?"
"So, your children are going to Hogwarts this year?" Lucius was saying.
"Just the one. Harveste, come say hello to Mr. Malfoy."
Harry looked up and walked over, still whispering macabre ideas into his sister's
ear. He dark eyes grew wider and wider with glee. He ended it with a little kiss on
her marble cheek before smiling his best Addams smile at the imposing blond in
front of him. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Malfoy."
The tall aristocrat inclined his head perfunctorily, then reached behind him to pull
what looked like an exact, if smaller, version of himself to the fore. "This is my son,
Draco. Slytherin, naturally. All our family has been in Slytherin."
"Is that so?" Gomez said cheerfully, his eyes sparkling. "That's where all those
Deatheaters came from, yes? I read all about it. Vicious killing machines, the lot of
them, dealing out torture after heinous torture, leaving broken bones and rotting
flesh behind on blood-soaked grassAbsolutely demented."
Harry smiled wider, hiding it behind Wednesday's braided hair. "Oh Father. Don't
tease."

Harveste looked out at the overcast sky, pine trees and fields zooming past at a
stomach-churning rate. He felt like that sky, full of a burgeoning feeling that
weighed down his heart. His mother had warned him that other people were not as
open to mindless violence as their family was, and he had to exercise special care
with his weapons so as not to hit anything crucial. Where was the fun in that?
-7-

Although Mother had mentioned weapons, but nothing about the use of poisons.
Presumably magic in the United Kingdom was advanced enough to deal with at least
that. And explosions. She hadn't said anything about explosions. A corner of his
mouth tilted upwards as he re-crossed his legs, the soft cotton of his skirt tightening
over his skin.
There was a searing tingle, and he licked his lips reflexively. Acromantula blood
and tree frog poison. He must have gotten it when he'd kissed Marie Antoinette,
Wednesday's doll, goodbye. The little minx.
He was sitting in a train compartment with four other people. There had been
other people in it before, older years from the look of them, but they had
mysteriously scampered out when he had smiled. Draco Malfoy sat opposite him,
flicking through his potions book. The other two, a Vincent Crabbe and Gregory
Goyle, hunched over their food. Harry felt a pang of homesickness. They ate like
Uncle Fester did, disgustingly and with no grasp of table manners at all.
As for the last one
"So, you're an Addams."
Blaise Zabini peered at the young lady beside him. A closed silk-lined fan was
tapping a slow rhythm on her blood-red lips, her enigmatic eyes strangely
shadowed. She was a little darker than the rest of her family, but not quite tanned.
Blaise remembered just how pale the tall vampiric-looking woman had been, not just
pasty but literally chalk-white. Anyone would have looked tanned next to her.
"I am."
The curl of her lips was inscrutable, bordering on necromantic. A shiver of fear
slid down his spine, and he cleared his throat self-consciously. That was no way for a
Zabini to act.
"My mother waspleased to see your family, but I've never heard of any Addams.
You don't sound like you're from here. Are you purebloods?"
"We live in America." She smiled again. "And we practice Dark magic too, if that's
what you mean. But mostly we use the old magic."
"What do you mean by old?" This was Draco now, grey eyes shifting like
quicksilver under the light. "The old spells?"
-8-

"Yes." She turned the same smile on the blond who, to his credit, did not shrink
back, though Blaise noticed how his hands tightened on his book. "And the magic
before the division of the Arthurian Wars."
"Oh." Blaise watched the blond's eyes flicker down briefly before glancing
upwards again. "Merlin was responsible for the distinction between Light and Dark,
wasn't he? Well, and the Lady le Fay."
"That's true. I'm talking about base magic, the type used before their time. Blood
magic." Her smile didn't waver an inch, though it did grow more gruesome. "It
wiped out the dinosaurs, you know, and started the Black Plague."
Blaise couldn't believe his ears as she kept on talking, her words capturing a
horrified yet fascinated Draco. It wasit was the same type of magic his mother
practiced, and some of the older families as well, but they didn't talk about it. She
was talking about Blood magic, something darker than Dark, tinged with shame and
guilt and horrible consequences. Syrena Zabini did it out of necessity, or so she had
reassured him after every funeral; it was the only way she could survive as a Black
Widow. But to mention it so nonchalantly, as if the world didn't look down on it, and
to speak of it with such relish
Harveste Addams took creepy to a whole other level.

Harveste Addams was an enigma, Draco decided as he looked at the dark head a
few paces away from him.
His father had taken him aside when the eccentric family had moved on. He had
noticed the luggage following obediently behind them, like a pack of the queerest
dogs he had ever seen, but he hadn't mentioned anything just in case it was a spell
he hadn't studied yet.
"Draco," His father had said, his voice low and his eyes haunted. "Draco, you must
make friends with this Addams girl, no matter what happens, no matter what house
she is sorted into, do you understand?"
"Even if she gets into Gryffindor?" The taste of the accursed word had been heavy
on his tongue.
His father had laughed, if a strangled bark could be called a laugh. "There is no
way in the nine hells that that girl will be placed in Gryffindor. Dumbledore may be a
-9-

lot of things, but he would be absolutely deranged if he even considered it. You must
make friends with her, promise me that, Draco. And stay close to her."
"Why, Father?"
"Just trust me."
Trustme. His father had never said that before. Even his mother had looked afraid,
and he knew that she had been fearless enough to not take the Dark Mark, not even
when the Dark Lord had been at full power.
And then there had been that talk on the train about Blood magic. Her green eyes
had been alight, as if she had been talking about her favorite subject and not the
most gruesome and forbidden branch of the magic arts.
"Addams, Harveste!"
There was a whisper, growing louder with every step as she sort of drifted
towards the front of the Great Hall. He had noticed that about her, the way she
moved like fog, like her feet weren't even touching the ground. It was probably the
dress.
The whispering came from the teacher's table as well, surprisingly from one
dark-haired, hook-nosed professor who was also his godfather. Draco wondered
what he was so agitated about.
"An Addams, in this school? Dumbledore, are you mad?"
She wasn't that bad.
Or maybe she was, because when she reached the podium where the Sorting Hat
was, all she did was stroke a finger over the brim and it began to SCREAM.
It was the sort of scream that no mortal could make, but banshees could come
close if they had their wings ripped off first. It reached the rafters, high and tortured
and sofull of heart-wrenching pain, and it just went on and on and on until Harveste
decided to lift her hand. She smiled.
"S-Slytherin," The Hat panted in a strangled and shaking voice as it shrank away
from her. "Slytherin."

- 10 -

The Parkinsons had been the queens of Slytherin ever since Hogwarts had started.
Her ancestor, Virelle Parkinson, had been the first and the best. Pansy had heard
that she had been worse than Grindelwald and more blood-thirsty than the Dark
Lord. She had been looking forward to her chance for years, ever since her mother
had told her. There was no way she was going to dishonor the Parkinson blood by
allowing some American upstart to take her place.
Pansy glared at the new girl who was lounging on one of the couches in the
common room. There was a space around her and the couch was otherwise
unoccupied, though the rest of the other chairs were filled, as if people didn't want
to go near her. It was as if they were frightened.
A bunch of idiots, she thought to herself. Just because the Sorting Hat had to be
taken away for a few minutes before the Sorting was continued. Well, she wasn't
scared.
"I'm going to talk to her."
"You don't want to do that, Pansy." Millicent, her childhood friend, hissed. "My
dad told me about them-"
"Don't be stupid. She can't be worse than anyone else in this room."
She ignored the collective gasp as she marched up to the girl and sat down next to
her. She extended her hand, though the look in her eyes was sharp. "I'm Pansy
Parkinson."
From under the dark fringe, emeralds glinted with something, and then a smile
was tilted at her. "Harveste Addams, nice to meet you."
Her touch was freezing, as if she had never felt the sun. Her skin also felt slightly
scaly. It was all Pansy could do not to recoil.
Benjamin Urquhart broke the silence with a cough. "Bed everyone. Your classes
start tomorrow."
"Indeed." The girl smiled again, and Pansy felt her heart thudding away a mile a
minute. "Well then. Miss Parkinson."
She uncoiled from the seat, like a cobra from the grass, and started for the boys'
dormitory. Pansy resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her skirt. Millicent patted
her shoulder, the look on her face saying 'I told you so'.
- 11 -

"Where are you going, Miss Addams? The girls' rooms are on the other side."
Her laugh was like the peal of a church bell at midnight, the sort that was only
used during funerals or times of imminent disaster. Everyone shuddered.

First class was Potions with the Gryffindors.

There was another circle around her - him. The rest of the class stuck to the
shadows, five people to a table, though there was only enough space on each bench
for three. It was probably the first time Slytherins had shown such open trepidation.
Severus Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. Typical.
Even his traditional start of the year speech lacked its fire. The Gryffindors didn't
even look intimidated. They were all, down to the very last one, looking at the
demurely smiling brunette dressed in impeccable green and silver. He was wearing
the girl's uniform, naturally. Even Dumbledore hadn't said anything, but his usual
sparkle had noticeably dimmed at breakfast.
This would not do.
"Mister Addams, our newestcelebrity," he sneered, ignoring the start most of
the Lions made. "Mister Addams, what would I get if I added powdered root of
asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
"So many things, Professor, depending on the other ingredients and
circumstances in which the potion is brewed. With Demiguise hair, you could
achieve invisibility at the cost of your own soul. When stirred under the half moon
with a pinch of graveyard dirt, you get a potion that could turn anything inside out.
With silver and a mermaid's heart, an offering that would raise the Kraken from the
depths of the sea." The green eyes looked up at his stoic expression before curving
upwards happily. "But I suppose you're talking about the Draught of Living Death,
the most common application of those two ingredients."
"Where would I find a bezoar?" He managed to not-croak. His mind was in a whirl.
That knowledge about the Kraken had been banned from everything except the
books of Darkest Art.
"Stomachs of nearly any living thing in the world. My grandmother has one from
the fourteenth century, taken from the stomach of a girl who wouldn't stop eating
her hair. It was such a pity when she didn't survive the operation."
- 12 -

There were sounds of retching.

"Monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"Aconite, also known as Devil's Helmet. I'm partial to aconitumcarmichaelii
myself. Which species do you use, sir?"
"Aconitumlycoctonum." He said blankly, still stunned. He shook his head free with
a growl and turned a ferocious glare onto the other students who were staring at
them. "Well? What are you waiting for? Write this down!"
Half an hour into the class, Snape had completely forgotten about the perplexing
Addams. He shouldn't have.
"Idiot boy!" he hissed at Neville Longbottom, who was sporting a skin covered
with pus-filled boils. "Porcupine quills after you take the potion off the fire! You are
a catastrophe in the making, the worst thing to ever touch a cauldron!"
Harry smiled down into his potion, the expression hidden by the thick steam.
Pugsley wasn't the only one who liked explosions.

People were still talking about it. Harry tilted his umbrella forward to hide his
smile.
He wasn't as sensitive as his mother was to sunlight, but too much of it was just
plain irritating. He had thought that the weather in this part of the world would be
delightfully dreary and overcast all the time. How wrong he was.
"Hold your hands out over the broomsticks and say 'Up!'" A yellow-eyed woman
said. Madame Hooch, he thought her name was. Her eyes were beautiful, like a
deadly raptor before leaping on its prey.
"Up." He said, dutifully, along with the rest of them.
His broom stayed on the ground. He looked down at it and snapped his fingers. It
leapt into his hand, faintly quivering.
He sat primly on the handle, sidesaddle as his grandmother had taught him. It was
only proper.

- 13 -

A whoosh made him look up. Neville Longbottom, the glorious potion disaster, was
rising in the air, his face as pale as a new corpse. His fall was inevitable,
accompanied by the hard crack of bone. A broken wrist, how fortunate.
"Everyone on the ground," Madame Hooch said, rolling her lovely eyes. "If I catch
anyone in the air, you'll be in detention faster than you can say Quidditch. Come
along, Longbottom, it's the infirmary for you."
"Did you see his face, the great lump?"
Draco was a little bully. He could see a young Pugsley in him. He was missing his
family more and more every day.
"That's Neville's, give it back!"
That was Ronald Bilius Weasley, with his family's red, red hair. It looked like spilt
blood in the sun and Harry felt another pang of homesickness. His hand itched for
the ridged handle of knives or the sleek smoothness of his senbon. He hadn't held a
weapon in so long. It was driving him mad.
He watched with interested eyes as the two brooms soared into the air. They
zoomed backwards and forwards, taunts flying faster than the brooms.
"Catch it if you can then!"
"Draco."
Draco Malfoy nearly felt his heart stop when he looked around into blithe green
eyes. He hadn't even heard the effeminate boy rise up behind him. The Remembrall
fell from his nerveless fingers.
Harry caught it without a thought, his skirt rippling in the wind like strands of
darkness in the blue sky. He was still holding his umbrella in one hand, and how he
stayed on the broom was an absolute mystery.
"Give it back, Addams." The redhead said, his usually boisterous voice subdued
now. Everyone in school knew about Harveste.
"Certainly Ronald."
The sound of his name on those stained lips was like sensual satin over thorns.
Weasley caught the Remembrall and managed not to drop it.
- 14 -

Harry looked at the blond, who was staring wide-eyed at him, and he couldn't
resist. He leaned over and purred. "Come now, Draco, you naughty thing. You don't
want to be punished, do you?"

A bit late for that though. Madame Hooch had given all three of them detention
with Filch. Then she had gone and told Professor Snape that he was an exceptional
flyer, worthy of being Seeker. How droll.
Harry walked back to the dungeons, alone. Apparently, the eternal enmity of the
Weasleys and Malfoys was reduced to nothing against the apprehension an Addams
could induce.
It was probably why he'd been pushed into this room.
Harry looked around in the gloom. He could smell dog spit. And he could hear
snarling.
He took a candle from his pocket and caressed the wick. It flared.
He laughed.
The next day, Draco Malfoy was wallowing in guilt, certain he would be in
Azkaban by nightfall. He didn't know what had come over him. He had just felt so
ashamed that he'd been beaten, and disgusted at the fact that he had to serve
detention next to a Weasley, of all people. And the Addams boy had just smiled and
scrubbed and looked completely at ease among the grime and dust of the dungeons.
It was all just so damn annoying and he had to do something about it.
His godfather cared deeply for him, despite the fact that he was a completely
sadistic Professor, and had wanted him to understand just why they weren't allowed
there. Addams was probably long gone by now, ripped into a thousand pieces by the
three-headed dog that Snape had shown him during his first night. He had done it
impulsively, in the heat of the moment, and now he was going to be in so much
trouble. If only the dark-haired boy wasn't dead, if only he had gotten out before the
dog had smelled him - Draco would never do anything impulsive again A frigid fingertip slid over the nape of his neck, making him start. And his heart
nearly stopped again when Harry sat next to him, as cheerful as ever.
"Thank you for the present, Draco. How did you know I liked dogs?"
- 15 -

"Hey, Addams!"
Harry looked around questioningly. His fan flapped open, hiding his mouth from
the approaching boy. He mentally flipped through all the names he had memorized.
"Yes, Terence?"
Terence Higgs looked down at the slim figure and paused. Even the older students
were reluctant at the thought of talking to an Addams, and yet here he was, in front
of the creepiest person that ever walked the halls of Hogwarts, about to say
something that might just piss him off.
"I-I heard that Professor Snape was thinking of making you Seeker for the
Slytherin team."
"Yes?"
Gods, this was hard. "UmI don't know if you know, but"
"You're our current Seeker, isn't that right?"
"Um"
Harry nearly laughed, but stopped himself. The boy looked like a mass of nerves
already. "Don't worry, Terence. I won't be on the team this year."
"W-What?" Terence blinked in surprise. It was like he was a mind reader or
something. "But Madame Hooch said you were good at flying! You were a natural,
she said!"
"So? Don't worry." Harry repeated, emerald gaze gleaming in the sunset. "There
are other ways of flying."
"Erer, ok then. Thanks."
Harry watched benevolently as the student left. Then he licked his lips free of
blood, folded his fan, and continued on to the Great Hall.

Blood dripped down from the severed head, oozing thickly between his fingers
before splashing into the cauldron. The dark liquid already there moved in unnatural
ways, bubbling like hot tar even though there was no fire under it. It smelled like
- 16 -

floor polish, coffee and fresh vomit.

He tipped in a little spider venom and stirred the whole thing with the dead
lizard's claw. He had killed it two hours before, but that was probably alright.
A ghastly face appeared on the surface of the potion, the stuff of nightmares,
looking like it had been dredged from the depths of hell.
"Grandmama, how lovely to see you."
"Morticia! Gomez! It's Harry!"
More faces appeared, and he smiled down at them. "Happy Halloween. I've missed
you all."
"Unhappy, darling?"
"Deathly so, Mother."
"I'm so proud."
"How are your grades, eh?" His father said jovially. "Worse than Armageddon, I
hope?"
"I'm at the top of my class in Potions and Transfiguration and Defense."
"That's my boy!" Granny Frump cackled.
"I got your present, Harry!" Wednesday's face glowed like a werewolf's moon as
she raised the caged tarantula for him to see. "I love it!"
The potion flickered, and Pugsley's face appeared, tinged corpse-grey by the use
of another potion. He was in Salem now, but he looked no worse for the wear. "Hey,
Harry. Hey, all."
"Pugsley! I heard you blew up your fencing teacher!"
His older brother scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. "It was
nothing."
"My son, the Fusillade Murderer. I love it! And you, my viper? Killed anyone
lately?"
- 17 -

"Haven't had the chance, Father." He looked trite. "I haven't even had the chance
for senbon practice. I'm getting rusty."
"Does that mean I get to cut off your head when you come back?" Wednesday
perked up. "I've re-designed the guillotine."
"You may well try."
Harveste raised his head suddenly, his nostrils twitching at the over-powering
smell of bad eggs that had made its way into the room. The soles of his bare feet
could feel the reverberations in the stones and excitement suddenly welled up in
him. There was only one thing that could smell like that.
"I'm afraid I must cut this short. There seems to be a troll in the castle."
"Trolls? They're much more advanced than I thought."
"That's no fair." Pugsley muttered. "We don't have trolls in Salem."
"Have fun, my viper." Morticia smiled proudly at him from the depths of the
cauldron. "Remember to aim for the 'takgonha'."
"Tish, that's troll language!"

Harry ran through the dark halls, his heart drumming in his ears.
A troll! He'd never killed a troll before!
He ducked behind statues to avoid the stampeding students and prefects, weaving
in and out of the shadows, leaving the torchlight flickering in his wake. His blood,
sluggish from the long period of inactivity, was suddenly coursing through his veins
like fire. He could taste it in his mouth and it inflamed him even more.
Finally! It had been so long!
His eyes gleamed an unearthly hue as he hid in the nearest doorway, his feet still
bare so he could feel how far his prey was. His hair was pinned up, but the fringe
hung low over his eyes, shadowing his face,
"Addams?"
- 18 -

He wisely kept the senbon hidden in his hand as he whirled around. The girl
shrank back, her tear-stained face now cast with terror.
"Hermione? What are you doing here?"
"I-I-I-I-"
"Shh." He slid next to her and she fainted dead away. He rolled his eyes. Honestly.
The troll burst in, knocking the door of his hinges, and he forgot about her. He
could feel the urge to laugh clawing against his chest and his mind was suddenly
filled with dark gleeful promises. It was an addictive, familiar chant, pushing him
closer and closer into the abyss from whence the first Addams had emerged. He'd
heard it in his soul when he had first felt blood spill on his skin and every dark night
since, in the silence of his dreams, in his mother's voice, in his father's laugh.
The troll's movements were ponderous, like every step, every swing was fighting
against gravity. The senbon barely scratched its cement-like skin, and he swallowed
the crow of delight at the delicious challenge that was before him. This was what he
was made for, what he was, what all his Family was. And it was the dark of the
moon.
Things couldn't get any better.

Blaise looked at Harveste from the corner of his eye.

They were well into the second semester and he still hadn't revised his opinion of
the brunette. Harveste Addams was still creepy. Even Professor Snape was scared of
him. Ever since that first day in Potions, the teacher had barely said two words to
his most enigmatic student, no matter how many explosions he caused. And he
caused a lot.
"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor!"
The whole school had learned about how Harveste had dealt with the rampaging
troll that had somehow found its way into Hogwarts. When the teachers had arrived,
there had been nothing but chunks left, strewn all over the girls' bathroom, its
stone-grey blood splashed even on the ceiling. Harveste had been spotlessly,
unnaturally clean, sitting quietly in one corner and coaxing Hermione Granger into
drinking a bit of water. Or least they hoped it was water.
- 19 -

"- back to Johnson and - no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle -"
Surely it had been water.
"- he's going to sc - no, stopped by an excellent move -"
The Granger girl had apparently been alienated by the Gryffindors, and now she
sat meekly next to the enigmatic Slytherin that everyone else was scared of, one
hand on his cloaked arm as she looked up at the Quidditch players. Perhaps he had
brainwashed her.
"- OUCH, that must have hurt, hit on the back of the head by a Bludger -"
"The lucky darling." Addams said in his smooth, pleasant tone. "That must be
exquisitely painful."
"You really are a sadist, Harry."
Harry? She could call him Harry? Without dying?
"No sign of the Snitch yet?" Draco asked, scooting closer to Blaise. His eyes were
on Harveste too, as if by examining the brunette minutely, he could solve the whole
mystery that was the young Addams.
"I suppose not."
A breeze picked up, and Draco suddenly wished he hadn't been looking at
Harveste Addams. He wished he had been born blind.
On the smooth, pale forehead, always hidden behind the long, dark fringe, there
was a scar. A scar shaped like a lightning bolt.
He looked at Blaise and knew that his friend had seen it too.
They were going to be in so much trouble.

"You are Harry Potter." Albus Dumbledore said disbelievingly. "Harry James
Potter."
The only other person in the room chuckled darkly. "In another life, Headmaster.
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My name is Harveste Addams now."

"My dear boy, thisthis is astounding! We thought you were dead!"
"Why ever would you think that?"
"We found Dursleys' bodies in the River Thames! They were brutally butchered!"
The pale cold smile barely flickered. "Indeed? Howfascinating."
"How did you end up in America? With the Addams? Why can't I find any record of
you?"
Harry laughed behind his fan. "As much as I would like to see a heart attack,
Headmaster, I must ask you to desist. I cannot answer your questions. You would
have to ask my mother."
"Butbutthere is no trace, not a single thread that links you to Harry Potter.
You were born Harveste Addams."
"Yes, I was. I am an Addams through and through."
That was that. Even Albus Dumbledore couldn't get an answer, quailed under that
smile, and had to let it go.

He was standing in a pool of blood that reached his thighs, a knife edge gleaming
under the full moon's light. His sister stood beside him, the proverbial Valkyrie, hair
flying though there was no wind, an stained axe hefted onto her shoulder. His
brother was on his other side, a smear of dark red on his cheek, teeth bared in a
wicked smile. Pubert was on a rock, toothlessly gnawing on a fiery arrow. His dear
mother, father and uncle were flying in a sky the color of a bruise, hunting, killing.
The house on 0001 Cemetery Road rose forbiddingly behind them, wreathed in
thunderstorms and lit by demonic lightning.
There was so much blood.
Harry liked this mirror. He smiled.
A crack appeared on the ornate frame.

- 21 -

Detention again. Father would have been kicked out by now, but neither he nor
Pugsley had their father's raw talent for mayhem. They could only hope that
Wednesday and Pubert had inherited the gene.
Hermione and he had bumped into the Weasley brothers as they emerged from
the Astronomy Tower. Harry had smelled the distinctive tang of dragonfire, and
hadn't cared, but McGonagall's eyes were sharper than any cat's, and since they had
been out after curfew, were sentenced to detention. Now they were in the Forbidden
Forest, a half-giant tromping on the leaf-laden ground before them.
Somebody had been killing unicorns, apparently. What a novel idea.
"I want Fang," Ron said quickly.
"I warn ye, he's a coward." Hagrid said. "Addams, Granger, you go with him. The
twins and I will go this way. If there's any trouble, send up sparks."
"Harry," Hermione whispered once they were encased in the darkness of the
forest. She was a sweet girl, not a patch on Wednesday, but she had stuck around
after the troll. It was nice having someone to talk to about classes, if not maiming
techniques, and she had been quite interested in the history of weapons. "I've never
seen your wand, you know. Do you have one?"
"Certainly, darling."
"You don't use it in class." Ronald said, listening in. They were whispering now.
The weight of the Forbidden Forest's secrets hung heavily between every branch.
"I don't have to. Addams have a talent for wandless magic. It's in the blood." He
smiled to himself at the little inside joke.
"Can I see it?"
He pulled it out of the sleeve of his coat wordlessly, his eyes on the silvery blood
that glimmered enticingly on the ground very few feet. It was hauntingly beautiful.
He was sure Wednesday would love it. Then he remembered something. "Don't
touch the tip."
The girl paused from her intense scrutiny. "Why not?"
"It's poisoned."
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Weasley would have said something if the bushes hadn't rustled then. His mouth
closed with a snap.
Harry stepped forward, interested.
"Harry!"
There was a cloaked figure on the ground, kneeling next to the dead unicorn. It
was hooded, cloaked to its very fingertips, and bent over the neck of the animal. It
looked like it was drinking its blood. Or was anyway. At the sound of Herimone's
voice, it looked up. There was nothing to see in the folds of the cowl other than
shadows upon shadows. It was a interesting trick that he would have to learn
sometime. The creature stood up fluidly and began to slither towards them.
Senbon peppered the ground before it and Harry's razor-edged fan scythed at
where its neck should have been. It darted backwards, faster even than his father.
"Shoo."
It disappeared, flitting away like a ghost.
"Harry, what- what-"
"I don't know." Harry purred at the challenge in the air. "Hermione, take Fang and
find Hagrid. Ronald, go with her. I'll wait here."
"A-are you sure?"
Sweet girl. He could taste her fear, and still she was protective. "Yes. Go on."
He waited until they had gone, then approached the tragically magnificent dead
form. It glowed even more than its blood did, a stark shining star against the overall
midnight that surrounded it. He reached out to caress its blood-soaked flank.
"I would not do that, Harry Potter."
The centaur caught the fan inches away from its bare torso and saw the look in his
eyes. "Harveste Addams," it amended.
"Thank you, centaur." Harry sat back on his heels, his palm on the gleaming horn.
It was delightfully sharp, enough to cut into his skin.
- 23 -

"It is true, the stories about you. The stars do not lie."
"They rarely do." The wound, a simple gash over his fingers, wasn't too deep. It
would heal in time. He licked up the last trickle, relishing the full, metallic taste, and
reached out again.
"Do not, Harveste Addams. Those who taste the blood of a unicorn are doomed to
half a life. The man you saw is cursed forever, never to truly be part of the world."
"Really." The silvery blood really was beautiful. It glimmered over his skin like
diamonds on a lake. He would have to take some home. "Why should he have all the
fun then?"

"It was you in the forest that night." Harry said. It wasn't a question.
Professor Quirrell glared haughtily at him, his trademark stutter gone without a
trace. "Yes."
'Yesss.'
They were probably miles under the school. Quirrell had invited him into his office
to discuss his exam, and he had followed. One step through a doorway and he was
once more face-to-face with the three-headed dog. It had shied away from him. Then
there had been other obstacles, all of them trivial, almost playful. The last one was
fun though. He hadn't had Acromantula blood in a while. Quirrell had screamed at
him for taking the wrong bottle, but it had tasted quite nice actually, with a faint
hint of peppermint. Snape really was a genius.
He had followed because it was interesting, and he hadn't cut off the turbaned
head because the puzzles were entertaining, but really, everything had its limits.
"What do you want with me?"
"You are Harry Potter."
'Harry Potter.' The mysterious voice wound through the air. It was impressive
the way it could actually hiss a name that didn't have anything to hiss.
"You people have an unhealthy fascination with that name. I haven't been Harry
Potter in six years, and I'll thank you to call me by my real name."
- 24 -

Quirrell blinked, obviously wondering why he wasn't a quivering mass of

frightened little boy. Harry rolled his eyes.
"Listen, Professor, tell me what you want so you can be done with it. The moon is
dark tonight, and I haven't even begun to clean my tools."
"L-look in the mirror and tell me what you see."
Harry turned obediently, his mind already on the sacrifice he would be offering
tonight. He hoped to find something a little bigger than lizards, but the denizens of
Forbidden Forest were growing quite scarce. He wondered whether the centaur had
anything to do with it.
"Tell me what you see, Addams!"
"Blood." He said noncommittally. "I always see blood. Oh, and a cup of tea. I
haven't had tea in a long time."
"What? But the stone! Where is the stone!"
"What are you talking about?" Silly man, Harry thought, starting to scowl for the
first time in a year.
'Let me ssspeak to him.'
"Master, you don't have the strength!"
'I have ssstrength enough for thisss.'
Harry's lips pursed. 'Does he have a snake under that turban?'
It wasn't a snake. It was worse; a noseless face stuck to the back of Quirrell's
hairless head, its florid bloodshot eyes gleaming out of a horrifically ashen
complexion.
"You don't use baking powder, do you? My mother swears by it."
'What? Do not play gamesss with me, boy! I am Lord Voldemort!'
"Oh." Harry blinked. He'd seen scarier things in his bedroom closet. But then
again, that was a whole other kettle of wriggly things.
- 25 -

'Yesss!' The head said, mistaking his silence for fear. The line of the Addams had
truly been gone for too long. 'Now tell me, where-is-the-ssstone?'
"I am growing exceedingly tired of this game. What damn stone?"
'The Sssorcerer'sss Ssstone, Potter! The magic that will bring me back to
life!'
He had sharpened his wand. It slid through flesh like a hot knife through butter.
Then the poison started to work. Quirrell didn't even have time to gasp.
The shocked ruby eyes were wide, and this close its dark irises were flecked with
gold. Harry smiled into them, the barest hint of fang among the pearly whites. "I did
warn you."

And now it was the last day of school.

Slytherin had won the House Cup, through no fault of his own, and now his
housemates were celebrating. They had better sense to disturb him though, and
around his chosen couch, there was a little bubble of respectful silence.
He had invited Hermione too. Benjamin Urquhart had tried to explain that
Slytherins did not invite Gryffindors into their common room, but a smile had him
stuttering to a halt. Now his frizzy-haired friend sat next to him, a senbon shining in
her fingers.
"I can keep it? You're serious?"
"Of course. I have more." He slanted his smile at her. "Perhaps next year, I can
teach you how to use it, hmm?"
"I would like that." She looked up at him shyly. "I've never had a friend like you
before. I'll miss you over the summer."
"Really?"
"Really?"
Harry turned his head at the echo, catching both Draco and Blaise in his sights.
He chuckled. "Is the fact that I might have made a friend so inconceivable to you?"
- 26 -

"Um"
"We'll miss you too, is all." Blaise said hurriedly, elbowing his blond friend in the
gut. "Isn't that right, Draco?"
Draco's face took on the look of someone who'd just swallowed a pickled frog.
"Eh?"
"Is that so?" Harry said teasingly, fighting to urge to laugh yet again. "Then the
three of you wouldn't mind visiting me over the summer."
"What?"
"WHAT?"
"I'd love to, Harry!"

.
.

*Dies* Ohmigosh, I can't believe I wrote all of that. Ten hours! Yeesh. Anyway,
thank you all so very much. I would appreciate any and all comments that you may
have. Please continue to support Harveste Addams!

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