The Addams estate echoed with its usual symphony of chaos; somewhere deep in the manor, a boom rattled the stained-glass windows and sent a rain of soot down the chimney. In the overgrown garden, the smell of ash, old roses, and gunpowder hung heavily in the air as Gomez and Harry practiced swordplay.
"Focus, dear boy! The saber is an extension of your will!" Gomez Addams shouted, blade flashing in the midday gloom. "Remember, Harry! The blade is your mistress; she is wild, demanding, and cruel, but give her love, and she will sing for you!"
Harry stood a few paces away, legs unsteady, knuckles white around the hilt of his practice sword; sweat streaked his forehead, and his glasses kept slipping down his nose. "Right," he muttered, trying to remember what little he'd learned so far. Taking in a deep gasp against his burning lungs, he lunged forward in a desperate, awkward strike; in a heartbeat, Gomez parried, pivoted, and tapped Harry's blade aside. Another heartbeat, and Harry was flat on his back in the mud.
For the third time.
From the wrought-iron bench near the garden steps, Morticia sipped absinthe and watched with detached interest; Wednesday sat beside her, arms folded, her expression neutral.
A moment later, somewhere deep in the mansion: BOOM. Another tremor rippled through the soil, causing the stone cherub beside the garden wall to lose half its head, yet no one even flinched.
"Hopefully, this time, Fester and Pugsley remembered to remove the cats before they began playing," Morticia said calmly before taking a sip from her teacup.
"They're testing modified black powder again," Wednesday added in a monotonic voice, "The last batch vaporized the bird bath. They were thrilled..."
As Morticia smiled at the joke, Harry sat up slowly, his clothes streaked with dirt and humiliation; he didn't meet anyone's gaze as he sniffled once before wiping his nose, "I'll never be good at this," he mumbled, voice tight. "I'm not… I'm not like you."
Gomez turned, brow furrowing. "What was that?"
"I'm not like you," Harry said louder, frustration sharpening his words. "I'm not elegant, or clever, or… or brave. I can't fight; I can't even stand up straight with a sword without looking like an idiot! I'll never be good at anything!"
With a soft sob, Harry dropped the practice saber and angrily wiped away the tears welling in his eyes: "I don't know why you're even bothering with me..."
For a long moment, the garden was still; even the wind seemed to pause as Morticia glanced at Gomez, a look of dark rage passing between the two before Gomez finally exhaled through his nose, sheathed his saber with a shhht, and knelt down in the mud beside the boy—not on a knee like a knight, but on both knees, equal and direct.
"Harry," Gomez said softly as he placed both hands on the boy's shoulders and helped him kneel. "Do you know what I was like as a boy? I was shorter than you are. Clumsy. I once tripped over a candelabra and impaled myself on the dining room spire. Twice." That made Harry look up, blinking in surprise as he stared at the Addams patriarch. "I cried," Gomez continued. "I bled. I failed, again and again. My cousin Esteban beat me in every duel from age seven to thirteen; my fencing master called me 'tragically hopeful.'" Gomez grinned wistfully at the memory for a moment. "I adored him..."
Harry's brow furrowed, and his mouth worked wordlessly for a moment as his cheeks shone with tears; finally, Harry spoke in a shocked voice. "But you're… you. You're amazing!"
"I became amazing," Gomez said, voice softening. "Not because I won every battle, but because I refused to let failure define me. Because every time I fell, every time I was humiliated, I got up again. And eventually, I found that the fire in my heart burned brighter than the world's scorn…"
With an eerie smile, Gomez reached out, gently brushing the mud from Harry's sleeve, before ruffling Harry's wild mane of hair. "And you, Harry Potter, have survived more than most grown men ever will. You're kind, clever, and brave in ways you don't even yet realize. That you stand here, in this mad garden, trying at all, is your triumph."
Harry swallowed hard at that; his years of brutal conditioning at the hands of the Dursleys had all but destroyed any sense of self-worth that the boy had, and yet here in this manor of madness was a family that saw him and told him he could be more than what he was, and it was almost too much for Harry to bear…
"You don't have to be like me," Gomez said gently. "You only need to be the best version of you; that, my boy, is what makes legends."
From the bench, Morticia's voice drifted cool and smooth as ever. "And if anyone tells you otherwise, my little viper, I will feed them to our roses…"
Wednesday nodded, a look of intense fury on her face as she stared at Harry's tear-stained cheeks, "Slowly…"
Harry laughed weakly, not knowing if the women were joking or not; after three weeks, it had become the norm to assume that they were always serious when they promised bloodshed. "Thanks…"
Gomez smiled, broad and warm as he rose back to his feet, brushing the mud from his pants. "Now, shall we duel again? I promise to only disarm you twice this time."
Harry stood, brushing dirt from his own knees before gently wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. "Alright. Just… go easy on me?"
"Never!" Gomez roared in delight, drawing his blade and giving it a dramatic flourish before throwing it into the air with a spin, before catching it in his opposite hand.
Before the match could begin, a low moan rolled through the garden like thunder as Lurch stepped out into the garden and groaned: "Uuuuuuuuuhhhh…"
The butler stood at the gate, looming like a mausoleum in motion, holding a polished silver tray, atop which rested a thick parchment envelope stamped with the Ministry's seal.
Morticia rose gracefully, gently placing her teacup onto Lurch's tray. She then took the envelope, slicing it open with one perfectly manicured nail, and pulling the letter from within. She quickly read it as Gomez continued to flourish his sword. After several moments of silence, a terrifying yet beautiful smile began to spread across Morticia's face as she finished and folded the letter before stowing it in her dress.
"Gomez, dear…" Morticia said softly, her voice as cold as the icy breath of death, "It seems as though we have guests…
Gomez groaned melodramatically, sliding his saber back into its sheath, and either failing to notice, or choosing to ignore Harry's sigh of relief. "Alas… Duty beckons..."
He said as he happily clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Tomorrow, mi pequeño duende. We duel at dawn!" As the adults turned and swept toward the house, Morticia, like a drifting shadow, Gomez striding with flair, and Lurch groaning quietly at the rear, Harry looked down at the muddy saber still in his hand as Wednesday stepped next to him and stared quietly, watching, like always.
For the first time, Harry didn't feel like he was pretending to belong here anymore; he felt like he was becoming…
XXXX
The study of the Addams Family Manor was the kind of room that had driven lesser men to prayer. Candlelight danced across ancient tomes bound in strange hides, glinted off an assortment of gleaming knives mounted in a swirling pattern above the fireplace, and cast flickering shadows from the massive stuffed crocodile suspended from the rafters. The faint scent of gunpowder lingered beneath the incense, and every few moments, a distant BOOM rocked the floorboards, accompanied by a puff of plaster dust from the ceiling.
Ten Aurors stood in formation near the doorway, tense and alert, their wands either gripped tight or hovering close to their holsters. Each of them had seen dark magic before—fought it, survived it—but this place felt different. It wasn't evil. Not precisely. Just… wrong.
Alastor Moody stood at the front, trench coat brushing the dusty floor, his magical eye spinning furiously as it swept over every inch of the chamber, walls, windows, shadows, ceiling, and floorboards. His left hand clenched the gnarled handle of his staff, knuckles bone-white. His right hand was buried beneath his coat; fingers wrapped around the wand he hadn't drawn… yet.
A mounted serpent's head on the far wall hissed; behind them, the distant BOOM-BOOM-BOOM of further explosions echoed through the manor, causing one of the younger Aurors to flinch.
"They've been doing that every six minutes," muttered Auror Jameson under his breath. "You think it's intentional?"
"Everything in this place is intentional," Moody growled.
As the door creaked open, every wand twitched, though none rose; Morticia Addams entered the study as if gliding on air, clad in a flowing black gown that shimmered like oil and starlight. Her eyes swept over the Aurors with cold curiosity; Gomez followed a heartbeat later, twirling a cigar between his fingers, his thin mustache twitching with delight.
"Welcome," Morticia purred. "I trust the walk through the graveyard didn't offend…"
"Or the moat," Gomez added brightly. "We drained it after the kraken escaped."
Moody did not relax; it was honestly surprising that his wand had not snapped due to how tightly he was holding it. "We're not here for a social call, Mr. and Mrs. Addams."
"No?" Morticia said, her head tilting ever so slightly. "And here I thought the Ministry's sudden arrival in our home—without so much as a 'by your leave'—was the wizarding equivalent of an invitation to tea."
Moody's magical eye froze, locking onto Morticia. "You received the summons."
"I read it," Morticia replied with a smile that made Moody's skin crawl, as she took a seat in an ancient armchair shaped like a gargoyle, folding her hands in her lap with eerie stillness. "But you must understand… I am not a dog to come when called…"
Gomez barked a laugh at that, striking a match against the mounted severed head of a House Elf before lighting his cigar. "The last time a Minister of Magic summoned a member of our family, he choked to death on his own spleen. Most tragic. No one even touched him…"
"Rumor says it slithered out on its own," Morticia mused with a smirk as Gomez took his place behind her chair.
The Aurors shifted uncomfortably at that; one looked like he was an inch from bolting from the room, orders be damned.
Moody remained as stone: "I'm not here to debate rumors; we're here on Ministry business!"
"Ten Aurors?" Gomez said, gesturing to the group with dramatic flair. "Surely, you didn't think we'd be hostile?"
"No," Moody said bluntly. "But we do know your reputation… We also know you keep a basilisk egg on your dining table, have a living suit of armor that eats intruders, and that one of your ancestors was banned from all forms of human civilization for seventeen years."
Morticia smiled thinly at that, as though personally insulted. "Only seventeen? He must've disappointed."
Moody let the silence stretch, then spoke plainly. "The Ministry wishes to ascertain by what right the Addams Family has taken possession of Harry Potter."
The words dropped like a guillotine, and for a moment, the study was still; even the air seemed to be holding its breath as it waited for a response.
After several tense moments, Morticia slowly raised a single elegant brow. "Possession? Is that what we're calling love now…?"
"Semantics won't help you, Mrs. Addams," Moody said tensely "You are not his legal guardians. There are… laws. Protections. Procedures."
"None of which," Gomez said with a flash of teeth, "were present when that boy was being starved in a cupboard… Cruelty has its place when raising children, sir. But what was done to Harry was done for cruelty's sake alone… And that, simply will not do…"
Several Aurors flinched; one of them looked away entirely as the air became heavy, seemingly pressing down on them from all sides.
"You have no idea what he's been through…" Moody said gruffly. "I don't know what you THINK was done to him, but Harry Potter is a national hero, and he should be raised by—"
"We have every idea," Morticia replied calmly, cutting off whatever Moody was about to say. "We've seen the bruises. The nightmares. The way he flinches at sudden movement. Tell me, Head Auror, how long has the Ministry known that your so-called hero was left to rot in that Muggle house?"
Moody didn't answer; in fact, the Ministry had only been made aware of the abuse by Dumbledore when he had told them that the boy had been abducted…
Morticia's tone turned sharper as she continued. "You call this a rescue mission? You call this justice?"
"No, I call it an inquiry…" Moody said as he pulled a scroll from his coat, identical to the one that Lurch had given to Morticia earlier, and unfurled it. "The Wizengamot has formally requested your presence in London, where you will provide testimony before the court. You, your husband, and any others responsible for Mr. Potter's care."
"A request," Morticia repeated slowly. "Then why bring weapons?"
"In case it became a demand," Moody answered as his body tensed; every instinct was screaming at him that he was seconds from a full-scale battle beginning, but he refused to be the one who started it.
"Ah," Gomez said, placing a hand over his heart. "Such trust…"
"I don't trust anyone," Moody replied. "That's why I'm still alive…"
Another boom rocked the manor, and the ceiling dusted the Aurors in gray powder as the room descended into a tense, almost overbearing silence.
Then Morticia stood, looking as regal and terrifying as a queen of darkness.
"I will consider your 'invitation.' But you may tell your Wizengamot this: Harry Potter is safe. He is loved. And he is no longer alone in the world..."
"You may also tell them," Gomez added, smile still firmly in place, "that if a single wand is raised in aggression, we will respond… accordingly."
Mad-Eye didn't flinch, though his eyes did widen slightly at the threat. "You'd be making enemies of the entire Ministry…"
Gomez leaned in, eyes sparkling with something ancient and wild. "We were born with enemies, old man. And we've buried every single one."
Behind him, several Aurors shifted; one of them—young, freckled, and clearly regretting his assignment—whispered, "They're gonna kill us all…"
Moody didn't look back, though he vowed the recruit would receive a severe castigation later. "This is your warning," he said to Morticia. "Come of your own free will. Or next time, it won't be a request…"
Morticia met his stare with polite serenity, as though she found Moody's threat as dull as the man himself, save for his impressive scars. "Then next time, bring coffins…"