Visions & Vulnerability
“Harry, what are you doing here?”
Harry held his to-go latte with both hands, hiding his trembling fingers as they were wrapped around the warm cup. He looked from where Wednesday stood in front of the bars of the cell she was in to where her mum and dad were… snogging… loudly…
Harry quickly looked back at Wednesday and fought an ill-timed blush at the very public display of affection.
“Ignore them, I do,” Wednesday said drily. “Why are you here? You should be at Nevermore, resting.”
“Why are you here?” Harry asked instead, stepping closer to his friend then taking a step back when he was too close to the bars for comfort. He was exhausted, but he’d been too worried about Sirius to sleep and now his friend, his best friend, was locked up.
“Don’t worry about me,” Wednesday told him. “I was caught digging up a grave, it was sloppy of me and won’t happen again.”
Harry squinted at her. “The grave digging or getting caught?”
Wednesday stared at Harry deadpan and he sighed.
“I’ve got money, not enough to bail you both out, but Sheriff Galpin said your bail is $350 and I can get it,” Harry told Wednesday. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright first.”
Harry actually felt a bit like he couldn’t breathe properly until he’d seen Wednesday for himself. Tyler had been nice, walking with Harry to the police station and asking his dad about Wednesday’s bail and waiting for him in his office, but Tyler wasn’t Wednesday.
And Harry wanted Wednesday out of jail.
Morticia, Wednesday’s mum, broke away from Wednesday’s dad with a loud and wet noise that caused Harry’s entire face to heat up - poor Wednesday, he hoped they weren’t like that all the time.
“Oh, Harry, don’t be silly.” Morticia seemed to glide with grace as she moved from the back of the cell where she’d been to where Harry stood. She extended a hand through the bars and Harry felt rather stupid when he reached out and let her squeeze his fingers briefly.
“We have plenty of money to post bail,” Morticia laughed. Harry unconsciously smiled when she laughed, it was a pretty laugh, airy and musical.
“Gomez, come meet our nephew,” she called over her shoulder.
Harry quickly pulled his hand back when Wednesday’s dad, Gomez, came striding up to the bars with a wide smile on his face. Sure, Wednesday’s mum was nice, but Harry didn’t have a great track record with blokes who he was related to.
Gomez Addams looked friendly despite the orange jumpsuit he wore. His hair and mustache were somehow still perfectly combed and Harry suddenly found himself wondering what he was in jail for.
Knowing how Wednesday chose friends though, probably murder.
“Harry Addams! It is an honor to meet you!” Gomez cried. He wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist when Harry inched back another step.
“It’s Potter, Father,” Wednesday told her dad with a roll of her eyes. “Harry Potter.”
“Potter? This boy is clearly an Addams with looks such as his!” Gomez declared. “Look at that jaw line! A cut directly from the Addams line!”
Harry shuffled his cup to one hand and pulled his photo of his parents out of Tyler’s hoodie pocket. He was glad that someone had gotten it out of his school blazer before the hospital tossed it in the rubbish.
“This is my dad, sir,” Harry said, turning the photo to show the Addams’. “James Potter. He’s…” Harry scrunched his nose up to fight the sting in his eyes. “He’s dead. He died when I was one.”
“Harry, may I?” Morticia asked, reaching for the photo. Harry glanced at Wednesday and she nodded so he moved closer to the jail cell to hand Morticia his photograph.
As soon as she touched it, her eyes rolled back in her head and she went rigid like Wednesday did when she was having a vision.
“Harry, my nephew! How do you like Nevermore?” Gomez asked brightly as if his wife weren’t in the middle of some sort of vision.
“Er… it’s okay,” Harry said slowly. “What…” Harry trailed off and shook his head. He wanted to ask why Gomez was in jail, since he’d clearly been there longer than Wednesday and her mum, but he figured if he couldn’t even decipher how the puzzling man felt about eye contact that he’d better not risk asking.
“Harry has an aversion to questions, Father,” Wednesday said with a scoff. “He wants to know why you were arrested.”
“Never fear asking questions!” Gomez said, sounding personally offended while Harry scowled at Wednesday for making him sound like an idiot.
“Without questions how would you satisfy your curiosity?” Gomez said. “It is your responsibility to always seek out your truth, Harry!”
It was peculiar how some people saw curiosity as the height of disrespect and others saw it as a personal responsibility. It made Harry feel uncomfortable, how was he supposed to know who was okay with questions and who wasn’t?
Harry simply nodded and subtly kept his eyes on Morticia, waiting for her to break free of her vision so he could take his photo back and go back to the hospital before Principal Weems came to get him. He’d planned on posting bail for Wednesday, but as long as she got free somehow he supposed it would be better if her mum paid it.
“Murder, Harry,” Wednesday drawled abruptly. “Father wad arrested for murder.”
Harry let out a small huff that was a mix of an exasperated sigh and a laugh.
Of course he was.
“Unfortunately, Father is innocent. Mother and I exhumed the evidence to clear his name,” Wednesday went on. “It’s a pity, but Pugsley will be pleased.”
“Oh,” Harry blinked in bemusement. “Right.”
Before the awkwardness could go on any longer, Morticia finally released Harry’s photo with a shudder and a sigh.
“Oh, Harry.” Morticia smiled and reached through the bars to caress Harry’s arm kindly. “Your parents loved you so very much.”
“They did?” Harry asked, choking up a little as he looked down at the photo.
“Bah!” Gomez cried. “An excellent son such as Harry? What’s not to love?”
Harry had a small grin on his face the entire trip back to the hospital. It only fell when he entered Sirius’ room and saw the only man who could really tell Harry about his parents still as inanimate as James and Lily Potter themselves were.
*****
Wednesday ignored her parents’ disturbing displays of affection as she patiently waited to see if Sheriff Galpin would fulfill her request of bringing Mayor Walker to the jail before they transferred her father.
She had a great many things to do and none of which included wasting her entire Sunday in a jail cell.
“What did you see?” Wednesday asked Mother when the sounds of her parents kissing and whispered words of affection were causing her to envision using her jacket as a noose.
“With Harry?” Mother asked, breaking away from Father.
“Obviously,” Wednesday drawled. She eyed Mother slyly from the side of her eyes. “Was it… pleasant?”
“It was,” Mother sighed wistfully. She moved to the bench to sit beside Wednesday while Father took Wednesday’s other side.
“I saw a lifetime filled with love and joy,” Mother said, her eyes taking on a faraway expression as she brought up the vision she had. “I saw James Potter and his mischief and his affection for his friends and family. I saw Lily Evans and her brilliance and her fire. I saw their romance and their devotion; I saw parents who died to protect their beloved son.”
“An honorable death,” Father said with a firm nod. “It is the way we all wish to go.”
“It was lovely,” Mother agreed. She reached behind Wednesday to grasp Father’s hand. “We should all be so lucky, mon amour.”
Wednesday ignored the eyes her parents made at each other while she thought of the vast differences between her visions and Mother’s. Wednesday had never seen a ‘lifetime of love and joy’, she saw death and pain and mysteries.
It was an acceptable trade, Wednesday would likely vomit if her visions were all made of joy, but it was an oddity to have such a contrast between their similar powers.
The sound of the jail door opening sent all three Addams’ to their feet.
They only had one opportunity to blackmail the Mayor and prior sheriff for Jericho and Wednesday had no intention of doing it incorrectly.
“You requested my presence?” Mayor Walker demanded when he strutted to the cell Wednesday shared with her parents and stood before them with arms crossed.
“I did,” Wednesday agreed coolly. She held up the finger of Garret Gates that she stole from his coffin and brandished it in Walker’s face. Garret’s finger was perfectly preserved, all the way to the telltale blue tinge to his skin, giving away the true cause of his death.
“Why was it not made public that Garret died from Nightshade poisoning, a poisoning he caused himself?” Wednesday asked. “The first autopsy report ruled his death an accident, the second, a murder. We both know this was an accidental suicide caused by his own actions.”
“The real question is, why did Garret have a vial of Nightshade poison on him when he came to Nevermore that night?” Mother asked, drifting up to stand beside Wednesday and staring down the mayor with a fierce expression.
Walker’s lip curled and his eyelid twitched, a sure sign of his own guilt.
“I didn’t know about the plan until after Garret’s funeral, before Laurel was sent away and Mary killed herself,” Walker said, his eyes glued to Garret’s finger that Wednesday held up. “Ansel admitted the whole thing to me in a drunken stupor.”
“What plan?” Wednesday asked, pushing for the full story. She had already proved her Father’s innocence and the mayor had already all but confirmed it, now she needed the full story.
Mayor Walker sighed and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He reached out for Garret’s finger, but Wednesday pulled it out of his reach. It was her only leverage of evidence to exonerate Father, she would hardly give it up to the man complicit in covering up Garret’s death in the beginning.
“Ansel Gates hated outcasts and raised his kids to mirror his beliefs,” Walker said to them. “Garret and Laurel would constantly spout off their father’s story that Nevermore was built on their ancestors land, dating back clear to Crackstone himself.”
It tracked that a family of bigots would be able to trace their ancestry to the chief bigot himself.
“Ansel sent Garret to Nevermore that night, he told him to spike the punch with the Nightshade and kill all the outcasts,” Walked said, causing Father to dramatically gasp. “When he told me, I asked the coroner to rule his death accidental, save the family shame.”
“And who instructed him to lie before he was shot this time?” Wednesday asked harshly. “Was it you?”
“Certainly not!” Walker snapped, the truth in his tone. “I was as surprised as anyone else when I heard about Aaron’s suicide and change in report.”
“And you were going to allow my husband to be sent to prison rather than confess?” Mother asked sharply. “You’re as much of a coward now as you were then.”
A coward he might be, though the mayor was not a true idiot. Within an hour, all charges against Wednesday and her parents were dropped and Galpin himself had to apologize to Father for his accusations against him.
“My little black rose did it!” Father said, embracing Wednesday in a mortifying show of parental affection. “Oh, I never doubted you! Your powers of investigation have never failed us.”
“Touching, don’t crowd me.” Wednesday tried to escape the sickening group hug that her mother, father, and brother had her trapped in.
“Oh, darling,” Mother traced Wednesday’s cheek with her soft hand. “You’re such a valued member of our family. What would we do without you?”
“Languish away while Father rotted in prison,” Wednesday said with blunt honesty.
Mother laughed and led Wednesday to the side while Father and Pugsley reunited together.
“I’m so pleased you share my gift,” Mother said with a soft smile. “When did your visions begin?”
“Three months before arriving,” Wednesday responded. She looked up at her mother and asked the question that had been burning in her mind. “Why did you touch Harry’s photo and see love and joy and if I touched it I would have most likely seen their death?”
Mother seemed unperturbed by Wednesday’s question, most likely she had already known something about Wednesday’s visions.
“Our visions come to us as a reflection of our personalities,” Mother explained. “I look for light and joy, thus I am a Dove who receives visions of lightness. You are my cynical storm cloud and your visions give you darker glimpses in the past and future.
“You are a Raven, Wednesday, and it is a heavy gift to bear on your own.”
Luckily, Wednesday wasn’t on her own. She merely needed to find her errant cousin and the two of them would continue to watch each others backs.
Harry had killed for Wednesday, Wednesday would assure the safety of Harry’s future for him.
Another truly acceptable trade.
*****
Harry sat in the hospital room with Sirius, sitting beside his bed silently while he ached to ask the man about his tattoos, about his parents, about himself.
There were so many questions Harry wanted answers for and it was becoming an increasing fear that he wouldn’t get them.
“Why did you protect me?” Harry whispered to Sirius, secure in their isolated room to ask him the question. Tyler had left Harry there at Harry’s request to be alone for a while and it had been the one question Harry couldn’t dispel.
Sirius stood by as a dog while Harry went from St Brutus’ to the detention center to Nevermore. He watched Harry kill a boy and heard rumors of deaths Harry left behind him.
Then, when Harry couldn’t bear the disappointment of being abandoned by his father, Sirius revealed himself and stood between Harry and the monster.
Was Sirius truly Harry’s first friend all these years? Did he do it because he actually cared for Harry or out of misplaced sense of duty to his dead best mate?
“Why?” Harry asked Sirius again. He wished he could shake him awake, spend the rest of his day there talking with him. “Why did you stand in front of me?”
“He loves you.”
Harry’s head snapped up from where he’d been watching Sirius’ lack and lifeless face to see that they were no longer alone. Principal Weems stood in Sirius’ doorway with her posh white skirt suit and a pitying expression on her face.
“Ma’am?” Harry asked quietly, ducking his head to wipe his face. It was partially his fault Sirius was there. If Harry hadn’t panicked, lost his head completely, he would have left when Sirius told him and Sirius could have escaped as a dog.
Harry didn’t need to cry over Sirius, he should have done better, been better.
Principal Weems moved over beside the bed and put her hand on Harry’s shoulder.
“If he stood between you and a monster, then I would say he loves you,” she said quietly, her words feeling like an accusation. “Have you tried to help him?”
Harry looked up at Principal Weems miserably. “I don’t know how,” he told her. “I’m- I’m useless.”
Principal Weems reached down to grab Harry’s hands. She moved them to Sirius’ arm and laid them there.
“You are so filled with power, Harry, use it,” she urged him. “Don’t be afraid.”
Harry yanked his hands away as quickly as if Sirius’ skin had burnt him. His power, his magic, wasn’t meant to heal- only destroy.
He didn’t question how Principal Weems knew of his magic, he’d suspected she’d been the first to know. She wasn’t surprised by Harry’s attack on the normie boys and she didn’t question Wednesday’s story about Sirius appearing in and out of the cave with a twist of his heel to save Enid.
Though she did adamantly state that it was not James Potter who had been roaming the woods. But just because she was correct once didn’t mean she would be twice.
“I can’t,” Harry told her. “I’ll make it worse.”
“Or you’ll heal him,” Principal Weems insisted. She put Harry’s hands back on Sirius and he didn’t yank them away that time.
“Pour your energy through your hands and focus your mind on healing,” she murmured to him in a hypnotic voice. Harry fixated on it, desperately wanting her to be right. “Your magic is a gift, it makes you unique, special. Use it and make yourself powerful and truly free. Free from your own binds, Harry.
“Heal him.”
Harry closed his eyes and tried to pull out the sparks of power that flowed in him and ignited at the worst moments. He thought about how he made the book float in Wednesday’s room and added the blue to his hair.
Harry didn’t have to be death and destruction, he could be healing and happiness as well.
“Heal.”
*****
“Why are you always missing?” Wednesday asked Harry. She had been waiting outside Nevermore, watching her fellow students bid farewell to their families and impatiently tapping her foot while Harry had been missing once again. He arrived just in time to see their family off, climbing out of Weems’ car with a half-smile that Wednesday was unused to seeing on his face.
“I was with Sirius,” Harry whispered to her. “I’ll tell you about it later, but I think he’s going to get better.”
And Wednesday was quite certain that Sirius Black, or Ares Frump, would die in a hospital bed and leave Harry behind to mourn him as he clearly was his father.
“Stay in my room tonight, clearly we have much to discuss,” Wednesday told him curtly, waiting for Harry’s nod of agreement. In the midst of Father’s arrest, Harry’s attack, and Wednesday’s own arrest, the two of them had no time to discuss all the recent developments.
A cunning ploy on the part of whoever killed the coroner and framed Father for a two decade old death. If their plot had involved driving a wedge between Wednesday and Harry due to their differing priorities over the weekend, they would be sorely disappointed.
Wednesday nearly smiled at the thought.
“Harry, darling!” Mother swept over to Harry and engulfed him in a hug before Harry had the opportunity to twitch away. Wednesday saw the way that Harry relaxed in Mother’s arms and knew that he was as soft for affection as Pugsley.
A flaw in Harry’s character, but not a critical one.
“I apologize that we didn’t get more of an opportunity to get to know each other this weekend,” Mother told him after she pulled away and Harry was pink cheeked and sparkly eyed. “What were fourteen lost years when we now have an entire future though, hmm?”
Mother always did come on strong.
“I knew you’d fix everything,” Pugsley told Wednesday, approaching her with a smile stolen straight from Father’s face. “You always fix everything.”
“I am a harbinger of desolation and decimation,” Wednesday told him. “You’d do well to remember that.”
“Whatever,” Pugsley laughed. He threw a bone from his skeleton at her, bouncing it off her elbow. “I can’t wait for you to get home. It’s boring without you.”
“I’ll be sure to have especially creative methods to torture you with upon my return,” Wednesday swore.
Pugsley laughed again and plucked up his bone before bouncing off to the car with a wave to Harry.
After Father bade Wednesday an ‘interesting’ rest of her term, Mother traded Harry for Wednesday and pulled out her Nevermore yearbook.
“These were some of the happiest days of my life,” Mother explained while she flipped through the pages. “Larissa and I shared so many laughs, your father and I shared so much love. And now…” Mother handed the book to Wednesday with a smile. “Now these halls are yours to create your own memories, darling. Breathe it in, enjoy it. Take Nevermore and make it your own.”
Wednesday looked down at the page open in the book, a collage of photographs of Mother performing in a talent show with her roommate. An idea built in Wednesday’s mind as she read the caption:
Morticia Frump and Larissa Weems perform Judy Garland’s greatest hits.
Wednesday stared hard at the photo of Mother and Weems and suddenly the final piece of a puzzle clicked in place for her.
“Oh, Mother,” Wednesday smirked delightedly, “I intend to do just that.”
*****
“Harry, my nephew!”
Gomez Addams bounced over to Harry with a broad smile and outstretched arms.
“I will not rest until you agree to come stay with us this summer,” Gomez told Harry, embracing him tightly and confusing Harry more than ever.
“You and Ares are both most welcome in our home,” Gomez went on after he released Harry and held him by the shoulders. “You are an Addams and we would be thrilled and honored for you to rejoin our family as you should have from the start.”
“You- you would?” Harry asked in a small voice. He looked from Gomez’s shining dress shoes up to his face and saw a genuine twinkle in the man’s brown eyes.
Harry didn’t know why it ached so much to hear that someone wanted him to be a part of their family. Wasn’t that what he’d always wanted? A family? And Harry and the Addams were related, albeit distantly. They’d certainly already seemed nicer than the Dursleys, and Harry had never been held like how Morticia had held him when he’d been crying over Sirius.
It shouldn’t hurt, but it did, somehow.
“Of course, you are my nephew and it would be a pleasure to get to know you,” Gomez told him, holding his smile. “The Addams family may be odd to the outside world that refuses to cherish uniqueness as we do, but we are a family and family sticks together.
“And you are one of us, Harry.”
*****
Wednesday slammed Weems’ door open, hiding a smirk when the heavy wood banged off the wall and caused Weems to jolt in her seat.
“Rowan is dead, isn’t he?” Wednesday demanded.
Weems straightened herself in her seat and arched a brow at Wednesday. “He most certainly is not.”
Wednesday slammed Mother’s yearbook on Weems’ desk and flipped it to the ‘art and activities’ section.
“That is you, impersonating Judy Garland clear down to the curve in her nose,” Wednesday seethed. “You’re a shapeshifter, aren’t you?”
Weems looked down at the photograph of herself and Mother performing a duet for their talent show and her upper lip curled just enough that Wednesday knew she had inherited Weems’ dislike of Mother.
“You took Rowan’s body from the woods and then you returned to the school, disguised as him, why?” Wednesday asked. “Was it all to protect the school from an investigation from the sheriff or are you protecting the monster?”
Wednesday slapped her hand on Weems’ desk in genuine outrage. “Which is it?!”
“I am protecting the students,” Weems snarled. She stood behind her desk and placed both hands on the top of it, leaning in Wednesday’s face.
“The students here which include you, Miss Addams,” Weems added. “If the sheriff continued to believe that any of us were in any way involved in the attacks then it would become a witch hunt.”
“Fitting for the town built on the ashes of outcasts,” Wednesday scowled. “You’ve allowed everyone to languish under the false belief that Rowan is alive. Do his parents think he’s missing or do you go there for dinner twice a week?”
“For once in your life, hold. your. tongue. Rowan’s father took his son home to be buried. I’d expect a thank you, as Rowan was intent upon killing you,” Weems hissed venomously. “If he were still here, perhaps you wouldn’t be.”
“But you didn’t save him for me, did you?” Wednesday guessed keenly. “You did it for Harry. Why? What is your attachment to him? Why do you keep trying to cozy up to him?”
“I care for him,” Weems insisted. She tried to drag the book out from beneath Wednesday’s hands and Wednesday held firm.
It was more than caring for him, it was as if Weems had a personal stake in Harry’s future and Wednesday would not rest until she took that stake and drove it through Weems’ dreams of claiming Harry.
Harry was an Addams, Harry was Wednesday’s, and any other claim on him was unacceptable.
“Tell the truth,” Wednesday said forcefully. “What is your play here?”
“Let go of the book,” Weems said, yanking again on the yearbook. “My abilities are my own to share or conceal as I choose.”
“Mother gave me this,” Wednesday said. She readjusted her grip on the yearbook that they were pettily squabbling over and that was when her finger brushed Weems’ hand and her back seized while her eyes rolled up to the ceiling.
“Harry is a well-known child in our world.”
An old man sat in the wooden chair opposite of Weems in the very office Wednesday had just been in. He had on a long robe of such bright purple that Wednesday touched beneath her eyes to check if they were actually bleeding or not.
They weren’t, but they would be if she continued looking at such a vivid color.
Instead, Wednesday inspected the man’s long white beard and his blue eyes that twinkled at Weems.
“Would he not be better in your school then, Albus?” Weems asked. She glanced down momentarily at a folder on her desk and Wednesday moved to stand behind her. She looked at the folder and felt torn between anger and amusement to see a true mugshot of Harry clipped to the front.
It was infuriating to see someone as small and pitiful as Harry in a jumpsuit, but it was nearly just absurd enough to make Wednesday wonder where she could find a copy in the present.
“I am afraid that Harry would be… ill-suited for my school,” the man, Albus, said slowly, clearly choosing his words with care. He steepled long fingers beneath his chin and studied the exposed beams in Weems’ ceiling. “You see, Harry is powerful, much too much so. He has no control and he used that power to kill a boy when he was only ten.”
“And you would prefer he kill off my students than yours?” Weems asked, puffing her chest out indignantly. “Are your children somehow more important than mine, Albus?”
“My dear lady, no,” Albus said. He reached across the table, extending a hand to pat Weems’ arm before folding his hands on the desk top. “I believe that if Harry were brought to my school that his already dangerous behavior would grow to unimaginably dark levels. I’ve seen it before and it has torn our world apart.
“Harry would be best left unaware of magic, but he is already using it willingly and I fear he would become an obscurial, a type of dark energy force, if left entirely unable to use magic. However, training him to become more proficient with it would be a mistake, I believe.
“Here, Harry can be amongst peers and kept away from knowledge that could send him on a path of destruction and immoral behavior that he could never be saved from.”
Weems leaned across her desk intently, her gaze scrutinizing and sharp.
“Do you wish for him to be saved or stopped, Albus?” Weems asked.
Albus spread his arms wide, a nonchalant expression on his lined face.
“Whichever saves more lives, my dear.”
Wednesday came to, blinking away the past, and immediately pushed herself out of the chair she fell into and stood before Weems with her muscles tensed and ready to fight.
“Are you trying to save him or stop him?” Wednesday demanded.
Because Harry would not be stopped and Wednesday would kill any who dared attempt it. Weems, Albus, the monster, anyone.
Wednesday would burn the school to ash and fulfill Rowan’s prophecy if anyone touched a single hair on Harry’s head.
Weems’ lips curled in a smirk and she tilted her head to the side while she held Wednesday’s gaze evenly.
“Miss Addams, do I look like I’m interested in stopping Harry from becoming all that he can become?”
Weems pointed at the Nevermore banner that hung on the wall behind her desk and Wednesday’s eyes flicked over the school’s motto printed in bold black script.
“Somniare somnia, nemo mortalium unquam somniare ausus est,” Wednesday read. “‘To dream dreams, no mortal has ever dared to dream before’,” she translated the Latin quote. “Fitting, as none here are quite ordinary mortals.”
“And isn’t it time that Harry began to dream?” Weems asked with a gleam in her eyes. “Harry will be our greatest student yet, his legacy will live on when we are all gone and our future generations are filling these halls.”
“So this is for the glory of being the person who gave Harry a chance?” Wednesday asked shrewdly. “You don’t need the spotlight, not if everyone sees you behind the curtain, pulling the strings.”
Weems hummed and raised a graceful shoulder.
“Does it matter my intentions if it results in someone finally giving that boy an opportunity to dream his dreams?”
It didn’t, truthfully.
It was the first, and likely only, time that Wednesday had ever agreed with anything that came out of Weems’ mouth.