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Severus Snape looked down at the children, a healthy sneer on his face. He’d told no one how hard it was to maintain that sneer, especially when he looked at those two - well, those three if you included Pugsley - but it was those two the most. They were the perfect Slytherins.

They believed in... well, he wasn’t quite sure just what they believed in, but they certainly believed in it. They were self contained and could be charming.

Until you stepped out of line, that is.

When you did step out of line, they fell on you like a ton of bricks, or a series of Bludgers, or an army of killer ants, or any other metaphor that would demonstrate that antagonizing them was tantamount to volunteering to be sent to Azkaban — extremely dangerous and unpleasant, but not completely fatal.

It was at their Sorting that Snape first recognised the things that he once thought absolute were wrong, and that the time that was approaching would be like nothing he had ever expected to experience.

---

---

They weren’t the first in the line. Nor were they the last. But they stood out like the eye of a storm. All around them, children were looking around eagerly, staring at the ceiling, the ghosts, the tables, even the staff.

But not these two. The one standing next to them seemed a bit of a compromise: half of the restraint and half the curiosity.

Snape tried to look at the other children, but his eyes kept coming back to the two in the middle.

She was dressed perfectly. There was not a crease on her robes nor a hair out of place. Her eyes were dark, incredibly so. Snape almost got the impression that her eyes were sucking in the light and not letting it go.

He let his eyes drift to her right, to the son of the man he hated more than anyone else. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that, regardless of the name, that boy was not a Potter.

His face was totally expressionless, not the fake emptiness of someone hiding his emotions, but the total lack of emotions of someone who had decided that emotions were something to be used the same way one might use a particularly efficient arm movement.

Almost absently, he let his mind stretch out, using Legilimency to see what the boy was thinking. The only problem with this was that the boy wasn’t there. There was no mind for him to connect with. He tried hard not to shudder and to repress the fear that was reflexively crawling through him.

Something had just entered Hogwarts, and it was not what everyone expected.

"Abbot, Hannah," McGonagall called out. She was a Hufflepuff; there was no doubt in his mind at all.

"Addams, Pugsley," McGonagall said, after Abbot had been sorted into Hufflepuff.

The boy that was the girl’s brother walked cheerfully to the chair. He showed no fear at all, and started to lift the hat toward his head.

"Slytherin!" the Hat shouted, long before it got anywhere near the boy’s head.

There was a gasp, one he tried hard not to join in. The Hat always touched the child’s head. The fact that it didn’t raised possibilities that suggested his fears were not without foundation.

Pugsley cheered and bounced over to the table, sitting exactly three places down from the top of the table. The implication wasn’t lost on Snape. Pugsley obviously expected the girl and boy to join him.

A Potter in Slytherin? Incomprehensible. Or was it? For this Potter, maybe it wasn’t.

"Addams, Wednesday," McGonagall said into the absolute silence that currently blanketed the Great Hall.

The girl walked forward slowly.

"S-s-s-s..." The Sorting Hat stuttered as it jerked, looking like it was trying to escape the girl who was closing in on it inexorably.

For the first time, an expression appeared on her face.

It was a small smile.

Severus Snape had betrayed Voldemort, had stood up to Albus Dumbledore. He had seen power. He had seen evil. Nothing had ever made his blood freeze like the smile on her face.

She reached up and grabbed the stuttering Hat and placed it on her head.

Snape knew that she knew that the Hat was terrified of her.

"Slytherin! And for the love of Hogwarts, get her away from me!" the Hat screamed. "Please, Merlin!"

"Are you sure?" The girl’s voice had a slight American drawl to it, but it was soft, not harsh. Its very normalcy seemed to make it a hundred times worse than Voldemort’s hiss.

"YES, YES, YES!" the Hat shouted.

"If you insist," Wednesday said softly, and removed the Hat, placing it on the stool.

The Hat started to sob as she walked over to the Slytherin table, the smile gone from her face.

"Yea! Way to go Wends!" Pugsley cheered.

Wednesday lightly touched his back as she sat next to him, leaving the place at the top of the table free.

"Bones, Susan," McGonagall whispered.

The young girl, definitely another ’Puff, ran to the Hat and placed it on her head.

Nothing happened, except the Hat continued to sob.

Susan looked terrified as she turned to look at McGonagall.

McGonagall strode over to the girl and took the Hat of her head and placed it on her own head.

Snape watched as Minerva’s eyes twitched with the signs that she was having an in-depth conversation, but nothing was happening.

She opened her eyes and looked at Albus. He shrugged. She sighed and summoned a bottle of Firewhisky.

"Nerves," she explained to the Headmaster’s somewhat incredulous look.

She opened the bottle and poured it into the Hat’s mouth. The hat guzzled, belched and then sighed. "Okay, I can continue now," he said. "As long as there are no other surprises."

Snape found his eyes moving to Harry.

The rest of the Sorting went as expected. He cheered silently as his god-daughter was sorted into Slytherin house. Draco Malfoy was placed in Slytherin, and he looked slightly irritated that no one cheered for him. No one was doing any cheering. It seemed that Snape wasn’t the only one to see that Potter still hadn’t shown a sign of emotion as he stood, alone from the remaining students, his green eyes blank.

"Potter," McGonagall seemed to take a deep breath. "Harry."

Harry moved toward the Hat purposefully.

There was a sigh of relief as the Hat didn’t start to shake.

He picked it up and sat down.

Nothing happened.

There was no sign of anything on the boy’s face; no sign of anything from the Hat.

They waited.

And waited.

Whispers started around the hall as the longest Sorting they had ever seen, continued.

"Hat?" McGonagall asked.

"Well," the Hat snapped, "where’s my next student? I’ve not got all day."

"You’re sitting on his head," McGonagall pointed out.

"No I’m not!"

"You are," were the first words that anyone in the school heard from Harry James Potter. His voice was smooth, silky, and had a vaguely hypnotic aspect that was frankly impossible to comprehend.

The Hat squeaked in surprise. "How in Hogwarts am I supposed to sort you?" the Hat demanded.

Harry was silent for a few seconds. "I don’t believe that is my problem," he eventually replied.

The Hat huffed. "Well, if I can’t sort you, then you’ll have to choose a House."

Harry placed the hat back on the chair and turned, walking to the Slytherin table, sitting next to Wednesday.

Snape turned to look at the Headmaster, who appeared as stunned as everyone else.

"Can he do that?" McGonagall asked.

"It’s written in the spell that created me," the Hat replied sourly, his tone abrasive. "If I can’t sort a student, for any reason, then the student gets to choose."

"How many times has it happened before?" McGonagall asked softly.

"It hasn’t. Can we get on with the rest of the Sorting now?"

The remaining students were sorted quickly and easily, but there was still none of the normal noise that attended a Sorting. Everything was done in complete silence.

After the meal was over and the prefects were leading the students to their common rooms, Snape followed Albus to his office. Minerva, Pomona and Filius were already there, Firewhisky poured into glasses. The Hat was stationary on the top of the table.

Albus sank into his chair. "A most unusual Sorting," he said.

The Hat snorted. "Why is that Addams girl at Hogwarts?" he demanded. "She’s an American; she should be in Salem."

"I had to bring her here," the Headmaster explained. "If I hadn’t, Harry would have gone to Salem as well."

"All this fuss for Potter?" Snape sneered, more to keep up his reputation than from any deep belief that Potter wasn’t a worthy topic for their discussion.

"Severus," Albus chided with a sigh.

"What happened, Hat?" Minerva asked.

"I can’t tell you," the Hat said with a sigh. "I’m not allowed to divulge what I learn from a student’s mind. You know that." He paused. "My reaction should have given you enough of a hint."

"Moving on," Albus said. "About Mr Potter."

"I know nothing about Mr Potter," The Hat stated. "There was nothing there."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," Severus added. "I tried to scan him, and his mind didn’t even seem to be there."

"Occlumency?"

"No, that reports as a presence. This was nothing at all."

"Well, I believe that Mr Potter is in the wrong place," Albus said cheerfully. "Let’s get him up here and get him into Gryffindor."

"You do that," the Hat said quietly, "and I will never be able to Sort children again."

"Excuse me?" Albus said, sounding bewildered.

"If you break the rules I was charmed with, I will fade away and you will have to find a new way to Sort next year."

"But..." Albus started.

"I was created by the Founders of Hogwarts to Sort without prejudice. My word is final. It was Rowena who put the safeguard in place, that a student I couldn’t Sort would be able to choose his own house. But when a student chooses, then it is the same as if I had chosen. You move him, and I will have failed, and if I have failed, my purpose is over." He paused. "If there’s nothing else, I’d like to finish that bottle of Firewhisky and try to forget about today."

Silently, Minerva drained the bottle into the Hat’s mouth and placed him back on the shelf. It didn’t take long before the Hat was snoring.

"Headmaster," Filius said after a few minutes, "why do we have new wards?"

"What?" Minerva asked.

"I was looking at them this morning, and noticed a few new ones. Quite vicious, I must say, but targeted."

Albus sighed once more. "The Addams Family demanded that they be able to improve them. It seems that their clan has a few enemies, and they take the security of their children seriously. The wards will not interfere with my running of the school, nor will they stop anyone, other than those they deem to be enemies."

---

---

Starting a new class always made him irritable. The thought of so many perfectly good potion ingredients being wasted was never a good thing. But this year it was worse. He had prepared what he was going to say to Potter long in advance. He had been waiting for the opportunity.

He just didn’t know if he could go through with it.

---

---

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he began. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death -- if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Harry and Wednesday stared at him, their silent attention more unnerving than anything he had dealt with before, and he didn’t understand why.

They were only eleven. He could handle them.

"Potter!" he snapped suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry tilted his head slightly. He eventually replied in his smooth voice, "According to the seventh year Potions book I read, it creates a sleeping potion that is known as the Draught of Living Death."

Snape had the feeling that he’d just been rebuked, but took a deep breath. "And where would you find a bezoar?"

"I believe that was in the same seventh year book," Harry replied, "in the stomach of a goat."

Snape stared at him, trying very hard to ignore the fact that he was certain, somehow, that Wednesday was seriously contemplating a bezoar search in his stomach.

"Ten points to Slytherin," he said softly, "it’s good to see that someone is reading ahead. Can anyone tell me what the difference is between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"Seven letters," Wednesday responded before Granger’s hand was halfway up.

Snape looked at her, his lips twitched. "Indeed," he agreed. "For those of you who are idiots, they are the same thing with a different name."

He knew he had chickened out, that he hadn’t enacted the revenge that he had sworn he would on Potter’s child, but he had at least kept his dignity.

After the class was over, he took a long drink of Firewhisky and contemplated going to Albus to tell him that something had entered Hogwarts, but eventually decided not to. He was just being silly, and he knew it.

The next Thursday, he stood and watched the first flying lesson of the year. He always did, looking for new Quidditch talent, and he knew that Minerva did as well.

He refused to admit, even to himself, that he was hoping that Potter would be good - because his team desperately needed some real talent.

"Everyone, stand by a broomstick," Madam Hooch barked.

Harry and Wednesday did exactly as they were told, standing in the silence that was becoming their hallmark.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom and say ’Up!’"

Harry and Wednesday’s brooms seemed to rocket into their hands, slapping into place with audible thumps. Not all of the students were as successful.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," Madam Hooch said, after showing them how to mount their brooms and grip them correctly.

Neville Longbottom, who would have had his parents rolling in their graves, had they been dead, seemed incapable of following even that simple instruction, and rocketed into the air.

"Come back, boy!" Hooch yelled. Her shout seemed to have the affect of the boy paling, before topping to one side and falling twenty feet to the ground.

Hooch stormed over to him, her face as white as his had been, before the fall.

"Broken wrist," she muttered. "Come on, boy -- it’s all right, up you get."

She turned to the rest of the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ’Quidditch.’ Come on, dear."

Longbottom hobbled off, holding his arm with tear tracks running down his face.

Snape shook his head and sighed.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?" Malfoy sniggered.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Pansy Parkinson sneered, like a good Slytherin, "Never thought you’d like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

"Look!" Malfoy said, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him."

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"I think I’ll leave it somewhere for him to find it," Draco mused, "perhaps up a tree."

"You’re being a dick," Pugsley told Draco with a long-suffering sigh. "Picking on others makes you weak, cowardly, and a bully."

"Oh yeah?" Draco retorted. "Why don’t you try and stop me?" He took off, flying into the air. Pugsley looked at Harry, who rolled his eyes, and lightly touched Wednesday’s arm. She smiled faintly and made a short slashing motion with her arm.

Draco’s broom suddenly stopped moving. Unfortunately, he didn’t. The boy screamed as he fell down, landing with a loud thump.

"What’s going on here?" McGonagall demanded as she ran toward them.

"Draco’s mouth exceeded his skill with a broom," Harry said smoothly. "He decided that he wanted to show us all his unique flying skills, so he ignored Madam Hooch’s demand that we stay on the ground while she dealt with Longbottom and then fell off during a loop."

McGonagall looked around at the other students, before nodding to herself. "Ten points from Slytherin," she yelled as she stormed toward the prone boy. "And a week’s worth of detention." She looked down at him and levitated him into the air. "I expect all of you to stay where you are," she growled, "or I will personally see to it that you leave Hogwarts today."

She stormed off, the unconscious form of Draco Malfoy in tow.

Harry wandered across to where Draco had fallen. He picked up the Remembrall and walked back, before tossing it casually to Pugsley. "See that the boy gets it," Harry said.

"Will do," Pugsley said cheerfully. "Thanks."

Harry shrugged and sat down with Wednesday, it wasn’t long before they were involved in a low voiced conversation.

Snape turned silently and walked off, digesting what he had just seen.

---

---

He shifted his eyes to look at Draco Malfoy. The prince of Slytherin, or he had been, for at least a month. But then he had demanded subservience from Wednesday.

He had no idea why Draco picked her first. Perhaps it was because she was a girl. Perhaps because he thought she was the weakest. Perhaps he knew that she was the one who had sabotaged his broom.

Perhaps his unconscious mind was playing tricks on him, and he was acting out a subconscious death wish?

He had been standing, unseen, in the Slytherin common room, watching.

---

---

"Addams," Draco drawled. "Girl, fetch me a new quill."

Wednesday ignored him.

"I said," Draco said louder, attracting the attention he so obviously craved. "Get me a new quill."

Wednesday failed to acknowledge his presence. Pugsley looked up and grinned, a manic grin that vanished as soon as it arrived. Harry was in his normal place, right next to Wednesday, closer than most people, even people years older than the first year pair, would comfortably sit.

Draco stood and sauntered over to the desk they were working at. "I told you to do something," he sneered. "And when I tell you to do something, you do it, got it?"

Wednesday ignored him.

"My father," Draco purred, "is the Dark Lord’s right hand man. When he returns, my father will ensure that all my enemies get what is coming to them."

Wednesday looked up at him curiously. "You are trying to intimidate me by telling me that you have no power and influence of your own, so all you can wield is that which your father may or may not have someday?"

Draco paled before flushing. "Watch what you say," he snarled and raised his hand.

Without looking up from his book, Harry’s right hand shot out and grabbed the raised arm. He pulled it, hard, pulling Draco off balance. A high-pitched scream of agony punctured the air.

In a split second, Draco’s hand was flat on the table, his arm bent at an unnatural angle, a kitchen knife pierced through his palm, pinning his hand to the table. Harry was as he was before, doing his homework, no emotion on his face.

Wednesday reached out and took Draco’s cheek, forcing the blond boy to look up at her.

"If you wish to warn your father, know this," she whispered, her voice chilling in its complete lack of inflection, its lack of tone. "I will be the Dark Lady," she continued, her almost silent voice somehow filling the common room. "Next to my Dark Lord, and we will rule for eternity. Voldemort is a fool, a peasant, and if he returns, we will deal with him, as we have dealt with every other person who has stood in our way.

"We have a grave already dug for him." She paused and seemed to lean in. "And if he’s very good, we’ll resurrect him so he can join our Halloween parties."

There was a series of audible gulps around the common room.

"So, Malfoy, take the knife out of your hand, and crawl to the school nurse, hijo de puta."

For the first time, Harry looked up. His eyes locked on Wednesday’s. "You spoke Spanish," he said, his voice suddenly sounding older than his eleven years. "Mi amor"

Wednesday’s face changed, and for the first time, a hint of emotion showed. A shy smile appeared.

Harry was on his feet, Draco forgotten, as he waved his wand enthusiastically. A flamenco beat filled the air, as Harry pulled Wednesday into his arms, and started to dance her around the common room.

He dipped her, and when he pulled her up, she had the bright green stem of a red rose in her teeth. He spun her around, holding his hand above her head. She spun gracefully, and when she stopped, her robe had turned into a blood red dress.

He stepped away from her, circling her, as he snapped his heels onto the ground and his robe changed into a tuxedo that fit his small frame perfectly.

He raised her right hand and kissed it gently, his eyes locked on her, and they danced, ignoring everything and everyone else.

The music stopped abruptly, as did they. She was stretched over, held up by one of his arms, as they stared into each other’s eyes.

Pugsley was smiling at them both.

Harry pulled her up, and the emotions faded from both their eyes, leaving only their smooth masks. They stepped apart and in an instant they were back in their robes, as if they had never changed, never danced.

They walked, in perfect harmony, back to the desk, and sat down again. Harry reached out and casually removed the knife from Draco’s struggling hand and threw it, hard, fast.

Snape gulped as the knife stuck into the wall next to his left ear.

---

---

That was only the first time that they had dealt with Draco; Narcissa’s boy had proved remarkably stubborn, unable to handle the fact that he was outclassed on every level.

What had convinced him more than anything else that they were Slytherins was their dealing with other houses, and the youngest male Weasley in particular.

---

---

"You’re a Slytherin," Ron shouted, his face red. "Everyone knows that all evil comes from Slytherin."

Wednesday paused her eating and looked across the Hall at him. She looked at him like an entomologist would look at a bug staked out on the table before her.

"Evil does not come from a house," she said, in that same eerie voice she used whenever she was making a point. It was voice that no one could ignore. In the blink of an eye, she had moved, across the hall, and was holding Ron’s head back, a knife at his throat.

Snape struggled to keep his astonishment off his face. Everyone was silent, stunned. No one had seen her move, she didn’t have her wand, and yet still she had done it.

"Evil comes from deep inside you, in that special place you keep just for bigoted ideas," she finished gently.

No one, not even the Professors, seemed willing to break the silence.

The door opened and Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face.

Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore’s chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll -- in the dungeons -- thought you ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was a deep inhalation, as if everyone was preparing to scream at once.

"Don’t," was Harry’s single word, and no one said anything.

Dumbledore opened his mouth.

"We’re safe here, the doors are shut," Harry continued, before resuming his meal.

"Is anyone missing?" Pugsley asked cheerfully.

"H-H-H-Hermione," Ron croaked out from beneath Wednesday’s knife.

"Can I keep her dead body?" Wednesday asked Harry. "I could play a game with it."

Harry shook his head slowly. "What did you promise me?"

Wednesday absently stepped away from Ron, as if he was of no meaning or consequence.

"No necromancy until I’m sixteen, or until we finally have sex," she said, her voice taking on a sing-song tone. Suddenly a bright smile that looked strangely out of place appeared on her face. "Te deseo, mi amor," she purred.

Harry visibly shuddered. In an instant, he was next to her, gasps filling the room again. Everyone, even Snape, seemed to be under their hypnotic spell.

"You might," he whispered, "but alas, puberty hasn’t hit either of us yet."

Wednesday’s response was short and to the point and barely audible.

"But," Harry offered, "you can make a potion with the eyes of a freshly slain Troll that makes the plague look like the common cold."

"Pugsley," Wednesday’s voice cracked like a whip. "Go get the Troll."

"Woo-hoo!" Pugsley yelled happily, and ran out the door.

"I must protest," Albus said, shaking his head as if he had been in a daze. "Students, to your common rooms."

"No," Harry said softly, his eyes not moving from Wednesday’s face.

None of the students moved as Albus stared down at them.

"Pugsley is bringing the Troll here," Harry said. "You’d be dead out there."

"Let them go," Wednesday pleaded, "please?"

Harry’s left hand reached out and stroked her cheek.

"I have no control over them," he replied to her, "only advice. They should listen to their Headmaster."

"Children," Dumbledore said. "The safest place for you is your common rooms. The doors can be locked. Prefects, escort the children."

Not one single student showed even the faintest hint of moving.

The door flew open and Pugsley ran in, a beaming smile on his face. "Look what I found," he said, holding out Hermione in both arms. "Can I keep her?"

"You may," Wednesday intoned solemnly.

"All right!" Pugsley yelled, and did a little dance. Hermione’s eyes were wide, but she didn’t seem to be protesting. "She was in the girls’ bathroom, I got her out the way and now the Troll’s coming here."

"Oh goody," Wednesday said in an almost gleeful tone of voice, rubbing her hands together.

Pugsley walked over to the Gryffindor table and sat down.

"Pugsley," Harry called.

The boy looked up.

"I’m proud of you."

Pugsley smiled as if he had just won the lottery.

"Ready, my love?" Harry asked Wednesday.

"I must protest," Dumbledore said as he stared at them, magic radiating from him as he commanded attention.

Harry and Wednesday ignored him,

The doors smashed open again and the Troll stood there, holding a club.

He roared, causing some of the children to shake with fear.

"Oh Harry," Wednesday breathed. "He’s beautiful; can I have him as a pet instead?"

"The Ministry doesn’t allow it," Harry said regretfully.

"Oh well then, ingredients he shall be," she said as she walked toward the large Troll.

The Troll roared again and Albus raised his wand.

"No!" Harry’s voice stopped him - and everyone else - from interfering.

The Troll scratched his head, looking confused at the non-reception he was getting.

Wednesday’s wand was in her hand as she walked up to him. "It’s time for you to die," she said regretfully, and bowed gracefully.

From behind her, summoned from no-one-knew-where, hundreds of knives shot over her head and crashed into the Troll.

The Troll looked down at its chest in surprise, before he slumped to a sitting position, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Then he collapsed, dead.

Pugsley appeared - in a conventional manner - next to Wednesday, and quickly climbed up the Troll. He made short work of harvesting the eyes for his sister with a dinner knife, dropping them in a glass of water taken from a nearby table.

"Thank you," she told him.

He grinned at her and returned to the Slytherin table, putting the glass next to Wednesday’s plate.

"Professor Snape," Harry said respectfully, "do you need any Troll ingredients?"

Snape didn’t answer immediately, as he controlled himself to ensure that he would not stutter. "Not at the moment," he replied, in the calmest voice he could muster.

Harry clapped his hands sharply. A house-elf appeared. "Please feed this Troll to the thestrals," Harry ordered.

The house-elf nodded and clapped its own hands; twenty more house-elves appeared, and together they floated the Troll out the door.

Snape turned to look at Albus and almost smiled; the look of confusion was one he expected to see a lot on the face of his old friend in the future.

"Weasley," Harry’s voice seemed to caress the word as he stared at the red-haired boy. "Exactly why was Granger not at dinner, and how did you know about it?"

Ron seemed unable to look away. "I told her she’s a nightmare," he replied in a dreamy voice. "Always getting things right, showing us up. She was crying and ran away." Ron paused, and then in a barely audible voice added, "Her bloody cat probably ate my rat as well."

"Someone was better than you, so you belittled her?" Harry asked, his gentle tone a stark contrast to his words.

Ron nodded.

Harry looked away and Ron shook himself, before a look of horror appeared on the boy’s face.

"And you dare to call me evil," Harry noted absently, as he returned to his place at the Slytherin table, Wednesday next to him.

"Mr Potter," Albus shouted. "My office, immediately."

Harry looked up and sighed. "You don’t want to reward us in public?" he asked.

Dumbledore swallowed and looked at him. "Reward?"

Harry smiled at the Headmaster, and Snape felt chills go up his back. "Why, yes; Pugsley rescued an errant Gryffindor, I stopped you from sending Slytherin house toward the Troll, and Wednesday showed just how easy it is to deal with ignorant and harmless beasts."

Dumbledore’s smile suddenly reappeared. "Quite right," he agreed, his eyes twinkling. "Fifty points each."

"And fifty points from Gryffindor for bullying and endangering another student’s life," Snape sneered.

Harry nodded. "After you then, sir," he said politely.

Dumbledore nodded and walked down to the table, heading out.

"Wednesday," Harry said, offering his arm. He looked at Pugsley. "She’s your responsibility now," he said, indicating Hermione.

Pugsley smiled.

Together, the far-too-old-for-their-years eleven year olds walked after the Headmaster.

Snape found himself on his feet, following them. He wouldn’t miss what was going to happen next, even if Potter was the son of his enemy - a fact he was finding harder and harder to believe as time went on.

The two children sat in front of the Headmaster’s desk, together but not touching.

Dumbledore looked at them silently.

Neither of them showed any discomfort as they sat in silence. Not a single expression crossed their faces as they waited patiently. Snape got the impression that they would have waited for eternity.

Albus obviously did as well, as he smiled at them. "Lemon drop?"

Wednesday reached out and took one, popping it in her mouth. A look of abject revulsion appeared a second later and she spat it out into a handkerchief, Harry’s handkerchief.

Yet again, Snape restrained the urge to gape. Harry had started to pull out the handkerchief before Wednesday had even moved to take the sweet. He had moved it up to her mouth just as she spat it out, as if he had known exactly what was going to happen, and had simply reacted.

"Not to your taste?" Dumbledore enquired politely.

Neither deemed that question worthy of response.

"Now," Dumbledore said. "I must object to you threatening Mr Weasley. His words might have been a little hasty, but his heart is in the right place. You might find that you like him if you spent some time with him."

"He is a closed-minded bigot," Wednesday said quietly. "And only weak people threaten."

"Excuse me?"

"A threat is something you make when you have very little intention of following through on it," Harry explained calmly. "We make promises. If he talks to Wednesday like that again, I’ll give him to her as a gesture of affection."

"You two do seem very close," Dumbledore continued, ignoring the substance of what Harry had just said. "May I ask about your relationship?"

"No."

Dumbledore looked nonplussed for a second.

"May I ask about your childhood?" he tried again, directing his question toward Harry.

"Why?"

"Was it a good one?"

"I fail to see how this question is relevant," Harry replied. "However, I’ll reply anyway. It was."

"Excellent," Albus said slowly.

"Was there anything else?"

"No, you may go."

And they did, without a word or a look.

---

Albus had been troubled after the interview, and hadn’t said anything for a long time. Snape had tried to work out just how the two of them seemed to be able to capture everyone’s attention so easily, and ignore it the rest of the time.

It didn’t seem natural, but then, nothing about them ever was.

---

---

As the Slytherin Head of House, he was frustrated. He couldn’t get anything out of them. They did not join in with student activities. They did not make friends. They weren’t even interested in Quidditch.

Well, Pugsley was. Pugsley, despite his strangeness, was genuinely liked, even by a few Gryffindors. The boy was bright, open, and unlike everyone else, was not affected in the slightest by Harry and Wednesday’s aloofness, or by their way of dealing with people who irritated them.

He’d tried to talk to Pugsley about them once, but he had got nothing back. The boy simply refused to talk about his sister and Harry. When Snape broached the subject, the light fell out of Pugsley’s eyes, and it was suddenly obvious that the boy was related to them.

Even the Weasley Twins knew to leave Harry and Wednesday alone. They had tried to pull a prank, and something had gone wrong. The Twins had been found the next morning, naked, staked out on the Quidditch pitch, in the centre of a pentagram, with no memory at all of what had happened the night before.

Wednesday had half-smiled all the following day.

Hermione seemed to be close to Pugsley, and was grateful. She was able to study in peace, talk to Pugsley when she wanted a friend, and was never mocked or insulted.

Well, not after the first time Draco had made a fuss about a "Mudblood" being in the Slytherin common room.

---

---

"Come with us," Pugsley said to Hermione. "I’ve got a great book on charms that Harry got me for my birthday last year. It’s got some great Native American stuff."

Hermione looked torn. "But it’s the Slytherin common room," she protested. "I’m not supposed to be in there, and they don’t like me."

Pugsley shrugged indifferently. "Trust me, there won’t be any problems."

Harry and Wednesday walked behind them, following them into the common room as Pugsley said the password to the Dungeon Portcullis. It rose slowly with a rusty creaking noise.

Pugsley took Hermione’s hand and pulled her in. "Hey Daph, Pan, Theo," he greeted the first people he saw cheerfully.

"Pugs," Daphne Greengrass responded softly.

"What the Hell is that Mudblood doing in here?" Draco yelled as he walked into the common room.

"What’s a Mudblood?" Harry asked.

Draco froze; it didn’t appear that he had seen Harry and Wednesday.

"A Muggle-born, someone who doesn’t have magical parents," Theodore Nott stated. "There are also half-bloods, mixed-bloods. All used as derogatory terms by purebloods who believe that they and they alone have superior blood."

"Interesting," Wednesday said softly. There was a ripple through the room. Everyone seemed to know that Wednesday was about to do something, but no one dared to try and stop her, nor did anyone leave; no one wanted to miss what was going to happen. "Hermione, hold out your hand."

Hermione did exactly as she was told.

Wednesday moved, a knife appearing in her hand. She took Hermione’s hand and sliced it lightly. Hermione gasped as bright red blood bubbled up through the cut. Harry was next to her, a potions vial in his hand, and Wednesday turned Hermione’s hand so that the blood dripped into it.

When it was full, Wednesday traced the wound with her finger and the gash vanished, causing Hermione to stare at her unmarked hand in shock.

Wednesday studied the vial full of blood for a second, and then shrugged and drank it. "So that was a Mudblood," she mused.

"I’m a half-blood," Harry volunteered.

"Hand?" Wednesday asked.

Harry shook his head.

"Please?"

Harry opened his mouth and then bit his bottom lip lightly.

"Por eternidad, mi amor."

He nodded and bit his lip hard until the blood was spurting out.

She took a step closer and kissed him, before sucking his bottom lip.

When they separated, she had a slight smile on her face, and Harry’s lip was unbroken.

She turned with the knife back in her hand. "Come here, Malfoy," she ordered coldly.

Draco paled and started to back away. "Stay away from me," he shouted.

"Oh no," Wednesday said solemnly. "I am interested in this important difference in blood."

"Use Goyle’s!"

Goyle blinked.

"No," Wednesday replied, and started to walk inexorably toward the cringing blond boy.

"Help me!" Draco shouted.

No one moved.

Draco whimpered and pulled out his wand.

Wednesday ignored it.

"I’ll curse you," he threatened.

Wednesday slowly smiled. "Go ahead," she challenged him.

Draco whimpered again, the wand shaking violently in his hand.

She reached him, and reached out, gently raising his chin.

"P-p-please," he begged.

She placed the knife against his jugular.

"Wednesday," Harry called.

She sighed and then viciously stabbed the knife into his hand, collecting the blood quickly as Draco screamed.

She pulled the knife out and it vanished. She didn’t bother to heal him as she walked back over to Harry. She looked at Draco’s blood, before drinking it.

She spat it out half way through. "Yeuch," she said, coughing. "It’s stale and tasteless."

Harry leaned over and kissed her. He leant back, running his tongue over his lips. "Powerless too," he agreed.

"What do you mean?" Daphne asked.

Wednesday looked at her. "Hermione’s blood is rich, full of life and genetic diversity. Powerful, too, much more so than Malfoy’s blood. If he’s what purebloods aspire to, then I pity you all." She turned to Harry. "You tell me I should occasionally try being nice, correct?"

Harry nodded.

"We should kill all the purebloods."

There was a gasp from everyone in the room.

"Why?"

"They’re slowly dying out," Wednesday explained. "They are dying a slow death, losing their power and their ability. It would be much nicer of us to put them out of their misery now."

"How many of you are convinced that blood supremacy is the way forward?" Harry asked.

Regardless of true belief, no one raised their hands.

Wednesday sighed. "Cowards," she said quietly. "Not even willing to die for your beliefs."

"W-W-Wednesday," Hermione said. "Am I more powerful than Harry as well?"

Wednesday looked at her in absolute silence for a few seconds. Then, to the shock and horror of nearly everyone, muscles on her face started to move. As if unable to control herself, Wednesday leaned against Harry and started to laugh, hard. Harry wrapped one arm around her and half smiled himself.

It took a few minutes for the girl to stop laughing. "I’ve not laughed like that in a long time."

"Two years, five days," Harry pointed out.

"When you got me that surprise present," she nodded. "I still owe you for that."

Harry smiled at her.

Wednesday looked at Hermione. "No, you’re not."

"O-one more question," Hermione said nervously. "How can you tell?"

"Years of practice," was her chilling reply.

---

---

He should be happier. The House Cup was going to be won by Slytherin. Their lead was totally insurmountable, because Harry and Wednesday won a lot of points. Both were completely committed to their studies, often doing extra credit assignments. It was obvious that neither cared about the house points system; they were both far too interested in simply learning anything and everything.

They hadn’t lost any points, either.

Because not once, not a single time, had anyone been able to prove that they had done anything worthy of deducting points.

Everyone knew they were responsible for a lot of things. And everyone knew that no one could actually prove it.

But he did at least have the chance to learn more about the family involved.

---

---

There was a knock on his door.

"Enter." His door opened, and Daphne Greengrass walked in. "How are you enjoying Hogwarts?"

"It’s not what I expected, Uncle Sev," she said. "It’s not what Mum and Dad told me it would be."

That was hardly a surprise, Agatha and Mark Greengrass were well known for their conservative views.

"He’s not what I thought, either," she added.

"Harry?"

"What, well, yeah, but I was talking about Draco. Is he playing a game, making people underestimate him?"

"It is possible," Severus agreed. He had his doubts, but Daphne’s idea was possible.

Daphne’s face cleared as she nodded. "I didn’t think he could be that stupid," she said cheerfully. "Maybe my parents were right, and if he’s willing to go through so much to be underestimated, he is worthy of his position."

Several incidents flashed through his mind, but he didn’t say anything. There was no need to tip his hand at this early stage. As much as he liked — possibly loved — his god-daughter, looking after himself always came first.

"Thanks, Uncle Sev," Daphne said as she bounced out, "see you at dinner."

Snape sighed, and a few minutes later, followed her path to the Great Hall. He routinely detested having to eat while watching over hundreds of children with the table manners of pigs. The noise level was back to normal now; the students were used to the silence and calm that surrounded Wednesday and Potter, and had learnt that if you ignored them, they ignored you back.

Everyone was a lot happier that way.

The doors opened dramatically, interrupting his musings, and he stared at the people in the door.

On the left was a hunched-over man, who was completely bald. Next to him was a couple. They were both tall with incredibly dark hair and outrageous good looks. He was tanned, and looked like he came from the Mediterranean, while she was completely pale with long dark hair. He was looking around eagerly, as if excited to be there, she had a calm expression and an air of tolerance.

"May I help you?" Minerva asked.

"Mom, Dad, Uncle Fester!" Pugsley shouted and ran over to them.

"Pugsley!" the uncle shouted, and picked him into a huge bear hug.

"We’re here to see our children," the woman said. As soon as she spoke, there wasn’t a single doubt as to her parentage of Wednesday. The voice was older, richer and more controlled, but had the same chilling power behind it.

"We don’t allow visitors during the school year," McGonagall interrupted.

"What?" the man demanded. "Not allow us to see our beloved offspring? Nonsense," he said, dismissing McGonagall’s statement. "Ah, and we’re in time for food as well. Excellent! I do hope it’s something exciting. Thing, be a chap and fetch us a table, we’ll sit next to Harry and Wednesday."

There was a series of screams as a disembodied hand crawled into the room. It jumped up and high-fived Pugsley before scurrying over to the Slytherin table. It snapped its fingers and a new table appeared.

"I must protest," Minerva shouted.

The man and woman didn’t stop. "Must you?" the male inquired. "Please, don’t let us stop you." They continued to walk calmly to their table.

"Minerva," Dumbledore said quietly. "I gave them permission."

"You did?"

"They demanded it," he confessed, "before they would let Pugsley, Harry and Wednesday come here."

"Wednesday," Uncle Fester said cheerfully. "Have you got a hug for your favourite uncle?"

"You’re my only uncle," she said quietly. "Well, the only uncle with a set of working heart and lungs."

He opened his arms, and she stepped into them, and they hugged.

"Harry old boy," the tall man said. "It’s dashed good to see you; why, the house hasn’t been the same without you."

"It’s good to see you as well, Gomez."

"While I’m here," he said in what passed for a whisper, "do you have any of that potion?"

"The one that turns you into a blood sucking ravenous beast with the stamina of a platoon of Marines on shore leave?"

Gomez nodded eagerly.

"I can whip some up for you."

"Tell me," Uncle Fester said to Wednesday. "How is it here?"

"On the first day," Wednesday said coldly, "they tried to make us sing."

"What sort of cruel and dangerous place are you running here, Bumbledore?" Gomez demanded. "Singing? Why, you’ll be telling me next that they wanted you to take part in team sports and other clubs."

"They did?" Gomez asked incredulously after seeing his daughter’s look. "I’m sorry, Bumbledore assured me that this was a decent school. If I’d known, I’d have never let you come."

"It’s Dumbledore, Dad," Pugsley pointed out.

"It is? Are you sure?"

Pugsley nodded.

"How remarkable."

"Wednesday," the woman said, looking at her daughter.

Wednesday moved over and willingly hugged the tall woman.

"Harry."

"Morticia," Harry said solemnly.

"Am I going to have to tie you to some train tracks in front of an onrushing train?" she demanded.

"The train doesn’t run at the moment," Harry pointed out sadly.

"Toddler pictures?"

"I give," he said, and hugged her tightly.

She ruffled his hair affectionately, before kissing him. "The house misses you," she told him. "It’s not had any new explosions in far too long, so we decided we’d come and see you."

"How’s Lurch?" Harry asked.

"Delighted that you asked about him. He’s at home; we have some Jehovah’s Witnesses locked up in the dungeon and he’s torturing them for us."

"Mum, Dad," Pugsley said, as he ran over to the Gryffindor table to grab Hermione. He dragged her back over. "This is Hermione. I saved her from a Troll and Wednesday said I could keep her."

"That was nice of you, dear," Morticia said, praising her daughter.

"It’s nice to meet you," Hermione said.

"Welcome to the family," Gomez said expansively. "I’m sure you’ll fit right in."

Hermione nodded uncertainly.

"I’m Pugsley’s d..." Gomez started and then stopped. He stared at the Ravenclaw table. "Violet?"

"Gomez," the Grey Lady, the Ravenclaw ghost, said warmly. "You old fiend."

"You didn’t tell me you were haunting Hogwarts."

"I’ve been doing it for a while," the ghost said. "It keeps me busy."

"This is my wife, Morticia."

"Violet and I know each other," Morticia said smoothly. "You must come and visit us tonight. I’ve got a spell that you’ll love."

The Grey Lady giggled and blushed as she nodded, before drifting out of sight.

"Harry," Gomez stage whispered again, "I think I’m going to need that potion tonight."

"I’ll get on it after dinner," Harry promised.

"Food," Uncle Fester said. "That’s the spirit. I’m hungry enough to eat a centaur."

"There are some in the forest," Wednesday pointed out.

"Oooh, can I go and grab one?"

"You’ll ruin your appetite before lunch," Harry scolded.

Fester looked down and nodded sadly.

"So, tell me about your friends," Morticia said, as they waited for the food.

"Friends?" Wednesday asked, as if the she didn’t quite understand the word.

"Well, we’ve not received any reports that you’ve killed anyone, so we presumed."

Wednesday nodded. "Harry won’t let me kill anyone," she complained.

"He won’t?" Morticia asked in surprise. "Why ever not?"

"I hate paperwork," Harry replied evenly. "And I hate dealing with incompetents, and the Ministry over here has paperwork and incompetents in equal portions. But not to worry -- I’ve been keeping a list, and when we’re finished, Wednesday can kill everyone who deserves it."

"Wonderful," Gomez said with an enthusiastic clap of his hands.

"In the meantime, Wednesday can introduce you to a few people who have stood out."

There was a strange sound of a hall full of people gulping at once.

Wednesday looked up. "The dyspeptic blond sitting over there is Draco Malfoy. He believes himself somewhat superior because of his blood. He’s very proud of the fact that he can trace his blood back to the ninth century."

"A blood supremacist?" Morticia asked distastefully. "I do so hate new blood. You did tell him?"

"Why bother?" Wednesday asked. "He dislikes anything that’s not pureblood. But his blood is dying, so it’s not a problem."

Morticia shook her head sadly, "I can trace my family back to the birth of Atlantis."

"And mine goes back a few thousand years before that," Gomez added as an aside. He picked up Harry’s glass, "One of my ancestors fought at the battle of Clah’Midu, and helped banish the evil ones to Hell. We never forget where we come from," he said as he saluted the air.

"Do they practice inbreeding?" he asked, his solemnity vanishing as if it had never existed.

"Yes."

Gomez was suddenly next to Draco, no one had seen him move, showing clearly who Harry and Wednesday had learned that skill from. He banged on Draco’s head a few times and listened. "Why, there’s not enough power in here to cook a demon," he said in surprise. "Are you fully grown?"

"I’m eleven," Draco snapped. "Of course not."

"So, you should be nearly fully trained with your power now."

"We don’t teach our children magic until they come to Hogwarts," Dumbledore interjected.

"Why on earth not?" Gomez asked. "How do you expect them to grow up and push the boundaries of what is and what isn’t possible?"

"Children below the age of eleven do not have the control necessary."

"Of course they don’t," Gomez agreed, as he started to stalk around the room, his arms waving dramatically. "They’re supposed to blow things up! They’re supposed to get things wrong! They’re supposed to kidnap their classmates and perform bizarre and unholy experiments on them! How else are they going to learn?"

"Gomez," Morticia said, "you’re interrupting dinner."

"What? Oh, yes, of course." He was sat back down with his family in the blink of an eye.

"I think the food is ready," Harry pointed out.

"Excellent," Gomez cheered and looked down at his plate.

In front of him, a full roast goose appeared, with all the trimmings on heaving plates around it.

"What is this?" Uncle Fester asked.

"It’s what passes for food around here," Pugsley said, starting to help himself to some vegetables.

"It makes eating a disgusting experience," Wednesday said.

"How nice," Morticia said delicately. "Gomez, cut the bird."

Gomez reared back out of his seat, a sword appearing in his hand. "Have at you!" he cried, and attacked the roasted bird. There was a blur of movement, and large segments flew off to land on his family’s plates.

With a dramatic flourish, he threw the carcass on to Fester’s plate and chucked the sword to one side, where it narrowly missed a squeaking Hufflepuff and landed in a suit of armour’s hand.

"Thank you," Fester said gratefully.

Morticia gracefully passed the other bowls around the table.

Gomez took a bite and coughed. "That is the most repulsive thing I’ve touched in decades. Dumbledore promised you would be fed properly."

Harry shrugged. "It has a few of the needed vitamins. A little too much fat, but I’ve been making us nutritional potions. We’ve not starved."

"Even so," Morticia said. "I enjoy pain and suffering as much as the next sadomasochist, but I wouldn’t feed this to our prisoners in the dungeon."

"They all seem to like it," Harry pointed out.

"Do you think that’s why they’ve lost the ability to talk and seem fascinated by us?" Morticia asked.

"I think I’ve lost my appetite," Gomez muttered.

"If you finish it, we’ve got a present for you," Harry said.

"A present?" Gomez asked eagerly.

Harry nodded.

Gomez started to eat, and while he ate fast, his manners were exquisite, which was more than could be said for Fester, who was devouring the carcass with relish.

Morticia ate a little, but only enough to be polite. Pugsley ate a full meal, as did Hermione. Harry and Wednesday ate their normal portions - which wasn’t much.

Gomez leaned back, a cigar appearing in his mouth. Thing jumped onto his shoulder, a lighter in his fingers. He snapped the lighter and lit the cigar.

"Thanks, Thing," Gomez said contentedly.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" Fester asked.

"Not at all," Gomez replied.

Harry reached out and placed his hand over Wednesday’s mouth and nose, his lips moved as he cast a spell. He then did himself. He seemed to pause, before he leaned over the table and did Hermione as well.

Fester sat where he was, and thin trails of smoke started to stream out of every pore on his body.

Hermione smiled gratefully at Harry.

Fester sighed after a few moments and stopped smoking. "I needed that," he sighed.

Harry reached from under the table and placed a large box on the table.

Gomez reached for it eagerly and ripped open the paper eagerly. He reached inside and lifted a miniature replication of the Hogwarts Express onto the table. "Children," he said softly.

"We enchanted it for you," Pugsley said eagerly. "Press the button!"

He did, and the Hogwarts Express blew a horn before it slowly started to roll around the table, gathering speed as it did.

Harry moved his right hand and knocked a salt shaker into its path.

The miniature crashed straight into it and exploded into a ball of flames.

"Wonderful," Gomez cheered. "This is brilliant!"

"Look," Wednesday said.

From the back of the carriage, small figures stepped out and looked bewildered.

"If you get a big enough crash, they’ll burn, too."

Gomez picked one of the small figures up, and tossed it in the air.

"Arrrrgggghhhh," Draco screamed as he was suddenly thrown into the air, before landing with a painful sounding crack.

Morticia sighed and waved her right hand. Draco was suddenly back in his spot, looking pristine. He looked around in bewildered panic, his eyes wild.

"Wednesday’s been studying voodoo," Harry said proudly.

"Is this true?" Gomez asked.

Wednesday nodded shyly.

"That’s wonderful," Gomez cried. "I’m so proud of you."

"I am, as well, Wednesday," Morticia said. "Why don’t you show us around now," she continued. "We can see the others later."

Harry nodded, and took Wednesday’s hand. Together, they led the family out of the Great Hall.

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