Harveste Addams (PotterxAddams)

Year Five

Puberty.

Just the mere mention of it is enough to make the most successful men and women groan.

It bring back memories of pimples and chin fuzz, awkward limbs and even more awkward emotions, unwillingness to change in the locker room and utter failure at Gym.

It marks the many changes a child's body undergoes: physical, emotional, psychological. The body produces chemicals and hormones that course through an unsuspecting constitution over a period of several years. The voice deepens, the hips thicken, skin starts to riot and there is oil seepage. From everywhere.

To those who have had an active school life, these changes might have gone unnoticed. Oh certainly, new clothes have been bought to accommodate growing frames, certain desires have started to shift more unexpectedly than quicksand, and for women, there is suddenly a need for a corset or a suitable variation thereof that does not weld your lungs to your spine and cause asphyxiation.

Adolescence is synonymous for Coming of Age, for maturity, for the realization of self and the discernment of your life's path. It is a time to make choices, to stand in the midst of your wants and needs and be buffeted by peer pressure, parental authority and personal bloody-mindedness. It's a time for good and bad, for darkness and light.

For wizards, it's a little more literal.

For the Addams...

-.-.-.-...-.-.-.-

The pale golden beach stretched like a warm, inviting smile.

Virgin rainforest covered the rest of the tiny Caribbean island, making it look like a rare jewel amongst the sea's white-crested waves. The few villagers that lived in the area were peaceable and had never known the tragedies of war, the exploitation of tourism or the ravages of pollution. It was an untouched paradise, veritably perfect in every way.

Or at least it had been, before an oil drilling unit in the area had exploded. The earth had rumbled and shook beneath the frightened villagers, and they had seen the burgeoning mushroom of black smoke even though it had been far out at sea. Then men in strange shiny boats had arrived at the island, their unfamiliar language gruff and harsh. In two days, the area had been deserted.

Now, the waves that lapped at the beach were no longer clear or clean. The sand was streaked with thick, slimy bands of black that seeped between the fine grains. Washed up and scattered across the shoreline were the tarred carcasses of seagulls and various sizes of fish. The oil had even managed to find its way into the waterbed, turning the verdant trees into sickly leafless spindles. It seemed that even the sun had turned its back on the once-beautiful island. There were no birds, no people, no fish nor fowl. The only sound was the buzzing of the flies that feasted on the decaying animal corpses.

And the tinny metallic sound of unfolding deck chairs.

"This place is a nightmare. I'm sure Cousin Lumpy would adore a second honeymoon here."

There was a promise of acid rain in the breeze. Uncle Fester had waded out into the foul water and was gesturing wildly with a pack of dynamite. Wednesday, her face impassive, was standing at the water's edge, the water seeming to curve around the trailing ends of her skirt. Her hands were folded over her chest as she tilted her head towards their Uncle, but he could still see her fingers spasmodically tightening over the trigger of a rather large flamethrower. Further on, Grandmama's hunchbacked form hobbled sideways over the beach, dragging a cast-iron cauldron in the sand. Dinner tonight was going to be interesting.

Harry looked down at the sound of a tiny burp. Pubert sat on the sand, his chubby little face grimy with black marks and his jaw industriously working away. A feathery wingtip poked from the side of his mouth.