Hairy Potter-Addams and the Philosopher's Stone: An Altogether Ooky Tale

The Potions Master

In the middle of the night, Hairy woke up in a cold sweat, panting and shaking. He'd had that nightmare again, the one where he heard a woman scream and a cruel, cold laugh, all accompanied by a verdant flare of light. It always left him feeling frightened and vulnerable. When he was very small, Hairy could always clamber into bed with his parents up the corridor. Now, Gomez and Morticia were thousands of miles away, and Harry was far too old to think about sleeping betwixt his parents. For some reason, he'd never brought himself to divulge his nightmare to either the Addamses or James and Lily, even though he'd been having it off and on for some years now.

For the first time since the Addams' flight from New Jersey, Harry felt lonely. He listened to the unfamiliar breathing and occasional light snores of the other Gryffindor boys around him and wished Pugsley were there. Eventually, he dozed off again.

By morning, the fear caused by his nightmare was forgotten, especially in the face of his excitement about his first day of magic classes.

Ron stuck close to Harry's heels as the two of them tried to navigate the endlessly frustrating corridors and staircases, which shifted position on what almost seemed to be a whim. Harry, on a whim of his own, tried asking the staircase nicely to go where they needed it to go. It usually worked on the stubborn doors and windows at the Addams home, but it was no good here. The boys made their way down to breakfast thanks to the directions of several very helpful enchanted paintings.

Only one major impediment stood in their way: Peeves the Poltergeist. At one point on the moving staircases he awaited any straggling first-years on their way to breakfast with an armful of chalkboard erasers, just waiting to pelt the children in their clean, black robes and cover them with chalk dust. Ron and Harry saw him coming.

Hairy approached the nearest suit of armor. "Excuse me, good sir knight. Could I borrow your sword for a moment? I have a noble quest to complete. A foul villain is attacking innocent children." Immediately the suit handed over its sword.

Ron gaped at him. "Harry, are you off your head?"

Rather than answering, Hairy said, "I know almost no magic. Time to handle this the Addams way. Stay behind me, Ron."

The boys strode out into the corridor. Hairy raised the sword. "Peeves! Stand and deliver!"

The poltergeist appeared with a pop and a wicked cackle. "Ooh, ickle firsties! My, my. We mustn't run with knives, no, no." He hurled the first eraser at Hairy.

Hairy choked up tighter on the grip of the sword. "Run," he ordered Ron and the few other children behind him. He swung the sword at the eraser, striking it with the flat of the blade. "Yeah, buddy! America's pastime!"

The kids sprinted whilst Peeves was otherwise occupied. The eraser rebounded off Hairy's well-timed swing and smacked him in the chest. Chalk dust flew everywhere as Peeves dropped the remaining erasers. Wailing in discontent, Peeves zipped off down the corridor.

Hairy returned the sword to the suit of armor. "Thank you for your service, good sir knight." Then he made his way toward the stairs, where Ron awaited him.

"That was mad," the ginger boy said. "What made you think of that?"

Hairy shrugged. "When you grow up anywhere close to New York, anything can a home run pitch if you look at it right. Don't you know about baseball?"

"No. But if it scares Peeves, I'm in."

Hairy eyed Ron. "If you can catch, you've got the makings of a good center-fielder. You're tall enough."

Ron flushed. "I guess that's a good thing."

As they sat to breakfast, Hairy explained baseball. They were quickly joined by a Black first-year, Dean Thomas, who was a Muggle-born football fan.