Harry Potter and Addams Family

Part 1

He'd done it.

It had been long overdue, but he'd finally done it.

The knife in his hand gleamed under the stark white light of the living room chandelier. Blood, redder than rubies and twice as precious, stained the sharp edge, a few drops sparkling before they hit the floor.

There was a whimper, quickly shushed.

His rage simmered just under the surface. He could still feel its banked fire, but in a curiously detached manner, like seeing a sliver of something from under his cupboard door. It was still accessible though. All he had to do was want it.

How he wanted it.

To anyone watching from the window, it must have seemed so strange: a small boy, no more than five, standing like a predator over his prey. His black hair fell over his face, unkempt and unruly, but his eyes shone like emerald fire from under the fringe. In the corner, trying to fit into a shadow, hid a thin, long-necked woman, her arms barely reaching around a beachball of a boy who was nursing a broken arm. The woman herself sported a few wounds, none of them immediately fatal, but he could remedy that. The stench of mortality was in the air, almost but not quite overpowered by the smell of fear and urine.

The body of Vernon Dursley lay on the floor, looking for all the world like a beached whale. His piggy eyes were glazed over in death.

Harry felt the urge to laugh welling up in him, but he restrained himself. His job wasn't done yet.

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

His cousin was chasing him again. He was running as fast as he could, but overweight though he was, Dudley had the tenacity of a bulldog and he knew the neighborhood better.

Harry tripped over an uneven crack, and in a flash, Dudley was on him, punching his face and stomach with his fast little fists.

"Stupid, dumb little freak!" he yelled. "Who told you to look at my friends? Stupid freak! Stupid freak!"

Those words...

In a short life filled with neglect and pain, piled high with those abusive words, those few had been the last straw. Fury dropping over his eyes in a blood-red haze, he reached out, pulled and struck. There was a crack.

Dudley scooted off him, his mouth already stretched around a wail, his face paler than a ghost's. His arm was bent at an unnatural angle, and he instinctively held it close to his body as he ran towards the house. Harry followed, quicker than a dart, his brain suddenly aflame with possibilities.

His cousin ran straight for the living room, but that didn't matter. The kitchen did.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH! WHAT'VE YOU DONE TO MY BOY?"

Harry's devilishly insane grin had been the last thing his uncle ever saw.

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

And now here he was, with three dead bodies and nowhere to put them.

Harry sat back on his heels, tapping his lips idly with the tip of the knife. He had drawn the curtains, of course, and locked the door as well. He was young, not stupid.

"Is this the place, querida?"

"Maman did say No. 4 Privet Drive." The doorknob rattled, bringing Harry to attention. His head whipped around, venomous eyes narrowed. "It's locked, Gomez dear. Do you mind?"

"Of course not! Anything for you, cara mia." There were faint smooching sounds, then the snick of the lock. The hinges squeaked, and then there were footsteps.