Family Values
The Contract
By Ishtar
FAMILY VALUES
Disclaimer: Neither Harry Potter nor the Addams Family belong to me, alas. I’m merely playing with them, and promise to put them back in the same condition in which I found them. Mostly.
A/N Sorry for no chappie yesterday. The folks at work insisted that I actually work (imagine that!), and when I got home I spent several hours wrestling with it, writing a grand total of 350 words, until I realized that writing from Morticia’s point of view just wasn’t going to work here. So we’re back with Petunia for a while, and hopefully this chapter is long enough to make up for it.
Thanks for your reviews and comments, everyone. I’m really happy with the reception this story has received so far, and I hope to keep up the momentum. Several of you pointed out an annoying misplaced pronoun in the previous chapter, and I also received a helpful Brit-pick tip on the delivery of newspapers. Corrections have been made; thank you, everyone.
Chapter 03 — The Contract
If Petunia didn’t scream during the night, it was only because she was too terrified to. She attempted to pick up the candelabrum, to get a better look at the room, but the candles went out as soon as she touched it. She fumbled around the walls, but could find no light switch — what century were these people living in, anyway? — and was forced to find her way back to the bed by touch. During this process, she barked her shins severely on several pieces of furniture that she swore had not been in the room before, but that were there now for the express purpose of tripping her up. She changed into her nightgown, draping her clothing over the footboard — this was not something she would ordinarily do, but she was not venturing into the darkness looking for the wardrobe, not with homicidal furniture out there — and then climbed awkwardly into the bed.
The mattress was soft — too soft. She sank into it and it billowed up on either side of her, hampering her movement. She managed to pull a quilt, which smelt of lavender and less wholesome things, up over her, and tried to sleep, but it was useless. In a big old house like this, night noises were inevitable, and she was so unsettled that every noise was magnified into a signal that some creeping horror that was out to get her.
She finally did manage to drop off, but woke up abruptly, convinced that there was something — some thing — in the bed with her. Groping blindly, she found a hand — a hand that was not hers and was connected to no arm — resting on the quilt. It was warm, and it wiggled in her grasp. With a shriek, she flung it away from her, hearing a satisfying thump as it hit the wall, and grabbed for the candelabrum, prepared to defend her life and virtue if necessary. There were a few scuffling noises, and then she heard a rapid patter moving out of her room and down the hall. Silence fell again, and Petunia huddled against the headboard and dared not move until morning came.
21 December — The Addams Residence, Somewhere in New Jersey
As soon as it was light enough to see, Petunia got out of bed and searched the room. There was no sign of a dismembered hand anywhere, and she decided with relief that she had dreamed it. The things she had left across the footboard had vanished over night, but nothing leaped out of the wardrobe at her when she opened it, and all her clothes were hanging there neatly. She dressed rapidly and then went in search of a bathroom, which was rapidly becoming a necessity. Fortunately, it was both close by and relatively normal, although the clawed feet on the tub were a little too realistically modelled for her taste.
She returned to her room and repacked her things, just in case she needed to make a quick getaway, but also recognizing that she might have to leave everything behind anyway. She only had a few jewellery items of any value, so she made sure she was wearing those. Then she went looking for the nursery again. She didn’t particularly care for her nephew, that was true, but even he didn’t belong in a house like this.
The house had looked large from the outside, but it was even bigger on the inside, and she soon became thoroughly lost. She peeked into some of the rooms, and found most of them to be unused, with dust covers draped over the furnishings. This section must be guest quarters, and she was sure there were rarely guests to be quartered. Eventually she found a flight of stairs leading down to the ground floor and the main foyer. She tried the front door, but it refused to open. Further investigation showed that the door Morticia had come from the previous night led to a parlour. The furniture was all antique and probably original to the house. She pushed open the drapes, and the grey morning light showed unmistakeable signs of heavy wear on the upholstery. The rugs were threadbare, the wallpaper faded where the sun would hit it, and the drapes themselves were brittle with age. This room contained the first sign she had seen of holiday decorations; a tall, thin tree with only a few crispy brown needles clinging to it was decorated with ornaments she would have considered appropriate for Halloween — little ghosts, black cats, broomsticks, even skeletons and a tiny Iron Maiden — and garlanded with funereal black and purple ribbons.
"Good morning, Petunia," came Morticia’s voice from behind her. Petunia jumped and whirled to see her cousin in the doorway, arms casually crossed. Either she was wearing the same long dress as yesterday, or she had a closet full of the things. "I’m surprised to see you up this early. Did you sleep well?"
"Not at all! There was this … this thing in my room and…"
"Thing was in your room? Oh dear, he knows he’s not supposed to bother the guests, but he’s always just so happy to see visitors. I’ll have a word with him later. Now, how would you like a cup of tea before breakfast to settle your nerves?" Morticia gracefully led Petunia to one of the chairs near the tree. "I see you noticed my little tree. I generally don’t decorate much for the holidays, but last week I was taken by a dreadful urge to be merry, so I indulged. The children seem to like it."
Morticia crossed to the corner of the room, where there was a hangman’s noose hanging unobtrusively in the shadows. Morticia pulled it briskly, and a loud gong rang. To Petunia, it seemed to shake the entire house. The giant butler appeared instantly in the doorway. "You raaang?" he asked in his groaning voice.
"Please bring us some tea, Lurch. My personal blend, I think," she said, glancing at Petunia, who was perched tensely on the very edge of her seat. "And let Grandmama know that we will be down for breakfast shortly."
The butler groaned in acknowledgement and disappeared as quickly and as silently as he had come.
"I saw you looking out the window," Morticia said. "I’m afraid the gardens aren’t much at this time of year. You should see them in the summer, when the wolfsbane and the hellebore and the nightshade are in bloom. I even have some bog asphodel, although it usually doesn’t grow well outside of the Pine Barrens. There’s a colony of the dearest little brown bats in the attic, and it’s so relaxing to watch them flit about in the evening while the tree frogs sing. But I do love a day like today, when it’s grey and damp and they’re promising sleet for the afternoon. It just makes you feel good to be alive."
Petunia made politely noncommittal noises which Morticia apparently took for agreement, and they chatted about gardening, which was an interest they seemed to have in common. In a few moments the butler was back, carrying a silver tea tray that looked tiny in his huge hands. He set it on the table next to Morticia’s chair and vanished again. Morticia poured from the ornate silver teapot, and handed Petunia a delicate cup of steaming tea.
Petunia cradled the cup gratefully, since her hands were cold, and took a whiff, as she always did, before tasting the tea. She almost retched; the tea was vaguely greenish, and smelled of nasty, rancid sweat socks. "What is this?" she asked.
"Do you like it? It’s my own calming blend. Valerian, skullcap, a little hops for a hint of bitterness. I hope you don’t mind, but you do seem a little on edge this morning."
"It’s certainly … different." Petunia bravely took a sip, forcing herself not to inhale any more of the scent. It didn’t taste as bad as it smelled, fortunately, although Morticia was correct about the bitterness.
"I’ll have some packed up for you to take home with you," said Morticia. She picked up a little silver bell and rang it once. To Petunia’s everlasting horror, a disembodied hand skittered into the room, walking on its fingertips as if they were feet. The hand leaped up onto the table next to the tea tray. "Thing, dear, would you mind terribly getting a jar of my morning tea blend and putting it in Petunia’s bag? Thank you. Oh, and were you in her room last night?"
The hand flipped itself so it was standing on its wrist and signalled to Morticia in what Petunia thought was probably sign language.
"Oh, yes, I see. Quite. You did startle her, though, so please don’t do it again. Thank you."
The hand flashed an ‘OK’ sign, jumped off the table, and scuttled out of the room again.
"Thing said he was in your room last night to put away your clothes. Then you grabbed him and flung him against the wall. Is this true?"
"Well, yes. I mean, what else was I supposed to do when I found a hand in bed with me?"
"I quite understand, and so does Thing. He really appreciated your taking the time to play with him. I do believe he likes you."
Petunia shuddered at the thought.
"Now, if you’ve finished your tea, let’s go down to breakfast, and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the family."
"There’s more?" said Petunia weakly, taking another token sip of tea and then putting the cup down gratefully.
"Oh, yes, you haven’t met my husband or his brother yet. That’s all the immediate family. The extended family will be coming for the party tonight."
"Party?" asked Petunia weakly.
"To celebrate your bringing Harry to us, of course. Now come; we have a busy day ahead of us." She led Petunia through a corridor to a large dining room, and then down a flight of stairs to a basement kitchen. "We generally breakfast en famille in the kitchen. It’s so cozy down here," said Morticia.
Petunia wouldn’t exactly have called it cozy, exactly. The kitchen was cavernous, its ceiling was low and smoke-stained, and the walls were festooned with items that could have been antique cooking utensils or could have been torture implements. There was a fireplace big enough to roast a whole cow in, and a huge cast-iron stove that could make enough food to feed an army. Grandmama was making scrambled eggs, and the three children were seated in high chairs at the huge oak table, snacking on some sort of dry cereal and happily pelting each other with bits of it.
Harry was joining in, but he stopped as soon as he saw Petunia, shrinking into himself and clutching some of his cereal tightly in his hands.
Morticia acted as though she didn’t notice, kissing all three children good morning before helping Grandmama serve the eggs. The two Addams women sat with the children, helping Wednesday and Harry eat some of the eggs, while Pugsley could mostly manage on his own.
Petunia was wondering exactly what was in the eggs and whether it was safe to eat them, because they smelled a trifle odd, when two men came into the kitchen. One was tall and swarthy, with black hair parted in the middle and slicked down, and a pencil-thin moustache. He wore a purple pin-striped suit with an extravagant black silk cravat. The other was just as tall and massively built, wearing a bulky black robe instead of a shirt and trousers. He was completely bald, and his skin was pasty white. Still, the family resemblance between the men was obvious in their sunken dark eyes and wide grins full of slightly pointed teeth. "Good morning, darling!" said the one in the suit. "How are the children today? Good heavens, we seem to have acquired an extra one! Where did that come from?" he asked in mock surprise.
"Now, dearest, you know perfectly well young Harry arrived yesterday. That’s why you spent it hiding in your office. Look, he’s already playing with Pugsley!" Pugsley had decided to use his spoon as a catapult, and was launching sticky gobs of egg at Harry. Harry looked at Petunia, and then covered his head with his hands. Spending six weeks with the Dursley family had already taught him that when a bigger boy wanted to hit him with something, he shouldn’t fight back.
Morticia’s lips tightened, and she pried Harry’s fingers out of his hair. "See, Harry, Pugsley’s playing! He likes you. So you just throw something back, and he’ll know you like him, too." She gave Harry a spoon and some egg, and carefully showed him how to fling it. Little Wednesday insisting on joining in, and soon that entire side of the table was covered in yellow goo and the children’s laughter rang to the rafters.
Once he had his wife’s attention again, Gomez gestured to Petunia. "Morticia, my dear, you’ve been remiss. Won’t you present us to the vision of loveliness gracing our table?"
"Of course. Petunia, may I present my husband, Gomez, and my brother in law, Fester?"
"Enchante, my dear," Gomez murmured, taking Petunia’s offered hand and leaning over it to kiss it.
She was rather startled; no one had ever kissed her hand before, or told her she was a vision of loveliness as if they meant it. And Gomez did mean it; his sincerity was obvious. Even though he wasn’t a very attractive man, she could sense passion burning in him, and couldn’t help but respond. She blushed and stammered out a greeting.
Fester waved merrily at her from behind Gomez. Grandmama handed Gomez a plate, and Fester helped himself to the rest of the eggs, eating directly out of the pan. Fester, for one, did not stand on ceremony.
Breakfast with the Addamses reminded Petunia somewhat of meals with her own family, before Lily’s freakishness — no, talent, these people liked Lily, so she had to be politic — had manifested. The atmosphere was relaxed and intimate, and she hadn’t even realized that she missed it.
Once the meal was done, Gomez leapt energetically to his feet. "Shall we deal with business before the day’s festivities? Grandmama, will you be all right with the children for the morning?"
"Go on," said the older woman, whose first name Petunia still did not know. Everyone just seemed to refer to her as "Grandmama," even her own sons. "I can handle the children — I assume there’s a child under there," she said, looking dubiously at Pugsley, who was almost completely covered with egg, since Harry and Wednesday had ganged up on him. "You just do what has to be done."
Gomez offered Petunia his hand. "Shall we?"
Soon Gomez, Morticia and Petunia were closeted in Gomez’s study, which proved to be a comfortable office space and adjoining library. It was easily the most welcoming room Petunia had seen in the house so far.
Gomez pulled a sheaf of papers and a rolled up scroll from out of a filing cabinet and settled down on a leather sofa, Morticia next to him. Petunia was comfortable in a wing-back chair. "Before we get started, Petunia, do you have any questions about anything?" he asked.
"No, well, I don’t know. Yes, I guess. My parents always said Lily was the first, um, witch in the family. But Morticia, I mean, the candles last night, and Thing, and … I’m doing this badly but, are you witches?"
The Addamses glanced at each other, and Petunia had the feeling that a whole conversation passed between them.
"I suppose that depends on who you ask," said Morticia, carefully. "To your sister and her husband and their folk, no, we’re not. But there are just as many who would say yes. We can’t do magic the way your sister could, though some of our ancestors could. But magic comes in many forms, and there are other ways that don’t require the waving of wands. Even you may have magic of some kind."
"I — I don’t think so. I’m not like…" She let the end of her sentence trail off, aware that there was no way to finish it without hopelessly alienating her ‘hosts’.
"Well, if you don’t look for it, you’ll never find it," said Morticia, smoothly. "That’s entirely up to you. But Harry…"
"Harry will be like them."
"Like his parents, yes. Strange things will be happening around him, to the people near him."
"I don’t think I can cope with that. I know my husband can’t. And my son demands so much of my time, well …"
"You don’t need to justify yourself to us, Petunia. I know exactly what you’re thinking, what you’re going through." And she did, Petunia knew suddenly. And she didn’t approve. That was why she was so formal. She would be different when it was just the family.
"Harry has a very special destiny," Morticia continued. "We’re willing to work with him, to help him achieve it. You know we can do it, and it will also protect your son and husband. So we ask you formally, Petunia, will you grant guardianship of Harry Potter to us?"
"Yes."
Gomez leaned forward and spread out the papers on the coffee table between them. "These are the legal papers. State, federal immigration, everything. We’ll all sign them, I’ll have them filed with the proper authorities, all will be taken care of." He placed the scroll next to the other papers. "And this is the Betrothal Contract. This will make him our son in all but name."
"Betrothal? But he’s far too young…"
"It’s the safest way," said Morticia. "The idea is to betroth our daughter, Wednesday, to him, after which we will raise him in fosterage to be a fit partner for her. We will ensure that he is properly schooled in the use of his magic and trained to meet his destiny."
"But a marriage contract? That’s so medieval. What if he doesn’t want to marry Wednesday? Or she doesn’t want to marry him?"
"Who wouldn’t want to marry my daughter?" cried Gomez, springing to his feet and pacing around the room. "She’ll be beautiful and strong and intelligent, just like her mother! But in the remote possibility that Harry is completely insane and doesn’t want to marry her, he doesn’t have to. The contract will allow either of them to terminate it. But until then, this is the best way to protect him and his property. At the moment, you can’t protect him if he needs it, but we can. Do we have an agreement?"
Petunia bit her lip, then nodded. If nothing else, she didn’t want to face Vernon if she came back home with the boy.
"Good, then let’s get to it! You have his birth certificate, his guardianship papers, and the papers I sent you to be executed before you came? Oh, thank you, Thing."
The hand popped up from somewhere behind the chair, offering Gomez the buff envelope Petunia had had in her luggage. She was outraged that Thing had been going through her baggage — again — but was beginning to learn that polite standards of behaviour didn’t apply to these people. She just wanted to sign the papers and go home. Then if someone poisoned Harry with their cooking or he fell into a bog, it wasn’t any of her responsibility.
They signed all the normal legal papers first, which took some time, and then Gomez unrolled the scroll, weighting down the corners with a car from a toy train and a monkey skull as paperweights. It was all handwritten, and Petunia found it rather hard to read. "Wait, what is this? ‘I transfer all family assets, properties, wards, bindings, and protections…’ What assets?"
"The boy has a share in the trust funds set up by your parents for Lily and yourself and your children." Petunia nodded; she received a certain amount quarterly under her parents’ Wills; it wasn’t much, but it was something, and it was hers and would go to Dudley if something happened to her. It made sense they’d have left something similar for Lily, but she hadn’t thought of it before. "Of course there’s the Addams Family Trust, he’ll get a share of that if he chooses to claim it. Wednesday’s dowry, if they do marry. The Potters probably had something at Gringotts, the Wizarding bank, too, but I won’t be able to find that out until after the Contract is signed. The Goblins have very strict rules about account access. It will all remain in his name, of course; that’s another reason for the Contract. If Lily performed any protective spells, and it sounds like she may have, or else they wouldn’t have insisted Harry stay with blood relatives, then this will transfer those spells from you and your house to us and ours."
"There might be spells on me?" Petunia practically squeaked.
"And your house," said Morticia, calmly. "If the people who murdered your sister came for Harry, you might be forced to defend him."
"Then let me sign this and get them off," said Petunia, suddenly willing to disregard any hypothetical assets in favour of removing any spells on herself.
"This contract has to be signed in blood," Gomez warned.
Petunia turned somewhat green, but nodded. Gomez took three small silver bowls, a knife, and an old fashioned quill pen from a desk drawer. Each of them made a small cut on their thumb, letting the blood flow into the bowls, then signed the Contract with the quill and sealed it with a bloody thumbprint. When it was done, Petunia sighed and morosely blotted the wound with a tissue, while Gomez and Morticia licked each others’ thumbs clean.
21 December — Hogwarts Castle, Scotland
In a tower room belonging to Albus Dumbledore, a small silver device resembling a gyroscope standing on a polished granite base spun slowly clockwise. At the moment Petunia placed her thumbprint on the Contract to seal it, it stopped spinning, began to scream shrilly, and started spinning madly in the opposite direction. When Morticia Addams placed her thumbprint on the Contract, the screaming ceased, and the device changed direction again, resuming its slow clockwise rotation. Unfortunately, at that time Dumbledore was out of his office at a meeting with his teaching staff. By the time he returned to his office and cast a casual glance over the devices monitoring Harry Potter, there was nothing unusual to be seen.
21 December — The Addams Residence, Somewhere in New Jersey
Shortly after lunch time, the first of a long stream of delivery vans arrived at the Addams house, with signs on their sides advertising florists, bakeries, and a surprising number of caterers. When Morticia Addams threw a party, she was serious about it. Petunia was thinking about going up to her room for a little lie-down, since her short night had left her fatigued, when Morticia brought a short, plump woman clad in a gown that seemed to be all lace and ribbons up to her. "Petunia, my dear, I realize you probably didn’t bring anything with you that would be suitable for a party. This is Madeleine, my personal dressmaker. I asked her to do me the favour of dressing you for the occasion. May I put you in her hands?"
"Oh, er, yes, of course," said Petunia, and she was forthwith whisked off to a dressing room, where Madeleine dismissed her entire wardrobe and all her accessories with a sniff that told Petunia exactly what Madeleine thought of them. An assistant passed Madeleine a measuring tape and took notes while every part of Petunia that could be measured was measured. Madeleine then spent close to an hour holding swatches of fabric and lace up against Petunia’s face and arms, then went off without consulting Petunia about her preferred styles at all.
Before Petunia could escape, she was beset by two other women, one of whom supervised her bath and then did her hair, the other of whom did Petunia’s makeup and gave her a manicure. Just before the party was to start, Madeleine returned, and proceeded to insert Petunia into a dark red, off the shoulder dress that flared from the hips to the low hem. She also had shoes to match. Finally, Morticia brought in a selection of jewellery ("Just a few baubles of my own, but I thought they’d look well on you," she murmured) from which Petunia could select. Only when she was completely done up did the women let her look at herself in the mirror.
She barely recognized herself. Petunia Dursley was a housewife, a nobody from Surrey. The woman in the mirror moved in the highest levels of society. Petunia knew well that her face and figure were flawed and had tried her best to hide those flaws with clothes and makeup; now she could see just how badly she had failed. Madeleine’s custom design flattered her colouring and enhanced her figure while detracting from those features that were least attractive; makeup and a new hairstyle shaped her features, enhanced her skin, and brought attention to her eyes, which were her best feature. She looked twenty years younger.
"Is that … no, it can’t be … is that … me?" Morticia and Madeleine nodded.
"Come, Petunia. It is your moment to shine." Morticia took Petunia out into the hall, where Gomez and Fester awaited them. Gomez wore formal attire, while Fester was … well, at least he wasn’t wearing that robe. Gomez bowed and took Morticia’s arm, and Petunia gingerly took Fester’s, and they went down to the ballroom together.
Earlier that day, Petunia had peeked into the ballroom. It had stood empty and lifeless, filled with shadows. Now it was a riot of colour and music and movement. The caterers had been busy, and a buffet stood along one wall laden with silver chafing dishes. A small orchestra had set up at the other end of the room, playing spirited dance tunes. The room was already filled with guests who were laughing and chatting and spinning each other around the dance floor. As the Addamses entered, the music stopped, and all eyes turned toward them.
"Dear friends!" Gomez announced. "We have gathered here tonight to welcome the newest member of our family. Morticia and I have taken on the guardianship of none other than Harry Potter! Yes, that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived himself. His Aunt, Petunia Dursley, has kindly brought him to us and entered into a traditional Betrothal Contract between her nephew and our daughter, Wednesday Addams. Everyone please join us in thanking Mrs Dursley and in welcoming little Harry to the family!"
Applause rang out, and Petunia blushed before realizing that most of the guests were looking at something behind her. She stepped out of the way to let Lurch pass her, carrying Harry in one arm and Wednesday in the other. Harry was dressed in a tiny formal suit, a duplicate of Gomez’s, and Wednesday was adorable in a black velvet dress with lace tights. Everyone wanted to see the two children, but it was already past their bedtime and they shortly grew cranky. Lurch took them off to bed, and the dancing resumed.
Fester introduced Petunia to various family members before going off to dance with a four-foot-tall woman introduced as "Cousin Glynis." Left to her own devices, Petunia watched the dancing for a bit, beginning to realize just how odd the family was. For all their peculiarities of dress and habit, Morticia and Gomez were, at least, physically normal. Many members of the Family were not exactly physically normal. Morticia was exchanging jokes with a teenage hunchbacked boy who was blushing at her attention, while Gomez was dancing with a fashionably dressed woman with a long, full beard. Two sets of conjoined twins were dancing, but not with each other. Petunia soon found herself dancing with a young man, introduced to her as Mr Ian Woon; at least the only thing odd about him was that he had two different coloured eyes, one blue and one green.
After the dance, Mr Woon escorted her to the buffet tables, where she was hard put to recognize anything recognizable as food. There were tiny hardboiled eggs smaller than any hen’s egg, with orangish yolk mixture piped into the hollows of the halves, slippery, clear noodles with a green sauce on them, piles of what looked like seaweed, and vegetables in a noxious-looking brownish-yellow sauce. There was even a roast suckling pig — that had two heads. Bravely, she tried most of it, even the pig, though she drew the line at the crispy-fried insects wrapped in some sort of leaf. She almost cried with relief when she discovered a simple platter of cold cuts at the very end of the table.
The dancing continued for hours, and she soon learned not to flinch when a new partner cut in, no matter what he (or It, in the case of one cousin who seemed to be nothing but a pile of hair) looked like. The music became wilder and wilder, and while Gomez and Fester were engaged in some sort of showpiece folkdance that involved much leaping about and throwing knives at each other, she decided she couldn’t take any more and slipped out of the ballroom through a side door.
She found herself in a conservatory of sorts, with a host of potted plants on iron racks. Dim light came through the windows, enough to enable her to avoid the thorny branches and vines that reached out to snag her skirts. She found a garden bench and sat down with a sigh.
"Aren’t you enjoying the party?"
She turned to see Morticia emerging wraithlike from the shadows. "I suppose I am. It was good of you to put it on, though it was a bit much for me."
"For you? No. The party was for Harry. To welcome him into the Family. Every new member is a treasure. You haven’t accepted that you’re a member of it. If you ever do, there will be a party for you, just as grand as this."
"How can you live like this, Morticia? Everything in your house is so old, so run-down. Then you throw a party … I can’t begin to estimate what this cost. Why so much for one party? Why not put some of that into your home? Why not make the children’s’ room more cheerful?"
"We have everything we need, Petunia. We could buy anything we wanted, but then it wouldn’t mean anything. The children will always have everything they need, and they will know this, but they must also learn that wanting is not the same as needing, and how to get what they want for themselves. We don’t believe in spoiling our children, Petunia. They’ll never learn to take care of themselves if we do."
Petunia thought of her son Dudley, and the resolution that she and Vernon had made when he was born to make sure he never lacked for anything. Already, at only a year and a half, he was a holy terror. Whenever they bought him something, he wanted something else. It was never enough. It would never be enough.
"Thank you. Whatever else comes of this visit, I’ve had a look into a different sort of world, and I have a lot to think about. I think I’ll go to bed now. I have a plane to catch in the morning."
"Shall I send Thing up to help you out of your dress?"
The look of utter horror on Petunia’s face was all the answer Morticia needed.
A/N I managed to get in references to four of the original Addams Family cartoons in this chapter. Can you pick them out? Also two of my NaNo dares. Go me!