Family Values
Welcome to the Family
By Ishtar
Family Values
Disclaimer: Not mine. This market’s been cornered.
A/N: I have received a few comments about my explanations, or lack thereof, of the Tarot card spread in Chapter 01. I may put an explanation at the end of the story, but I didn’t want to make things too obvious. For those who are interested, there are pictures and explanations of all the cards at the following site: http://www.learntarot.com/cards.htm . While there are multiple possible meanings for each card, it should be fairly easy to figure out the general meaning of the spread. Don’t worry about the positions of the cards. Morticia wasn’t using any generally recognized pattern. She’s an intuitive reader and puts the cards where she feels they need to be.
Chapter 02 — Welcome to the Family
Letters led to phone calls; phone calls led to couriered packages; and couriered packages contained travel documents and first-class plane tickets. Although Petunia had still never met her cousin Morticia, she had tentatively come to think of her as a friend. More importantly, a friend with contacts, and a friend who was willing to pay for the privilege of taking a nuisance off Petunia's hands. If she'd been less anxious to get rid of Harry, she might have questioned it more, but as things were, she didn't want to ruin things. Accordingly, she eagerly awaited her first trip abroad by herself - not counting the baby as a companion — and the first time she'd had away from Vernon since they'd been married and from Dudley since he'd been born. It wasn't that she didn't love them, of course; she adored her husband and son, but sometimes ... if she was honest with herself, sometimes she wanted to do something for herself.
All through her childhood, Petunia Evans had been appalled and embarrassed by her parents and their freewheeling ways. Rosemary Evans (nee Addams) and Peregrine Evans had been loving parents, but a bit scatterbrained, and Petunia wouldn't have been surprised to discover that they'd simply misplaced another sibling or two somewhere. Her parents had been ever so pleased to discover Lily was a witch, of course, and though they tried to show equal affection to both their daughters, it had always been evident that it was the beautiful and talented Lily, who took after their mother, who was the favourite, instead of herself, who unfortunately took after her father in the looks department. Over the years, the more outrageous her parents were, the more straitlaced Petunia had become, embracing the role of suburban housewife enthusiastically after her marriage to Vernon Dursley. When her parents were killed while bucketing about Africa on some sort of volunteer work, Petunia convinced herself that she didn't care. That she was content with her life. That she could think of nothing better to do than keep Vernon’s house, raise his child, and hostess the occasional dinner party.
Now it turned out that there was something, something Addams-ish, perhaps, in her after all, and for once in her life, she would meet adventure head on!
20 December — Somewhere over the Atlantic
It was, perhaps, inevitable that she would regret her decision at some point. She had expected to when she left home. She had offered to get someone in to do for Vernon and Dudley while she was away, but Vernon had insisted that he was perfectly capable of handling Dudley and the cooking for a few days; after all, she did it all the time without too much trouble, so how hard could it be, really? Though she wasn’t looking forward to the condition of her kitchen when she returned, she thought Vernon was in for an enlightening few days. When Dudley began to whimper and whine as he saw Mummy leaving and taking the Other Boy and not taking him, she made a break for it, stuffing her baggage in the boot of the taxi and getting away as fast as she could.
Being trapped on an airplane with a cranky and irritable Harry, however, was far from being the adventure she sought. The flight attendants all fell in love with the boy at first sight and kept coming round to see if he or Petunia needed anything, but they all had their jobs to do. Harry was as agitated as any toddler would be in the strange setting, although perhaps less demanding. When Harry fell asleep, she thought she might have some peace, but he eventually woke up shrieking from a nightmare, and it took some time to get him calmed down again, even with the attendants’ help.
20 December — New Jersey
By the time her flight landed, in the late afternoon local time, and she’d made her way through Baggage Claims and Customs, Petunia had had quite enough. Harry was fussy and miserable, her luggage on wheels kept tipping over as she made her way through the crowds, she was exhausted and overheated from having to wear her coat indoors, and she had a ladder in her tights. Fortunately Morticia had said she would send along a driver, so Petunia wouldn’t have to worry about getting a rental car or remembering to drive on the wrong side of the road. Petunia sought out the exit from the terminal; Vernon had told her that drivers for business travellers often waited there for their passengers.
There they were. Six men in black suits, huddled together, all carrying signs — JONES, FERREIRO, WOLFORD … and the reason why they were huddled — a giant of a man, easily seven feet tall and gaunt, in an old-fashioned chauffeur’s uniform, with a greyish complexion and dark eyes under a heavy brow ridge. He was, of course, carring a sign that said DURSLEY. Petunia gaped for a moment, thinking, Be careful what you ask for; you might get it. You wanted an adventure … Straightening up her suitcase, which had tipped over again, she approached the forbidding figure. "Excuse me … sir … I’m Mrs Dursley. I believe you’re waiting for me?"
The giant looked her up and down, his eyes glittering, intense. Instead of speaking he uttered a groaning sound and stepped toward her. She swallowed nervously and stepped back hurriedly, almost tripping over her bag. He shook his head wordlessly and reached down to take her bag, lifting it almost effortlessly.
"Oh. Oh, of course," she said. "Will you take me to the car now, please?"
He shook his head again and turned toward the automatic doors and the parking lot, with Petunia, Harry in her arms, trailing along uncertainly behind him.
When they reached the car, Petunia gasped in surprise. While she didn’t know what the make and model were, not being up on American cars generally, she did know a classic when she saw one. It was long and low to the ground, with running boards, spoked tires, and a seat for the driver outside the passenger compartment. That part was just sensible, she realized; the chauffeur was so tall he would bump his head in a normal car. He stowed her luggage in the boot and assisted her into the car, still never saying a word. He took his own seat and started the car, and its engine purred almost noiselessly as he pulled out of the parking lot. Aside from the driver, thought Petunia, I could get used to this.
The car left the city behind, passed through a band of suburbs not unlike home, and eventually came to a town filled with older buildings. With lights in the windows and wreaths on the doors in celebration of the season, it quite reminded her of a picture one would find on a Christmas card. They left the shopping district behind, and headed up into a neighbourhood of well kept older homes. The further they went up into the hills, the larger and more expensive the homes became. Finally, they came to a large wrought iron gate with the letter "A" worked into it. The gate swung open as they approached and closed again after them.
The long drive curved about, and a house came into view on the top of the hill. It was huge and imposing, silhouetted against the evening sky. It was at least three storeys tall, with a tower jutting up above the roof. As they came near, however, Petunia could see that the house had seen better days, as had the grounds. The garden beds boasted only leafless shrubs at this time of year, of course, and the grass lay lank and matted on the lawns. The house itself was sadly in need of painting, with most of its formerly white paint peeled off to reveal greying wood beneath.
The chauffeur stopped the car in front of the front steps of the house, which led up to an impressively tall set of double doors. He held the car door for Petunia, then took her luggage up the stairs and set it in front of the doors while she struggled up the stairs with a tired child in her arms. As soon as she reached the top step, he went back down and drove away, pulling the car around the house to the rear.
Petunia was left standing by the doors, being ogled by an impertinent raven that was perched over a nearby window. Hesitantly, she reached for the doorbell. It was an old-fashioned pull type instead of a push button. Shifting Harry slightly on her hip for balance, she pulled the knob and released it. Instantly, a shrill scream rang out from behind the door. Startled by the scream, she almost jumped out of her skin when the door opened. There was the tall man again — or his twin brother — wearing a butler’s outfit this time.
For the first time, he spoke, in a deep, almost sepulchral voice. "You raaaang?"
"I… I…" It took Petunia a moment to pull herself together, and her frustration was what carried her through. "Of course I rang! My name is Petunia Dursley, I’ve travelled a long way to meet Morticia Addams, and I don’t appreciate whatever game it is you’re playing!"
The butler stepped aside to let her flounce past him, then brought her case into the foyer from the steps.
Once inside, Petunia stopped and looked about, apprehensively. The foyer rose three storeys to the ceiling, with a staircase twisting around it. The only furniture was an uncomfortable looking bench seat with a carved back, and a table that bore a three-branched candelabrum and a vase filled with black peacock feathers instead of flowers. Light came from ornate antique wall fixtures, but the room itself seemed to soak it up until all was shadows. Petunia felt someone was watching her from above, but she couldn’t see whoever it was.
"Welcome, Petunia." The voice was low and rich, melodic and somehow cold. Petunia whirled, to see a tall, slim woman, clad in a form-fitting black gown, coming out of a
door from an adjoining parlour.
"Morticia?"
"I’m glad to make your acquaintance at last, Petunia. And is this little Harry? Welcome to your new home, little one." Her tone of voice thawed considerably as she addressed the child.
"Thank you for inviting me to come," said Petunia.
"It’s nothing. Our home is yours, my dear. You are an Addams, after all."
"I’m afraid I’m not …"
"Your mother, Rosemary Evans, was an Addams by birth. And so, of course, are you. Blood means so much more than just the name, you know. You are an Addams, as was your sister and as is Harry, and you are both welcome here. If you will come with me, we’ll get him settled in the nursery while Lurch takes your things up to your room."
"Lurch?" Petunia discovered the big man standing right in back of her, carrying her suitcase again.
"Yes, this is Lurch. He’s an old family retainer. Between you and me, very old." Morticia picked up the candelabrum from the table, and the candles lit by themselves as she did so.
"Did you … are you …?" Petunia suddenly seemed to be unable to speak in complete sentences.
"All will be explained in time, my dear cousin. Let us see to Harry first."
Petunia followed the flickering light of the candles up the stairs and through shadowy halls to a large room which she presumed was the nursery. The walls were painted with images of strange creatures Petunia couldn’t identify, but which seemed vaguely unwholesome. In the flickering light, she thought she could see them moving. There were three ornate cots, each hung with curtains to keep out draughts. An elderly woman, clad in rags and her hair in rats, came to greet them.
"I just got the children to bed. Little Pugsley fought me for a whole hour this time, and I had to put the lid on the crib," she said proudly.
"Did he? He’ll be ready for a big boy’s bed soon," said Morticia. "Grandmama, I would like to introduce you to Petunia Dursley. She has been so very kind as to bring Harry to us. Petunia, this is Grandmama Addams, my husband’s mother."
"Pleased, I’m sure," murmured Petunia weakly, as Grandmama smiled at her, exposing a number of gaps in her yellowed teeth.
"These are my children." Morticia approached the first cot, which had an initial "P" carved on the headboard. "Pugsley. My first born. He was two last September." The light revealed a stocky boy with short, fuzzy hair, wearing a sleeper with horizontal black and white stripes. In addition to the normal bars on the sides of the cot, a set of bars covered the top, making it resemble a cage containing the peacefully sleeping child.
Morticia passed on to the next cot, which had a carved "W" and no lid. A small girl lay motionless, snuggling a plush animal of some sort. The exact species was hard to tell, as it had no head. The child wore a black one-piece sleeper with a touch of white lace at the throat. Her hair was black and done up in two short braids. "My daughter, Wednesday. She’s a few weeks younger than Harry."
"Your children are very close in age," Petunia noted.
"Oh, yes. Irish twins. We were so proud," said Morticia. "And now Harry makes them triplets. It will be wonderful."
She led the way to a third cot, its side down for easy access. It had an "H" proudly carved on the headboard. "This will be Harry’s bed, and I have a nightshirt here for him. I guessed at his size to get things to last him a few days; of course I’ll have him properly fitted for clothing now that he’s here."
Between two experienced mothers, one fussy boy didn’t stand a chance at not being changed into his nightshirt. Harry’s eyes closed almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, and Morticia tucked him in with what appeared to be a stuffed multi-tentacled creature of some sort.
"I should warn you," said Petunia. "He does have nightmares. Sometimes. Wakes up crying. You know."
"I shouldn’t be surprised," said Morticia. "He did see his parents killed before his eyes. I would be worried if he didn’t have nightmares. But we can cope. Grandmama sleeps in an adjoining room, and if she can cope with Fester’s nightmares, she can cope with Harry’s."
"And how old is Fester?"
"Forty-three."
Morticia turned away from the sleeping child and looked intently at Petunia. "Come. You are exhausted yourself. There will be time enough tomorrow to talk and explain everything." She led the way down the hall to what appeared to be a guest room, with a bed so high it needed steps to climb into it, an old-fashioned washstand, and an elaborately carved wardrobe. Petunia’s clothing had already been put away, and a nightgown lay ready on the bed.
Morticia put the candelabrum on a nightstand near the bed. "This will be your room," she said, turning toward the door. "If you need anything, just scream."
A/N "A ladder in her tights", by the way, is a run in her stockings or pantyhose.