Chapter 4: A Startling Realization
"Tish, don't you think we might be rushing things a bit?"
Gomez gently caressed Morticia's hand, his gaze drifting now and then toward the looming silhouette of the castle. They sat together on a weathered bench in the garden, surrounded by crooked gravestones of all shapes and sizes — a scene that, for the Addamses, was oddly romantic.
Sensing his concern, Morticia gave a soft, reassuring smile. She placed her cool, pale hand atop his.
"Gomez," she said in her velvety voice, "there's no need to worry. Wednesday's at that age now… And besides, that boy Russell seems quite promising, doesn't he?"
"Of course," Gomez replied, nostalgia flickering in his eyes. "He's a Fythorne, after all. The Fythorne family were fine people… once."
"Ah… youth," he sighed dramatically.
Morticia's crimson lips curved into a tender smile. "Seeing those two together reminds me of the first time we met, Gomez. You were so effortlessly handsome."
"And you, my darling," Gomez said fervently, eyes alight, "were — and still are — the embodiment of grace and temptation."
He pulled her into his arms, and the two shared a deep, breath-stealing kiss among the gravestones — a kiss so intense it could've woken the dead (and possibly did).
Meanwhile, Pugsley wandered aimlessly around the outskirts of the castle, bow in hand, a picture of restless boredom.
He didn't understand why he had to stay outside while Wednesday and Russell got to have all the fun. Sure, other kids had accidentally stumbled into the Addams estate before, but they never lasted long — most of them ran off screaming within minutes.
But not Russell.
He stayed. He talked to Wednesday. He even laughed with her.
The thought made Pugsley scowl, puffing his cheeks in frustration.
Just then, a chorus of sharp caws interrupted his thoughts.
He looked up, squinting against the pale sky. Several black-billed magpies were circling above him, their wings glinting faintly in the gray morning light.
"One for sorrow," he muttered, counting on his stubby fingers, "two for joy… three for a girl… four for a boy… five for silver… six for gold…"
He paused, frowning. "Three of them. Figures. No wonder today's been rotten."
Pugsley's frown deepened into a grin. He raised his bow, nocked an arrow, and drew it back with surprising precision.
"For such a young age," he whispered to himself, eyes narrowing in mock seriousness, "my arrows still strike true."
The string sang.
The magpies scattered.
And the Addams garden — for the briefest moment — went perfectly still.
Though young, Pugsley Addams was frighteningly talented with a bow.
Shooting a magpie out of the air? Child's play.
The arrow whistled sharply, slicing clean through a magpie's body.
The rest of the flock scattered in panic, and the dead bird's body arced gracefully through the air—
before landing squarely on the head of a passing owl.
---
Gugu was in a good mood that morning.
As one of Hogwarts' officially employed postal owls, his life was quite comfortable—free food, cozy dormitory perches, and a steady paycheck. Things had been hectic lately, true, but once he delivered this final letter, he'd have some well-earned vacation time.
He even planned to visit Dian Dian, the prettiest owl in Hogwarts.
She didn't have a staff position, but her glossy feathers and big amber eyes had plenty of admirers. Gugu, of course, had won her over—with his impressive wingspan and enviable civil-servant status.
He was daydreaming about the future—about flying home to Dian Dian and, perhaps, raising a few owlets—
when a dark blur slammed into him mid-air.
The collision left him spinning wildly, feathers everywhere.
By the time Gugu regained his bearings, the envelope he'd been clutching was gone.
He froze in midair, horrified.
Losing a letter wasn't a disaster, but it meant his vacation would be postponed indefinitely—and worse, there'd be paperwork.
Sighing miserably, Gugu drooped his wings and turned around, flapping slowly back toward Hogwarts, his silhouette shrinking against the clouds.
Below, the missing envelope floated gently across a stream.
Its parchment was damp and wrinkled, but the green ink on its surface remained faintly visible:
Mr. Russell Fythorne
No. 7, Lakeshore Lane
Fort William, Inverness-shire
---
Three days later.
Bang, bang, bang. Bang, bang, bang.
Russell paused mid-exercise.
The rhythmic knocking echoed through the small house—steady, deliberate. Not like Wednesday's polite tapping from before.
"What is it with visitors lately?" he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.
He crept to the window and peeked outside.
A tall figure stood at the door, cloaked entirely in black.
Definitely not the kind of person you wanted as a morning guest.
Russell's instinct screamed danger. He turned, ready to grab his shotgun—
and froze.
The wall was empty.
Right. The Winchester was still at the Addams' castle.
With no weapon, his confidence evaporated. "Fantastic," he whispered. "Guess it's time for Plan B."
He tiptoed toward the back door, planning to hop the fence and sprint straight to the Addams' for help.
But just as he reached the garden gate—
The knocking stopped.
Then a low, commanding voice spoke from the front:
"Alohomora."
The door burst open with a thunderous crack.
Russell spun around just in time to see the black-robed stranger step inside.
He bolted, but an invisible force slammed into him like a wave.
His body seized, feet skidding helplessly backward. No matter how he struggled, he couldn't break free.
"Mr. Fythorne," the man said at last, his tone smooth but cold, "there's no need to panic. Before I arrived, you should have received your Hogwarts acceptance letter—delivered by owl."
Russell froze. "Hogwarts…?" he repeated dumbly.
The name struck a chord.
His mind flashed. "Wait—Hogwarts? As in Harry Potter?!"
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
It hit him like lightning — he hadn't just crossed into some random magical world.
He had landed inside the Harry Potter universe.
He was—technically—a soon-to-be Hogwarts student.
He had read the books, seen the films, even watched interviews with J.K. Rowling in his previous life.
But it had been so long that his memory of the details was hazy.
He vaguely recalled "a boy with a lightning scar," "a noseless villain," and "a lot of people dying heroically."
Still… it had all ended happily enough.
Or so he'd thought.
---
But the man in front of him didn't look happy.
At the mention of Harry Potter, the black-robed figure shuddered violently, as if struck by a curse.
"Speak," he hissed, voice sharp as a whip. "How do you know that name?"
With a quick motion, he yanked back his hood — revealing a pale, hawk-nosed face, framed by greasy black hair that clung to his shoulders. His eyes gleamed like dark oil.
He raised his wand, glaring daggers at Russell.
"What are you hiding?" he demanded, fury and suspicion thick in his tone. "How do you know that name?"
Russell blinked. "Wait—Professor Snape?!"
The man's expression darkened even further.
Professor?
If Russell's heart hadn't already been racing, it surely was now.
Somehow, he had just managed to piss off Severus Snape—
on his very first day in the wizarding world.