The following afternoon, the oppressive Louisiana heat felt unusually stagnant, as if the swamp itself was holding its breath.
Sunshine sat perfectly still in the formal sitting room, positioned in a high-backed wooden chair that made her look intentionally small and fragile. She wore her beige dress, her golden curls brushed to a high, angelic shine. The Widow's Bite bracers were securely fastened beneath her sleeves. She had spent the last three hours preparing her mental architecture, plunging her sixty-year-old consciousness deep into the darkest, most heavily fortified vault of her mind, leaving behind a perfectly constructed, vacuous surface persona.
At exactly three o'clock, the heavy iron knocker echoed through the manor.
Lurch answered the door with a low, rumbling groan. Heavy, measured footsteps echoed on the stone floor of the foyer, moving toward the sitting room.
Severus Snape swept into the room like a localized storm front.
He was draped in billowing black robes that swept the floorboards, his sallow face framed by lank, greasy black hair. His dark eyes swept the room, taking in the stuffed grizzly bear, the mounted shrunken heads, and the roaring, sulfur-scented fire. He did not look intimidated. He looked profoundly, deeply exhausted, carrying the aura of a man who was surrounded by idiots and forced to suffer their existence daily.
From the shadows near the fireplace, Morticia Addams let out a low, appreciative sigh.
"Finally," Morticia murmured, gliding forward, her eyes sweeping over Snape's severe, joyless attire. "A British wizard with a sense of sartorial dignity. Black is the only color that truly captures the despair of the human condition. Welcome to our home, Envoy. I am Morticia Addams."
Snape paused, his sneer faltering for a microscopic fraction of a second. He was accustomed to being feared, despised, or cautiously respected. He was decidedly not accustomed to being aesthetically admired.
"Severus Snape," he replied, his voice a low, silky drawl dripping with barely concealed disdain. "Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am not here for social pleasantries, Mrs. Addams. The Headmaster has tasked me with confirming the biological status of your... daughter."
Gomez stepped out from behind a suit of armor, casually twirling a lit cigar. He beamed at Snape. "Straight to the point! I appreciate a man who doesn't waste time on pleasantries before issuing threats. It shows a ruthless, commendable efficiency!"
Snape's dark eyes darted to Gomez, clearly unnerved by the manic enthusiasm. He sneered, turning his attention to the center of the room.
His gaze locked onto Sunshine.
The Potions Master stepped forward, looming over her. He looked at the golden curls, the rosy cheeks, the pastel beige dress. The contrast between the dark, gothic horror of the Addams parents and the blindingly cheerful appearance of the child was jarring.
"This is the girl?" Snape asked, his voice flat. "The Book of Admittance registered a magical signature capable of shattering stone. And you claim she is a Squib."
"Her core has withered, Mr. Snape," Morticia said, her voice dropping into a flawless, tragic register. "The hideous, golden radiance of her exterior has consumed her inner dark. She is completely, tragically mundane."
Snape did not reply. He looked directly into Sunshine's bright blue eyes.
Sunshine did not look away. She maintained her wide, innocent gaze, but internally, she braced for impact.
She felt it instantly. It was not a physical sensation, but a cold, sharp, slipping feeling behind her eyes. Snape was an accomplished Legilimens. He did not need a wand or an incantation to pierce the surface of a mind. He was launching a silent, aggressive psychic probe, looking for the lie. He was looking for the massive magical core, the buried trauma, the hidden memories of the Addams family magic.
Sunshine did not fight him.
If she pushed back, he would feel the resistance. He would know she had the magical strength to construct an Occlumency shield.
Instead, she let him in. She opened the front door of her mind and allowed the Potions Master to step into the carefully constructed foyer of her "Squib" persona.
Snape's consciousness slid into her mind, expecting to find walls. Instead, he found an endless, sprawling, nauseatingly mundane void. Sunshine fed him looping, boring memories of Ms. Gable's arithmetic lessons. She fed him the sensation of staring blankly at a beige wall. She projected an aura of such absolute, crushing cognitive simplicity that it felt like drowning in lukewarm oatmeal.
Snape's dark eyes narrowed. He pushed deeper, searching for the trauma of an Obscurial, searching for the violent, repressed magic that Dumbledore suspected.
Sunshine led him down a hallway of her own design. She allowed him to 'discover' her greatest fear. But it wasn't the fear of Voldemort, or the fear of her past abuser.
She projected a memory of sitting in the conservatory, watching Wednesday magically bloom a flower, while feeling a profound, crushing sense of pathetic, non-magical inadequacy. She fed Snape the manufactured, desperate sorrow of a child who knew she was broken and useless compared to her family.
It was a flawless, masterful lie, crafted specifically to resonate with Snape's own bitter, cynical worldview.
Snape broke eye contact abruptly, taking a half-step backward. He blinked, the cold, sneering mask slipping to reveal a brief flash of genuine, uncomfortable pity. He recognized the feeling of inadequacy. He recognized the pathetic sorrow of a child who felt they did not belong.
He had found no iron vaults. He had found no roaring magical core. He had found only a vast, empty, pathetic void.
"Well?" Gomez prompted, puffing on his cigar. "Did you find the raging magical inferno your Headmaster promised? Or did you just rummage through the mundane thoughts of a ten-year-old girl?"
Snape drew himself up, his face hardening back into its usual scowl. He looked at Morticia and Gomez, his expression twisting with bureaucratic irritation.
"The Headmaster's concerns regarding an Obscurus appear... unfounded," Snape admitted, the words clearly tasting foul in his mouth. "Her mind is completely devoid of magical pressure. The core is not suppressed; it is entirely absent. She is, as you claimed, a Squib."
"A tragedy we endure daily," Morticia sighed, resting a pale hand over her heart. "Now, if you are satisfied, Envoy, you may return to your dreary little castle and inform your Headmaster that his automated Quill requires recalibration."
Snape did not move toward the door. He reached into his heavy black robes and withdrew a roll of official Ministry parchment, stamped with the seal of the Department of Magical Education.
"The Headmaster anticipated this result," Snape drawled, his dark eyes fixed on Gomez. "While I can verify her lack of magical output, my assessment is not legally binding. Because the child was registered by the Book of Admittance at birth, she falls under the purview of the At-Risk Magical Minors Decree."
Snape unrolled the parchment.
"British law dictates that any registered witch or wizard who experiences a total cessation of magical ability prior to their eleventh birthday must undergo a mandatory, year-long observational period within a certified magical institution," Snape read, his voice devoid of emotion. "To ensure the cessation is permanent and not a dormant Obscurus state."
The silence in the sitting room was deafening.
"You are demanding we surrender our daughter to your boarding school for a year?" Gomez whispered, the manic energy completely erased, replaced by a cold, homicidal stillness. "To be poked and prodded by your Ministry healers?"
"I am not demanding anything," Snape sneered, rolling the parchment back up. "The law demands it. If you refuse to comply, the British Ministry will formally classify the child as a Level Five Biological Threat. They will petition MACUSA for extradition. You will be besieged by American Aurors within the week, and the child will be taken by force."
Snape looked down at Sunshine, a flicker of genuine disdain crossing his features. "She will attend Hogwarts for her first year. She will be observed. If, at the end of the term, she remains non-magical, she will be officially discharged and returned to your... eccentric care. That is the Headmaster's final offer."
The illusion of choice had been expertly, ruthlessly removed.
Dumbledore had trapped them in a legal checkmate. He was using the very bureaucracy the Addams family despised to force their hand. He wanted the Addams anomaly under his own roof, where he could study her, control her, and ensure she was not a weapon that Voldemort could use.
Gomez's hand drifted toward the cutlass mounted on the wall. Morticia's eyes grew completely black, the shadows in the room stretching aggressively toward Snape's boots.
They were going to fight. They were going to kill the Potions Master right here in the sitting room and plunge the family into a continental war just to keep her safe.
"I will go."
Sunshine's voice was high, clear, and perfectly steady.
Gomez and Morticia froze, turning to look at her in horror.
Snape raised a single, cynical eyebrow.
Sunshine stood up from the wooden chair. She smoothed her beige skirt. She looked at Severus Snape, projecting the image of a brave, resigned, tragically mundane child.
"If the law requires observation, I will submit to it," Sunshine said politely. "I do not wish for my family to be harassed by American authorities. I will go to Hogwarts for one year, Mr. Snape. And then I will return home."
Snape stared at her. For a moment, his Legilimency instincts flared again, sensing a microscopic disconnect between the child's submissive words and the terrifyingly steady cadence of her voice. But he dismissed it. She was a Squib. She was irrelevant.
"A pragmatic decision," Snape drawled, turning on his heel. "Your supply list is in the original envelope. The term begins on September the first. Ensure she is on the train. Good day."
Snape swept out of the room, leaving a trail of cold air and the scent of bitter potions in his wake. The front doors slammed shut.
Gomez dropped to his knees, grabbing Sunshine by the shoulders. "Sunbeam, no! You cannot walk into their cage! We will flee to the Amazon! We will build a fortress in the Mariana Trench!"
"We cannot run forever, Father," Sunshine said softly, the golden mask dropping entirely, revealing the cold, gray soul of the survivor. She reached up and placed her small hands on his face. "The Bearded Man has forced his move. If we run, he will hunt us. If we fight, he will crush us with paperwork."
Morticia glided forward, her face a mask of furious, aching sorrow. "To send you into that castle... surrounded by Light wizards, sycophants, and Ministry spies. You will have no magic to defend yourself. You will be entirely vulnerable."
"I am never vulnerable, Mother," Sunshine replied, her bright blue eyes turning flat and deadly. She tapped the goblin-steel bracers hidden beneath her sleeves. "I have spent ten years preparing for a war I hoped would never come. They think they are forcing a helpless, mundane Squib into their school for observation."
Sunshine looked toward the heavy oak doors, a terrifying, beautiful smile curving her rosy lips.
"Let them observe," Sunshine whispered, the promise ringing with the lethal, heavy weight of the Addams bloodline. "I am going to Hogwarts. And I am going to tear their entire narrative apart from the inside out."