This is just a little one-shot idea I had about Harry. I always thought he'd be an interesting character to write. Personally, I think Harry's gone a little crazy because of his obsession with killing Spiderman, but here's my interpretation of why he chooses the path he does. Reviews would be much appreciated!
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry or any other characters. They all belong to Marvel.
Harry sat on his couch idly, twirling the green tube over his fingers absently. That tube was one of many he had found in that secret room inside the shattered mirror.
The mirror where his father had come alive again.
I'm alive in you, Harry.
"If you were so alive in me . . . then why weren't you around?!" Harry cried out to the masks. He angrily pushed all his notes on Spiderman to the floor, silently sobbing.
This is all bullshit. Harry fumed, deciding that his father had betrayed him, like he always has. And to think, he got all worked up because Peter killed him. But it wasn't like that. Peter had killed the Green Goblin. Not his father. His father had been long gone before that. Did that make him bitter? Yes.
You're weak. You were always weak. You'll always be weak until you take control.
Harry's hands shook. Why was he conflicted about this? He should know the answer. His father killed innocent people! Hell, he tried to kill M.J.!
Now you know the truth about Peter.
That's right. Pete, good old Pete, had stolen Mary Jane from Harry. Harry had to laugh at that. It was funny. Peter couldn't work up the nerve to ask her out, but suddenly decided it was fine when Harry was going out with her. He stole her. And he also stole Norman Osborne's love.
But Pete's my best friend.
He was Harry's best friend. Was. That was before everything happened. Harry never realized how much he had longed for his father's approval until he was gone. And Peter had received the elder Osborne's love and respect in one meeting. Sure, Harry was never the scientist type, but that didn't mean he was stupid! Both of them, Peter and his father . . . they were both arrogant.
Harry put his face in his hands, completely at a loss at what to do. It should be so easy . . . so simple . . . but everywhere he went, he heard his father's condescending voice following him, echoing one thing:
Avenge me!
"Why should I?!" Harry screamed at the cold masks around him. That was exactly what his father was. Just a mask. It's not like he really cared.
Harry remembered when he was about seven or eight, the first time he realized Daddy wasn't going to be there for him like the other kids' parents were. All the kids thought it was so cool to have a big mansion, to be able to get anything they wanted . . .
So did Harry. At least, it was until that championship soccer game. Harry had helped carry the team to the finals. He had made many of the goals in the playoffs and during the season. Everyone was going to be there. It was a pretty big deal to them. Harry remembered bursting through the mansion doors, yelling, "It's tomorrow! It's tomorrow!"
Harry waited for his father to stick his head out the door of his study and ask him what was so important about tomorrow. He had already planned everything out in his head, planned out what he would say to his father. He could already imagine the beam of pride on his father's face, as he had seen with his classmates.
But his father was nowhere to be seen. Little Harry stood on tiptoe to grab the phone, punching in the memorized numbers of Norman Osborne's CEO office.
"Norman Osborne,"
"Daddy?"
"Harry?"
"Daddy, guess what's tomorrow!"
Norman Osborne had sighed tiredly into the phone. "Not right now, Harry, I have a lot of work to do."
Harry couldn't understand. He-he was supposed to ask what tomorrow was! Why wasn't he asking?
"Tomorrow's the soccer championship!" Harry supplied, finally giving up.
"Oh . . . that's nice," His father said distractedly. The sound of typing could be heard in the background.
Harry's eager smile faded into a sad and confused frown. This wasn't how he had pictured it . . . this wasn't how it was supposed to go!
"Daddy . . . you're going to come, right?" Harry asked in a small and weak voice.
"Of course, Harry, of course."
Harry's eyes lit up. "You will? You promise, Daddy?"
Norman Osborne paused from his work to laugh. "Of course, Harry. I'll be there."
His son proceeded to tell him the time and place of the game. Eagerly and happily waiting for the next day, Harry slept easily.
The next day, Harry felt the adrenaline flow through him as he passed, kicked, and ran his way up and down the field. He kept glancing towards the stands for a glimpse of his father. So far, nothing. But he was sure Daddy would be there. He had promised, after all, and the first thing Norman Osborne had ever taught him was to always keep your promises.
Although he had been getting a little bit tired, he ran harder with renewed energy, knowing he needed to prove himself. That, and just in case his father came a bit late,Harry wanted him to see the besthe could play.
The game was over. They had won by a whooping four points, and Harry was so delighted to have scored one of them and assisted two of them. The whole team was in an uproar, even as they were shaking hands with the other team. Other parents paused to say, "Great game, Harry!" before congradulating their own children with immense pride on their faces.
Harry was still sitting on a bench half an hour after the game ended, stubbornly waiting for his dad to arrive.
"Why don't we just give you a lift home?"Thecoachoffered gently.
Sighing in disappointment, Harry caved. "Okay . . . thank you," He added politely.
When he got home, he saw his father in his study, still slaving over his computer. Harry paused at the door, unsure what to say to his father. He wanted so bad to ask his father why he didn't follow the morals he taught Harry. Wasn't he the one who had told him to always keep a promise?
So why did he break his promise to Harry?
Before Harry could decide what to do, his father looked up, smiling warmly at him. At his smile, Harry decided to drop it, thinking it a one time fluke.
He'll be there next time, Harry thought, believing it fully.
But he didn't come to the next one. Nor the one after that. Or after that. In fact, it became into such a cycle that Harry didn't bother telling him about things like that anymore. And that's when Harry stopped believing in his father. After a while, he had begun to question if Norman Osborne even loved his son . . . or worse, if he even cared.
You swore to make Spiderman pay.
Harry did swear that. But that was before Harry found out about the circumstances . . . and it wasn't Spiderman he's talking about. This was Peter, his best friend!
You killed my father!
But . . . that didn't give Pete a right to kill his father. Harry poured himself a drink and downed it quickly. He could have shown Norman Osborne pity, something! Some remnant of the sweet, gentle Peter Harry remembered!
Was everyone losing their humanity?
Suddenly, a flood of voices filled his head, filling him up with such emotion he thought he would explode.
Avenge me!
You're weak. You were always weak, and you always will be weak until you take control.
I'm alive in you, Harry,
But Pete's my best friend!
You killed my father.
You swore to make Spiderman pay.
Now you know the truth about Peter.
There are bigger things happening here than you and me,
Harry paused. He hadn't noticed that, in his hysteria, he had been screaming. But when this line, this dismissive end to an important conversation, had crossed his mind, everything became clear. When Harry needed Peter the most, he wasn't there. Instead, he went out to save Mary Jane. Peter had killed his father, for Christ's sake! Did Peter really think he could just ignore it, overlook it, like that? That Harry would just get over it? No. He wouldn't. He couldn't. No matter how ignored he was by his father, they still shared the same blood.
Sometimes he thought of Peter as his only family. His brother. But his brother had betrayed him.
Harry couldn't bear thisshit anymore.
He stepped outside onto his balcony, carefully balancing himself on the very edge. It was better to just fly away, not needing to care, not needing to decide between a betraying father and a betraying brother.
As he prepared to glide down below, something caught him. A whisper of a voice, filled with the pride Harry had longed for.
Now it's your turn.
Harry fought to regain his balance. He did. Slowly, mechanically, as if possessed, he stepped down from the ledge and back into the study where his father had once constantly slaved over his work in.
Suddenly, Harry felt s sickening sensation in his mouth. He raced to the bathroom and vomited in the toilet. He had too many drinks. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Harry turned on the faucet and splashed cold water into his face.
As he turned to look in the mirror, he saw his father.
I am alive in you, Harry . . .
Maybe now, by avenging his father, he could finally get the love he had been searching for all his life. Maybe, by looking like his father, by listening to him, he would finally be loved.
Be strong, Harry.
Yes.Harry would prove he wasn't weak, he would prove to his father that he has a reason to be proud of his son. He would prove he could take control of his life. Harry would show his father what true strength is.