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Chapter 10

Harry presses the flaps of his suit jacket down with his hands, trying to smooth out any wrinkles (even if the suit had been pressed to perfection only the day before). The gala is simply bustling with energy – there are hundreds of guests packed into the room like sardines, if only visually, they all appear quite content to be packed together. Women glide across the room like tropical birds in glittery, colourful dresses that ripple and sway with every movement. A few men too, and some in brightly coloured tuxes that hurt Harry's eyes, but look spectacular none-the-less (far better than the rest of them, who have simply gone for the boring black-tie-white-shirt combination).

Harry loves his silver suit, and the stark midnight-blue shirt. He loves looking good, and he wishes Norman would throw more parties, just so he could dress-up more often.

His eyes roamed over the crowd, hoping to spot someone he knew. He didn't want to be a wallflower at his own father's party. Lewis was milling around somewhere, most likely dancing with his wife, who happened to be one of the leading scientists at Oscorp. Harry knew that Lewis was eager to see her up on stage presenting a speech of her own later – it was all he had been talking about all week, much to Harry's amusement. Only, they saw each other every day. Harry wanted to speak with other people too.

Panic flashed in his brain and Harry hid behind a particularly large man, just as Alistair Smythe stalked past, with two drinks in hand and an overtly hopeful glint in his eye. Waiting until the coast was clear, Harry ducked out from behind the man and crossed to other side of the room, weaving through the sea of party guests. Well, there were people he wanted to avoid too. Alistair was harmless enough… but Harry was not in the mood.

His eyes roam carefully, watching out for Alistair's tell-tale red hair. Instead, his eyes land on a tall, burly man, who is dressed in an ill-fitting suit. He frowns. The man almost looked like -

Turning suddenly to catch a look at the man's face, Harry's glass is very nearly knocked out of his hands as he bumps into a girl.

"Sorry, sorry," Harry apologises hurriedly, only to stop when he realises who the girl is. "…aren't you Ava? One of Pete – uhh, Peter Parker's friends?"

Ava gives him a once over, before the spark of recognition registers in her face. She nods.

"Yeah… and you're Harry Osborn. Peter doesn't shut up about you, and it helps that you're famous."

Unable to mask his own surprise, Harry pulls a face. So, Peter liked to talk about him then? He shouldn't care but he secretly hoped he was saying good things. Though considering their relationship of late, he doubted it.

Harry grimaces, "I suppose it would. Do you come to these events often?"

"Nah, but my cousin's plus one ran out on him, so he invited me. My uncle runs a big-wig business, enough to get invites, but I'm not really into parties."

"Fair enough." Harry nods, "Everyone here is full of shit."

Ava laughs, "Isn't this your crowd?"

"Sometimes," Harry shrugged, "But that just means I'm full of it too."

Ava smiled behind her glass, "Not according to Peter."

Just as Harry was about to descend into an awkward coughing fit, Ava's eyes went wide in her head as she caught sight of something – or someone – just behind Harry.

"Who is that?"

Harry turned, only to see Felicia making her way through the crowd. He waved at her before turning back to Ava: "That's my dad's PA."

It was as if Ava's entire demeanour had grown three-times brighter as her eyes swept across Felicia.

"Yeah, what's her name?"

"Felicia."

"Okay, well if you'll excuse me, Felicia over there looks bored."

With that, Ava darted into the crowd making a bee-line after Felicia, leaving Harry quite bemused in her wake. He had a feeling that those two would get along famously, and from what he knew of Ava, she was a good sort.

As he turns, he nearly drops his drink again as yet another person has bumped into him. Harry pulls back exasperatedly, clinging to his drink for dear life.

"Oh, sorry, Mr. Osborn." Said a disturbingly serene voice, as if the speaker had ascended to a higher plane or something.

When Harry turns to look, he sees it is a male waiter with blond hair pulled back into a messy bun and a very relaxed expression. In fact, he looked ridiculously blissed out. Perhaps he was into drugs...?

"Uh, no problem." Harry said quickly, looking at the waiter carefully, recognition sinking in; "Aren't you Danny Rand? One of Pete- um, Peter Parker's friends?"

A smile slowly appears on Rand's face, "Huh. Yeah, I am. I'm dabbling in catering outside of study. Just waiting on tables currently, or in this case, passing trays."

Definitely stoned, Harry decides.

Trust Peter Parker to make friends with drug addicts. Though, at least Rand looked like a happy drug addict, and Harry supposes he can't talk, what with his own tendency to drink too much. Although, he has been careful this evening. He's only on his first drink, despite both Ava and Danny nearly shattering the glass.

Harry gives him a polite smile, "Oh, nice… well, I'm sorry you got stuck with this crowd. They aren't exactly warm, are they?"

At this, Danny looks overtly thoughtful and clutches his chin with his free hand. It takes nearly a minute for him to answer, during which Harry struggles not to shake him.

"…huh, I think you're right." Danny said finally, nodding. Harry very nearly screams.

"So, uhhh, are you enjoying the party?" Harry ventured, not wanting to seem rude.

"You know what? I am." Danny said. "My family throws a lot of parties, a lot like these, but it's refreshing to be on the service end. Gives you a whole new perspective."

Harry blinked, not quite imagining why anyone would willing enter the service-industry when they had no need to, after having heard all sorts of horror-stories from his friends. Especially since Harry had seen the way this crowd treated minimum wage workers (it was not pretty, to say the very least).

"Oh, and uhhh… I think I saw your dad looking for you just near the cloak-room."

"My dad?"

"Yeah. He was getting pretty impatient from what I recall."

Why on earth would Norman be looking for him? If anything, Norman liked to put as much distance between them as possible during these parties. He liked to flaunt his son during speeches and what-not, but that was where the posturing ended. As soon as Harry had been old-enough to attend these parties, Norman had given him a special 'talk' which had basically been 'shut up and don't do anything to embarrass me'.

"Are you sure it was my dad?"

"Norman Osborn, right? It was definitely him."

"Uhhh, if you say so. Well, then you'll have to excuse me for a moment…" Harry placed his half-empty glass upon Danny's tray and made his way to the cloak-room.

"No problem, my friend." Danny called after him with a friendly wave.

Harry stopped outside the cloak-room. It was all-but deserted.

All the guests had already handed in their bags and coats, but the cloak-room attendant was missing. There was always meant to be someone here to look after all the guest's belongings. And where was Norman?

Harry turned to leave, only to see Peter Parker hurtling towards him, wearing a vest and name-badge.

With startling speed, Peter herds him into the closet at the back of the cloak-room, pushing him back, and Harry grunts as his back connects with the shelving. The door swings shut behind them, swallowing them in darkness. Harry grasps loosely at the shelves in discomfort, relaxing only slightly when Peter hits the light switch. The lightbulb flickers, half-heartedly illuminating the room.

Harry can't stifle his raw shock.

"What the shit, man?!"

Peter clamps a hand over his mouth, "Hey, hey, shush."

Harry glares up at him, pushing the hand away, "No- what the hell is wrong with you?" His breathing is laboured, and he realises that Peter has crowded him right against the shelves, looming over him. In that instance, Harry is reminded that he hates how tall Peter is.

"C'mon, Harry." Peter frowned, "I wouldn't have cornered you in here without a good reason."

Rolling his eyes, Harry relaxes against the shelves, well as much as he can when they are digging painfully into his back. He looks at Peter, only to look away immediately. He can feel Peter's eyes flicker lazily, tracking the length of his face.

They are standing close - too close. Harry grimaces at the floor, embarrassed by the attention.

"What do you want, Peter?" he murmured angrily. "And why on earth are you wearing that?! Where's the attendant?"

"It's me - I'm the attendant," Peter said, raising his hands defensively; "And I just want to talk, I swear."

"Yeah that's what you said before you ditched me at the coffee house last week, you prick!"

"I'm really sorry, but you have to believe me – it was an emergency."

"Then why didn't you call or text? I would have answered."

"I got caught up with something."

Harry shook his head. God, Peter was just full of excuses.

"Seriously, why are you wearing that?"

"I told you – I work here."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"No, it's the truth! Danny got me the job!"

That was a viable excuse but coming from Peter it sounded like bullshit.

The door suddenly swings open, bathing the room in light.

"Oh, shiiiiiiiiit. Luke owes me twenty-bucks!" a familiar voice laughed raucously.

"Sam! What the hell are you doing?"

Peter looks pissed off. Harry stands on his toes, eager to see who has interrupted them. The familiar voice belongs to Sam Alexander, who is sporting a fantastical smirk and, to Harry's surprise, a very nice tuxedo. He is the embodiment of triumph.

"Luke didn't think you'd do it, but I believed in ya!" he crowed.

"Do what?" Harry asked icily, glaring up at Peter.

Peter grimaced, "No that's not - ugh – look, I'm just filling him in! You need to get back over to the others!"

Sam laughed, "Whatever, dude. Have fun, filling him in."

With that, he winks lasciviously at Harry and then shuts the door.

With fire in his eyes, Harry shoves Peter, hissing, "Just how many of your friends did you sneak in to this party?!"

Not dissuaded, Peter merely looks down at Harry, something akin to amusement in his voice, "Hey now, that's not fair. Ava is here on a favour from her cousin. Also, Danny does do catering in his spare time-"

Harry glowered.

"-okay, okay, I will admit that Alex, Luke, and myself have no business here."

"That's what I thought," Harry sneered, "Then, tell me, what exactly are you doing here?"

"I…uh, can't tell you."

"What a surprise."

"Look, I just need you to get Norman and get out-"

"What?"

"It's not safe here, okay? Some very bad men are here and they're trying to get at Norman, so you both need to leave right away!"

"Slow down, Peter!" Harry said, clasping his friend by the shoulders; "What's going on?"

Suddenly, there's a heaving groan overhead and the lights go out with a pathetic hiss. Harry grasps tightly at Peter, who manoeuvrers him closer to the door. There's a creak – Peter swinging the door open. All the lights in the cloak-room are out and the hallway too.

What sounds like screaming starts up from the ballroom and Harry can guess that the lights have fizzled out there too. But then a series of harsh cracks sound off and ice-water drips down Harry's spine. Gunfire.

"Peter-"

"Shhh, it's gonna be okay, Har."

Past the raw fear coursing through him, Harry is surprised by how unphased Peter seems to be. His brow is set in a straight line and his eyes are hard. As if he already knew that this was going to happen.

Somehow, Harry finds the strength to follow Peter out into the hallway instead of just cowering in the cloakroom. There are gunmen in the building, but Peter's hand steering at the small of his back seems to reassure him that this is the best course of action instead.

When they reach the end of the hallway, Peter pulls him aside. His hands cup his jaw, the rough pads of his fingertips brushing over his nose and mouth. The touch felt achingly familiar, but Harry wasn't quite sure why.

"Okay, you need to head down the staircase, okay, Har?" Peter said slowly, "You need to follow the rest of the guests." That sounded like Peter wasn't coming with him.

"What about you?" Harry whispered back frantically, holding Peter's hands fast to him, daring him to move away.

"I need you to head to the staircase, okay, Har?" Peter said again, already pulling away and heading back towards the cloakroom.

"W-where are you going, Pete?" Harry shouted, fingers grasping at thin air; "What are you doing?!"

"Just head to the staircase!" Peter called over his shoulder, already running down the corridor.

Harry scrambles to his feet, his limbs twitching with fear. Peter was gone. Peter had left him.

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