#I’m not entirely certain of Gatsby’s feelings towards Nick

[clambucket]

I’ve come to admission that the gay agenda has a limit, natsby may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on. When I came back to this narrative perspective I felt that it may be a fun and silly head canon that I still enjoy, but leaving the statement at “Nick was in love with Gatsby, and Gatsby loved him back” erases large parts of their characters, flaws, and foundations.

[sacred-algae]

In celebration of The Great Gatsby entering public domian, I would like to publish an essay I wrote a few years back. Because I hate The Great Gatsby with the burning passion of a thousand suns.

A Character Analysis of The Great Gatsby:

Gatsby, Nick and Daisy

“The Great Gatsby” by F. Scott Fitzgerald is often revered as one of the greatest American novels of all time. It makes us take off our rose-colored glasses and look at the rich whom we idolize so much. But are our perspectives of this book also tinted by its title of the great American novel? We are often misdirected in this book to forget many important quotes that change the way we look at the main characters completely. Authors make sure that everything in the book has a purpose. If it was included, it’s important and shouldn't be ignored. Readers often place certain expectations on the characters due to its high status, however, this paper will show that the characters in question are not as they are commonly perceived, whether good or bad, and explore the complex writing behind the characters, Nick, Gatsby, and Daisy.

Although Nick Carraway is seen by many for who he is, arrogant and judgemental, they still miss out on the bigger picture. He glorifies violence and he is a cheater. The problem with Nick and the book is that rather than the book being written by Fitzgerald, it is written by Nick. Because of this, we see him in a glorified manner. The first few lines of the book show this. “In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.” (pg. 3) Using the words “younger”, “vulnerable” and even “father” he immediately ensures that we have his sympathy. He does the same thing again later, and more directly, at the very end of chapter three. “Everyone suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known.” (pg. 65) This is where most people begin to see his true self shine through. However, it should be seen much earlier. In chapter one he mentions something very sinister. “I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being the warm center of the world the middle-west now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe” (pg. 5) Nick says directly to the reader that he enjoyed WWI. Only second to WWII (85,000,000 or 3% of the entire world’s population), WWI is the bloodiest war in world history with a death toll of 16,000,000. 40,000,000 if you include deaths resulting from the Spanish Flu. (statistics from Wikipedia) For someone to enjoy being at war there has to be something majorly wrong with them. Not only that but it can be said with near certainty that Nick was cheating on a girl out west when he had his fling with Jordan. In chapter one after dinner with the Buchanans this conversation tasks place. “As I started my motor Daisy peremptorily called ‘Wait! ‘I forgot to ask you something, and it’s important. We heard you were engaged to a girl out West.’ ‘That’s right,’ corroborated Tom kindly. ‘We heard that you were engaged.’ ‘It’s libel. I’m too poor.’ ‘But we heard it,’ insisted Daisy, surprising me by opening up again in a flower-like way. ‘We heard it from three people so it must be true.’” (pg. 23) For there to be rumors that someone is engaged with someone else it has to be commonly known that they are in a relationship. Nick is a severely flawed, if not evil, character.

Many people strive to be like Jay Gatsby, with his charm and “extraordinary gift for hope.” Even then, the biggest argument of the book is whether or not he truly loves Daisy. Most clues point to no. Gatsby even remarks that “‘Her voice is full of money,’” (pg. 128). He sees her as a prize to be won. He chases her, she’s the final thing he needs to have his perfect life. And during a flashback to his first kiss with her, right before the iconic passage where “she blossomed for him like a flower,” Fitzgerald describes his desire for her like this: “The quiet lights in the houses were humming out into the darkness and there was a stir and bustle among the stars. Out of the corner of his eye Gatsby saw that the blocks of the sidewalk really formed a ladder and mounted to a secret place above the trees—he could climb to it, if he climbed alone, and once there he could suck on the pap of life, gulp down the incomparable milk of wonder.” Possibly the most frightening passage in the book. It sounds like some bestial craving. But that is just his relationship with Daisy. Tom accuses him of bootlegging. “‘I found out what your ‘drug stores’ were.’ He turned to us and spoke rapidly. ‘He and this Wolfshiem bought up a lot of side-street drug stores here and in Chicago and sold grain alcohol over the counter. That’s one of his little stunts. I picked him for a bootlegger the first time I saw him and I wasn’t far wrong.’” (pg.143) We never are told explicitly that this is true but it is left to the reader to decide this. And there is plenty of evidence. When Gatsby is giving Daisy a tour of the mansion we hear him on his side of a phone call. “...the phone rang and Gatsby took up the receiver. ‘Yes…. Well, I can’t talk now…. I can’t talk now, old sport…. I said a SMALL town…. He must know what a small town is…. Well, he’s no use to us if Detroit is his idea of a small town….’” (pg. 100-101) This again isn't explicit but why would the person in question be of no use to him if they think that Detroit is a small town? They need a small town. If it is a big one it is easier for the police to track his business. And after Gatsby dies Nick answers another business call. “...said Chicago was calling...‘This is Slagle speaking....’ ‘Yes?’ The name was unfamiliar. ‘Hell of a note, isn’t it? Get my wire?’ ‘There haven’t been any wires.’ ‘Young Parke’s in trouble,’ he said rapidly. ‘They picked him up when he handed the bonds over the counter. They got a circular from New York giving ‘em the numbers just five minutes before. What d’you know about that, hey? You never can tell in these hick towns——‘ ‘Hello!’ I interrupted breathlessly. ‘Look here—this isn’t Mr. Gatsby. Mr. Gatsby’s dead.’” This is a hint towards Gatsby making money selling counterfeit bonds. A business that he tried to recruit Nick too. “‘Why, I thought—why, look here, old sport, you don’t make much money, do you?’ ‘Not very much.’ This seemed to reassure him and he continued more confidently. ‘I thought you didn’t, if you’ll pardon my—you see, I carry on a little business on the side, a sort of sideline, you understand. And I thought that if you don’t make very much—You’re selling bonds, aren’t you, old sport?’ ‘Trying to.’ ‘Well, this would interest you. It wouldn’t take up much of your time and you might pick up a nice bit of money. It happens to be a rather confidential sort of thing.’” (pg. 88-89) Why is it confidential? Because it’s illegal. Not only is Gatsby’s relationship with Daisy toxic, but he is a mobster. This in itself isn’t problematic, but people may have died because of him, and the book shies past this point.

Daisy Buchanan is hated by most people who read the book. It is said that she is shallow and arrogant. This is a look to the surface. First, it is important to understand Daisy and Tom’s ages. When the book takes place Daisy is 23, Tom is 30. Making Daisy 18 and Tom 25 at the time they were married. While she is legal this marriage is incredibly creepy. She is stuck in a marriage with a racist, cheating, borderline abusive husband. And she knows this. Even then she is brave enough to call him out (and mock him) on his racism in chapter one at dinner. “‘Tom’s getting very profound,’ said Daisy with an expression of unthoughtful sadness. ‘He reads deep books with long words in them. What was that word we——‘ ‘Well, these books are all scientific,’ insisted Tom…” (pg. 16) She’s trapped in a situation where she has no control. She tries to reclaim her life through Gatsby but she quickly learns that he isn’t different. “‘Please don’t.’ Her voice was cold, but the rancour was gone from it. She looked at Gatsby. ‘There, Jay,’ she said— but her hand as she tried to light a cigarette was trembling. Suddenly she threw the cigarette and the burning match on the carpet. ‘Oh, you want too much!’ she cried to Gatsby. ‘I love you now—isn’t that enough? I can’t help what’s past.’ She began to sob helplessly. ‘I did love him once—but I loved you too.’” (pg. 141-142). Daisy lives in a society where women are seen and not heard. She knows this but still does what she can to speak for herself. She is incredibly smart. People don’t give her enough credit. Take the iconic line, “Well, she was less than an hour old and Tom was God knows where. I woke up out of the ether with an utterly abandoned feeling and asked the nurse right away if it was a boy or a girl. She told me it was a girl, and so I turned my head away and wept. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’m glad it’s a girl. And I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.’” (pg. 20)

She is smart enough to see what is happening around her and it breaks her, that's why she wants her daughter to be a fool. She’ll never have to question it, she’ll never know it, she’ll always be happy.

“The Great Gatsby” indeed is a great book. One with deeply complex characters. But we need to take a second look at them, not just accept what others tell us. Because of its high status, the characters of “The Great Gatsby” are often subject to preconceived notions, through discussing and analyzing quotes in the book you can begin to see both sides of Nick, Gatsby, and Daisy. When we see someone say something about them, or any person, or anything, question it. As the great Albert Einstein once said-“The important thing is to never stop questioning.”

We need to stop idolizing Nick and Gatsby, and stop victim blaming Daisy. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

[certifiedskywalker]

Academic Misgivings (Part Eight) - Peter Parker

You and Peter Parker aren’t friends, but you’re not entirely enemies either. You don’t like him but he always tries to be nice to you. He has everything you’ve ever wanted and you’ll do anything to show him that you can make it on your own. But can you?

Peter Parker and Y/N are closer than ever before. Maybe too close? Peter doesn’t seem to think so, but what happens when things get too real?

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR /PART FIVE / PART SIX / PART SEVEN

“Hello students of Midtown High and good morning. Today I will be handing the horn to our very own Betty Brant for a special announcement,” the voice of principal Davis was crackly over the intercom, but the words were clear enough that your stomach filled with a sense of mild dread. You sent a look to MJ who, sitting across the row from you, already had an unamused expression on her presently annoyed features.

“Thank you, principal Davis,” Betty’s overly chipper attitude took over. “Fellow students and esteemed faculty…” 

You glanced at MJ who ran a finger around her neck in a knife-like motion and stuck out her tongue. The laugh you stifled didn’t catch Ms. Lauren’s attention as the English teacher was intently listening. MJ shook her head and frowned as Betty continued.

“...the Student Council is proud to announce the date of this year’s Winter Formal. To give you all a chance to raise funds to your heart’s content, the dance has been pushed to Tuesday night at six! There you can enjoy a Winter Wonderland and refreshments from our very own Culinary Club! Tickets will be sold at lunch today and Monday! Be there or be square!”

“Jesus Christ,” MJ muttered, her eyes rolling back at the cliche saying. “She does know that she’s a square right, by definition?” You snickered at MJ’s comment which drew the attention of Ms. Lauren. The kindness she had held on the trip to Chicago faded in the moment as she glared in your direction.   

“Thank you for listening and have a fantastic Friday!” Betty’s sign off was a welcomed relief. MJ leaned back in her chair and sighed dramatically. Her curls spilled over the chair’s top, giving her an all the more chilled-out look.

“Alright class, you heard Ms. Brant! The dance! However, don’t let that distract you from your homework. Pages one hundred sixty through two hundred of The Great Gatsby are due by Monday, but today, find a partner and discuss the chapters you read for this week.”

The class quickly became alive with the chatter of everything but the book and the squeaking of desks against the linoleum floor as your peers moved to face their partners. MJ simply moved from her desk to the empty one behind you. Her long limbs knocked against the metal legs of the seat as you turned to face her. 

“So….”

“So what do you think about Nick’s perspective of Gatsby’s affair with Daisy? Is Fitzgerald making a commentary about how New Money has a sinful way of getting what they want?”

“Nah, I just think he’s gay for Gatsby,” MJ drawled nonchantly. Her fingers played with the worn edges of her book, not registering you slight shock.

“Wha...what..I...Whoa, maybe,” you pondered, glancing through your annotations.

“Yeah,” MJ sighed, “so are you going to the dance?”

“You mean the ‘mating ritual’,” you fired back. The corner of MJ’s lips quirked upwards just a sliver enough to make you proud.  “I don’t think so, no one has asked me.” 

“You don’t need to be asked. Don’t be another victim to this patriarchal society that demands ones worth to be quantified in proposals and admirers.” You raised a brow at her and MJ leaned back. “Just sayin’.”

“Yeah, okay…” You turned back to your book and tried to think of ways you could incorporate your remaining discussion questions.The ones that had pestered you in the night when you were much too excited to sleep. You weren’t sure if it was the pumping adrenaline lingering in your veins from the near crash or speaking to Spiderman.

“You and Peter seem...close….” MJ said suddenly, his low voice derailing your train of thought. “Tutoring ...right?”

“Y-Yeah,” you felt your cheeks heat up at the observation, “tutoring.” You threw your attention back into the novel, tried to immerse yourself in Gatsby’s longing, his pain, his confusion. Only you realized you were trapped in your own.

“And that’s all?” You breath caught in your throat and your wide eyes lifted to met MJ’s gaze. Her brown eyes, always curious, read over your features. Not in the same manner you had grown used to with Peter. MJ’s look was more calculating, a doctor’s eyes scanning over a chart to find a puzzling prognosis.

“That’s n-”

“Alright class, since discussion time has turned into social time, we’re going to have a silent reading day!” Ms. Lauren shouted from over the din of the classroom. Quiet fell over each student while you were flooded with a sense of relief. You turned away from MJ and buried your nose between the pages of the book. Despite the inadvertent rescue, you could still feel MJ’s eyes on the back of your head.

In the hopes of relieving some nervous energy, you glanced up at the clock that was hung on the wall that was decorated with quotes from classical authors. Another thirty minutes until second period. This first class was going to be a long one.

By sheer luck, you had managed to escape your English class without another question from MJ. For the rest of the day however, you were paranoid. You glanced around each corner, darted by every classroom door swiftly, and never once dared to use the toilet. You had managed to evade the curious girl up until the end of the day. Up until practice.

As Mr. Harrington fired through questions, you couldn’t help but notice the squinted gaze of MJ watching, like a hawk, you and Peter. Her inference was only supported by the fact that Peter had sat himself at your side and would whisper witty answers in your ear before the other team even thought to raise their hand.

Such a close proximity to him would have had you in a mess of grins but now you were much too caught up in MJ’s prying eyes. The distraction she caused you was so immense that you barely answered a single question during practice. Something that did not go unnoticed.

“Hey, are you okay?” Peter’s voice was lost in a whisper when you picked it up. “Did something happen last night? You look tired.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you replied. You didn’t dare to look at him and kept your eyes on Mr. Harrington, waiting for another question.

“You’re sure? You’re quiet...is it about Spiderman?” At the mention of the superhero you locked eyes with the boy beside you. 

“No, I...I’m just tired. I..didn’t sleep well last night.” Peter frowned at your words and nodded although you could see that he wasn’t satisfied. You had left the part about you almost dying, the elephant in your chest that had hardly moved since you saw headlights too close for comfort. “Don’t worry about me, okay? I’m okay.”

Mr. Harrington asked another question as Peter replied, masking whatever he had said under a question about a species of rhinoceros. You glanced up at Peter, met his eyes for a split second and saw a sincerity that scared you. While the sentiment he had shared with you had never graced your ear, you were certain it was kind. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a half-smile and you returned the expression before you turned back to Mr. Harrington.

“Alright team,” Mr. Harrington sighed, “I have to get home. My mom wants me to feed the cats before I go to the sowing circle so ...”

“Ahem,” Betty grumbled and Mr. Harrington’s fearful brown eyes glanced her way. His mouth formed an ‘o’ of realization before he piped up again.

“Oh and don’t forget fundraising for the dance, woo, right? You guys should all go. I wish I would have gone to my high school’s dances...” He fell into a silent, distant stare one that, if you weren’t already on edge, would have creeped you out. 

“Yes, please do come to the dance!” Betty chirped. You spared a quick glance at MJ and saw her attention had been averted by the blonde’s perkiness for the time being. While she was distracted, you stood and began to pack up your papers. Peter, ready for your tutoring session, mirrored your actions. Before you could tell him to wait or make some excuse for why you couldn’t help him this evening, someone tapped your shoulder.

“Yo, Y/N,” Flash’s voice overrode every sense of dread and replaced that feeling with an entirely new brand of horror. “You wanna come to the dance with me? My dad recently gave me back the keys to hi-my car.”

“Oh, uh, sorry Flash,” you mumbled as you brain searched for any, literally any, way out of this situation. You glanced around, panicked.

“You don’t want to come? Why no-”

“I’m actually going with Peter.” It felt as if the entire team had gone quiet. If the librarian were to drop a pin on the carpeted floor, it still would have made a bigger sound out of the silence that surrounded you now. MJ’s eyes were trained on you, missiles of interest targeted your chest alongside her endless questions. Too self-conscious to look in her direction any longer, you turned to face Peter with a pleading expression.

“Y-Yeah, she is,” Peter stammered, playing along. You peered back at Flash and saw a mischievous look on her features.

“Oh, I see,” the dark haired boy winked at you, “you’re taking a step down the social ladder to help Peter up. How valiant, how worthless.”  With a sassy spin, Flash made his way towards the door to the library. The silence died out, turned back to the idle chatter that seemed to haunt the decathlon team. 

Now it was you and Peter that were quiet as you threw your bags over your shoulders and headed towards the exit. Tension bubbled, fizzled between you with boiling, unasked questions. Just as Peter opened the door, he locked eyes with you.

“So we’re going to the dance?” You stepped out before him which hide the burning in your cheek perfectly, if only for a moment until Peter was back at your side. 

“Oh, well uh, it was only a cover really,” you explained in a rush. Peter stood in the hallway arms crossed over his chest as you spoke. There was a frown on his face, disheartened worry in his furrowed brow. 

“Oh, well, okay, I jus’....nevermind.”

“But...I mean, we might want to corroborate the story. Maybe for like an hour.” Your suggestion was enough to bring that familiar half-smile to Peter’s lips.

“I mean, it’s probably for the best, right? So his pride isn’t too wounded ...” Peter’s muttering made you smile brightly. 

“Y-Yeah, for the best,” you echoed. Peter met your gaze, lips parted and you felt that there was something about the words that had you hanging on the edge of your seat. You took a step closer to him and he took one closer to you until ...bing, bing, ping, pong, bing.

“Oh, crap, uh, hold on,” Peter scrambled to find which pocket his phone was in. When he did and noticed the caller ID, his eyes widened. “Oh, I gotta take this. It’ll only take a sec!”

“Okay, I’ll wait here!” You watched as he turned the nearest corner and disappeared. Your heart, still hammering from the scene before, was final settled. The wall made a good resting place as you leaned against it, not truly caring about what could be crunched in your book bag. A sense of peace, respite, came over you and you closed your eyes.

The sensation passed though at the sound of door shutting loudly. When you peeled open your eyes, you gasped. Flash. He stood before you with a grin, one he must have considered to be devilish while you thought of him as, surely, fiend-like.

“So, you’re in,” he simpered, “you’re all in. You get his passcode yet?”

“Ha, no, I want out.” You snapped in a whisper. Wherever Peter had gone, the last thing you wanted was for him to over hear this. 

“What?” Flash’s thick brows knitted together in confusion and you groaned.

“I don’t want to play a part in this play any more,” you whisper-yelled. “It’s a stupid plan and I would rather tutor Peter than know I’m working to help you.” Flash rested a hand to his chest, mouth agape, and features riddled with offense. 

“You’re going to regret this, Y/N, believe me,” Flashed warned with dark eyes. “He may be your friend now but...he won’t stick around. As soon as something or someone better comes around, he’s gone.” You were about to bite back, tell Flash that he was wrong, but you couldn’t. You weren’t sure, you didn’t know. 

Flash let out a small breath of a laugh before he turned back down the hall. You watched him go and worried your bottom lip between your teeth as you thought. Maybe Flash was right, maybe whatever was happening between you and Peter would end and end quickly. Perhaps your idea of him, the arrogant boy-genius, was just below the surface of what he was showing you. Despite that fear, you had official placed your bet that Peter was worth it; he was worth getting hurt. 

You stood idle in the hallway and waited for Peter to return. No longer did that fleeting sense of peace wrap its arms around you snug, not when Flash’s words still rattled in your skull. There was no escaping your own thoughts, not when you prided yourself on thinking. In a vain attempt to silence your worries, you leaned your head back against the cool surface of the wall. Your eyes closed and you tried your best to think of only darkness.

“Hey, Y/N? You okay?” Peter’s voice pulled you back to the present. Your eyes peeled open and you met his warm brown eyes. “Sorry that the call took so long.”

“It’s alright,” you mumbled and started to walk towards the school’s front door. The sound of Peter’s foot falls echoed behind you, worked to catch up. 

“Okay, but are you alright?” Peter asked as soon as he fell into step at your side. You didn’t let yourself seek a glance at him, you didn’t dare. Instead, you kept walking and pushed open the doors to the school. Cold air hit you as you stepped outside, coaxing an immediate shiver from your body.“Here.”

Just as you opened your mouth to protest, crack a joke about how it was a bad day to forget your sweatshirt, Peter handed you his blue jacket.

“I can’t.”

“What? Don’t be silly Y/N, you’re shaking. It’s okay, I’m pretty warm so,” he gestured again for your to take it. With a tired frown you took the jacket from him and walked over to the nearest bench to set your backpack down. Peter followed you, watched you as you shoved your arms through much too-big sleeves. 

“You have orangutan arms,” you teased, although you said it with a straight face. Peter smiled and you saw his cheeks turn a wonderful shade of pink. 

“You just have shrimp arms,” he fired back and you felt the coil in your chest as it  loosened. No longer were you burning with worry. No, now you were sedated by the high of being with him again. You smiled softly and nodded.

“Okay, so coffee shop and study?” You only nodded in reply as you shrugged your bag back on over your now jacket-clad shoulders. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine Pete,” you sighed as you walked. You glanced at Peter and saw that his brown eyes were glued to you. “More than fine.”

He smiled and tore his eyes away as you both made your way to the coffee shop. The Friday crowd sat outside of restaurants where they sipped leisurely at drinks and chatted about weekend plans. You couldn’t remember the last time you had plans on a weekend. Or the last time you wanted to do anything on a weekend. 

Now you had people you wouldn’t mind making weekend plans with. You snuck a glance up at Peter and saw how his russet hair bounced with each step, the movement that almost distracted from the soft smile on his thin lips. Weekend plans with Peter….you tried to imagine what that could be and before long, your mind was lost in a world that didn’t exist.

A world where you both were older, more mature, with the trauma of high school left behind. Tucked under the covers and further tucked away from the city in a small apartment of your very own; something you and Peter share, together. Sleeping rainy days away, the smell of baked goods from the bakery downstairs. Chocolate chips just as melted at Peter’s soft eyes.

“Y/N?” A pair of fingers snapped before your eyes and broke you out of your trance.

“What?” Your eyes trailed over to Peter’s and you felt your skin heat up under his gaze. 

“We can cross now,” Peter pointed across the street towards the coffee shop. Your eyes widened in realization and you followed Peter as he strode through the crosswalk. With a bit of effort, you kept up with him and soon found yourself at the door of the cafe.

“I’m having deja vu,” you commented as Peter opened the door for you.

“I bet, how long were you in here yesterday?” You smiled at him over your shoulder.

“Too long.” You walked up to the counter as you hungered for the steaming peach-ginger tea the cashier had recommended to you. Peter stood at your side and eyed the ��specials’ menu with wonder. After a moment of waiting, the same, pink-haired girl from the day before came up to you with a beaming smile.

“You again! You want to try another weird scone?” You laughed and shook your head.

“I’m okay, thank you though, but I would like the tea you told me about again.” She rang up your order and you paid. As you stepped to the side to let other customers place their order, you felt someone tug on the sleeve of Peter’s jacket.

“You tried something new,” Peter gushed with a grin so bright it could rival the stars. “That’s amazing, you’re amazing!” You felt an intense heat rise to your face at the compliment and the sweet tone of Peter’s voice. 

“It’s just a pastry, Pete,” you gulped. Nervously, you glanced around the coffee shop and half expected MJ to be watching the two of you. 

“It’s also a step in the right direction, Y/N! Don’t sell yourself short, c’mon now!” 

“Alright, alright, just,” you let your eyes dance around the room again, “not so loud.” Peter grinned, the kind that brought little crinkles by his eyes. While his expression held your attention, you nearly jumped when you felt him squeeze your hand.

“I’ll get us some seats while you wait for your tea,” he hummed and you felt his hand slip from yours. The moment his touch faded from your senses, you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from screaming. Tutoring, you repeated the word in your brain in big, bold letters, just tutoring. That was all you could allow yourself in the moment. 

Luckily,  the barista came up to you with a smile and your steaming cup of tea. You took it from her with a ‘thank you’ and a smile before you stopped at the cart full of brewing supplies. Creamer, stirrers, and an array of sugar substitutes sat on the wooden surface seemingly just to overwhelm you. You simply grabbed a packet of sugar and searched for wherever Peter had found for you both to sit. From the few yards between the two of you, Peter looked breathtaking. 

Sunlight that filtered through the window beside him shone down, a natural spotlight drawn to his own internal brilliance. Brown tresses styled atop his head gleamed in an amber sheen and you imagined that his eyes were flecked with gold under the glare. Either way, he was a sight to behold; especially when he smiled as you approached.

“Hi.” Feather soft, his voice tickled every fiber of your being.

“Hi,” you replied and wondered if Peter had felt the same tingle. “Are you ready to study?”

“Um, yeah, yeah,” Peter’s eyes widened slightly as you slipped your bag off of your shoulders. You sat across from him and felt your knees knock against his own. 

“So what questions do you-”

“We don’t have to go to the dance,” Peter gushed. The floodgates of his mouth had opened and let every worry had he held inside exposed. Did he not want to go with you?

It had been a spur of the moment proposition, one made more to carry on a lie to Flash than anything else. However, when Peter had pressed earlier, asked if you truly wanted to go with him, you had entertained the thought. The image of Peter dressed up, a suit jacket over his shoulders made you want to curl into yourself until you ceased to exist. It was simply too much to handle, or in this case, too good to be true. 

“Oh, well, if you don’t want to go, yeah. I just didn’t want to go with Flash, you get that right?” You felt your cheeks burning. Of course he didn’t want to go with you, you had only come to know each other better by fluke, by academics. 

“No I-I-”

“Thanks for playing along. Flash, like I said, is the wors-”

“Y/N.” Peter’s hand reached across the table before you even had a chance to react. Like threads tying you in place, Peter’s fingers wrapped around yours and in that new warmth you found comfort in the silence. “I want to go ...with you.”

“O-oh so...uh…” Peter ducked his head slightly until his brown eyes were all you saw. 

“I just wanted to be sure that you wanted to go ...with me,” Peter explained. The cafe around you muddled together at the edges of your vision. The deep blue of the walls and dark oak floors blended, clouded around Peter like an abstract painting. Only the artist’s muse was yours and sat before you in a red sweater that only served to deepen his rosy cheeks. 

“I want to,” you whispered breathlessly. You had never been so nervous before. No exam or decathlon meet had made your heart hammer in your chest like Peter. It didn’t help that he stilled looked at you, studied you with the same care of a scientist with a unique species of flower. Peter followed your eye line and you heard a little gasp escape his parted lips.

“Sorry, jus’ uh ...yeah. Cool. We both want to go. C-cool.” As he spoke, Peter pulled his hand back as if he had been holding a hot coal. “So questions right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you reached into your bag and pulled out your textbook. 

Hoping to diffuse the tension, you flipped idly through the text. Your fingers danced along the corners of each page as you looked for one that covered an interesting topic. At least, that was what you hoped Peter thought you were doing. The cogs in your own mind worked, pieced together theories, hypothesis, on how to bypass the awkwardness. 

“I mean if you want to, we could fundraise instead?” Your suggestion was enough to pull Peter’s eyes back to you. Although you only looked at him for a second before you pretended to peer into the textbook before you. 

“I-I got it. The fundraising I mean. I handled it.”

“You...handled it?” With a quirked brow you spared a glance at Peter. Sunrise pink coated his pale cheeks and he let out a nervous laugh through his teeth.

“I...Mr. Stark donated…”

“He donated to a dance?” Peter scratched the back of his neck and nodded.

“To that and to add on to the science wing of the school…” 

“Wow,” you let out a sigh, “that’s nice of him.”

“Yeah, he’s really cool,” before you could agree, Peter’s mouth dropped wide. “Oh and I told him about you and…” He reached down and you heard the scuffling of a backpack then the sharp sound of a zipper. 

“What are you…” Peter reached across the table again but instead of holding your hand once more, between his fingers he held a red card. Repeated series of three embossed lines on the smooth paper surface shone in the sun with a silver sheen. 

“After first semester I-I had to take a few hours off of my uh, internship...stuff..so there’s a position open, if you want it.” His voice echoed as you traced the tip of your finger along the edge of the card. Once your brain had unscrambled the words Peter had said from the jumble of shock in your head you looked up at him. His elbows rested on the table and he chin leaned on the palms of his hands as he studied you expectantly.

“I don’t know what to say...Pete..this is…”

“He said the floor was going to be open Saturday, tomorrow at like six, if you wanted a tour.” You held Peter’s gaze and you could feel your lips moving but not a sound slipped out. It felt as if you had been thrown out of your own body. Everything you wanted, the chance to be more, to be better was between your fingers. All thanks to Peter Parker. 

“If...would you be there?”

“Be there where?” Peter’s brows furrowed and his hands dropped to the table with a slight ‘knock’. 

“On the tour, if I go tomorrow.” The silence that followed after your question was hard to swallow. Although it seemed Peter had a harder time chewing on your words.

“I-I, maybe. I had plans, swinging around the city just-”

“Walking dogs?”

“What?” Peter squinted his eyes at you and you frowned.

“You told me you walk dogs sometimes…” Peter’s eyes lit up and his cheeks turned soft shades of crimson. 

“Oh yeah but uh no, not tomorrow. Why? Do you want me to go with?” You nodded and let your gaze fall back to the card in your hand. Tony Stark, Iron Man, knows that you exist and, thanks to Peter, offered you the opportunity of a lifetime. So why were you hesitating?

“I would just feel better if you went. You know your way around, plus if I run into Spiderman it won’t be awkward…”

Peter coughed, as if the air in his throat had tired to turn against him. “What, why,” another cough, “why would it be awkward?” “Well...last night when I said I saw him...he-”

“Saved you?” You closed your mouth and nodded. 

“From getting hit by a car,” you explained, although Peter’s calm demeanor didn’t falter. The softness of his eyes hid any sense of surprise he wore, if any. “It’s just embarrassing really.”

“No, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay, so it’s okay,” Peter said comfortingly. You imagined he had learned the gentle tone from May or maybe even his parents before hand. When you finally  met his eyes, after hiding the evidence of your shame, you saw only kindness.

Despite the fact that you had removed yourself from Flash and his scheme, the innocence of Peter’s expression sent a stab of guilt through your chest. Some hint of that internal regret must have seeped through to your features because Peter’s face fell. You felt his knees knock against yours under the table as he shifted in his seat, although his eyes never left yours. 

“W-What’s wrong?”

“You...you’re so good, Peter,” you murmured, “you so...nice.” You felt a stinging behind your eyes that you tired to fight back. 

“I just...Y/N,” Peter said softly, “I-I li...you’re good too. You just need to see that. So if that means the Stark Internship, do it. If that means just adventuring a block out of your bubble, do it. I’ll be there either way.” You felt and smile gather up on your lips, one there was no hope in hiding.

“Thank you, Peter,” you breathed and silently prayed that he wouldn’t read into the sniffles. You dabbed your eyes with the dark blue sleeve of Peter’s jacket before sighing. “So...the Stark Internship?”

“Oh, yeah, like I said, Tony said at six they’re doing a seminar. I can cancel my plans and go with you.”

“Peter you don’t have to-

“I want to,” he said coolly, in a way that made you feel ...safe? Was that the word for it? You hadn’t felt the strange warmth since Spider-Man. And even then, it was nothing to how secure you had felt before aliens spilled out of a portal above the city. Your family had lost everything that day and you had lost a piece of family, of that feeling. 

“Okay,” you replied and, sensing the atmosphere around your own little world had thickened, Peter cleared his throat.

“But uh, I can come by your place at four and we can make our way there. W-we should get there in time.” You nodded along with his suggestion, followed the cadence of his voice until you felt swaddled in it.

“Alright, that sounds good.” Peter let a boyish, charming grin take over his features and you felt your skin warm at the sight. The need to talk to him, like how you had longed to after the near car-crash last night washed over you. 

Before it could drown you, you surfaced back in the present. There would be time to tell Peter how you felt once you, yourself, felt comfortable. 

“Okay so, decathlon questions,” you said and turned your attention back to the text on the table.

“Right, decathlon questions,” Peter repeated as he ducked his head to look in his own notebook. You caught a glimpse of his rosy cheeks before he busied himself. A half-smile pulled its way to your lips and you sighed.

I’ll be there either way. Peter’s words echoed in your mind and felt the smile on your face widen. There would be time. You would make time if you had to, but you felt your bones ache at the thought of waiting to tell Peter how you felt.

[rated-r-for-grantaire]

Jay Gatsby has AVPD

the titular character in The Great Gatsby is an AVPD icon, which I shall explain under the read more. It’s sort of a longish post - I’ve copy/pasted the DSM symptoms and showed examples of when Gatsby displays them, so it may be a bit rambly, sorry.

Heads-up: A good number of the points involve Daisy and it’s a bit repetitive. 

I have identity issues, which include low self-esteem. I find myself unappealing or inferior to others. - When he was originally trying to get back with Daisy, he was incredibly insecure and nervous about everything. True, it could be contributed to general nerves, but it could just as easily be contributed to a PD as well.

I set unrealistic standards for myself, and I am reluctant to pursue any of my goals or take personal risks or engage in new activities which involve interpersonal contact. - Um yes this is pretty much Gatsby’s entire character! His dream of being with Daisy and being the perfect man for her is incredibly unrealistic and yet he holds himself to that standard everyday. He also never makes an effort to contact Daisy (until Nick shows up to support him), just stares at the green light.

I am empathic, although I focus more on negative feelings which are directed at me. I am sensitive to criticism and rejection. - Gatsby is so terrified of being rejected and/or criticized that he makes a huge fake life so that people like him. Ironically, he ends up getting criticism for his fake self just as much, if not more, than for his true self.

I am reluctant to get too close to people and maintain a distance to keep people from knowing me too well. - Gatsby has very few true friends and doesn’t really make an effort with anyone, except Nick. Readers (correctly!) say that only three people come to Jay’s funeral (his dad, Nick, and Owl-Eyes) bc they didn’t actually care about him and only liked him for his parties, but rarely have I seen people acknowledging that this is more than just assholes being materialistic partiers...it’s Gatsby being lonely.

I experience intense feelings of nervousness, tenseness, and panic in reaction to social situations. I worry about the negative effects experiences, and I am afraid of embarrassing myself. - This is the whole reunion scene with Daisy. 

I detach myself from social contacts and don’t initiate anything in order to avoid embarrassing myself or ruining the relationship. - See again: His awkwardness when first reuniting with Daisy. I say it can apply to other people too, though, as we never really see Gatsby initiating much - maybe a bit in the beginning with Nick, but that’s all. In general, he’s a very detached man. 

I find myself unable to fully enjoy myself or properly engage in experiences which should make me happy. It’s hard for me to take interest in things. - Gatsby is not a happy person at all. He doesn’t have fun at his parties, and he doesn’t seem to have casual interests either - just obsessions, and not even many of those if we’re being honest!

I avoid intimacy and getting too close to people (romantic relationships, friendships etc). Hiding away from everyone during his own parties? Staring longingly across the bay instead of going to East Egg and trying to talk to Daisy? Seems avoidant to me!

I avoid activities that involve significant interpersonal contact because of my fears of criticism, disapproval, or rejection. - Again, he avoided pretty much ALL (legal) social activities until he met Nick. Even around Nick he was still nervous. And this really applies to so much more than just Daisy and the “hiding from people at his own parties” thing. After he got rich, Gatsby never truly put himself out there. He’s so nervous about everything. And he hates criticism! He either gets self-deprecating or destructive towards others when he is criticized. (I’d say self-deprecating more so. He gets destructive towards Tom once i think and that’s more about rage and fear over his cover being blown than anything. But...it still happens.)

I’m pretty unwilling to get involved with people unless I’m certain they’re going to like me. - Given all of my other points, I don’t think I need to explain this one by now. 

I hold back in personal relationships because I’m afraid of being shamed or ridiculed - He never tells anyone about his true self. He created his fake and glorious persona because he was ashamed of how he really was, when it’s really nothing to be ashamed about. It’d be one thing if he was actually a bad person who deserved to be shamed (like Tom, who is a literal white supremacist, unloyal, sexist dick), but he isn’t.

I’m preoccupied with being criticized or rejected in social situations. - Once again, my other points apply here. I can’t think of anything Gatsby fears more than rejection. He NEEDS people to like him and this could not be more obvious.

I feel uncomfortable in new interpersonal situations because of my feelings of inadequacy. - He is literally awkward as hell with EVERYONE. I've already addressed how he is around Daisy, but tbh he's awkward around others too, even Nick. When him and Nick first start to become friends, he keeps fumbling around with his words and he's really not smooth at all. It is in part due to all the lies that he is telling Nick, but Gatsby lies a lot in general and he doesn't ALWAYS act that way while telling his lies. Otherwise people would’ve suspected that something was up with him sooner than they actually did.

I see myself as socially inept, unappealing, or inferior to others. - Gatsby may act cool and confident, but he doesn’t feel that way about himself in reality. He truly does not see himself as good enough.

I’m reluctant to take personal risks or engage in new activities because I may embarrass myself. - Gatsby is an outsider in his world, and he's not a risk taker at all (at least not in a social aspect). He hopes and waits for good things to happen to him, rather than taking action and doing new things.

So that’s my analysis. Maybe a small part of this headcanon is projection, but I do truly see canon avoidant traits in Gatsby. He fits some parts of the criteria more than he fits others, but no one needs to fit ALL the criteria to have a diagnosis. I just think Gatsby does...to some extent.

You can reblog this whether or not you have avpd btw, i’m putting it in the tags for other people to see and for my own filing, not because I ONLY want avoidant Gatsby fans reblogging it. And if anyone - avoidant or not - has any feedback and/or more evidence supporting this I’d love for you to share it in the reblogs or replies! There could very well be some stuff I’m forgetting.

[jbankai89]

The Stag and The Snake Part I, Chapter Five - Getting Along

My good friend and braintwin @kuriquinn​ suggested I try posting my actual fics on Tumblr, rather than just linking them, so I'm giving it a try. For those of you following my work on AO3 or AFF, these will be reposts until I'm caught up and everything is posted. :)

Title: The Stag and the Snake

Author: JBankai89

Status: Complete, Part 1: 12/12 Part 2: 22/22

Rating: Part 1: PG-13, Part 2: NC-17 Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin

Achievements: None

Warnings: Violence and Gore, Violent Sexual Assault, Minor Character Death

Summary: Vernon Dursley is enraged with the prospect of raising a boy he never wanted. Petunia recalls something that might help them get the child out of their hair more quickly. Overcoming their recalcitrance for anything magical, they invoke The Rite of Betrothal. Who will Harry be forced to marry, and will he be able to cope with all the demands it will entail?

Word Count: Part 1: 46 772 Part 2: 85 442

Other Links: AO3, AFF, LJ

Notes: Please note that this fic also contains Evil!Snape, which is a trope I hate, because Sev is my favourite character, but for the purposes of this story, he worked best.

This fic is based on the story of The Swan Princess, which I will be following the canon of in conjunction with the HP canon. Canon divergences include Voldemort is definitely dead, Lucius Malfoy is a bit OOC, and Sirius did not go to Azkaban. Because most of the story takes place before and after Hogwarts, a lot of the Hogwarts years are glossed over. I tried to keep the links and stuff organized how they did it on the old LJ group MyChemicalSlash, so I hope this is clean enough for you guys to follow easily.

Previous Chapter 

Fic Masterpost

Chapter 5 – Getting Along

Harry felt like he was in one of Aunt Petunia's old films, like The Great Gatsby or The Sound of Music.

All around him people milled about in glamorous clothes and ate fancy foods that he couldn't pronounce the name of. He felt entirely out of place, and his agemate wasn't exactly making things any easier.

Draco sat across from him, eating and drinking, looking entirely at ease. Harry noticed how he sat, leant back, his legs crossed at the knee, observing everyone as though he were miles above it. When Harry looked over to Draco's father, Lucius, who was standing with Sirius, he thought that their expressions were pretty similar. Lucius's cold stare swivelled towards him and Harry averted his gaze, poking at the strange foods on his plate, his appetite gone.

Harry had tried to speak several times, but it almost felt as though he had forgotten how. When Harry compared in his head how this boy had grown up compared to how he had, Harry felt a strange tightness in his stomach, though he wasn't sure what it meant. He chanced a look up, and felt momentary panic when he couldn't see Sirius, but relaxed when he saw him a little farther back with Remus. Their eyes met and he gave Harry a small nod and encouraging smile. Harry relaxed a little.

“Father told me you live with muggles,” a cold voice said. Harry looked over to see that Draco had finally spoken to him. Harry frowned a little as he nodded.

“Mhm,” he said, uncertain what else he could say. “But I live with Sirius now, and Remus. They're nice.” He bit on the inside of his cheek, while Draco eyed him curiously. It wasn't outright dislike, but he still looked at Harry as though he was beneath him somehow. He didn't like it.

“Yes, Father told me all about that,” Draco said, “I don't know how you could live like that, I'm afraid I've got no taste for canines.” Harry tilted his head to the side in confusion.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, cocking his head to the side. With every moment that passed, Harry liked the boy less and less. He reminded him in many ways of Dudley.

“Living with an Animagus and a Werewolf,” Draco said, arching a brow as though that were obvious. Harry turned to look at Sirius again, confusion written all over his face. He saw his godfather lurch forward and Remus grab his arm, then Remus leant in to say something to him quietly. “You really didn't know?” Harry turned back to Draco and shook his head.

“What's an Aminagus?” Harry asked, and Draco's eyes narrowed at the question. It unsettled Harry, the way Draco glared at him. He wasn't sure what he had done wrong, or what could make Draco look at him as though he had dribbled on his shirt or something.

“It's someone who knows how to turn into an animal. Father told me about it once.”

“Oh.”

The boys lapsed into uncomfortable silence.

Harry pulled up his legs and sat on his ankles, and ignored Draco's glare of disapproval. Harry glanced around, pretending not to notice the look, and his eyes fell upon a strange man who seemed to be hiding from the other people at the party.

Something about the way he looked at Harry made him feel as though he might be sick. He quickly looked back at the table, picking absently at a small nick on the edge of the otherwise smooth surface. He could still feel the eyes of the man on him, and it made him feel scared and uncomfortable, though he couldn't figure out exactly why.

“Sirius told me your Father doesn't like me because of my mum,” Harry said after a long silence, and Draco glared at Harry. He quickly looked back down at his plate.

“My Father is not keen on my associating with half-bloods,” Draco said simply, in a tone that told Harry that he shouldn't ask again.

Harry was thoroughly grateful when evening began to fall around them, and Lucius announced the end of the celebration. He jumped up at once and hurried over to Sirius, grabbing his arm when he reached him.

“Can we go home?” Harry asked at once in a rush, and Sirius smiled, though the expression seemed sad, too.

“Soon,” he said while he patted Harry's shoulder gently. Draco stood next to his parents and was determinedly not looking at Harry, while Harry stood with Remus and Sirius, doing exactly the same thing. When the last of the guests filtered out, Lucius turned to Sirius and grasped his hand briefly in what was almost a handshake, but to Harry looked more like they were trying to break each other's fingers.

“Black,” he said curtly with a small nod of his head. Harry was so busy watching his godfather that he did not at once notice Draco approaching him. Remus got his attention by tapping him lightly on the shoulder and gave him a nudge in the other boy's direction. Swallowing his feelings of dislike, he extended his hand and mimicked Sirius' brief handshake.

“Until tomorrow, then,” Sirius said stiffly. Harry's eyes bulged. Tomorrow? He detested the idea of having to sit with Draco again. But before he could protest, he was being led through the maze of the Manor with Sirius and Remus on either side of him, each holding onto one of his hands. He felt entirely drained, not sure if he'd be awake enough when he got home to complain about repeating the experience.

Sirius and Remus bid a curt farewell to the Malfoys, and stepped down the path and to the street. Harry let go of Remus's hand to stifle a wide yawn, and he heard someone above him chuckle. They didn't comment on it, but when Harry stumbled over his robes, halfway towards the cover of trees they had arrived in that morning, he yelped in surprise when Sirius scooped him up.

“We're almost home, Harry,” Sirius said reassuringly.

Home.

It was both a strange and wonderful thing to hear. He hadn't felt like he had had a home with the Dursleys, but with Sirius and Remus, he was finding that there was a place in the world that he could actually call home. He rested his head on Sirius's shoulder with a sleepy smile on his face.

Harry didn't remember getting home, or getting into his pyjamas, or going to bed. but he woke in all three. He rubbed his eyes, the room very dark, and it took him a second to realize it was still nighttime.

He pulled up his blankets to his neck, and stared up at the blank and blurry ceiling. So much had happened, he hadn't time to think over it all. Harry knew one thing for certain, though, a word he'd heard Uncle Vernon use a few times: Expectations.

For whatever reason, Sirius expected him to become friends with Draco. Draco was expected to be friends with him, no matter how much his father disliked the idea.

Though Harry understood, or, at least he thought he understood the idea of expectations, it didn't mean that he liked it any better. He wondered vaguely why this was happening to him, did he do something bad, and this was his punishment, to be friends with people that hated him for no good reason? He reached up and hugged his pillow.

It was a long time before Harry went back to sleep, but he did, eventually, sleep.

~*~

Harry groaned when he felt someone shaking him gently. He rolled away, hugging his pillow more tightly.

“No,” he mumbled, his pillow effectively muffling his protest.

“Come on Harry,” said Sirius gently, giving him another small shake, “it's time to get up.”

“I don't want to,” he mumbled, turning slightly to look up at him. He couldn't see him clearly without his glasses, but this morning he didn't really care to. “Draco hates me for no reason. Why do I need to get to know him?” he felt the sting in his eyes and he roughly rubbed at them with his fist. He knew grownups hated it when kids cried. The memory of Uncle Vernon yelling at him for crying bloomed in his mind, and he quickly shook the memory away.

Even without his glasses, he could see that Sirius looked sad. He ran his fingers through Harry's hair in what was supposed to be a comforting motion, but Harry flinched away from the touch. Sirius was making him go to people who didn't like him. He didn't want to be mad at his godfather, but he also felt like he couldn't help but be mad.

“Harry,” Sirius with a sigh, and he retracted his hand. “It's complicated, but if there was any way I could not do this to you, I would. Remus and I didn't want this for you, but we had no way to stop it from happening. Now all we can do is make the best of it. Do you understand?”

“I guess so,” Harry said after several minutes of silence. He still hated it, but it at least seemed as though Sirius was on his side, that he didn't want this for Harry either. It was a small comfort, but did not help to quell the sting very much.

“Tell you what,” Sirius said as he handed him his glasses, and his godfather came into focus above him. “Let's really pi—er, annoy the Malfoys today. You can wear whatever normal clothes you like. And don't worry, it's not a party like yesterday, it'll just be us and the Malfoys.” Harry sat up at once and mirrored Sirius's mischievous grin.

“Are you trying to give Lucius more reason to drop you into a vat of undiluted bubotuber pus?” Remus asked fifteen minutes later when Harry appeared in the kitchen wearing jeans and a yellow t-shirt, with a red jumper layered over top. Remus sounded as though he couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or amused.

“Eh, whatever works,” Sirius said with a laugh as he sat down at the table. Without another word, Remus began piling Harry's plate high with sausages, eggs, and toast.

Having eaten so little the day before, Harry was famished and ate his way though two helpings of everything. Sirius was nursing a cup of coffee, and Remus was reading the newspaper with his brow furrowed.

“Something wrong?” Sirius asked a few minutes later, and Remus answered by sliding the paper over to him. His brow furrowed in the same way Remus's had, and he let out a huff that was almost a laugh. “Didn't take them very long. Lovely.” He shoved the paper back to Remus, and while Harry wondered what that was about, though he thought it better not to ask.

“What's an Aminagus?” Harry asked a few minutes later, his voice garbled slightly by a mouthful of egg. He watched Sirius and Remus exchange a look, then turned their attention back to Harry.

“It's Animagus. Why do you ask, Harry?” Remus sounded concerned, though Harry didn't know why.

“Draco said I was living with one, but I don't know what he meant.” Harry's voice trailed off to a mumble, wondering if he should mention the other part of what the boy had said yesterday.

“It's not bad, Harry,” Sirius said gently. “We're sorry we didn't tell you, but we didn't want to overwhelm you with too much information too fast.”

Without another word Sirius stood up, smiling as he stepped out to where Harry could see him fully, and before his very eyes Harry watched his godfather transform into a huge, black, shaggy dog. His mouth dropped open and a bit of egg fell out of his mouth and tumbled into his lap, though he didn't notice straightaway. Dog-Sirius trotted over to Harry, tail wagging and thumping against the side of the table, and barked once. A moment later, Sirius changed back, grinning at Harry.

Dumbstruck, Harry glanced over to Remus. He was smiling, but his face fell when Harry blurted out his next question, “does that mean you're a werewolf, Remus?” The man's face fell at once, and his eyes, wide with shock, flicked to Sirius, who had sat back down.

“What did Draco tell you about werewolves, Harry?” Remus asked gently, though Harry was still confused as to why Remus looked so upset.

“Nothing. He just said I was living with one, that's all,” he frowned a little, “I think he was trying to make me feel bad about not living in a palace or something.” He paused and crossed his arms as he remembered the conversation. “But this is the best house I've ever been in. I don't know why he thought I'd feel bad about it.”

“Harry,” Remus said when he had finished, “I will not deny that I am a werewolf, and I would ask you to please not tell anyone you may meet. It is not a bad thing, exactly, but many wizards do not like my—kind. People can be very cruel when it comes to that and while I would never hurt you, and Sirius and I have taken many precautions to keep my other form from ever hurting you, some people may feel that you are in danger, living here. Because of that, they may try to return you to your aunt and uncle.”

Harry's eyes widened, and he could feel his heart pound hard in his chest. He took a moment to calm himself down, and he swallowed thickly as he nodded.

“I won't tell anyone.”

~*~

They arrived at the Malfoy Manor just before noon, and Harry could feel his stomach flip-flopping nervously. He really didn't want to be here, but Sirius's promise that there wouldn't be a bunch of adults was slightly comforting. While his godfather had kept his promise and let him wear his normal clothes, he and Remus had donned wizard robes again. They still looked very strange to Harry, but he found that he was starting to get used to it.

Harry bit his lip when Lucius greeted them at the door, his eyes narrowing slightly when he saw Harry. He didn't say anything mean, which was a small comfort for Harry. He felt more at ease than he had yesterday, but he still didn't like the look he had been given by the older man. It reminded him of Uncle Vernon.

Like the day before, Lucius led them to the back garden. Draco's mother was sitting comfortably at a small round table on the patio sipping some sort of amber liquid, and Harry saw Draco off on the lawn, drifting around the edges of the property on what looked like a broomstick. Like Lucius, Draco's mother narrowed her eyes when she saw him. Harry felt a flush creep up his neck, but he looked away and pretended that he hadn't noticed.

Draco seemed to have been made aware that they had arrived, and he shuffled back towards the patio, deliberately taking his time. Harry saw that he looked sullen and irritated, and he felt something close to relief. Obviously, the other boy liked this no better than he did. Harry felt himself shunted gently towards Draco as Remus said encouragingly, “go on and play.”

Harry stepped forward reluctantly, and though Draco didn't glare at him like his parents had, the dislike was there all the same. Harry stepped down onto the grass and followed Draco, who had discarded the broom near the patio. When Harry looked back however, it was no longer there.

“Why are you wearing muggle clothes?” Draco asked suddenly, his tone was surprisingly neutral. Harry shifted his gaze to the other boy, who was still eyeing him strangely, but it thankfully did not make Harry feel as uneasy as when his parents had looked at him.

“Sirius said I could,” Harry replied hesitantly, “I feel more comfortable in them.” Draco stared, as though Harry had something completely mad like, 'I've got three buttocks,' or something. The look unnerved Harry, but he felt more annoyed than upset by the expression. “What?” He wished Draco would stop staring at him like that.

“You're very strange, Harry Potter.”

~*~

The week passed very slowly for Harry. He learnt early on that he was expected to spend a whole week in Draco's company, which, despite Sirius's reassurances, did not get easier as time went on. They still eyed each other with equal dislike, and when they tried to gravitate back to their respective guardians, they were gently shoved back together.

On Thursday, the fourth day, Harry was horrified when two big, lumbering boys had come to visit as well, and made a point of completely ignoring Harry while they played. He sat in the grass, his knees pulled up to his chest and watched sadly.

On Friday, Harry wasn't ignored, but instead chased mercilessly by Draco on his small flying broomstick, and he drove Harry into the forest that bordered the Manor's property. It was only when Draco laughed and flew off that Harry realized that he had gone in very deep. It was very dark, and it took the adults several hours to find him. Sirius called Lucius a lot of colourful names in a rage Harry had never seen from him before, but he was too relieved that he hadn't been eaten by a bear or some other monster to feel overly alarmed by his godfather's reaction to Draco's prank.

On Saturday, the boys were back, and Harry now knew that they were called Crabbe and Goyle. They alternated between ignoring Harry completely, and trying to pelt him with the wild berries that they had found on the edge of the property. The berries felt as hard as rocks when they came into contact with his skin.

At long last, Sunday came and Harry was relieved that this would be the last day he needed to be around Draco.

It passed more amicably than the rest of the week, Harry sitting on the edge of the  patio, reluctant to stray too far from the adults, while he watched Draco zip around the lawn on his little broomstick. He welcomed Draco ignoring him; it was much better than being hit or chased.

By evening, Harry was relieved when Sirius announced that it was time to go. He all but ran to his godfather, grabbing his hand and turning back once to look at Draco, who had joined his parents.

“Until next year then. Black, Lupin,” Lucius said as he nodded to them each in turn, paying no mind to the boys.

Harry felt suddenly as though the bottom of his stomach had disappeared. Next year?

A/N: By The Great Gatsby reference I mean is the Robert Redford version, not the Leo one.

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