Interlude [h.s]

twenty-five

Content warning // hunting

"Shoot, Harry."

Harry looks at his father with fear in his eyes. He's wearing a big fluffy coat and a hat, and his dark eyes look at the young boy threateningly like the ones of a vulture waiting for a prey to drop dead.

It's winter and the air is cold around them, the ground frozen. Harry's knees are in the dirt, the weight of a shotgun he can barely lift up in his hands. He wishes they could go back home, but knows they're too far into the forest to be heard by anyone.

"N-no," he stutters. His teeth are clattering and he can't feel his fingers anymore. He doesn't like this. He never asked to be taken there. He wishes he was still in the warmth of the palace, but he isn't.

Staying inside and watching the snow fall over Northfair is for children, his father always says. And he isn't a child anymore.

The man grabs the back of his neck, pulling him closer to him harshly. "You know what I hate, Harry?" He asks in his ear, his voice low not to scare the hare some feet ahead of them.

It's still in the middle of the clearing, its ears perked up, and Harry hopes it'll understand the danger and escape. But it doesn't move, and he doesn't dare to make a sound to scare him away. The last time he did that, he was locked in a room for two days with nothing but water.

He shakes his head, and his father continues.

"I hate you. I hate every part of you. I wish I had a better heir, someone who's worthy of the empire I built, and yet I have you. You're a disappointment, I raised you to be better than this. Stop acting like a girl and shoot the damn hare, Harry, or I'll lock you in the closet and leave you there. Prove me there's something in you worth saving."

Harry is trembling like a leaf in autumn now, but knows his father is right. He knows he's a disappointment. He's nothing like the child his father wished he'd have, he should do better.

But he can't shoot that animal. Something inside of him recoils at the simple thought of doing that. He doesn't want to hurt it. He doesn't want to hurt anyone. He just wants to live his life and let others live theirs in peace.

His father's grip tightens on him. "Shoot."

He raises the shotgun again and points it at the rabbit, but he can't get himself to press the trigger. This is wrong, something inside him screams. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

"It's just hunting," his father whispers again. "Shoot it like I taught you to shoot the cardboard targets."

But this isn't a cardboard target, Harry thinks. He doesn't want to kill, it doesn't matter whether it's a person or an animal. He doesn't want to bring pain to anyone.

But his father doesn't care.

He thinks about missing the hare, but his father will know he did it on purpose. He taught him to shoot when he was ten. He waited until he was so good that he didn't deliver a single blow that wouldn't kill the target even when they shot for hours, and then he started taking him with him when he goes hunting.

They've been in that same position twenty times over the past year. Every time, Harry found a way to spare the unlucky game that came in his father's radar. He knows he reached the limit now. He won't let him get out of it again.

When his father was twelve, his grandfather taught him how to hunt and he loved it. Harry is his same age now, but they couldn't be more different. He hates gratuitous violence. He despises it, and his father despises him for it.