The Hunt
Harry
With a steady hand, I let go of the taunt bow string and watched as it flew through the air with a satisfying whoosh. It found its mark with precision, piercing straight through its eyes. A clean kill, a quick unassuming death, a mercy really to never see it coming. The body fell to the ground with a thud, the burdensome antlers dragging it down. Ron emerged from the forest a few seconds later, three rabbit corpses hanging by a rope in his hand, a wicked grin on his freckled-covered face.
“Nice shot, as always, Haz,” he said and I could detect a hint of jealousy in his tone but I ignored it as the inevitable part of having six siblings.
I knew I was lucky that I just needed to provide food for myself…and Collin, though my brother is growing stronger each day and soon I would need to teach him how to hunt for himself. Like my parents, I might not always be there to look out for him. With our bows slung over our shoulders, Ron and I duck into the Hogs Head, a grimy pub crawling with miners, criminals, and the occasional Peacekeeper. The walls reek of coal dust, caked so thick on the wood that it's a wonder the whole place hasn't gone up in flames. Behind the bar stands Aberforth, a rugged man with a wild beard and piercing stare, serving up dubious bowls of meat soup and illegal alcohol to his patrons. He should have been shut down long ago, but rumors circulate that his brother Albus, head Peacekeeper of our District, turns a blind eye to his activities. We tread carefully, knowing that even within these grimy walls danger lurks in every corner.
“What do you have for me today, boys,” Aberforth growled wearing a grimace.
I threw the buck on the bar and Aberforth raised a bushy eyebrow in appreciation.
“And I presume you just happened to find this wondering on the other side of the fence?” Aberforth asks, in a wry voice.
“Of course,” Harry says in an innocent voice.
Aberforth's laughter booms through the dingy bar, drowning out the sound of shattering glass and drunken slurs. I force a smile as he beckons Ron to join in on the merriment, but my insides churn with unease. We spend what feels like an eternity haggling over the carcasses, all while I give Aberforth subtle cues to share some of my winnings with Ron. I can't shake off the gnawing guilt as we finally leave, my parents' ghosts haunting every corner of the rundown establishment. The hollow faces of the other patrons seem to sneer at me, their leering gazes fueling my memories of this place. As we step out into the cool night air, I release a shaky breath, grateful to be leaving behind the suffocating grip of this cursed bar.
As we trudge back to our homes, I catch a whiff of the Granger's bakery and immediately I am transported back in time. The warm, yeasty smell of bread floods my senses and I am thrown back into my first winter without my parents. A time when Collin and I struggled to survive, barely clinging on to the pathetic kindness of the Dursleys. It was only thanks to Hermione Granger's simple act of generosity that we didn't starve to death. Memories flood my mind as I remember how close I came to losing everything.
*****
The chilling winter wind gnawed at my bones as Collin and I stood outside the Granger bakery, longing for something to fill the emptiness in my belly. Mrs. Granger caught me staring hungrily through the frosty window, our reflections blending with the golden glow of freshly baked loaves. Her eyes, sharp and unwavering, pierced through me like icy daggers, and we scurried away like frightened rabbits.
There was a hollow ache in our stomachs, a constant companion at all times during the winter. But what struck me most was the slight twinge of pity in Hermione's eyes when she saw us being chased off by her mother. It was a look that cut through me more deeply than any blade ever could. I hated that I needed help, I knew deep down I couldn’t do this on my own. That we most likely would die soon.
The pig's feed was starting to look good when the door slammed open. Hermione’s head poked out and her eyes met mine. In her head were two burnt loaves of bread wrapped in a towel. She threw them towards me and I caught them. From the yelling that I heard in the house, I knew she did it on purpose.
Ron jostling against my shoulder brings me out of the memory.
“Where did you go, Haz?”
“Just thinking about tomorrow,”
Ron’s face goes white as he turns away, he has more than just himself to worry about tomorrow, but his siblings as well. I didn’t envy him.
“Right, tomorrow,” Ron said in a tight voice.
It was the sixty-fifth annual Reaping tomorrow. One man and one woman were chosen from each of the twelve districts to fight to the death. For every year your name was entered in one more time. It was sickening but what was even worse was the ‘voluntary’ offer of free food or tessera if you entered your name in more times. Rich families like the Dursleys and the Grangers were spared from such a fate. For people like Ron and I our names were also times the amount of tessera we took out. At sixteen with six siblings and two parents Ron’s name was entered fifty times. Mine was ten for myself and Collin.
Collin who just turned twelve was only once. At least he was safe.
“I think I’m going to go in,” I said, “Go on without me,”
“You’re going in there?” Ron asked with big eyes.
“I promised Collin I would get him something if I caught a big enough animal,” I said with a shrug, really I just wanted a glimpse of the elusive Hermione.
She was safe as well with her name only entered five times. Ron and I were the ones in real danger.
“Alright, be careful,” Ron said with a wave, heading to the more run-down part of town where food would be cheaper.
I walk into the shop and flinch as the bell above the door rings. It’s my luck that the sour-faced mother is the one behind the counter and not Hermione. Not that I would say anything more than necessary to her if she was there. One look into her dark brown eyes and I always find my words failing me. Her mother scowls at me as I tentatively order a single cupcake with pink frosted flowers. Collins was going to be over the money. I pass the money over and she looks like touching it will infect her. She picks it up with a starched white napkin.
I return back the Dursleys with my treats and am greeted by Collin’s warm hug.
“You’re back,” he exclaims, his frail body allowing me to count too many bones.
“I’ll always come back,” I say hoping against hope those words never make a liar out of me.