old money || l.s mpreg

iv.

Twelve years ago

"Get up, boy." Des said, shaking the young child. Harry grumbled from where he was under the covers, curling into a fetus position. "Harry." His father repeated, shaking him harder. The boy whined, pulling the covers off of him. Through his blurry vision he could see the silhouette of his father standing above him. "We are practicing today." Harry frowned, wiping his sleepy eyes. "Practicing what?" 

"What Papà does." Harry gasped, sitting up. "We're doing what you do?!" Des nodded and Harry quickly got out the bed, tripping over his legs. "First things, you can't be clumsy like that." The man said. Harry crossed his arms over his chest, pouting. "I just woke up." Des grabbed his hand and took him into the kitchen, the little boy glanced at the clock on the oven and noticed that it was five a.m. "'S so early, Papà." Des lifted the boy onto a stool, going to the refrigerator. "Another thing is not whining." 

Harry pouted, "I'm not whining." 

"You're doing it right now." Des mumbled, grabbing one of their plastic cups from the cupboard and pouring him a glass of milk. "Milk is very important. It strengthens the bones." Harry sighed, accepting the cup. He hated milk, ever since Des had gotten him on the diet of milk, milk, vegetables, and fruits, it's made him grow a disliking towards the foods. "You will also have cereal." 

"I want pancakes. Mamma's pancakes." 

"We don't have time for that. Go drink your milk and I will fix you a bowl." Harry huffed but grabbed the glass, chugging the milk down. Des then passed him the cereal, handing him a spoon. "Can I have carrots with this?" He asked. Des shook his head. "You cannot go shooting on a full stomach. You can have carrots after." Harry had the urge to whine, but he held it in, instead stuffing a large amount of his frosted flakes into his mouth. He only had a few moments of peace until Des was urging him to get up. "Papà!" 

"No time for complaining, child. Go out on the roof." Harry groaned, walking up the stairs to their roof. When he got there he sat and patiently waited for his father to come, the man held a suitcase and Harry was curious to what was in there until he saw him open it and three different guns were perfectly placed in there. Des pulled one out, a long looking one that had Harry tilting his head to the side in curiosity. "This is a rifle," Des told him. "It is the first weapon you learn to use." He made Harry lay down on his stomach, slightly over the roof. "To shoot it, you close one eye and look at the muzzle, use your other eye to look at the target." 

Harry followed instructions, except, he didn't have a target. "What do I shoot?" 

"Anything, anyone. You could try that baby deer." 

"I don't want to shoot a deer! Cattivo papà!"  He scolded. Des chuckled. "It's not an actual bullet." 

"It will still hurt the deer." Harry said. "You need to shoot something." Harry sighed, looking around the area. "What about the man in the banana shirt? He's mean to me." Des raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean he is mean to you?" 

"He's mean." Harry simply said. "He pushed me."

"Okay, shoot him." Des encouraged, Harry smiled and squinted his eyes slightly, preparing himself. "Make sure you have your eyes on him, don't lose focus. Keep your finger off the trigger until you for sure know you have him. Harry nodded, listening to his father's soft voice until he pressed the trigger, piercing through the man's shirt. He saw blood start to seep out and his confused face and he got up, cheering loudly. "Yay! Papà, I did it! Look, I shot him!" 

"I see, Haz. Now sit down before someone sees you." Harry bit bottom lip, giving one last look, feeling incredibly proud of himself for having his first bullet. Next, first kill.