Our Little Everyday Deaths

“I am seen, therefore I am",

Jean-Paul Sartre

There was something about the smell of meat that disgusted Remus to the core.

That in itself was not very surprising: he was only a week away from the full moon and his senses had sharpened to the point of sickness. The shrill cries of the mandrakes made him faint despite wearing an earmuff, preventing him from attending botany classes. The acrid smoke from the cauldrons had driven him out of the castle dungeons after burning his lungs, and the lightning from the wands during spells gave him a headache, leaving bright spots under his eyelids. Even the simple glow of the candles sometimes blinded him.

Becoming so sensitive was exhausting, but the worst part was the smell of meat.

Dining in the Great Hall had become an ordeal. No matter how far he stayed from the table, no matter how he pulled his collar up over his nose, or how the food was prepared, he could still smell it. The stench of flesh, a mixture of blood and death, which settled in the back of his throat and permeated his clothes.

Disgusting.

A chain of sausages, floating by thanks to the summoning charm of a third-year, passed under Remus’ nose and made him retch. He hurriedly dropped his cutlery and brought his hands to his mouth, restraining with all his will the urge to return the contents of his stomach to his plate.

This wasn’t right.

He thought for a brief moment about changing seats, but it was a waste of time. If students had become accustomed to eating late during the summer season, the shorter days of October had them crowded around their respective tables as soon as classes ended. By 6:30 p.m., the Great Hall was packed. Wizards and witches formed a single block, a dark tide, where woolen capes rubbed against each other until they pilled. The grey clouds that roamed the ceiling, harbingers of a future storm, plunged the place into heavy darkness that the suspended torches could not dissipate. Occasionally warm rays from the setting sun would break through the clouds, briefly bathing the place in a reddish light before being swallowed up by the hungry shadows. The only real brightness came from the candles on the tables, the glow of the flames illuminating the students’ sallow faces in the manner of the old Dutch paintings hanging on the castle walls.

The austere atmosphere pushed the students to seek a precious consolation in the plates that swarmed on the tables. With nearly one dish per person, the procession of food seemed endless. Beans in sauce, mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables alternated with huge trays where the meat was piled up until it reached disproportionate heights. Chops, skewers, stew, roast, casserole… How many animals had died so that a few students could dig into their flesh with their pudgy fingers? While he had been initially impressed by the Hogwarts feasts, Remus now found them far too extravagant. Almost ridiculous, in fact. The large platters made gestures awkward and caused glasses to spill. Elbow to elbow, it was almost impossible not to dip one’s sleeve in the sauce, to touch the edge of the plate with one’s fingertips.

And then, all the students would carry the stench of the feast and the castle would reek until the early morning.

Remus became overwhelmed at the thought. He wasn’t going to be able to hold on like this for very long. He couldn’t even feed himself properly anymore. Madam Pomfrey would probably let him eat in the infirmary if he asked. Knowing the nurse, she would even be happy to eat with him.

Did normal people eat with their school nurse?

He was tired of feeling constantly out of step.

Remus rested his forehead in his hand before wincing at the sensation of sweat against his fingers. He had a fever. He’d need to go to the infirmary. Again. He was so happy to have managed to avoid it for a few days...

″Remus?″

On the other side of the table, Peter was staring at him with concern. The heat from the crowd had colored his face a bright pink and glued his blond hair to his head, accentuating the roundness of his cheeks. Despite his fifteen years, he still looked like a child. He still had the candor, moreover. Always the same innocence. ″Remus, are you alright?″

No.

″Yes.″

Peter had been stuffing his face with roast beef throughout the meal and his breath made Remus nauseous again. He got up awkwardly, looking for the shortest way out while sparing his already overworked senses.

“Are you sure? You look pale...” Peter said hesitantly. “And you haven’t eaten anything all meal. I... Here, I took the last piece of roast but you can have it if you want. It would do you good to eat a little...”

He tilted his plate towards Remus, the gravy on it coating the rim before dripping onto the table. The brown substance formed pasty, fatty stains on the white tablecloth, and Remus felt his heart rise in his chest. “No, thank you... I... I just need to take a walk outside.”

Without giving Peter time to answer, Remus staggered away.

Despite the crowd, dozens of eyes were on him. He may have been in his fifth year, but he was still an attraction for many Gryffindors. Remus, The Eternally Tired. The small, sickly teenager who always interrupted class by stumbling out of the room if he didn’t collapse before reaching the door. Mary MacDonald gave him a sympathetic smile. Henry Ferguson, a mocking grin. James was the only one who ignored him. His face was tense as a fist as he stared silently at the Slytherin table with that evil look he sometimes got when he glared at Sna-

“Oh, dear! I’m so sorry!”

Remus gasped. A first-year student who had had the bright idea of getting up with his plate barely missed spilling some of it onto their cloaks. The smell of death filled Remus’ nose and his body began to shake.

Venison. The little bastard had been eating venison.

This time, bile quickly filled the back of his throat and Remus ran out of the Great Hall, shoving through all of the students in his path. The dim light of the candles made his vision blur as violent shivers ran down his spine. He knew he had to go to the infirmary. He knew he had to see Madam Pomfrey.

Yet, his footsteps carried him in the opposite direction.

His whole body was screaming at him to get out of the castle.

· · ───·𖥸·─── · ·

The closer he got to the exit, the more he smelled them.

The heady scents from outside.

Remus’s blind quest for solitude had led him down the passage behind one of the portraits on the fourth floor. It was a dark path that few students knew, consisting almost entirely of spiral stairs with narrow, slippery steps that led directly to the school’s boathouse. Located on the lakefront, the place was too cold for students to want to visit during winter. It had become one of Remus’ favorite havens.

After pushing open a heavy door, Remus emerged in a remote corner of the shed and threaded his way with difficulty between the boats before walking along the dock. It had been raining and the bewitching smell of old wood filled his lungs with every breath. Far from the tumult which reigned in the castle, the building gave off, by its old age and quasi-abandonment, a feeling of suspension. As if it stood outside time.

Remus’ forehead was still burning, the heat spreading to his temples and upper cheeks. Despite the cold, he felt suffocated in his uniform and the ground began to dance under his feet. After a few uncertain steps, he had to lean against one of the boats to sit down. Feeling the cool wood against his neck made him shudder and he laboriously turned around to press his face against the hull of the boat, sighing with relief as he felt the fresh planks against his boiling skin.

He just needed to calm down. Let the cold enter him. He had to concentrate on the smell of the moss that adorned the pontoons, the old varnish of the boards.

He just had to take a deep breath, until he felt an emotion, a feeling of vertigo, something that would take him away from reality.

A scratching sound from the other side of the wood, followed by another, and Remus tensed up. A mouse must have been in the boat. He could hear it scurrying between the oars. It was heading to the right, to a hole located at the base of the bow.

Pulsing began again in his temples as Remus, still nervous, listened for the movements of the animal’s progress to the exit. The rain had awakened strong odors, but he was afraid he would still be able to smell the creature if it was near him. Its scent would probably disgust him. He already couldn’t stand dead meat. Who knew what living animals would do to him?

Remus knew he had to leave for his own safety, to find another boat to rest against. Yet he did not move. With his forehead pressed against the planks, he stared at the hole in the boat’s hull. The echo of the animal’s tiny footsteps seemed to resonate within him. It had awakened something that had been sleeping in Remus’ gut and that was now urging him to wait. An almost painful curiosity, mixed with a strange hope.

The little mouse finally showed its nose and the noise it made caused the Gryffindor’s hair to stand on end. He could clearly make out the mouse’s warm feel in the air. It did not stink of death or blood. On the contrary, its shallow exhale held an extremely lively aroma, something that made Remus shiver, that took to his guts.

The deep smell oflife.

Remus’ hand darted out on its own like a snake, fingers reaching for the mouse. The animal narrowly dodged it, letting out a loud squeak as it hurried into the hole. Remus heard its claws scrape against the wood as the little thing scrambled against the back of the craft, trying to climb onto the oars to get from one boat to another. He got up by reflex, stumbling around the boat to catch the critter, but the latter was faster and jumped to the ground in order to sneak under a huge pile of ropes.

Remus let out a grunt as he straightened, his eyes fixed on the spot where the animal had disappeared. Having gotten up so quickly made his head swing harder. However, he did not stagger out of balance. All his attention was focused on the frustration that had just overwhelmed him. Then a much deeper feeling, something that came from the core of his body.

A hunger. An incredible hunger that was biting his stomach, almost making him whine. How long had it been since he’d been hungry like this? Since that summer he had been struggling to feed himself. The time spent with positive well-being between full moons was constantly decreasing so that Remus found himself either in a pre-full moon or post-full moon state. Always the same nausea, always the same disgust that was taking him further and further away from his own life.

The ground became a blur and Remus closed his eyes. He knew he was still sick. He recognized the usual symptoms. But for the first time, he felt this deep urge to eat at the same time. That life source that kept him from collapsing. For the first time, he felt like he could be more than just a mindless mess.

With his eyes still closed, Remus felt the wind that came in through the open entrance of the boatshed settle against his damp neck and took a deep breath. Normally, he would have sat on the edge of the pier, immobile, lifeless, and not moved until nightfall but now the situation was different. Something was pushing him to get out of the boathouse, a hidden force in the breeze, in the aroma of the wet grass that lined the shore.

A sudden appetite for the wild.

It was October but the atmosphere was reminiscent of spring thunderstorms. There was the same impression of heaviness, the same thickness in the air that made it difficult to swallow. The pressure of the sky brought back the smells of the soil, and soon everything was a mixture of pine, eel, bark, moss, and mushrooms. Sometimes the muddy ground would close in on one of Remus’ shoes with an ugly sound like a lapping mouth but he didn’t pay attention, too busy looking at the yellowish leaves that covered the shore. Underneath which he felt so much life swarming.

He was looking for them, the living things. The ones that were hiding somewhere near the lake, close at hand and yet so far away. Remus’ senses were on high alert, watching for the slightest movement, the slightest imperceptible rustle of leaves, disregarding the hostile army of clouds that, driven by a strong, black wind, were approaching the shore he was walking along at great speed. The red outline that adorned the mountains, last remains of the sun before its complete disappearance, was also ignored as Remus’ instincts turned his back to the lake.

Nose to the wind, he moved further and further away from the castle. It seemed that he could distinguish animal scents in the air, strong trails that called him away. Far from the paths, he discovered a new vigor, another breath. He even caught himself enjoying the perilous climb of a group of rocks, sticking his hands between the boulders, groping for burrows and shelters.

His fingers ripped against the wet stone; his lips scraped against the granite, the mineral taste filling his mouth, as he messily scrambled up.

It was nice to feel cold while sliding across the rocks.

Carried away by his quest, he wandered randomly around the sloping hills that made up the Hogwarts landscape until a small pond caught his eye, not far from the quidditch pitch, which he could see from this height. The trees that framed it had already lost their leaves, creating a skillful painting of red and amber around the water.

The aesthetics of the scene gave Remus no feeling, yet he hurriedly ran in its direction, his eyes roaming the surface of the water as soon as he reached the pond. His mouth suddenly opened, panting, showing his teeth.

The few large tadpoles he could see were swimming quickly away from him.

Remus’ legs buckled at the sight of them, making him kneel abruptly on the water’s edge, his hands going after the larvae that went to hide in the mud, leaving only mossy pebbles under his fingers. The deep frustration he felt made him let out a scream as he began to dig.

He was still hungry.

Voices rang out in the distance that made Remus’ head snap up. A group of students - Remus thought he recognized the blue uniform of the Ravenclaws - were heading away from the stadium, broomsticks in hand. One of them raised his head in Remus’ direction and stopped.

Damn. Had they seen him?

Remus’ instincts told him to throw himself to the ground and without thinking he slid into the pond, lying flat on his stomach so that water flooded his face. He yelped silently, letting a few bubbles of air rise to the surface before quickly holding his breath.

No one was supposed to see him. Not like this. Not in this state.

It was his moment.

He waited as long as he could, mud getting into his clothes until it coated his whole body. He trembled, nose buried in the silt. Yet he did not move. It was only when his lungs were completely empty that he raised his head, gasping, then skimming the water with his nose just above, eyes fixed on the branches of the trees. He hesitated for a moment before looking back at the lawn.

The students had disappeared.

He was alone again. Wet and cold, but alone.

Remus breathed a sigh of relief. He moved so that he was resting against the mud, his hands supporting his head and the icy water lazily lapping at him in the slight breeze. His temples throbbed as he dreamily observed the concentric ripples forming around him.

He remained in the pond for a long time, his body frozen and motionless, like a simple prop in the scenery, waiting. Eventually, some curious tadpoles came out of hiding to visit him, rubbing against his lips. Remus stared at them before gently opening his mouth, letting the larvae pass between his teeth to taste his gums. He felt their flabby bodies against his tongue and the inside of his cheeks.

His jaws suddenly contracted, crushing the tadpoles before swallowing them.

So exciting.

The thrill of hunting.