It was one of those weird hours in the American school where not a sound was heard through the school. Practically a ghost town, the wind drifted through open windows and whistled in the empty space. Dust swirled across the grown, and leaves and sticks that had accumulated throughout the school scuttled across the floor. One of the makeshift torches that had been propped up in the hallway outside of the kitchens finally burned out as the wind tickled the flame back into oblivion.
And with that, the hallway went dark, the only light coming through the long, far-spaced windows.
Amidst the emptiness of the hallway, a single slice of bread rested on the ground, in the dust. To call it a slice of bread was generous, as it really was more of a small fistful of bread, torn out of a loaf. It was stale, it was crumbly, but it was food, a now scarce commodity, and it had been so carelessly abandoned.
It did not go undiscovered for long. A rat, large despite the famine, peeked out of the dark corners of the hallway, nose twitching. Though the students of Ilvermorny winced with pain and clutched their stomachs, the rodents had never been better. With less people, and certainly less traps, their access to crumbs and other forgotten food had been increased, and the cats and owls of the school had become lethargic without feeding. This particular rat had become greedy, fighting the smaller rodents that tried to poach his findings. There was something particularly bold in his movements, haunches squared and nose crinkled back as he considered the bread.
A step or few forward, and the rat relaxed its walk, stretching out as he approached the bread, stretching out his teeth to steal it quickly.
The fire poker went straight through his skull. He had no time to consider his death, no time to fear. He was close to the bread and then he was no more. He was lifted in the air by the poker as Casey Weasley lifted it to her eye level to inspect it.
Some people had accused the Weasley girl of enjoying their troubles. She had certainly adapted to it like no one else, almost taking joy in waking up early to begin the morning tasks. Of course, no one brought up these accusations vocally. They couldn’t afford to lose their most enthusiastic hunter.
She removed the poker and shook it clean of blood, before depositing the rat in the blood-stained, cloth bag that was slung over her body, resting at her hip. She glanced up at the torch and chewed on her lip, reaching up and snagging it off. Still enough oil to help light a cooking fire.
And with that, she headed off to the kitchens, slipping inside and depositing the bag on the table, looking at the students that had volunteered to be apart of the effort.
“Four rats, a bird, one rabbit,” she said. “I think we have a few mice in the trap too.”