Dredges
The idea struck Remus in the early hours of a rainy morning. He’d had another nightmare, which rarely happened anymore. Except this time, after reliving the brutal attack, Remus stood over his mangled body where Greyback left him. The gore of the memory was replaced with glided water, which poured out of each gash like ethereal light. He watched as the moonlight lifted his body from the ground, the golden water falling down in a gentle harmony of plinks and plunks. The soggy forest floor beneath him turned into a pool of the same shimmering water, shushing and splashing around him.
His body, which hung suspended under cool rays of moonlight, looked…beautiful. Remus could see the ethereal water filling his eyes and spilling down his blank face to join the chorus of rain.
He woke up to the image burned in his mind and scrambled to sketch it before it faded away. The four words that had been stewing in his mind finally made sense. They were the things he felt while he was recovering, all the psychological damage he had to work through. He could physicalize them in this piece, but he could turn his worst moment into a thing of beauty.
Pomfrey used to tell him he needed to take control of his trauma—he couldn’t let it control him. He couldn’t change what happened, but he could decide how it affected him. This concept, this idea—this was him taking back his control. He was going to turn the thing that made him feel like a monster, a freak, into something beautiful.
He could find beauty in it. If he could do that, maybe he could find it in himself.
——
The next week was a frenzy of planning and work. Remus had to figure out the technical logistics of bringing his piece to life, if the physics were even possible, and if the mechanisms could be hidden from view.
He brought the idea to McGonagall, who offered him invaluable advice and contact with Rubeus Hagrid at The Metal Crow, another Artisan House. After speaking with her, Remus finally felt confident that his vision was strong enough for the MoMA and something he was doing for the love of the craft and not glory.
Hagrid was a large, burly man that towered over Remus’ own impressive height. Almost his entire face was concealed behind bushy black hair and he had dark eyes that crinkled kindly as he greeted him. His face and hands were covered in soot and grease, but he didn’t seem to care.
The Metal Crow was a blacksmithing and special effects house, with specialties in metals and jewelry. When Dorcas wasn’t at the Clay Cat, she was working there where jewelry was her passion.
She waved to Remus as he passed, following Hagrid to the forge in the back. The old school house had been retrofitted with a rolling shop door that lead into a garden. A few sessions were going on, and Remus watched as sparks flew from grinders and red hot metal was twisted with pliers.
“McGonagall said yeh had some questions.” Hagrid asked, leading him to a quieter part of the workshop.
“Yeah,” Remus pulled out his sketches and showed him. “I want to rig this to hang from a ceiling, and water to come out of these openings. Is it possible?”
Hagrid took the papers into his gigantic hands and squinted at them.
“The hangin’ part, yeah.” He said after a while. “I don’t think it’ll look as clean as yeh’d like, but it can be done.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yer makin’ this outta clay, right?” He asked. Remus nodded. “If yeh wanna rig it, yer gonna have to attach aircraft wire to it. Wrap it or made holes for a metal attachment. Yeh can’t hide it.”
Remus frowned. “Are there any adjustments I can do to avoid that?”
Hagrid pointed to the moon beams he’d drawn coming down onto his figure.
“What’re those?”
“Moonlight. I was going to use fabric or something.”
“If yeh use metal, yeh can attach a metal frame to beams and bond ur clay to it.” Hagrid said. “We gotta nice waterproof bonding agent for ceramic and metal. Yer figure could be attached to one of these metal beams and hold itself up without wires. Yeh can attach IV hoses inside on the frame and we can pump water through it. Won’t be as fountain-like as yer drawing, but s’long as yeh got a pool underneath to cycle water, it’ll work.”
Remus didn’t really understand what Hagrid was talking about, but if he said it was possible he was damn well going to learn. All he needed was possible.
“Thanks, Hagrid.” He said. “Do you mind if I use the workshop to do this?”
Hagrid waved one of his giant hands airily. “O’course. If yeh need teachin’ on the tools, just lemme know.”
And so began a new element to Remus’ life. He split his studio time between sculpting and learning how to use the metal shop. Hagrid was a wonderful teacher, if not a little clumsy, but clearly loved having someone to teach.
He saw Marlene more while he worked at The Metal Crow as well. She was into blacksmithing, which was how she and Dorcas met. During a break, she even taught Remus how to hammer metal on an anvil, which made his forearms ache terribly.
The Metal Crow was ten times louder than The Clay Cat, and Remus permanently had to wear welding googles, a bandana mask and gloves that made him look ridiculous, but he loved every second of it. The thrill of creating, being in an atmosphere of total imagination and invention, made him feel more alive than he had in years.
Regulus wrinkled his nose at him whenever he came home, hair wild and skin stained with grease. There were clear soot lines where his googles and mask sat on his face, and his clothes were absolutely filthy. Remus loved it.
Regulus, on the other hand, screamed when he went in to hug him, grinning wickedly. Remus ended up chasing him around the apartment, trying to smear stained hands on his shirt and laughing at the horror on his face.
“Remus Lupin don’t you dare touch me!” He shrieked, scrambling over the couch and throwing a book at him.
“Afraid of a little dirt, posh boy?” Remus teased, ducking the book and wiggling his greasy fingers at him.
“Get your poverty away from me, Lupin! One stain on these pants and I will set us both on fire!” He jumped over the armchair and locked himself in his room, refusing to come out until Remus showered thoroughly.
He then made him mop the floors of his muddy boots, glaring at him from the doorway of his bedroom. Remus laughed the whole time. Worth it.
——
Shifts at Sanguini’s were uneventful. Remus switched back to the night shift with Lily since Hagrid was only at The Metal Crow in the afternoons. He missed working at The Clay Cat, only able to pick up a few shifts every other week, but he desperately needed the time for his project.
Mary became a frequent visitor at Sanguini’s. She and Lily had met up a few times but with their busy schedules, Sanguini’s was often the only time they could see each other. Remus learned she was a journalistic photographer for The Prophet and had recently been promoted to international affairs. It meant she frequently and suddenly traveled to other countries with her reporting partner, Benjy Fenwick. She had seen parts of the world Remus only ever dreamed of, and Lily often got distracted by her stories while they were working.
Remus didn’t mind taking more of the workload when it happened. There was a softness in their gazes when they looked at each other that told him something real was brewing between them. It made him smile to watch his friend falling in love.
It was difficult sometimes, to see his friends growing up and finding their person around him. Marlene and Dorcas were coming up on their first anniversary and now Lily and Mary were finding each other.
At one point in his life, Remus expected he’d find a boyfriend and experience what it was like to love someone. He certainly spent time imagining that experience with Sirius Black, even though he knew it would never happen.
But after The Incident and even after his scars healed completely, Remus didn’t bother finding his person. He was damaged goods—everyone around him was whole and complete—no one would want half of what they could get.
No one would want to put up with his nightmares or panic attacks, or touch his scarred up body. There were very few parts of his skin that were undamaged—everything else was bumpy or dented with rubbery scars. He’d never regained feeling in some areas. He already knew no one wanted to feel him and his damage. So he didn’t try.
It was better this way. Remus couldn’t bear to go through the heartbreak he had seven years ago. So he played it safe and only made friends—and kept them at a distance too.
Still, it was a bitter pill to swallow, watching undamaged people find love. Another reminder of his own shortcomings.
When people flirted with him at the bar, he knew it was because they couldn’t see many of his scars with the uniform and dark lighting. When one of the twenty-six that Dorcas counted at the Clay Cat tried to cozy up to him, he knew it was only out of curiosity. People naturally wanted to know what happened to him—and he didn’t bother with the ones who tried to get close just for a story.
When he first came to the city in search of a roommate, Remus was visiting the apartment that would become his. Regulus had flung open the door, looked him straight in his scarred face, and started going over the house rules as if nothing were amiss. He was the first person to not bother asking about his appearance, the first to treat him like he was entirely ordinary.
Remus signed onto the lease immediately. Back then, the apartment was rather bare. Regulus was quiet and sullen, barely putting in much effort beside the state of his appearance. Remus could tell he was dealing with some level of depression but, as Regulus had done for him, he didn’t say anything.
Instead, he went out to a second hand store the next day and bought furniture. He decorated, added tabletops and shelves for Regulus’ music and books, and started cooking homemade meals.
Regulus began improving. He spent more time in the living room, curled up on the couch to read in the sunlight instead of the dark cave of his room. He started joining Remus for breakfast and putting on the coffee, which was how their morning routine began. He was prickly and standoffish at first, just as Remus had been to Pomfrey, but eventually relaxed as he had.
The basis of their friendship was of mutual silence of each other’s obvious issues. Remus knew Regulus should probably see a therapist for his mental health, but didn’t say anything. Regulus undoubtedly had several plastic surgeons on speed dial to fix his face, but never offered. They both knew the other wouldn’t appreciate the offers, and respect was forged from it.
Marlene, Dorcas, and Lily were much the same. Although they didn’t understand him the silent way Regulus did, they never tried to ask about his scars. The three of them were simply thrilled to have another coworker around, and it was easier for Remus to relaxed with them. They respected that the story behind his skin was his to tell when he was ready, and treated him like any other human being.
People like his friends were hard to come by anymore, and he was glad to find them. He knew he’d probably never be ready to tell them the story. He didn’t want to relive it, and he didn’t want to see the fear and pity on their faces.
He wished, sometimes, that someone would come into his life and already know—like they could see in his mind and just know so he didn’t have to tell. Sometimes, he thought it would be nice to confide in someone on rough days or after nightmares, someone who knew why a paper cut sent him into a spiral and exactly how to calm him. It would be nice if they traced his scars, knew why each one was there, and love him despite them.
But that wasn’t how people worked, and Remus wasn’t willing to bare his heart out to someone who could walk away. So he was just better off alone. No one like that existed for him.
——
The Metal Crow was crowded. The sessions were finishing their pieces and celebrating the holidays in the workshop, leaving Remus to take his work outside to weld. He was building a large metal frame for his figure pieces—essentially a giant stick figure for the ceramic to adhere to.
He had on welding googles, a face mask, and welding gloves with a jacket. Remus knew he looked absolutely insane—his hair stuck up wildly from the googles and he was covered in metal grease from moving and cutting.
Sparks spat out around him as he welded the metal together, hissing and popping as laughter and talk echoed from within the workshop’s open door.
He was already thinking about the next step—finish the ceramic and glazing them so he could start adhering everything. From there, he and Hagrid would build the water system for the figure. If everything stayed on track, he’d have extra time in case something didn’t work.
Remus carefully welded everything together—a bad weld could rust and break off from water damage, and if that happened at the MoMA, he’d never be able to show his face there again.
He heard footsteps coming towards him, and stopped welding. It was safety procedure—the arc from the welding could cause eye damage without protection. He had to wait until the person passed.
“—he’s been spending time here as part of a project, but he should have some mannequins you can use as foundations for a figure—”
Remus slapped off his gloves and pulled the googles up to his hair, wiping his dirty hands on a towel. He might as well take a break and get some water. He tugged down the bandana covering his mouth, taking a lungful of sharp winter air. As cold as it was outside, he was sweating underneath all the layers. He was just about to head in when,
“Mr. Lupin!”
He turned around to see McGonagall striding towards him in her usual elegance. Remus’ heart stopped when he saw who else was there. Walking alongside her was none other than—
“This is Mr. Black,” she said, unknowingly introducing two old friends. “he’s one of our artists over at Painter’s Porter, and was hoping to borrow some of the mannequins in your studio for his project.”
Remus stared at Sirius, both wearing identical expressions of shock. He was bundled up in his leather jacket and a hoodie, his hair pulled into a messy bun held up by a paintbrush. His jaw hung as he stared at him, stunned.
Remus wildly realized he was covered in soot and grease. Maybe it was enough to disguise him, maybe Sirius would only recognize him as the bartender from Sanguini’s and not—
“REMUS LUPIN!” Marlene, in all her terrible, fateful timing, chose that moment to bellow his name across the courtyard. “Get over here and celebrate with us, you schmuck!”
His heart pounded fearfully in his chest and his lungs tightened. His hands shook as his name rung between them, revealing the truth he’d tried for months to hide.
McGonagall was saying something, but he couldn’t hear it. All he could focus on was the way Sirius’ eyes widened and his face paled. All he saw was the way his gaze darted between each scar on his face and his bare hands and the ones that disappeared down the collar of his jacket.
He remembered stammering something, maybe an agreement on mannequins or an excuse to go inside, but the next thing he knew he was bolting across the courtyard.
Away from Sirius. Away from his problems. Away from his fate.