When he’d first begun working here, Remus kept himself fully covered up. He was ashamed of the scars that criss-crossed his back, but on his second day, whilst his back was turned, a Ridgeback had let fly a jet of flame that had caught the sleeve of his shirt. He’d fumbled in an attempt to put it out and could feel the flames searing into him when a handler had leapt into the enclosure and ripped his shirt off.
“That’s why we never wear loose clothing,” the young man standing before him had exclaimed. “I did try to warn you, Lupin.”
Embarrassed that he’d been exposed to the other workers, Remus had snatched his shirt back, but then noticed that no one had paid him any attention. As he'd looked around, he could see that all the workers were covered in bites and burns and he had not looked out of place. “Thank you. I was stupid to turn my back on her, wasn’t I?” he’d said.
“When you’re living and working with dragons, Lupin, you should always keep them uppermost in your mind. They will kill “ especially the females.” There’d been a pause as Remus had helped himself to more water and offered some to the younger man who’d been studying him.
“What’s that?” his companion had asked suddenly, pointing not to the werewolf scars, but a small tattoo on his arm. It was barely discernible because of a recent claw mark, but Remus had smiled.
“It’s a phoenix. A long time ago, when I was eighteen, three friends and I went to a Muggle tattoo parlour. We were part of a ... gang ... if you like, and we wanted to show our solidarity to the group. For reasons that I’ve long since forgotten, a tattoo seemed the best way of doing this.”
“Were you in the Order of the Phoenix?” the young man had asked in awed interest. When Remus had nodded in surprise, he’d continued, “so were my uncles. I don’t know if you knew them. Gideon and Fabian Prewett.” He’d held out his hand. “My name’s Charlie Weasley.”
Remus walked towards Charlie now as they took a break for lunch. They had struck up a friendship over the past months, enjoying each other’s company as the only two Englishmen at the reserve. Though backbreaking, this was good honest work and Remus relished it. His shoulder ached and as he massaged it his hand came in contact with the tattoo.
He smothered a grin as he remembered the rest of the story. It had been Prongs’ idea, but Padfoot had made all the arrangements. Then the two of them had cajoled Wormtail and him with taunts of cowardice -- and a great deal of Firewhisky -- until they’d all arrived back at Order Headquarters sporting the tattoos. Lily had been furious.
“You think this is a game?” she’d yelled at the four of them. “You need a picture on your arm to prove your loyalty. Merlin, James, you’re even more stupid than I thought!”
If he closed his eyes he could still see Padfoot smirking at Lily’s rage, Wormtail looking firmly at his feet and himself unable to stop the snorts of drunken laughter escaping from his mouth.
They’d been four swaggeringly reckless Gryffindors. Now, two were dead, one was locked up for murder and Moony was alone.
They sat inside for lunch, enjoying the chance to escape the scorching July sunshine. Remus helped himself to potatoes and meatballs, cooked in a thick tomato sauce. When he’d first arrived, he’d been thin; thinner than he’d ever been as an adult, and unable to stomach the richness of the Romanian food. But now, as he helped himself to seconds, he savoured the strong flavours and grinned.
“What’s the joke, Remus?” asked Charlie.
“No joke,” he replied. “I’m just thinking about how good life is, that’s all.”
Charlie broke off a hunk of bread and began mopping up the sauce. “You know, I still don’t understand why you’re here. I mean, you’re not obsessed with dragons, unlike me. You seem more comfortable with books, yet you’re here in Romania “ shovelling shit “ instead of being tucked away in some safe Ministry job.
Remus thought back to his last conversation with his old Headmaster, shortly after Voldemort’s downfall. “Get some life experience, Remus,” he’d said, “and then one day, perhaps, I may be able to find you some work at Hogwarts. But for now, you need to stretch your wings and forget all the horrors of this war.”
“I don’t like being tied down,” Remus replied non-committally.
“What, by a woman?” asked Charlie curiously.
Remus grimaced. “By life.”
He could see Charlie ached to ask him more questions but, just as he opened his mouth,something landed on the table. Both men jumped back in surprise as a small dragon hatchling opened its eyes and began to hiss.
“Merlin!” exclaimed Charlie. “How did that one escape? Don’t make any sudden movements, Remus. They may not be able to breathe fire yet but that’s a Vipertooth, and the venom in those fangs is powerful. Now, I don’t want to use my wand on one this young, so I’m going to reach out very slowly and get some gloves.”
Remus froze. Charlie inched off his seat and stretched out his hand to the next table. The workers around them held their breath. There was a sudden sound as a young worker burst into the hut laughing with her friend. The hatchling reared and spread its wings. It turned its head and looked directly at Remus who, unsure what to do, stared back. He noticed that the young dragon’s eyes were the colour of fire and as dazzling as the sun. They locked looks; the hatchling faltered. It pulled its wings around like a cloak and cowered on the table. Remus began to breathe again. It wouldn’t harm him, he was sure of that. Very slowly, he picked up the tiny creature and held it close. He heard gasps behind him, but he smiled.
“It’s okay,” he said in a low but calm voice. “He won’t bite.”
“Ce esti tu?”he heard a man behind him ask.
“Diavol!” exclaimed another in a hushed voice.
Behind him, Remus could hear the sound of chairs scraping back. He looked up at Charlie who had donned the gloves and was holding a small cage. He took the hatchling from Remus’ hands and placed it in the cage. Charlie was not smiling.
“Is there a problem?” asked Remus.
“They want to know what you are, and how you could bring the hatchling under control so quickly without your wand,” Charlie muttered. “They’re calling you diavol, Remus “ the Devil.”
Remus left shortly after that. The Romanians here were superstitious and he knew they were watching him closely, so he decided against spending the rest of his break inside. Instead, he took a walk around the compound, stopping every now and then to gaze at the Hebridean Blacks, so beautiful in appearance but so very deadly. Hagrid, he remembered, had tried to tell him and the other three that they were a harmless type of dragon, and the restrictions on keeping one were just plain daft .
“If I could jus’ get me hands on an egg, then I could show yer what I mean,” he’d said and stared at Padfoot, seemingly under the impression that because the teenager was able to get hold of Firewhisky and Muggle cigarettes that he’d be able to pick up a dragon’s egg very easily.
Remus had seen Padfoot bite back a sarcastic retort (because he genuinely liked the groundsman) and reply sincerely that he’d try his best.
Diavol! the dragon handlers had called Remus. He kicked at the stones on the path. He wasn’t sure why the hatchling had pulled away when it was so close to biting him, but he’d seen something in its eyes “ an understanding laced with fear “ and he wondered if the dragon had seen the wolf inside.
Walking uphill now, Remus didn’t stop until he came to a river. The sparkling water looked cool and inviting, so he stripped off his shirt and trousers and began to swim upstream.
It has always been this way, he thought. Since I was six years old, I have had to swim against the tide of public opinion that says I’m evil and I should be ostracised.
It had been easy here in Romania. He’d found an old underground bunker built into the hillside, and he’d managed to roster his days off to coincide with his transformations. Remus could work beside the others with no fear of his scars being a talking point; it kept him occupied “ physically at least. And when his mind wandered-- as it often did-- the sight of a dragon breathing fire, or the shout of a handler as one got too close would remind him that he had to keep his wits about him. At night, even after all these months, he would collapse exhausted into bed and dream not of death and a former friend in Azkaban, but of a girl with red hair dancing with the boy she loved, and Messrs Moony, Wormtail and Padfoot proudly toasting them at their wedding.
Perhaps now was the time to stop swimming. Perhaps now he could let the current decide. Maybe it would drop him safely back on the river bank... or maybe it would dash him on the rocks.
Remus wasn’t sure he cared any more.