Chapter Text
He was born into a cold room standing up on the cold, metal floor, surrounded by nothing but dusty boxes and the darkness.
All that could be heard was the scraping sound of metal on metal. A slow movement. The room – a box, he’d call it; it was not a room – heaved a great jolt, sending him flat to the floor on his bum. He shuffled on his hands and feet back into a corner, the sound of metal scraping deafening. Despite the frigid air around him, he was sweating, drips of sweat gliding down his face ever so slowly. He sunk into himself, his arms tightly wrapped around his legs. The box heaved and his hip gave a brief, sharp pain. There was only a dim light from the edges of the room – so faint that he could only hope that his eyes would adjust.
Another jolt hit, and he plastered his hands to either wall from the corner, breathing in sharply. He had no chance to do anything else before the box lurched upwards. It was a lift of some sort. A dangerous one, at that.
His ears were filled with the straining sounds of chains and old pulleys as the echoed through the lift. God, this thing must be ancient. The unbearably dim lift swayed back and forth as it ascended. The boy’s stomach lurched with nausea, his joints suffering the consequences of the rough movements.
A smell hit him, making him gag and cover his mouth. It was only then that he noticed his trembling fingers. It smelled of bad oil, or a burnt squirrel. It made him feel rancid – it was like he was dirty and unable to clean. Or perhaps he was dirty. His senses were so unclear that he could not tell.
The boy could do nothing but sit paralyzed fearfully, alone, waiting. Waiting for what? He did not think he wanted to know.
Grasping the only sense of thought in his brain, he recalled... nothing.
Nothing at all.
There was…
Nothing.
About himself, anyway.
He let himself panic for a moment about this but was jolted back to reality rather quickly. Despite everything, no tears came, much to his surprise.
He could not understand how this was possible – what was happening. His thoughts flooded with nothing helpful, but they anchored him. He could remember the smell of pine in the forest late at night, the sound of owls hooting in the distance as they scoured for food. He remembered snow, and the feeling of it crunching on his bare, cold feet. He recalled a small town, walking to a corner coffee shop, the taste of sweet honey tea. He remembered chocolate. Friendly locals down the street, everyone known by name, not a stranger in sight.
He remembered toast, and-
Oh.
His name.
His name is Remus.
Remus.
It hit him like a brick, and he winced, but felt joy. He was Remus.
He didn’t know much, but he knew himself. That was almost enough, in that moment, to distract him from what felt like his impending doom.
Yet, he didn’t know where he came from. How he got in the lift, who his family were. Did he have any siblings, he wonders? He can’t even recall a last name. He remembered people, just blurred out faces, remembered what they meant to him, but he had no recollection of who they were. He couldn’t think of any name other than his own, or remember a single word said to him.
The lift was somewhat slower than he thought, he realized as he took hold of his surroundings after the initial shock. It still swayed nauseatingly, but he’d grown used to the stirring in his stomach. The constant rattling of lifting chains grew into background noise as he blinked rapidly, trying to see. Around him were a multitude of different sized wooden crates. He stuck out a finger and touched one, recoiling when he felt the unpleasant texture of a thick layer of old dust. There was nothing else, though. He tried to pry open the crates, but it was no use. They were wooden and nailed shut. His lanky fingers wouldn’t be able to pry open the crate, and if he tried, he’d be riddled with splinters.
So, he sat back in the corner of the box, hugging his knees to his chest. It had just come to attention that he was only in dirty shorts and a wrinkled T-shirt. Looking at his arm, he could see a plethora of lines. He could vaguely recall himself having scars – a lot of them – but he didn’t know where they came from.
He knew it was painful.
Time passed slowly, at least, to him. After what felt like hours, he wondered how slow he was moving, or how deep or high he was compared to ground level. It seemed like an eternity – minutes into hours, maybe.
Oddly enough, he was no longer scared. He settled into his surroundings, sinking into the darkness as it cradled him. He was just a little curious, even. He wanted answers but had no way of getting any.
When he found himself wondering if he’d be here forever, the lift heaved a groan, jolting to a hard stop with a clank, the dim lights blinking out. Remus was rocked from his position, and he placed his hands to the floor to catch himself from falling face first. He scrambled to his feet, his ears ringing slightly in the jarring silence. The slight sway of the lift slowed to a stop until everything stilled.
A few seconds passed, turning into minutes. He looked everywhere he could for a sign of something, but found nothing in the pitch black. He moved slowly, feeling along the walls for a latch, an opening, a way out. But there was nothing but flat, cool metal that his fingers touched. He huffed frustratedly, the mere sound of his breath a jarring, loud noise in his ears.
“Hello?”
His rough voice echoes loudly, reverberating in the confined area. It was haunting as the echoes of his voice distorted into nothingness, leaving him in silence again. He banged the wall with his fist. No response.
Remus began to back up until he hit the corner again – a different one than he’d sat in before, he knew because of the crate to his right. His arms folded as he shivered, the cold gripping him like a canine’s jaws. He felt his fear return, seeping into his bones. He felt his heart pounding, as if it would jump from his very chest.
“Hello?” He repeated. “Somebody? I need … help. Please, help!” His words grew louder until he was screaming, each word ripping from his chest, his throat burning.
His screams were interrupted by a loud bang of metal, and he sucked in a startled breath as he looked up. A line of light appeared above him, slowly expanding, becoming almost blinding. A deafening scraping noise filled his ears, revealing two metal doors sliding open. His eyes were blinded by the light, after so long in the dark, and he squinted, wincing and covering his face.
Through the ringing in his ears, he could make out voices from above him. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.
“See him down there?”
“Cowering, like you did.”
“How old do you think he might be?”
“Can’t be over twenty-five.”
“Looks familiar.”
“You can’t know him.”
“Course I don’t, I’m just sayin’.”
“What’s on his arms?”
“Scars, idiot.”
“Is he a cutter?”
“Evan.”
“Both of you, shut up.”
“Enjoy the trip, Muggle?”
“No going back now.”
A chuckle.
Remus couldn’t distinguish on voice from another, only that some were female, others male. His heart was pounding, lungs feeling restricted as he was hit with pure panic. Their voices were foreign, yet familiar. He rubbed his eyes, begging them silently to adjust to the light. He squinted, looking up. First, he could see nothing but blurred silhouettes, but soon they began to take shape. Individuals – people looking down through the ceiling hole, pointing, muttering, talking.
As his eyes came into focus, and soon he could see the people clearly. Blurs of color turned into crisper outlines of faces and arms. There were boys and girls, some older, some younger, but looked relatively the same age as Remus. He was surprised to notice that the multitude of faces confused him. Everyone was so young. All young adults, barely getting into their lives. He felt his fear lessen, taking a slow breath, but his heart did not slow.
A boy with round glasses threw a rope in, causing Remus to flinch (which earned a chuckle from someone above). The rope was tied into a loop at the end, and Remus understood what they wanted of him. He hesitantly stepped one foot into the loop with his left foot, hands grasping the rope as suddenly he was ascending once more, this time in the warm sunlight. He felt dizzy at the jarring change of scenery. His stomach churned with many unnamed feelings.
He didn’t feel the need to scream or cry or throw up, though. The boy that tugged him up steadied him by his arm, and Remus heard the others quiet down. The voice sounded somewhat distant to him, but, nonetheless, he’d never forget the sentence.
“Alright, Mug? Nice to see a new face,” said the boy with the glasses. “Welcome home.”