Needles

James Potter had never been the type to turn down a challenge.

So when Sirius Black—his best mate and perpetual pain in the arse—sat cross-legged on his dorm bed with a safety pin in one hand and a lighter in the other, James should have known his night was about to go sideways.

“I swear to God, Sirius,” James groaned, rubbing his temples, “if you stab that through your ear, I’m not dealing with the aftermath.”

Sirius, grinning like a madman, flicked the lighter to life and held it under the pin’s tip. “I saw Marlene do this last week, and she said it’s totally fine.”

“That is not fine,” James shot back. “That is you asking for an infection.”

Sirius waggled his eyebrows. “C’mon, James. You’re good with your hands. Just do it for me.”

James snorted, rolling his eyes, but Sirius wasn’t wrong. He was good with his hands—steady, precise, the kind of dexterity that made him great at football and, apparently, whatever this was about to be.

Still, the whole thing was mad.

“This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever convinced me to do,” James muttered, taking the pin from Sirius and tossing it aside. “We’re at least doing this properly.”

Sirius whooped in victory as James rummaged through his desk, grabbing a safer-looking needle, an old bottle of rubbing alcohol, and an ice cube from the mini-fridge. It wasn’t perfect, but it was leagues better than Sirius’ “heat it up and hope for the best” method.

Sirius sat perfectly still, head tilted to the side, his expression unnervingly calm for someone about to be stabbed in the ear. “So, how bad is this gonna hurt?”

James grinned. “Oh, terrible.”

“Brilliant.”

It took less than a minute—James pressing the needle through Sirius’ earlobe with slow, deliberate care, Sirius wincing but saying nothing. When it was done, Sirius examined his reflection in the window, looking disproportionately pleased with himself.

“Not bad, Potter.”

James flicked him on the forehead. “Next time, just go to a professional, you absolute menace.”

Sirius merely grinned, but there was something in his expression—an idea forming, sharp and reckless.

James didn’t think much of it at the time. Not until the next day, when Marlene showed up asking if James could do her second lobe piercing.

And then a week later, when Dorcas wanted her helix done.

And then—before James knew it—he had a bloody waiting list.