Chapter 4
The first time Sirius Black met Remus Lupin was by chance.
That year, his godson Harry was born. The little bundle of joy was only a month old, but Sirius was attached. He was certain that the baby needed everything his extensive inheritance could buy. From dog plushies to incredibly expensive furniture for his nursery, Sirius bought everything that caught his eye. It made Lily go mad. Sirius felt just a little bad about that. One day, he must have hit some nerve, because she’d thrown him out when he came to visit with a child-sized broom. It wasn’t charmed or anything, just a toy broom, but Lily hadn’t known that.
“He’s a month old!” she hissed, “If I see him riding this thing, I'll have your skin, mark my words.”
That wasn’t his brightest idea, he could admit. But they’ll thank him in a few years. Maybe. Probably not.
Even though Sirius left the wizarding world at the age of fifteen, he kept in touch with his best friends. When they finally graduated from Hogwarts and left home to build their own lives, the three of them met more often. Most shocking was James’ successful wooing of Lily, who had been refusing his advances since their first year. Peter teased that with Sirius gone, James had to focus on something else. The brunette threw a pan at him in response.
He wasn’t sure why James and Lily had named him godfather. He knew that they had a bunch of friends from Hogwarts, people who would be more equipped to take on the role of a godfather. Peter would have been the best choice, in his opinion. Sirius felt lacking as a magical godson, as a man who was afraid of magic. But somehow, the couple trusted him. They put their trust in the fact that he could be a good influence in the child’s life. He hoped he could manage to keep their faith in him. He loved Harry.
The pair moved into a small cottage not too far from James' parents in Godric’s Hollow. It was a lovely two-storey house, with an extensive garden and lovely interior.
Peter was doing his residency with St Mungo’s, so he had to move further away. Ever since some sort of accident in sixth year (despite Sirius’ insistence that he wouldn’t be upset, his friends refused to tell him what had happened), he wanted to be a healer.
His friends still avoided using magic around him. He was incredibly grateful for that, even if he knew that it brought them out of their comfort zone. Especially Peter and James, who’d grown up surrounded by it and used it for everyday things. For Lily, magic came as a second thought when doing anything. He liked that about her.
At first, when he first left for the muggle world, he had Uncle Alphard’s inheritance to keep him afloat. At fifteen and sixteen, he did nothing but wander around town, and, admittedly, got himself into a bunch of trouble. Living alone was hard, especially with the shadows of his past haunting him. He drank until he blacked out, got himself into sketchy situations he could hardly get out of more than once.
On the anniversary of the night he’d run away from home, Sirius had gotten sloshed once again. He was sitting in some sort of dingy alleyway, crying his guts out. The memory of his brother writhing on the floor beneath his feet haunted him, didn’t let him get a wink of rest the whole day. His decision was to get drunk, like always, but that seemed to worsen his state of mind.
He didn’t see the man who approached him, darkening the alleyway with the way he blocked the streetlight. Sirius was so lost in his anguish, his throat stuck in his stomach and his fingers tearing at his arms, that he could hardly hear the soft noises of reassurance. He flinched when he felt rough hands take his own in their grasp, pulling them from where he’d been scratching at himself like a madman.
Through the tears and black spots clouding his vision, he couldn’t make out the figure crouching before him. All he knew was that a gentle voice was whispering sweet nothings in his ear, rubbing his shoulder in a comforting gesture. It reminded Sirius of James, how he’d calm him down after a nightmare. The calming voice reminded him of Peter, who always knew how to get him out of an emotional episode.
Sirius couldn’t remember how he had left the alley, when he’d stood up or how he ended up in a warm bed. The morning after, a raging hangover pounded at his head, bile rising in his throat. When he recovered his senses, he looked around the room, taking in the metallic and grimy smell of the room, the weighted blanket pooling around his legs. He still wore his dirty clothes.
That night, when Sirius was at his lowest, someone took him in and cared for him.
Benny (that was all Sirius knew him as) was an old man, nearing his seventies. He was short, with a grey beard and cropped, dyed black hair. That night, when he found him in the dark alley, curled into a pitiful ball of sorrow, he gave Sirius a single look and took pity on him. The man tried to calm him down from his growing panic, his cries of anguish. The man had no children of his own, but the sight of a boy, alone, drunk and broken, was enough for his heart to clench painfully.
The morning after, when he got out of bed and wandered into the kitchen, was awkward. They ate a bowl of soup in silence, Sirius nursing his growing headache and Benny watching the sixteen-year-old in front of him with an unreadable gaze. Even though the man hardly knew him, he was worried.
It was tense, with the man asking questions Sirius had no desire to answer. “Where are your parents?”, “Do you go to school?”, “Why were you in that alley?”, “Why were you drunk?”, “What happened?”. Sirius didn’t answer any of them, slouching in his seat like a petulant child. After Benny realised he wouldn’t be getting the teen to talk, he called him over to follow him.
That was how Sirius found a passion for motorcycles.
Benny had his own mechanic shop, where he fixed everything and anything that rode on wheels. The garage smelled of motor oil and metal, the dank and rich smell quickly put Sirius at ease. Looking over the wide-eyed teenager, with ragged clothing and blood beneath his brittle nails, Benny offered him a place to stay.
(Later, when he was nineteen, Sirius learned that Benny had thought him a risk to himself. That the sight of him breaking down in the alleyway sparked something in front of him, a sort of protectiveness the man hadn’t known was there. The mechanic wanted to give him a safe place to stay, somewhere he could redirect his emotions into physical work. It worked.)
Even though he continued to drink and wallow in self-pity, he wasn’t alone. He spent his days in the garage, undergoing an unofficial apprenticeship with Benny in his workshop. The old man taught him his craft, spent painstaking days pulling Sirius back together after his bad episodes. When his trauma broke him into pieces, the memories gnawing at his sanity (somehow, it was harder to come to terms with his childhood when he was out of that house and in the muggle world), Benny was always there to put him back together.
Beside Fleamont, who was in his life for just one summer, Benny was his first father figure. The first man who held the broken pieces of him and glued them back together, understanding shining in his eyes, never judging. (He didn’t realize that when he’d been a teenager, but as a twenty-year-old man, he would be eternally grateful.)
Out of all the machines that came in for a repair, Sirius held the most fascination for motorcycles. Benny took him to ride one, once, and since then, he couldn’t get enough of that thrill. It made his heart flutter and beat faster, anticipation rising in his chest. No matter if he was riding or fixing one.
At eighteen, they’d celebrated the end of his apprenticeship with non-alcoholic beers and a night spent watching the telly. The very next day, he started working as a full-fledged mechanic in his pseudo-father’s shop. As a gift, he received a motorcycle that Benny himself had put together for him. It was a beautiful black colour, with brown leather seats and silver star accents around the handles and wheels. A week later, Sirius had his licence and could ride the beauty.
Sirius had spent the last five years like a muggle. It had been odd at first, when he’d subconsciously reach for a wand that wasn’t there, when his fingers sparked with magic that begged to be freed. By pushing those feelings down and locking them behind a wall of pure will, he got through without using it. Magic had brought him nothing but pain, and he wanted nothing to do with it.
At twenty, he got used to his quiet life. He hardly ever thought about the life he left behind (except for when he did, with a bottle in his hand after a nightmare); he preferred to think about the one he built for himself. It was stained with motor oil and burnt around the edges, but it was his own to shape and mold. He liked that about it.
Besides his passion for his work and the little family he found in Benny, the recent light of his life was Harry. Even at a month old, he was a bundle of joy to those around him. There was rarely a moment when he didn’t smile or giggle. He loved everybody around him, and it was hard not to share the sentiment.
He was smitten with his godson, and on more than one occasion, planned to steal him and run away to France to have that kid all to himself. All in good fun, of course. Lily would have his head. Maybe he would take her along?
So it made total sense when Sirius wanted to get a tattoo in order to celebrate the birth of his godson.
When Sirius was eighteen, he found a small tattoo shop not too far from his apartment. The service was great, and he’d been going there for a few years now. The first tattoos he’d gotten were for his friends. Antlers on his shoulder blades, a dog and a rat sitting on each one respectively. Then, he got constellations of Canis Major and Leo, with the stars of Sirius and Regulus being the brightest, each on a different wrist. Shifting from human to his dog form was a hassle without using a wand, so he showed the muggle artist an amalgamation of runes, in order to make the transformation instant and easier on his body. The runes didn’t need magic to work, since they were carved into his skin. The tattoo made his transformations smoother, and, most importantly, he no longer had a need for his wand.
With way too much money from both his inheritance and job, Sirius went to get a new tattoo every now and then. His arms were littered with Futhark and Hebrew defensive and offensive runes, taking up the space on his shoulders and forearms. Even though he didn’t cast any more magic, he held a healthy appreciation for runes and arithmancy. He knew they were incredibly useful and practical, so he pushed the nausea that came with the thought of magic and littered his body with the protections. He was still scared of the world around him and the tattoos were a good way to ease the anxiety.
Benny teased him about the tattoos, calling him a typical mechanic. The man himself showed no desire to get inked, except for the military tattoo on his shoulder, which he never spoke of. Sirius never pushed it either.
Whistling, Sirius hopped on his motorbike and headed for the tattoo studio, which he liked to frequent. The staff was friendly enough, and he’d gotten half of his tattoos there. With no more appointments for the afternoon, he had plenty of time to do nothing. It was a fifteen-minute drive from the workshop, but once he drove over the speed limit, he got there in eight. He never bought another motorcycle since the one that Benny gifted him worked great. It also held a special place in his heart. He tinkered with it a little, carving runes in the underbelly of it for protection against crashes and other accidents on the road. Over the years, he swapped some parts for better ones, but in its essence, the bike was the same one he’d been gifted by his mentor. He wouldn’t exchange it for the world.
The outside of the tattoo parlor looked a little odd, but he brushed it off. Walking inside, a bell above his head rang out to announce of his presence. He tensed, was that always there?
“Be there in a minute,” an unfamiliar voice called out from somewhere in the shop, and Sirius let his mind wander.
The inside was vastly different from what he had seen before. Gone was the dim decor and cluttered space. The dimmed windows were opened wide, letting bright light in. The floor was the same, white and black checkers going through the whole space. There were two tables instead of one, and almost every table and shelf around was decorated with all sorts of indoor plants. Turning to the left from where he was standing by the door, the whole wall was covered with concept art done in ink and watercolor. The art was intricate and stunning. A bit further, on a glass desk without plants, Sirius could make out some sort of needles and pins, with all sorts of glittering pieces of metal on the shelf above. In front of him stood an unassuming registry.
The whole place was beautiful, nothing like the simple black and white studio he had frequented for the last two years.
A figure moved out of the doorway, clutching a steaming mug in one hand and leaning against an intricate wooden walking stick.
Sirius blinked. That was not his previous tattoo artist.
“Welcome to my shop, my name is Remus Lupin, how can I assist you today?” the man asked, his voice rough yet soft, and Sirius gulped.
He was incredibly tall and absolutely his type. His brown hair curled on top of his head, pulled back by a pair of oblong glasses. The sides of his head were shaved, allowing Sirius to take a glimpse of the rows of golden piercings in his ears, along with a shiny gold nose ring on the man’s scarred face. Lupin wore a pair of faded jeans, a loose striped sweater hanging on his broad frame. The most striking, however, were the scars that covered every bare place on his body. His face was severely scarred, some of the wounds missing his eyes by just a little. One especially gruesome scar ran through the tip of his right ear, then down and through his lips until the base of his neck. From where he was holding the mug in his hand, Sirius could make out a couple of finger tattoos and something on the back of his hand.
Sirius wanted to open up the man from the inside out and figure out all of his secrets, one by one. The thought made him pause.
“Hi- um, I’m Sirius Black,” he stuttered, taken aback by the whole situation. “There was another studio here before?” he trailed off, unsure of what he was even saying. Being in front of handsome strangers did something silly to Sirius' ability to speak coherently.
The man grimaced, putting the mug down on the table beside him.
“Yes, you’re not the first to come asking for it. The previous guy’s lease ended, and the owners rented the space out to me. I don’t have his contacts, have no idea where he relocated. It’s still a tattoo studio, though.”
Sirius laughed, relieved.
“Yeah, thank God," he eyed the space appreciatively, "you did some changes, I see.”
The man nodded, chuckling. “I wanted to make the space as comfortable as I could.”
“I think you did a great job at it,” Sirius winked.
“Thank you,” the corner of Lupin’s lips curled up in a half-smile and Sirius felt his knees wobble. “Well, you did come in for a tattoo today, right?” The dark-haired man nodded in response. “I hope I can do a good enough job to substitute for your previous artist.”
“From the sketches on the walls, I’m sure you can.”
“Did you have an idea?”
Sirius' eyes sparkled.
“Yes, actually. A name across my collarbone, in like, cursive or something.”
Lupin grimaced slightly, but the facial expression was quickly gone from his face.
“Would you like to see some sketches to see what it would look like?”
“Yeah.”
The man nodded and picked up a black notebook and pencil from beside him. He leaned his walking cane against the wall and sat on a high bar stool.
“Feel free to get comfortable while I sketch it out. What’s the name?”
“Harry.”
Lupin’s eyes glowed in a way that Sirius wasn’t familiar with, but the man just hummed in affirmation. He started working on it.
“You know what they say about getting a name tattooed?”
“What?”
“It can curse your relationships.”
Sirius laughed, caught off guard.
“It’s not for a significant other. Harry’s my godson, a month-old baby.”
Lupin blinked in surprise, a red hue colouring his cheeks.
“I’m sorry for my assumption. You’d be surprised how many people tattoo a partner’s name on themselves, then come back for a cover-up."
“Well I’m sure I’ll be keeping this one. I’d love that kid no matter what.”
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Sirius took off his leather jacket, hanging it up on the clothing rack beside the door. He was wearing just a white tank top beneath due to the humid autumn heat outside, and wondered how this guy wasn’t hot from the warm weather when wearing a knitted sweater.
Seeing Lupin work was interesting. His fingers glided over the page, pencil held in a tight grip. From what Sirius could see, sitting down on a chair, the paper was quickly filled with all sorts of sketches. When he was finished, he waved Sirius over, and he obeyed, coming closer. Lupin handed him the notebook.
“See if anything catches your eye,” he said, putting his pencil back and cleaning up his table from the eraser shavings.
The sketches were beautiful. Each version had its own flair to it, there was something unique to each stroke of a letter. Sirius was mesmerized. The whole time he was looking over the designs, he could feel Lupin’s hot gaze on him. Gulping, he handed back the notebook, pointing at a beautifully curling font with some of the edges a little bolder.
“I could draw some more designs if you’d like?” the artist offered, but Sirius shook his head.
“I like this one the best.”
Lupin nodded, circling the font with a red ink pen.
“Would you like to do the tattoo right now? I have a few hours until my scheduled appointment, and it shouldn’t take more than an hour.” he asked, picking up a clipboard, pen, and notebook from the table beside him.
“Yeah, I was hoping to get it done today.”
“Great, then just read over this form and sign where there are blank spaces,” he said, handing the clipboard to Sirius and standing up, grabbing his cane once again. “When you finish, just put it anywhere and come back to the tattoo table.”
While Sirius was busy reading the terms of the contract and trying to figure out where exactly to sign, Lupin headed over to one of the tattoo tables, sitting down on a tiny rotating chair. He could hear him preparing something.
When he was done, he did as Lupin asked, then sat down on the comfortable-looking table. It was all covered in black leather and was in the shape of a massage chair. The material was soft and fluffy once he sat down, and Sirius decided that it was far better than the stiff tables the last guy had.
“Take off your shirt and show me where exactly you want the tattoo,” Lupin ordered, making heat rise up Sirius’ cheeks and to his ears. He knew he’d need to do that, but taking his shirt off in front of this incredibly attractive guy was a one-way ticket to imagination land.
Red with embarrassment, he threw the tank top over his head and placed it at the end of the table. Pointing at his left collarbone, Lupin nodded. He looked at Sirius’ chest tattoo’s (and his multitude of scars) curiously before turning away to work on the stencil.
“Is this size okay?”
Screw his dirty mind, Sirius cursed and nodded, not trusting his voice to speak.
“Alright, so now I’ll apply some stencil cream on the place you want your tattoo. After it dries until it's damp, I’ll transfer the picture and we’ll see how it looks, alright?”
Now waiting for a response, he turned to the little table beside him and took out a tube of cream, scooping up some of the white substance in his gloved fingers. Sirius gulped again, his mind racing into overdrive. This guy will be the death of him. He closed his eyes as those long rubbery fingers covered his collarbone. Sirius could swear he forgot to breathe in that moment.
He didn’t know what was happening to him. Sure, he’d had some attractive tattoo artists before, had been with attractive men and women, but the way he was acting right now was just bizarre. He wasn’t a prepubescent boy, for fuck’s sake. And the tattooing hadn’t even started yet. He’ll go insane by then, surely.
After a few minutes had passed, Lupin carefully positioned the stencil on his skin, transferring the beautiful calligraphy onto his bare collarbone. From where his sweater brushed against his bare skin, Sirius leaned into the touch subconsciously.
‘What is wrong with me?’
“I’m done. Take a look in the mirror,” Lupin rolled his chair to the wall and opened up a curtain from beside the tattoo table to reveal a floor-length mirror.
As Sirius looked himself over, all he could see was his dilated pupils and the red flush going from his cheeks to his ears and down to his neck. He was screwed. The stencil, however, looked great. The placement of the name was good, not loopy, and the way it curled on his skin promised to look great as a tattoo.
“It’s perfect.”
Lupin gave him a small smile from where he could see his reflection in the mirror, and Sirius gulped again.
“Lay down on the table and we’ll start.”
Sirius didn’t need to be asked twice.
Lupin leaned over him, grabbing his coil tattoo machine. He took his glasses from where they were resting on top of his head and put them on his face. He pressed his fingers below the stencil and positioned the device to where the tattoo would start. Sirius knew he was breathing heavily and he hoped it would be passed off as uneasiness or fear.
When the needle broke into his skin, he relaxed. The action of a needle going over his skin was familiar, and the pain barely bothered him. He closed his eyes so as not to get flustered by the incredibly handsome man inches away from his face and melted into the soft leather.
The time passed in a comfortable silence, the whirring of the machine soothing Sirius in a way it always did. He loved getting his bigger tattoos, as he had barely felt the pain and even then, the minuscule stabs at his skin felt comfortable. The pain was familiar. The process of getting them was multiple hours of rest to the sound of a calming sound working tirelessly on his body.
No longer than half an hour must have passed when Lupin’s hands pulled away from his bare skin and the man broke the comfortable silence between them.
“Look in the mirror,” Lupin was positively glowing, clearly feeling accomplished. Sirius stood up and traced the curls and loops of his godson’s name with his eyes.
It was beautiful. Lily would hate it. He’d be kicked out of their house immediately. James would get a kick out of it.
“What do you think?” the moment must’ve gone on for too long because Lupin broke the quiet.
“It looks great. Perfect.” He turned around to face the tattoo artist, his face split into a grin. “You’re terrific.”
The man’s cheeks took on a red hue and Sirius cheered silently. When he turned around, scratching at his neck, Sirius spotted another curious thing. Over three raised and red lines on the back of his neck (who looked as if a bear had taken a swipe at him) sat a curious tattoo. It looked like long teeth, open to take a bite. Sirius shivered.
“Alright, don’t touch it yet,” Sirius rolled his eyes at Lupin’s warning, but lowered his fingers from where they were about to brush against the freshly inked skin. “I’ll apply an antibiotic ointment to the tattoo, then cover it with plastic wrap for protection.”
Sirius hummed, familiar with the process. Lupin changed his gloves, taking out a new blue pair. Sirius spotted something along the lines of ‘Hope’ tattooed across his right-hand fingers before they were covered by rubber, and wondered what the story behind the tattoo could be. If it was meant as a name, the guy was a hypocrite.
Lupin spread the balm across his collarbone, the cold substance making Sirius shiver. The taller man gave him a curious look before covering the fresh ink with a plastic wrap.
“You can keep the plastic wrap until the next day, then throw it out. You need to let the area breathe. Cleanse the tattoo with any type of unscented soap, then wash it off with warm water. Don’t rub the skin, yeah? Keep it moisturized.” Sirius nodded, taking his tank top and putting it back on.
Lupin removed the second pair of gloves, tossing them into the small trash bin beneath his workbench. He flexed his long fingers, apparently, to relieve some sort of tension in them. Sirius discovered that he enjoyed watching them.
“How much is it?” Lupin blinked. “The tattoo?”
“70 pounds.”
“For such good artwork, that’s pretty cheap.”
The man seemed to consider Sirius' bewildered expression before sighing.
“I’ve just recently finished my apprenticeship, like a month ago, and until I get off my feet, I don’t feel comfortable charging more than that.”
“Nonsense,” Sirius said, going over to his leather jacket and pulling out his brown leather wallet. Sue him, he liked leather. Taking out a £100 note, he handed it to Lupin, who was now standing by the check-in desk.
He went to take the change out of the register before Sirius' voice stopped him, “Keep the money, Lupin. You deserve it. Consider it a tip.”
The man spluttered, his hand stilling in the air. He stood still for a moment, seemingly searching for something in Sirius' gaze. The black-haired man didn’t back down, holding eye contact until the other backed down. Sighing, Lupin closed the register.
“Thank you. And you can call me Remus. Lupin was my father.”
“Sirius, then.” He grinned, showing off his multitude of teeth. Shaking his head, Remus gave a hesitant smile.
Sirius threw on his leather jacket and noticed the way Remus eyed it appreciatively. Smirking to himself, he turned for the door, one hand raised in the air for goodbye.
“See you around, yeah?”
Not waiting for a response from the other man, he left the store, the chiming of a bell following him out. He felt a hot gaze on his neck as he put on his helmet and gloves. Turning on the engine of his motorcycle, he spared one last look at the shop. He couldn’t see the man through the dimmed windows, but he knew he was there. Speeding away from the tattoo parlor and towards Benny’s workshop, he grinned to himself, an unfamiliar heat rising in his chest.
He is definitely going to come back.