Red claw marks covered Sirius Black’s body. There were cuts so deep that blood had begun to spill from them. Tears streamed down his face as he stared at the monster in the mirror. He screamed himself hoarse and smashed his hands against the glass until it shattered. Tiny shards lodged in his skin. Yet the physical pain from his body was nothing compared to the unbearable turmoil inside.
It had been twelve years since James and Lily’s death, since the rat’s betrayal, and the numbness still persisted. Truthfully, he never could forget- he was a walking reminder of what was. Of what should have been.
You see, Sirius Black had had a love for tattoos. Throughout his adolescence, he had covered his body with them.
Sirius looked at the black ink crawling up his body.
On his wrist sat the first tattoo he ever got- one of a lion. He got it alone, to make his mother angry.
On his finger, the initials J.F.P. were written… in his writing. He got it with his brother.
On his collarbone were two sets of pawprints. He got it with his lover.
On his back was a beautiful piece of art. A full moon rested below his neck as a rat, stag, dog, and wolf looked up at it. He got it for his family.
The family that was gone.
His brother was dead.
His lover had moved on.
The traitor had gotten away.
Sirius Black wished he could shed his skin like a dog sheds his winter coat.
Instead, he was left trapped by the ink stains- no- bloodstains, forever on his body.