He always liked the library, liked the way he could mess up the tables and scatter books everywhere. It made him look busy, important, like he had Something To Do. He especially liked the whispering, giggles under his breath that made others wonder what it is he was up to. He liked being too loud, loud enough for Madam Pince to spit at him and he could giggle some more.
Sirius Black liked the library, but he’d die before he ever admitted it. Especially to James, but above all, Remus.
Remus liked it for different reasons; ones that Sirius could never get behind. Remus loved the smell of the books. He liked the quietness that settled over everyone like the settling dust on the books.
It always made Sirius sneeze.
He was whispering now, hand over mouth and cupped to James’ ear, a large heavy book blocking them from the rest of the library.
“We’ll need a car motor,” Sirius whispered, “But my motorbike one would probably do.”
James rolled his eyes. “Mate-“
“What are you two up to?”
Sirius slammed the book shut, throwing it to the floor so Remus couldn’t see. Remus’ face was creased with confusion and concern, and Sirius tried his best to smile innocently. It didn’t work.
“Nothing,” Sirius squeaked, and James nodded emphatically.
But Remus didn’t falter. “The last time we had this conversation, you became an illegal animagus.”
When neither of the boys replied, Remus sighed heavily. “Is this one illegal too?” he asked.
Sirius and James glanced at each other, and Sirius replied slowly, “Well… yes, but at some point in the near future it won’t be anymore.”
“That doesn’t fill me with confidence. What are you two planning?”
Sirius smiled wickedly, leaning back in his chair casually and sucking on the end of his quill. “’Tis a surprise, Moony.”
Remus groaned, dragging his hand down his face and closing his eyes.
With his eyes still pinched, he said, “I don’t even want to know. Just give me your potions homework and we’ll be done with it.”
Pulling the parchment out his bag, Sirius said playfully, “You’re gonna have to pay me for this.”
Remus took the parchment, and returned Sirius’ fake innocent smile. “How about I just don’t tell McGonagall that you’re planning something?”
Sirius relented, and when Remus trudged out of the library turned excitedly to James.
“Motorbike motor!” he said excitedly.
James shook his head. “There’s places in Diagon Alley who’ll do it, ya know. You already have a fake ID.”
“Well, yeah,” Sirius rolled his eyes, “But when exactly can we go to Diagon Alley, you git?”
“There’s a Hogsmeade trip this weekend,” James replied simply, but he was smirking and so was Sirius.
“Ah,” Sirius replied, “An adventure.”
And so they started plotting.
*
Sirius felt excitement and nervousness bubble through his veins. He felt like crackling bubble wrap as he walked beside James, reaching the far end of Hogsmeade to the point where they were nearly leaving the town.
They had told Remus and Peter that had some Serious Business To Do, best not to wait up for them, before stuffing the cloak into James’ coat and running off with footprints in snow behind them. Remus and Peter had called out indignantly, upset to be left out, but they didn’t chase them, instead resigning to a quiet afternoon in the Three Broomsticks.
James’ grin was face splitting, and he wouldn’t stop looking over his shoulder to see if anyone had followed. He bounced on his feet nervously, swearing that this is the most illegal thing they’ve ever done.
“I reckon the animagus thing still beats this,” Sirius said, but he too was checking over his shoulder.
They squeezed themselves under the cloak, their feet poking out despite being hunched over. They had grown considerably since First Year, when all four of them could fit comfortably.
Sirius started wringing his hands, asking, “Are you sure you know how to do this?”
James scoffed, “I passed my test, didn’t I?”
“You also left half a ballsack behind.”
“Did not!” James shouted, clutching onto Sirius’ arm a little too hard. “It was my belly button. And you know it, git.”
Sirius held his breath, putting his life in the hands of James Potter once more, wondering when his life became so expendable to a complete idiot.
James counted down from three, and at the call of zero Sirius felt a hook tug at his belly button, and when his feet touched concrete floor he wondered if James had left his belly button behind this time instead.
The noise around him began to fill in with buzz of excited, chatting people, many of them colliding into the boys’ invisible form. James tore the off cloak, shook the snow from it, and bundled it into his coat.
“Well, that was good then, right?”
“Hang on, let me check,” Sirius replied, grabbing his crotch, “Yep, both there.”
A few people cast suspicious glances at the boys as James whacked Sirius over the head, and then strode confidently to the end of the street to see where they were.
They had already figured that the best place to look first was Knockturn Alley, despite their obvious unease at going to the place. Sirius claimed that he would probably bump into a dozen of his crazy family members, shopping for a new torture device or to sell their shriveled house elves’ head, but James would not relent.
“You wanna do this, right?” he asked, and Sirius had to say yes. He did want to do it.
Sirius shoved a hand into his jean pocket, feeling the roughness of the parchment under his fingers, assured to know that it was still there.
“Come on, you mangy mutt,” James called out, “This way. Come here, boy.”
Sirius galloped to James excitedly, licking the boy on his face. James cringed away, shoving Sirius hard and wiping his face with the back of his sleeve.
“Bad dog!” he admonished, “Bad Padfoot.”
But Sirius ran ahead, on his way to Knockturn Alley.
It took them several wrong turns and three giggling witches to tell them where the first parlour was, and when they arrived outside its front Sirius felt his veins turn to fire.
“Is that a flying skull?” he asked, pointing to the whirring figure orbiting the shop’s sign.
“I thought it was a pygmy puff,” James replied, and entered the shop.
A droning bell sounded as they entered, and the already dark atmosphere become blinding inside the shop. A big, grouchy looking wizard with a handlebar moustache sat in a throne behind a simple wooden desk, his heavy arms painted with moving pictures. A pin-up girl on his fore arm winked at the boys as they approached, and Sirius was enrapt in the changing, colouful pictures hung on the walls.
The man grunted as greeting, and Sirius pulled the parchment from his pocket and placed it on the desk before him.
“I’d like this on my wrist, please,” he said, “And I want it to change in accordance to the phases of the moon. The real moon, I mean. Good ol’ Lunar.”
The man didn’t seem to be amused, just looked at the sketched drawing on the parchment. An eye blinked at Sirius from the man’s large hand.
James had taken to poking the pictures on the walls, enjoying their shrieks as they ran away from his imposing finger. A donkey bucked at his finger, and as it trampled away knocked over a horde of towering skulls, cascading down like snow flakes.
“Don’t upset the drawings,” the man finally said, his tone threatening and instantly paling James’ face. James swallowed hard, and apologized meekly.
The man turned to Sirius and asked bluntly, “You a freaking werewolf?”
Sirius instantly straightened his back, puffing his chest out like a bird trying to impose intimidation. James, too, became suddenly serious, both on guard and defensive at the man’s sardonic tone.
Sirius replied stiffly, “Is that a problem?”
The man threw the parchment back onto the desk, wiping his hands obviously on his pants.
Sirius was growing red in the face, his arms shaking by his side and his stomach roiling. He wanted to punch the man’s squashed face and tear out his throat with his teeth, but instead he snatched the parchment from the desk and said, “I guess I’ll take my patronage somewhere else.”
The man crossed his arms over his chest, hoisting up his heavy booted feet to rest on the desk, crossed over at the ankles. They made heavy thumps as they hit the desk top, and Sirius could see the studs that protruded from his feet.
A comforting hand grabbed onto his upper arm, and he allowed himself to be dragged out of the tattoo parlour by James.
“Good luck,” the man called sarcastically as the bell droned behind them.
Once on the street, however, Sirius kicked over a metal bin and started firing hexes at a blank brick wall, swearing viscously and cursing the tattoo artist.
“Fucking bigoted bastard!” he shouted at the wall, and James let him go for it.
“If I had half a mind, I’d’ve torn his fucking face off! Son of a bitch can’t afford to be so judgmental with that ugly piece of shit face of his! I’d do him a favour, biting it off!”
After a few more hexed and another kick at the bin Sirius slumped to the ground, exhausted but still angry. He fumed at the ground, poking it with the tip of his wand, sniffling but trying not to let James see.
But James knew that when Sirius got angry and couldn’t do anything about it, he became frustrated, and that frustration could only be expressed through tears. The tears just made Sirius angry again, angry at the insistent brainwashing by his family that crying was a sign of weakness, so he would start breaking things again, or worse, hurt himself.
James never really knew what to do in these situations. That was mostly Remus’ job, having the advantage of providing physical comfort. James didn’t think Sirius would receive a kiss on the head well from him, so he tried the next best thing.
“Might not be much,” he said slowly, “But I have a dungbomb in my pocket.”
When Sirius didn’t look up, James insisted, “I can make it explode like a firecracker. Bastard’s place might catch on fire, if we’re lucky.”
Sirius smiled, and wiping at his face furiously shook his head. “Remus’ll be angry,” he mumbled, “No firecracker. Just dungbomb, maybe.”
James hoisted Sirius up by the arms, patting him on the back roughly, and pulled him to the back of the shop where they threw James’ dungbomb through a window, and watched from he sanctuary of clean air at the great, ugly man fell out of his throne and started choking on the gas.
Sirius sniggered, not feeling that much better, but determined to get through it so he could get his tattoo.
The next few places didn’t end up that well either, many of them refusing to service Sirius under the pretense that he was a werewolf, and after a few rejections became confused.
“It’s only through bite that lycanthropy can be transferred, right? It’s not a blood thing?”
“No Sirius,” James sighed, “They’re all just massive dickheads.”
It was well past the time Sirius had expected them to be finished, wondering if Remus and Peter were growing worried. He considered telling James to call it a day, that they’d try next weekend, when James suggested that they try a back alley job.
“That’s dodgy,” Sirius replied, but complied anyway.
“Wouldn’t it be funny,” James said, “If you got aids from a dodgy tattoo job rather than fucking your boyfriend?*”
*(AN: Otherwise known as, ‘Wouldn’t it be funny if you made lycanthropy a metaphor for aids but completely erased the queer history and stigma surrounding it in the 1970s by making Remus Lupin 10000000% straight?’ Haha good ol jk.)
“Yeah,” Sirius rolled his eyes, “Wouldn’t aids be hilarious?”
“Nothing St Mungos can’t fix up for ya. Come on.”
Even in Knockturn Alley, this area was reserved for the wicked and deranged, and despite his arrogant and punk rock exterior that he liked to portray, Sirius stayed closer to James, and looked every passing person in the eye, committing them to memory.
Not yet seventeen, they would be detected if they used magic. A lump formed in Sirius’ throat, but he swallowed it down with forced determination.
For Remus.
They asked some of the nicer looking people where they could find a tattoo artist who won’t ask questions, and were pointed to a dark corner filled with rats and a single blue dumpster.
Sirius approached confidently, trying to look braver than he felt, but when he saw the tattoo artist he nearly laughed with relief.
He could hardly be any older than what they were, his face still covered in pimples and oil, but his eyes were heavy with bags and his teeth were yellow.
He was gangly, and hardly threatening, his eyes almost vacant as they took in Sirius and James.
Guy’s probably high, Sirius thought, but he didn’t think he minded. As long as he didn’t reject them or threaten to kill them (as many other artists did that day) Sirius would take whatever whackjob this guy was going to come out with.
“You the tattoo guy?” James asked, trying to sound casual.
“Yep,” the young guy popped the ‘p,’ turning it over on his tongue. It seemed to amuse him.
Definitely high. Still don’t mind.
Sirius handed the parchment over wordlessly, and after the guy studied it for some time, explained what he wanted.
“Sure,” the guy said simply, and pulled out a chair from behind him and setting it before Sirius. He sat.
“You’re not gonna fall asleep in the middle of it, are ya,” Sirius joked, but the artist didn’t hear.
“Get turned away a lot for this one?” The artist asked instead, switching on the motor for the needle.
Sirius just nodded, and the guy seemed sympathetic.
“Ya know why no one will come down ‘ere?”
Sirius and James shook their heads.
“Cause I’ll do your lot, and no one else will. Your lot and others, so no one likes it ‘ere. You’re not so bad. Vampire tried to bite off his own hand once when his tattoo bled, that was weird. But mostly you guys are all right.”
Sirius wanted to thank him, but the needle started scratching over his skin and his voice was lost to muffled discomfort, and James wished the others could see him squirm like a little baby. Sirius replied in turn with his middle finger.
When the artist was finished an hour later, the tattoo was a perfect replica of Sirius’ own drawing, and after the spell was cast the image become half immersed in black to mimic the half moon in the sky.
Sirius thanked the man profusely, paying him extra for kindness, and before they left learned his name was Richard Shunpike.
*
It was nearly midnight by the time they sneaked back into their dormitory, and Sirius was a little offended that they had not stayed up to wait for them.
Peter, they saw on their way in, was asleep on the common room couch, snoring loudly with a plate rising and falling on his chest.
Remus’ bed curtains were drawn, but Sirius did not hesitate to pull them back and climb in.
Remus oompfed, but moved over anyway to let Sirius climb under the blankets and rub his cold body all over Remus’ warm bed.
“Time’zit?” Remus asked sleepily, burying his head into the pillow as Sirius lit up his wand. “Padfoot! Put it out!”
“No, Moony, I have something to show you.”
This forced Remus’ head out of the pillow, blinking profusely against the light of the wand. He rubbed his eyes and sat up in the bed, the blanket falling from his shoulders and the cool air of the night chilling him.
“What did you get up to today?” Remus asked, and smiled with Sirius as the boy bounced excitedly on the bed.
“This,” Sirius whispered in his ear as he pulled back his sleeve and showed Remus his first, of what he hoped was to be many, tattoo.
Remus frowned initially, trying to decipher the picture in the crude light, but gasped as he leaned in closer to look. He ran his fingers over the black ink gently, and enjoyed the way he could feel Sirius’ pulse beneath them.
“It changes according to the cycle,” Sirius explained, “So you don’t need anymore of those stupid calendars. You don’t need to hide them under your bed. I’ll know. I’ll always know.”
Remus’ hands shook in Sirius’, and with tears in his eyes kissed Sirius’ wrist, and trailed the kisses along his arm until he reached his lips.
Between kisses and clashes of teeth, Remus kept sighing, thank you, thank you, thank you, and Sirius’ heart burst each time.
He didn’t tell Remus why it took so long. He didn’t tell him about how nearly every tattoo parlour in the wizarding world turned him away, disgusted and angry at his very existence, despite the fact he wasn’t even the werewolf.
He didn’t tell Remus anything about the trip. He felt it heavy in his stomach that Remus would know it first hand soon enough.
For now he allowed himself to forget about it, to forget the rest of the world existed. It was just him and Remus, together enveloped in blankets and kisses and warmth, nothing but each other in the confinements of the four-poster bed.
The war raged outside, but right now, Sirius couldn’t hear it. Not with Remus’ lips brushing his earlobe, not with his boyfriend’s hands clutched firmly around his own. This was enough. It would always be enough.
*
Even on the nights when Sirius was alone, alone because of traitorous friends and maddening circumstances; when he could hear the howling of the wolf despite being in the middle of the ocean, and his wrist throbbed with the waxing moon, if he closed his eyes he could imagine that he was there with him.
It was enough.