Warning for mentions of dark themes: crime, drug addiction, and child abuse.
Assignment #6: Muggle Art Task 2 – Tattoo Parlour!AU
Count Your Buttons: Song – I bet my life by Imagine Dragons
Around the World in 31 Days: 141. Regulus Black
Crystal and Gemstones: Turquoise – write about unwavering loyalty or protection for another person
Diwali: Day 2 – Henna designs - Write about getting a henna tattoo, a tattoo or temporary tattoo
Gobstones: White Stone – Guilt, Accuracy – 3. (word) Festoon, Power – 18. (dialogue) "You're dead to me!", Technique – 4. (setting) The Shrieking Shack
Sirius Ink
Down a grimy alley just off Dulwich Road in Brixton, Sirius Ink could be found as a small brass nameplate over a door that was deep purple in colour, and the only one on the street with paint that had been barely scratched. Sirius was bloody proud of it, if he said so himself. A buzzer by the door allowed him to let in clients as he chose, clicking open to reveal a staircase lined with crimson velvet, and a mahogany railing running by its side. At the top of the stairs was a light, airy room – Sirius' tattoo parlour. Windows lined two walls, stretching from floor to ceiling, letting in as much natural light as could be found in any London first floor apartment, and the décor was minimalistic, barring the sketches that covered the remaining walls.
Sirius was just finishing up with a client when his phone rang, a distinctive ring tune Sirius had personalised for James, his brother in all but blood. Sirius normally set his phone to silent working, and James's calls were the only ones that he allowed to come through, as James never called him... never called him, that was, unless it was about his brother.
"Sorry 'bout that," Sirius said, jerking his head toward his phone. The man in question grunted, busy eying up his new tattoo, inflamed at the edges, but a stellar piece of work, if Sirius said so himself. It was a set of crossed pistols festooned with a garland of roses in monochrome glory, and had been inked onto the man's impressively large bicep. Sirius vaguely recognised him from his childhood, and was fairly certain that he was an arms dealer to some of the more exclusive London crime families, but he wasn't exactly about to ask.
"Want a pic?" Sirius asked. Most did. He glanced at his phone, before tearing his gaze back to the new tattoo.
The man snorted. "Nah, just wrap it."
Sirius quickly cleaned the area, swabbed it with anti-bac and then wrapped it in a sterile bandage.
"Leave it alone for at least four hours, and when you take it off, just rinse with unscented soap and warm water, nothing too hot, and… you've heard it all before," Sirius concluded as the man ignored him, withdrawing a wad of fifties from his bulging wallet.
"You've got business, aintcha?" the man said, and eyed Sirius' phone with a knowing gleam in his eye. "£250?"
Sirius nodded, and took the roll of cash. He didn't bother counting it. Nobody would dare to do bad business with a Black, and although Sirius no longer associated with his family if he could help it, the reputation that came with his name still carried weight.
"Til the next time," the man said, and ambled out.
Sirius stowed the cash in his safe, and then snatched up his phone and leather jacket. He had two missed calls, and a text from James. Cops about to raid the Shrieking Shack.
"Fuck." He barrelled out the door, onto the street, and jammed the keys to his motorbike into the ignition. It purred to life, but even the feeling of his baby between his legs wasn't enough to calm him down.
The Shrieking Shack was a drug den and safe house for a gang of violent, coked up morons that liked to call themselves the Death Eaters. Regulus could often be found there, spouting his usual racist nonsense, and wasting away their inheritance.
He wound his way through the streets, not bothering to stick to the speed limits. It wasn't as if he couldn't afford to pay any fines. He practically abandoned his baby by the pavement when he screeched to a stop, and sprinted up the steps to the derelict building.
"If it ain't cousin Sirius!" Bellatrix opened the door when he pounded upon it. He pushed past her, ignoring the stench of sex and booze. Her eyes were wild as she clutched at his arm, hair in disarray. "Here for some fun?"
Sirius shuddered, and shrugged her off him, pacing further into the depths of the house. He could feel the faint beat of a bass thrumming through his veins – someone was playing shitty dubstep through tinny speakers in one of the rooms. The lighting was dimmed, and he was half tempted to get out his phone and use the torch on it, but he was already making himself a target as it was.
"Regulus!" he bellowed, bursting through another door. Discarded crockery crunched beneath his boots, half eaten pizza and needles abandoned on the floor, empty beer bottles smashed in one corner of the room. He wrinkled his nose, never gladder that he'd run away from this lifestyle as a child. The inhabitants of the room eyed him dully, before returning to what they'd been doing. Some were having sex, while others lost poorly to video games, all of them with glazed eyes and pale skin.
Finally, he found him. Regulus was slumped into a chair, sitting round a table with Snape, Malfoy and Yaxley. They were playing poker, wads of cash and other valuables scattered across they table, and they tensed as he walked in. All of them were armed.
But that was alright. So was Sirius.
"What the fuck do you want?" Snape growled, a man with long greasy hair almost as dark as his rotten soul.
Sirius sneered at him. "Piss off. Reggie, come with me."
Regulus was even more out of it than the others, but he narrowed his eyes, and staggered to his feet. "Why?" he slurred.
"Indeed, please do enlighten us," Lucius murmured, his silver eyes gleaming. Sirius flipped him the bird.
"I need a word with my brother," he growled, and hoped it would be enough.
"Brother? Is that what we are?" Regulus asked, swaying where he stood, and snorted.
"You're a fucking mess," Sirius muttered, disgusted. He was even worse than he'd been before. "Just, come on, alright?"
Sirius didn't care – in fact he hoped – that the cops would lock the rest of them up for life. But Regulus was his baby brother… he wouldn't fair well at all in the slammer. He was far too pretty for that, and despite it all, far too innocent.
Regulus grimaced, but staggered toward him. Sirius steered him out of the room, hand on his shoulder, well aware that he'd turned his back on three snakes that would happily stab him in it. He dragged Regulus out to the garden, snagging a glass of water on his way.
"Drink this, you fucking moron."
Regulus chugged it, and was promptly sick on the grass. Sirius took a step back to avoid getting vomit on his boots, and curled his lip. He fetched another glass of water, and by the time Regulus had finished it, he was far soberer, and incredibly unhappy about it.
"I hate you, you fucking jerk," Regulus said. He pushed himself to his feet, eyes spinning wildly as he glanced about. He was jittery, hoping from one foot to another, his once gorgeous hair matted and knotted with dirt.
"Yeah, I know," Sirius said, suddenly tired. "Look Reggie, will you come and stay with me for a few nights? The cops are on their way, you gotta get out of here. We'll have spag bol, your fave."
"Cops?" Regulus said, and then a smile split his face. "The fucking pigs are coming? We'll show them, won't we?"
"Are you fucking mad?" Sirius asked, a sliver of ice piercing his heart. It was if the old Regulus, the one that had been scared of their dad, loved yappy dogs, and couldn't get enough of chocolate ice cream had never existed.
Regulus laughed, pulling free a switchblade from where it had been tucked into the back of his sweat pants, and with shaking hands, flicked it open.
"Reggie, come on, come with me. Get away from this shit hole, build yourself a new life."
"Fuck – The – Police," Regulus snarled. "And fuck you too. Don't pretend you still love me like a brother – not when you've got a shiny brand new one with none of my faults. Who'd have a thought? A Potter and a Black, so far up each other's arses they can't see anything else. You're only here cos you feel guilty. Well, fuck that."
There was a loud bang – the front door had been busted in by the cops, Sirius had no doubt.
"Fuck you! You're dead to me!" Regulus cried, and sprinted back toward the house.
Sirius stood there, frozen for a moment. The sound of gun shots snapped him into motion, and he turned and sprinted toward the edge of the garden. He scrambled over the crumbling brick wall, and ran until he felt as if his lungs might collapse.
He didn't want the cops to associate him with anything going on in that house, and shiny, beautiful, legally registered motorcycle that was sitting outside it was incriminating enough.
Sirius collapsed onto a park bench, and glanced about. He pulled out his packet of cigarettes – his last pack, he was definitely quitting – and lit one up. He inhaled, exhaled, and watched the smoke curl away from him, before taking another desperate drag. He tried not to cry, despite how broken he felt, and mainly succeeded. If he had to scrub at his eyes, well, the smoke was to blame.
"How could he think that?" Sirius muttered to himself, and nearly jumped out of his skin when somebody answered.
"Think what?"
"Fuck," Sirius cried, scrambling to his feet.
The man in question had dark brown hair and a kind smile. He was dressed in a scruffy suit, no tie, with a dark overcoat over the top of it. His shirt had been loosened, and there were bags under his amber eyes. Sirius glanced about, but he seemed to be alone.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were acting suspiciously," the man said, and sat himself down on Sirius' bench. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed, and extended a hand.
"Don't suppose I could bum a cig?"
Sirius forced a smile, and warily sat down, passing over his packet. He flicked open his lighter, and the man nodded his gratitude.
"Ah fuck," the man said, taking a drag. "I'm meant to be quitting."
"Me too," Sirius said mirthlessly. He finished the cigarette he was smoking, ground it out beneath his foot, and lit another, all while the man watched with faint amusement.
"You're doing an exceptional job of it," the man commented.
"Fuck off," Sirius muttered. He leaned forward, burying his head in his hands. "Fuck. It seems like everything good that I try to do just ends up even worse off than before." He choked on a sob, and took another drag. He could feel his lungs burning, and it felt right, that he should be punished too.
"Really," the man said, voice dry. He leaned back, crossing his legs. "Well, if you need a listening ear… I've got a couple of minutes."
Sirius glanced up at him. He didn't know the man – he could be anyone, for fucks sake. But it wasn't as if he could tell James. James didn't understand hardship, and was only beginning to get to grips with the grittiness of life through his work in the police. Before that, he'd had mummy, daddy, and a butler waiting on him all his life. Why the fuck not tell some stranger who likely wouldn't give a damn.
"It's my brother," Sirius said. "He's got mixed up into some bad shit. Hard to escape it when your parents are mixed up too. I ran away when I was sixteen, and didn't look back, but fuck, I wish I'd taken him with me. He's just a silly punk that's been told the wrong thing all his life. He doesn't know any better… and now he's probably on his way to the clink." Sirius huffed a bitter laugh, and angrily swiped at a tear that had escaped. "I tried to help him… he threw it back in my face, the little shit. Still, can't help but love him."
They sat in silence for a few moments, before Sirius tried to lighten the mood. "Left my baby right outside a house that the cops are clearing. A sweet little Harley I built up from a scrapyard. Probably won't be getting that back, not without more awkward questions than I'd like to answer."
The man eyed him, gaze sharp, and Sirius felt exposed, almost uncomfortable. "Look, thanks for listening, I guess. My brother's just an idiot, but a stubborn one. Should have known there'd be no way to get through to him."
"At least you tried to help him," the man said, sounding so weary that it made Sirius sit up. Something about his tone put Sirius on edge.
"You're Sirius Black, aren't you?" the man asked, an apologetic quirk to his lips.
Sirius tensed, and got to his feet. "Yeah… who the fuck are you?"
"Detective Inspector Lupin. My team just lead the raid on the so called Shrieking Shack… I apologise for the deception."
"Fuck." A cop. Even worse, it was James' hard-ass boss, the one obsessed with the law, and nothing else, or so James said. Lupin swiped a hand through his scruffy hair, and met Sirius' gaze.
"I saw you run. Recognised you. Wanted to know why my Lieutenant's best mate, the one that features in the family photos on his desk, was running from a drugs bust."
Lupin abruptly stood, and clasped Sirius on the shoulder. "I'll see to it that your brother gets treated fairly. Sounds like he could do with rehab, quite frankly. And I'll make sure that your baby doesn't get impounded, alright?" He smiled ruefully, and walked away, hands jammed into pockets.
Sirius' mouth was gaping open, until he shook himself, and collapsed back onto the bench.
Perhaps, just perhaps, Reggie would be alright.
1 Year Later
"I'm being deadly serious," Regulus said quietly.
Sirius beamed. "No, that's me, or at least it will be when I've kicked it."
Regulus punched him on the shoulder. "You're a such prat. Now, you gonna do it, or am I going to have to go somewhere else?"
Sirius sobered, and indicated for Regulus to take a seat. "You want a tat of a wolf, with the name 'Lupin' written into it, on your shoulder blade. Are you sure?"
"He saved my life," Regulus said. There was colour to his cheeks, and his silver eyes were gleaming behind the dark curls that framed them, no longer lank and dirty. "If he'd not put so much effort into me, there's no way I'd have made parole. Community service ain't exactly a hardship, not compared to the clink."
Regulus' gaze met his own, and Sirius could see stubborn determination in every inch of it.
"Alright," Sirius said, and bit back a proud smile. He took a seat, and began sketching, winding the letters into the fur around the wolf's throat.
The buzzer rang, but he could hear the click of the door to the parlour open, meaning that whoever they were, they had his passcode, which very few people did.
"Come up," he called absentmindedly.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Black brothers," said a voice that was as almost familiar to Sirius as his own. He looked up with a grin.
"Remus, come in. Want a cuppa?"
"Detective," Regulus said awkwardly. "Nice to see you again."
Regulus was glancing between Lupin, and the drawing that Sirius had been working on, with panic in his eyes. Sirius smirked, and subtly filed it away, to Regulus' obvious relief. Evidently it was a tribute that he would be keeping private, at least for the moment.
Remus collapsed into a chair, and arched a brow. He probably not missed Sirius' sketch, but was polite enough not to comment further. Despite Regulus' hero worship, and the time they'd spent together on Regulus' rehabilitation, Regulus was still uncomfortable with the man. Likely the circumstance of how they'd met would always make him awkward.
"Siri, I gotta go to work," Regulus said, gathering his coat. "See ya both around." He nodded stiffly, before scarpering down the stairs. Remus chuckled fondly, and Sirius grinned back at him.
"Long day?" Sirius asked, and made them both some tea.
"Long day," Remus agreed, and sighed. "Better for having seen you."
Sirius blushed. They were flirting on the edge of something… new, and had been ever since Regulus' release. Tentatively, he extended a hand. Remus slotted his own hand into it, his skin warm, callused fingers reassuringly strong as he squeezed it gently.
"As Regulus said… it's nice to see you," Sirius murmured. They sat there, content, hand in hand, and sipped their tea, together.
Word Count: 2809