Author's Note: Sunquistadora made a wonderful podfic for this story. A podfic is like an audiobook – it's the story performed aloud in audio form, and she added music and made cover art for it too!

Please check it out on Archive of Our Own. The link is near the top of my profile on this site, so just click on my username and you should be able to find it.

Thank you.

Also, this was my very first attempt, ever, at writing anything in the Harry Potter fandom. I've written quite a bit before but never in this fandom. I have loved this series since before the movies started being made but it always felt daunting to dive into this fandom. I'm glad pod-together provided me with the opportunity to do this, though.

The Great Muggle Tattoo Adventure

Harry was sitting in his new flat, waiting for Luna and Neville to arrive. The plan was that they'd help him with the decorating. He figured Neville's presence could serve to prevent Luna from turning his place into too… Luna-esque of a living space. But Harry thought, at the same time, that he might actually appreciate her eye for interior design.

Harry hadn't felt like asking Ron or Ginny to help when the loss of their brother was still so fresh. Of course, those two weren't the only people mourning. Everyone had loved Fred. And everyone had lost others too. But certain deaths had cut some people harder than others.

For instance, the fact that little Teddy Lupin was now an orphan? Harry kept dwelling on that. Kept thinking about how he himself – and Tom Riddle – had also been orphans.

Stop it, he told himself forcefully. He wanted to be happy. The war had been over for about a month-and-a-half, and he'd figured it was time to start moving forward. They all couldn't afford to be bleeding from the cuts of the deaths for forever. So. It was time to grow up. Move into his own place. Imagine a future where there was some hope. Let all of the emotional wounds begin to heal into scars.

"Alohomora," he heard a female voice utter, and Harry found himself smiling in amusement.

"You could have knocked," he told his new guests as they entered, Neville only a few steps behind the blonde who had essentially broken in. Neville was wearing Muggle-type clothing – jeans and a T-shirt – and Harry was impressed by how much easier it seemed to be for him than it had ever been for the Weasleys to pass as being a Muggle. Harry didn't even live in a place where the Statute of Secrecy needed to be enforced. But maybe Neville wanted to be safe rather than sorry, and had gotten some tips from Dean or Seamus. He was currently using magic to levitate a heavy couch in.

"You could have charmed your lock with magic," she countered. "You didn't, so I assumed you wanted us to let ourselves in."

Harry smiled wider and tried – but failed – to suppress a chuckle at Luna's bluntness. Then he turned to Neville. "I was thinking it could go along that wall?" he said with a gesture toward the east side of the main room. The couch had belonged to Remus and Tonks. Harry couldn't bear to let their things go to anyone else – to people who wouldn't appreciate all of the memories the pieces of furniture stirred. He knew that having grown up with nothing of his parents' had been exceptionally difficult, and maybe Teddy would appreciate being able to see tangible reminders of them in Harry's place a few years down the line.

"Sure," Neville said, releasing the levitation at exactly the right spot.

Luna was wearing long, flowing, midnight-blue robes with small twinkling silver stars on it. It almost reminded him of a nightgown. She had been wearing dark colors such as these ever since the war, but Harry couldn't help but think the way all of her robes of recent contrasted with her light hair made her look especially beautiful. He soon became distracted from admiring her outfit because she then pulled an entire kitchen table out of her bag. Harry never ceased to be at least a little impressed by how much a witch could fit into her bag as long as she was familiar with the correct spells. The table was painted bright yellow, which reminded Harry of how Tonks' had not only been a Hufflepuff, but also a huge fan of bright colors. He wondered how decorating around it would work, but he'd never dream of re-painting it. He wanted to keep her memory alive, too.

The young witch helped position the table into the kitchen area on the west side of the flat.

Harry already had a bed, and with the addition of these two large pieces of furniture, he was beginning to feel like the place was turning into a home.

"Shall we head off to Diagon Alley, then?" Harry asked, knowing of at least one shop there that would have home furnishings like lamps, clocks, and other things he might want.

"Actually," Neville said slowly, cautiously, clearly hoping Harry wouldn't be disappointed. "What would you say about going to… well… someplace full of Muggles?"

"Muggles?" Harry asked. "Why?"

"Because," Luna interjected, "Neville was hoping to be able to go to one of those parlors, where the ink is drawn into intricate pictures upon your skin, but the illustrations never move and are not at all like those dreadful Dark Marks."

"Oh, a tattoo studio?" Harry replied. "Of course." He wondered if Hermione's encyclopedic knowledge would help him out right now. As far as Harry knew, she too didn't have any tattoos either, but she was the only Muggleborn witch in his life.

"Well there was one I would always walk by a couple years ago, out in Surrey where I grew up," he said, hoping it would be enough. "There's also quite a few other shops around there. I'm sure I could find some Muggle-furnishings on that street."

"Perfect!" Luna said excitedly. "Allow us to embark on The Great Muggle Tattoo Adventure, then," she announced and began to lead the way.

Neville matched Harry's stride and leaned over to quietly express his appreciation. "I have been wanting a tattoo for a while now. It's such a Muggle thing, but doesn't that make it better? Knowing how much Voldemort would hate those things?"

Harry turned to look as his friend as he fumbled with the non-magical lock. "Yeah, it does," he agreed softly.

They began to walk down the stairs and out onto the London air. There was a nice spot for using floo powder, which was far more pleasant than apparating, only a block or so down, and this way they wouldn't risk appearing suddenly somewhere populated by Muggles and terrifying the poor folks.

"Mrs. Figg said I could floo to her fireplace any time," Harry muttered, thinking aloud. They could walk from her house to the tattoo place in only ten, maybe fifteen minutes.

"Why wouldn't you just return to your aunt and uncle's place?" Neville asked.

As they walked, Harry turned to look at the boy who had been raised by a loving grandmother and hesitated, unsure of how to answer. There were a ton of reasons he was not in the mood to face the Dursleys right now.

Luna helped him out before Harry had to come up with any answer. She very matter-of-factly explained, "Because Harry does not have as positive a relationship with his family as he does with his neighbor."

"Oh, right," Neville replied apologetically. Harry didn't blame him for not having remembered. Most of the Gryffindors knew that over those years of breakfasts in the great hall Harry never was sent letters from his guardians, but Harry hadn't actually explained much to people like Neville. He didn't like to talk about it, and certainly didn't want anyone to feel sorry for him. There was a brief period of awkward lull in the conversation, the only sound being the pitter-patter of three sets of feet along the sidewalk.

"Luna, I have a feeling you'll like Mrs. Figg," he said, trying to move to a happier subject. "She breeds kneazles with cats."

"Oh? That sounds lovely," Luna replied. Harry knew how interested she was in magizoology, so he thought she might appreciate that fact about his acquaintance. The elderly squib was… eccentric, in her own way, much like Luna, and even if all they got to do today was say 'Hello', maybe one day they could become truly friendly with one another.

When they finally came upon the shop which happened to have a magical owner, they were nodded toward the curtain in the back, behind which was the fireplace and the magical powder they came to use.

"Ladies first," Neville said, stepping out of Luna's way.

She smiled and took a fistful of the sparkling powder from the box atop the mantel.

As the trio approached Irvin's Inks, Harry looking around nervously and hoping no Muggles would spot Luna's eccentric outfit, he saw a motorcycle parked on the street, and was reminded fondly of the fact that Sirius's bike was securely in the garage below his new residence. The building's management had provided him a free place to store it, for which he was very grateful. He was sure he'd feel the urge to travel upon it again sometime in the future. It was so different than flying on a broom, in that horrifying Ford Anglia with a mind of its own. And similar to keeping Remus's furniture, keeping what had been Sirius's preferred mode of transportation prior to Buckbeak made Harry feel good, like he was honoring the memory of his godfather, like Sirius might never be forgotten.

Neville's pace sped up as he was the most eager to enter the shop. The bell above the door chimed as it opened, and Neville's jaw dropped open as he took in the walls. Harry assumed the woman who was already in the chair, appearing to be receiving what must have been at least her twentieth tattoo on her arm, must have been the owner of the motorcycle, seeing as she was clutching a helmet in her other hand.

Luna's eyes, like Neville's, soon became transfixed on the walls as well, so Harry followed their gazes. The place was kind of dim, as part of its atmosphere, but there were spotlights illuminating the chair areas where the art was done, as well as spotlights upon the walls where all of the designs Irvin and his employees were most proud of were being prominently displayed.

There were intricate, multi-colored dragons which looked surprisingly accurate to what dragons actually did look like, Harry realized, impressed that the Muggles could have gotten it so right. There were other animals too – beautiful butterflies and a jumping dolphin with an intricate ocean beneath it. There was impressive calligraphy for old proverbs written out in English, and also some Chinese characters Harry couldn't recognize. They were all beautiful, except for the one that looked like a man murdering another man, complete with red flecks of blood flying. That one was very carefully drawn too, for sure. But Harry didn't think the word 'beautiful' quite fit it.

A woman behind the front desk perked up as she saw the group enter. She was clad in a grunge style of leggings, shorts, and t-shirt with dark nail polish, and a few piercings. Interestingly, though, Harry didn't spot any tattoos at all on her body. Perhaps they were all hidden in more private places, or maybe she preferred to help others get inked up but not ever illustrate her own body. Harry wondered about it.

"Welcome! How many of you were planning to get tattoos today?" she asked. She didn't even seem fazed by Luna's outfit. Harry was confused by how the woman wasn't even doing a double-take, but still grateful.

"Just me, I think," Neville answered, turning around and looking inquisitively at his friends.

Harry and Luna didn't disagree. Maybe in the future Harry would think about getting a tattoo, but in all honesty it hadn't crossed his mind until Neville brought it up today, and he figured tattoos were exactly the kind of thing it'd be stupid to get on a whim.

"Okay, sure. And what kind of tattoo were you thinking about getting?"

Neville turned back to Luna. She knew what he was silently requesting and – to her credit – turned around herself to hide the magic of her bag as she pulled out an impossibly unfolded piece of paper. Harry thought maybe a severed snake would be an awesome tattoo for Neville to get, or on a more somber note, perhaps something to honor his parents. However, he was surprised as he saw that the paper had a photograph of a flower on it. Harry internally panicked a bit as she turned back around to hand the item to Neville, who would in turn show it to the person who'd asked.

The woman – to her own credit – was a little bewildered by what had just happened and how the paper was so neat despite however it had been carried here, but she brushed the confusion off within moments and took a closer look.

"Does this flower have any particular significance to you?"

"It's Sanguinaria canadensis," Neville explained, his pronunciation of the Latin species name flawless after years of learning similarly tricky, non-English spell-words. "Or," Neville continued, "Bloodroot. It's perennial, meaning even if it looks like it's dying every fall, by the time spring comes around its survived the harsh winters and it blooms so beautifully. It comes back. It's a fighter flower," he explained with pride, like he was truly impressed by how awesome the flower was.

Harry smiled, realizing how much Neville really did love plants.

"Come on," Luna then said, gently grasping Harry's hand. "Neville is ready to be alone. From our research, the transference of the flower to his skin will take a significant amount of time."

The woman who had been speaking to Neville had heard what Luna said, and so she chimed in. "Yes, it might take us about three hours total to pull this off, including converting this flower into a tattoo-able drawing."

Neville nodded. "Go ahead guys! I'll see you later."

They headed out onto the street, Harry hoping to find maybe a nice rug for near the kitchen sink or a bookshelf, items his flat didn't yet have. He was looking in the store windows, as was Luna, both young adults scanning what was for sale in each place.

What ended up catching Luna's eye was not anything to turn Harry's place into a home. She saw a vintage clothing shop, and Harry felt sure, for a moment, that her eyes were literally twinkling in excitement to match the stars on her deep blue robes. She was beaming.

"Harry, could we please check out this shop, just for a minute? Or five?" she requested without making eye contact with him, her gaze still transfixed on what unusual things there were to wear in there.

"Sure," he said, thinking maybe, if they were lucky, she could leave wearing an outfit that blended in more with the rest of the Muggles, her robes perhaps tucked away magically into her bag. He began to approach where she was. Harry looked up to see what the place was called. The sign read Old-Fashioned. He smiled. What an appropriate name for this type of thrift shop.

As they walked in, they saw an elderly couple in the back, likely husband and wife, helping another customer judge whether a particular pair of light-brown shoes matched a light-blue pinstripe suit. There was no one else in the entire store, so Harry figured the elderly couple were the employees, likely hoping to make the sale with their previous customer there – likely pushing the idea that the shoes did match.

No one seemed to notice as the two friends entered, and Luna immediately was drawn to a tie-dyed pair of bell-bottomed pants. There were a bunch of denim ones, but her eyes were glued to the one tie-dye pair. She sucked in a breath in awe.

"What a gorgeous explosion of color," she commented in a near-whisper.

"You should try it on," Harry said. "There is some chance it could be your size."

"If it's not, I could fix that at home," she replied, clearly already with her heart set on owning the things.

"Ooo, and what is this?" Luna then said, a bit louder, her excitement taking her over. She was reaching out to touch a suede fringe vest. "It feels like an animal."

She had found herself particularly drawn to the hippie section, clearly. Harry smiled. "That's because it is made from the hide of animals like… cows."

The man had apparently decided to yes, purchase the shoes as well as the suit, and the elderly couple were leading him over to the cash register. It was only then that they noticed Harry and Luna.

"We'll be over to help you two out in a second!" the man kindly informed them.

"Thanks!" Harry replied quickly, not paying much attention but still, out of habit, wanting to be polite. His focus was on Luna's reaction to what he'd just told her. Her brow was furrowed, her fingers still touching the suede. "Oh, so like dragon hide," she said thoughtfully? "Like Professor Slughorn's briefcase," she said. "Only from a Muggle animal instead."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, and so sometimes Muggles turn leather into suede too," he said.

"Well I never liked Dragon skin much, but this cowhide feels so amazing," she said, still sliding her hand across the texture.

Harry was pleased that she was enjoying it so much. "You know, over there is the spot where you could try on those pants, and that vest. All you'd need is a shirt to go under it!" He pointed in the direction of the dressing rooms, but her eyes had already fallen on a loose, simple skirt. "Ooo," she said, clearly in love with it. It looked very worn out and the tag said it was being sold for only a few pounds. As Harry looked at it, he then realized he had not brought anything other than Wizarding currency. He had been expecting to go shopping on Diagon Alley. He heard the customer behind him finish getting rung up as he leaned in close to Luna and whispered, "Did you happen to bring any Muggle money?"

She kept looking through the options sold over here in the hippie corner of the store. Birkenstock sandals, beaded necklaces, a few simple shirts. "Oh, yes, Neville and I brought plenty. If you want to buy something, you can pay us back."

Harry was surprised. Apparently they had really planned ahead. "Great, thanks," he replied, sincerely appreciative.

Luna took the tattered skirt off the rack, joining the tie-dye pants in her arms.

"You know, you can only wear one of those at a time," Harry tried to warn her. He could just picture her now, a typical witch, trying to wear pants with the skirt over top, not realizing it was an "Either/Or" situation.

"Why?" Luna asked.

Harry sighed, not sure how to answer, and then simply said, "Well, I meant if you felt like following Muggle fashion-conventions, that's all. Do what you want, though," he reluctantly said, but the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement just the same. Luna was always very entertaining. "Really though," he added, "you need a shirt to go under the vest. Those things really can't be worn alone."

"But this young man on the sign is doing just that," she countered, pointing toward a very faded black-and-white photograph of a hippie dude with long flowing hair who wore a vest on his bare chest. It was laminated and being held up as one of three examples of how hippies usually dressed.

"Well, you're a girl," Harry said.

Luna scowled at him. She did not appreciate his sexism.

"No, I'm sorry, it's just… it's not generally… socially… acceptable…" Harry trailed off awkwardly. "Never mind," he said with a sigh.

Behind him, he realized the elderly woman was speaking in a hushed voice and as he turned around to look, he saw that they were looking at him and Luna. He listened intently, wishing he had one of Fred and George's Extendable Ears. As he thought it he felt a new rush of grief for Fred but he blinked away the tears that threatened to fall and decided to be practical and do what any Muggle would do to in order to eavesdrop – get closer. He wandered over toward where they were under the pretense of suddenly being very interested in a "1950's Bombshell Pink Ruched Chiffon Dress with Circle Skirt". Maybe he could pretend he was shopping for someone like his girlfriend, Ginny. Or maybe people would think Luna was his girlfriend, given how they'd entered the store together. Regardless, hopefully they'd believe he had some plausible reason to be looking at the fancy old dress. This one was insanely expensive, he noticed – and that was probably because it was in pristine condition and was made by some official designer guy Harry had never heard of – but he was only staring at the signs and price tag because he was putting a lot of effort into making it seem like all of his attention was not focused on what the woman was saying to her husband.

"It wasn't all bedtime-ish like that," she was explaining quietly, "and it looked a lot more ragged, like he might have been a homeless man who'd been wearing the same thing for a while, but some guy with a scruffy beard came in wearing that same kind of… what would you call it?"

The old man answered her. "Maybe… a robe? I have no clue where that kind of thing is fashionable, other than the bathroom," he said a little too loudly, before letting out a deep chuckle.

His wife shushed him.

"Stop it," she said nervously, and Harry wasn't sure where she was looking, because his eyes were both still on the Bombshell dress. He had a sneaking suspicion she was looking either directly at him, or at Luna – or glancing back and forth between both of them. "I know you don't want to be overheard," the elderly woman added.

"But anyway," she continued, "that man I saw a few years back, he was definitely wearing the same kind of robe, now that I think on it. And when I asked him his name it was something most unusual. Sort of like 'Cyrus', but more like 'Seeree'? I don't quite remember."

It was then that Harry realized that his godfather must have come into this shop. Harry could hardly believe it, but that was what he was hearing. Fresh out of Azkaban, Sirius Black couldn't risk being spotted, so the man had owned no clothes – this elderly couple's idea that he looked 'homeless' had actually been spot on, as well – but in case Sirius ever did want to be in his human form, even if he walked on the street as a large black dog most of the way, Harry could just picture what happened. Could just picture how his godfather figured out, somehow, that showing his face to these Muggles would be safe enough. Harry looked away from the vintage dress and wondered what kind of item the man would have bought. A Beatles T-shirt from the far corner? Clothes just a decade or two old that reminded him of his own youth? A hat from the rack by the door? Yes. Probably a hat, those are great for remaining disguised, even in plain sight.

He looked back over at Luna. He couldn't talk to this couple about what he had just overheard, however much he might want to. But he could stop his friend from purchasing the entire hippie section.

"I still need to look for a rug to put in front of the sink," Harry said. "I think I saw an oriental rug shop on this block. Come on," he said.

"I can just enchant your floor to not get wet," she offered as an alternative.

Harry smiled. "Yes, I suppose you could. But rugs are decorative as well as practical. I still need the decoration."

About half an hour later, Luna had paid for some vintage items, and, at Harry's urging, left the store wearing a newly purchased shirt under her vest and only the tie-dye pants, saving the skirt for another day. She had wanted to hide her robes in her magical bag, but Harry had begged her not to confuse the elderly Muggles who were – as it turned out – not just workers, but actually the owners of the shop. So at Harry's urging, Luna instead placed her robes in a basic Muggle shopping bag and left the store carrying it, just like any Muggle who changed their clothes while in a store.

Once back out on the street, Harry realized Luna looked happier than he'd seen her in months. "I guess it's fun acting like a Muggle?" he said with a grin.

"It is exceptionally pleasurable, yes," she agreed as she twirled the chain of her new peace-sign necklace around her index finger.

When the day was over, and they all were back at Harry's place, the group was pretty exhausted.

Neville had some sore, red skin with a bandage over it. He had chosen his chest to be the spot for his first tattoo. The artist he'd gotten had encouraged Neville, as a first timer, to maybe go for black and white, and to pick a fleshier part of his body so it would hurt less, but like a true Gryffindor, Neville wasn't afraid to face the pain, or for the tattoo to take a bit longer. He really wanted the symbol of being a survivor to be right near his heart. His friends were proud of him and excited to really see what it'd look like once it healed.

"I think I might get one of these symbols on my arm, one day," Luna said, fiddling some more with her necklace.

"They're called peace signs," Harry said. "And I think that would be lovely as a tattoo, Luna." It really would be simple, but very true to who Luna was. "Maybe next time, I'll get a tattoo with you," he added.

"Hey," Neville complained, an air of joking in his tone. "I had to get mine all alone."

Harry instantly was apologetic. "I'm sorry we lef-"

"No, Harry," Neville cut him off. "I was just teasing. It was cool. I'm just glad you spent the time so… wisely. I mean you managed to get so much new stuff!"

"Yeah, we did," Harry said.

Neville complimented Luna profusely on her new outfit, and Harry got up off of Lupin's couch, beginning to busy himself with arranging his three new rugs, two new lamps, and one new bedside table around his new home.

"Need some help, man?" Neville asked.

"No, I got it," he said, wanting to decide the exact positioning by himself, and not finding it all that difficult. So his friends chatted as he did it.

"Don't forget the bookshelf," Luna said just as he was finishing up with the other items. She then pulled the entire 3-shelf piece out of her bag, the magic still working flawlessly for even the largest items.

"I think I'll put it in the bedroom," Harry replied.

He was looking forward to reading before going to sleep each night, and figured that he would slowly but surely fill the shelves with an array of books. He'd never experienced being read to as a child, but Ron and Ginny had certainly grown up with bedtime stories, and Hermione too. Harry figured better late than never. He could, as an adult, start his own tradition of reading bedtime stories to himself, and having a bookshelf so close by would be very convenient.

This particular day had certainly been an adventure, just as Luna had predicted, and as Harry situated the largest of his new items along the wall across from the foot of his bed, he realized that it was a story he might one day tell his own children. Not a story from a book, but a story, just the same.