hello! this was born from the prompt 'sirius takes harry for his first tattoo only to find out it happened a while ago'. of course, because its me, i couldnt just write a simple humorous drabble and let it go, so you have this—an extremely sentimental and kind of intense work.

there's 3 chapters to this, the next one would be uploaded on Friday. its all written so make sure you follow to get a notification ok?

i hope yall enjoy it!

It was too late to back out now, Harry knew that. But that didn't mean he knew what to do either. The whole thing had happened so quickly- his head was still swimming at how fast he'd been bundled up and Apparated to the shop.

The tattoo shop. Where Sirius was almost bouncing on his toes in excitement at the thought of being the person to take Harry for his first tattoo. Something that had happened a while ago . And Harry didn't know how to bring it up to his godfather when he was looking so happy and carefree.

As Sirius went up to talk to the bloke at the counter, Harry drew a long breath and released it slowly. He'll get through this and then decide what to do. He wasn't under any illusions that he could hide the tattoos he already had from the man, but it was just a matter of how ( and when) to break it to him. And seeing the proud smile on Sirius' face as he gestured to Harry, he took the executive decision to do it later rather than sooner.

With that decision in mind, he got up, tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans and went to see what Sirius was saying to the poor man.

"—I've been looking forward to this day since the sprog has been born," he finished, and Harry had to bite his lip, hard , to contain the wince.

"'Lo," the man nodded at Harry. He looked like he was in his mid-40s, shorter than both Sirius and Harry, his arms and neck covered in a variety of colourful tattoos. Harry's heard somewhere that the best advertisement for a tattoo artist was their own body, and he had to agree seeing the display in front of him. It was beautiful , a mix of black-and-white and colourfulshading, almost as if a story was painted across his frame.

"Hello," Harry gave him a small wave in return, "I hope Sirius here hasn't been annoying you too much."

"Oi!" Said man cried indignantly, "I did not get you here for you to insult me like that."

Harry only winked at him cheekily, the familiar banter doing more to calm his nerves than anything else.

"Ah no, he was just telling me that this is your first trip, and to be extra careful." And just like that, reality crashed down on him. Right. First visit. He had to maintain the illusion.

"He's protective like that," Harry shrugged, "But uh—yes. I actually had a design in mind, if you wanted to-?"

He could feel more than see Sirius' surprise, which makes sense, considering how readily he'd come up with that. But if this was happening, then well, he'd had an idea brewing in mind for a long time. He just hadn't had the time to go and get it done, so this seemed like the perfect opportunity.

"Of course kid," the man leaned back to grab a sketch pad and a pencil, placing it on the counter between them, "Name's Brian, by the way."

"Cheers. I'm Harry," he replied absently, immediately opening the pad to a fresh page and sketching out his idea, all thoughts about 'maintaining the illusion' of being new at this pushed to the back of his mind. He wasn't the best artist out there, but he did well enough to pass in situations like this.

Sirius, who'd been silent until now, leaned over to take a look at his half finished work and let out a low whistle, "Well damn , pup. Here I thought I'd have to guide you through this, but seems like you're a dab hand at it already."

Harry knew he was joking, that it was his way of coming to terms with the confidence Harry displayed right then, but it still made his skin prickle with guilt at all that he hadn't told him. That he still wasn't telling him.

"I've just been thinking about it for a while," Which wasn't a lie . Just—not the whole truth.

This whole thing was so ridiculous, Harry thought morosely as he kept sketching. It's not like he meant to keep a secret like this. In the grand scheme of things, it was so trivial that it wasn't even worth hiding. He just—never found the right time to bring it up. Harry had got his first tattoo when he was 15, in the back of a shady hole-in-the-wall that didn't care about his age or that he had bruises the size of the continent under his eyes. He was angry, grieving, and depressed—the loss of the only person who'd ever loved him settled under his skin like a constant ache he couldn't get rid of. The guilt choking him every single night . The tattoo artist- Jen- had taken one look at him, the cash clutched in his trembling fingers, and the grief shrouded over him like a heavy winter cloak and led him right to her work station (which had, thankfully, been clean and sterilised. Harry knew enough about himself to know he would've still gone through with it even if it wasn't , but that wasn't a complication he'd needed back then). She'd handed him a bottle of cheap whiskey, 'for the pain', and only asked him what he wanted once. Through his stuttering words, Jen had somehow managed to parse his vision well enough (and he's still amazed at it years later, how well she did with absolutely nothing to work off of other than a traumatised teen's semi coherent ramblings and some badly drawn sketches). Three hours later, he'd walked out thirty pounds lighter with an aching shoulder, but feeling considerably more…settled than he had in weeks . It wasn't—It didn't make anything better , not really, and he would've definitely been better off with some actual therapy and human contact, but it was the best he could've done at the time. It channelled his grief into something more— concrete , something he could actually feel under his fingers. And that anchor, weird as it sounds, did a lot to help him out in those days when everything was out of his control. He would spend hours running his index finger over the raised lines just under his shoulder blades. It worked as an excellent grounding mechanism when he got too overwhelmed, which was basically all the time during those last two years of school. ( Coincidentally the same period he didn't have Sirius)

So yeah, the tattoo meant a lot to him. It wasn't one of those done in the spur of the moment deals where he either grew ashamed and tried to hide it or hated it. He just genuinely—forgot, in the chaos of the War and it's aftermath.

Sirius fell out of the Veil a few months after the Final Battle, and he had been utterly devastated to find out how everything had gone down in the end. Surprisingly (or not, to everyone except Harry) he'd been most upset about his absence from Harry's life- not the fact that he hadn't fought in the final battle, or that Dumbledore was gone or even that his oldest friend had died. He'd been—inconsolably guilty over leaving his godson alone yet again, and no matter how many times Harry had tried to tell him he didn't blame him, or that it wasn't his fault, he refused to believe it. In a way, this little excursion (and the consequent excitement) was almost entirely due to that guilt as well. Sirius wanted to make up for all the lost time, everything he hadn't been able to do for Harry, and if it meant pampering his godson to a ridiculous degree, then well, he'd argue that's what the enormous Black wealth was for.

It's why Harry didn't put up as much of a fight as he would've otherwise, he knows. He wasn't used to people spending money on him, or willingly wanting his company. It made him…uncomfortable, and he didn't know what to do with the attention. But this was Sirius, and he'd sit through any amount of discomfort for him. Besides, these things were slowly growing on him. He had to admit- grudgingly - that it felt good to be the sole focus of someone for once. To have another person listen to him, care for him, spoil him. He imagined this is what life would've been like for him if he'd actually grown up with Sirius like he was supposed to. Perhaps not as—rushed, because they would've had more time and less things to make up for but essentially the same at it's core- happy , full of love and laughter and spontaneity. (It takes everything in him, then, to keep the rush of anger from overwhelming him. Anger at the universe, the Wizarding World, Dumbledore - for keeping Sirius locked up and away from him. For taking away his chance at having a normal childhood- one where he didn't have to basically fight for his life.)

He shook his head slightly, remembering belatedly he was at the tattoo shop, his godfather at his elbow, and just having finished his rough sketch without needing to think much about it.

"So uh—yeah," he pushed the paper towards Brian, smoothing out the edges as he did so, "That's just like a…basic idea. I want like a sort of—band? Around my arm, just below the elbow." He pushed his sleeve up and pointed to the point he was talking about, the upper part of his forearm. The tattoo wasn't anything too complicated, just a simple geometric arm band. He deliberately left a good amount of space over it, because he had some thoughts about getting another tattoo of Hogwarts' silhouette right above this one, the band acting as the base for it. But that was for another time, and preferably at a Wizarding shop so they knew what he was talking about and didn't mess it up.

Brian was looking at the paper and nodding thoughtfully, clearly thinking of how to make it work, so Harry used that moment to sneak a glance at Sirius.

"Do you-um. Do you think it's okay?" He asked uncertainly, twisting his fingers in a nervous gesture. Just because he had a tattoo already didn't mean he didn't want his godfather's approval here, especially considering it was his idea in the first place.

Sirius didn't say anything for a few seconds, only scrutinising his face carefully. After an almost uncomfortably long pause, though, he gave Harry a small smile.

"As long as you like it and you're sure it's something you want on your body forever, then I have no objections, pup. I'm just happy to be here for this."

"I've given some thought to it, even if you didn't give me a second to breathe the way you dragged me here," Harry teased gently.

Sirius gave him a sheepish smile, "I'm sorry, Harry, I was—a little too excited, I'll admit. I've just been looking forward to this since the first time you drooled over my tattoos as a toddler and I made a promise to myself and your parents that I'd be the one to corrupt you when you grew up."

Harry cringed at that gross not-so-fun fact, "What do you mean drooling over your tattoos? All babies do that, surely?"

"Oh no no. This wasn't the usual putting-anything-in-reach-in-your mouth baby habit," Sirius laughed, "You would specifically go for my fingers only. Not even your mum or dad's. And you'd go straight for my knuckle tattoos. I'd had them for a few years at that point so we were all pretty much used to it. But then you came along, and you couldn't keep your hands- and your mouth- away from them, probably fascinated by all the inky contrast against my skin."

"Well, you do resemble a vampire on your best days…," Harry trailed off with a smirk, knowing how much the comment would wind Sirius up.

And he was right. Sirius had just puffed in indignation, looking ready to go off on a rant, when Brian interrupted.

"Well, if you just come in through here, then I think we can be done with this in a couple hours. It's a simple enough design, I'd say." He pulled open the curtain behind him, revealing a small but clean room already set up. Harry quickly darted in there, only pausing to stick his tongue out at his godfather behind him. He could hear the older man's barking laugh follow him into the room, making him smile.

Sirius bit his lip as he stared at his godson in front of him. Harry had his eyes closed, an almost relaxed half smile playing at his lips. Looking at him, you wouldn't think he was going through something as painful as getting a tattoo. And Sirius knew how that felt. He still remembered his first- he'd teared up, definitely not been as unbothered as the kid in front of him. James had been worse, he'd actually shed a few tears, no matter how much he'd tried to hide it afterwards. And sure, they were younger when they went through this than Harry was now, but that didn't take away from the pain of your first tattoo. Sirius would almost consider it a rite of passage.

So what was going on here?

Either Harry's pain tolerance was entirely too high for someone his age (which was a plausible option considering all that he'd had to go through) or, and just thinking this made Sirius' heart ache, this wasn't his first rodeo. He desperately wanted to believe that wasn't the case but all the signs were slowly pointing towards it- the way Harry had seemed baffled but not scared or anxious when Sirius had dragged him here, the coincidental way he'd just happened to have a sketch in mind, and not even being bothered by the pain? Yeah. Sirius could see where this was heading.

The only question that remained was this- why did Harry hide it from him? Did he think Sirius would disapprove? That he'd somehow scold or punish him? ( As if he'd even earned the right to discipline the boy , he thinks sadly, what with not being there for the majority of his life ). Sirius had been back from the Veil for a good few months now, and he was reasonably sure that Harry hadn't gotten a tattoo in that period (and didn't that raise some interesting questions?), so it should've been more than enough time for him to drop a casual 'oh by the way, I got inked a while ago.'

He might not have known how much Sirius was looking forward to taking him for his first tat (and how could he? Sirius had never been able to tell him that, not in the limited time they had together) but that still seemed like the kind of life update you gave someone who'd been out of the loop for a long time.

Sirius breathed out harshly, all this thinking was getting him nowhere. He still had just as many questions, if not more, and no answers to any of them. He would just have to wait until they were done here and ask Harry about it when they got home. He was just a little—apprehensive about it, s'all. Maybe there was an actual reason why Harry was—

"Seems like you're more bothered than your kid here," the tattoo artist -Brian- commented casually, without looking up from his work, breaking into his mental spiral. Harry's lips twitched at his words. At least he hadn't fallen asleep. Small mercies.

Despite his rather depressing thoughts, Sirius' couldn't help but smile at the choice of words. 'Your kid'. All this time and that still sent a wave of warmth through him. This was his kid. His wonderful, wonderful kid. Somehow, despite all of his massive fuckups, he'd really lucked out in life to get someone as fucking cool as Harry.

Realising he was getting lost in his thoughts again, he quickly replied, "No surprise there. Harry's always been a badass."

"Says the man who survived Azkaban," Harry retorted immediately, clearly forgetting where he was and who he was with.

"Ah—it's an extreme sports competition, back in my hometown," Sirius answered hastily at Brian's questioning look. Harry took that moment to shoot him a guilty look but he wasn't too bothered. It happened to the best of them, and this wasn't even that damning.

After that small exchange, the room became silent again. Harry closed his eyes once more, Brian had never once looked away from his work, and Sirius went back to scrutinising his godson.

Sirius had been— away for just over three years and when he'd come back, it was almost like looking at a completely different person. In that time, Harry'd gone and grown up, truly coming into his Potter genes. He used to be a fairly runty kid, all skin and bones and pretty short, only coming up to just under Sirius' chin. He knew a large part of it had to be poor diet (he wasn't blind to how he always came back from the Dursleys many pounds lighter than what he'd been) because James was a hulking man, in all honesty. He'd been one of the taller boys in their batch, and as he started playing Chaser and training with the Quidditch Team, he'd bulked up hard and fast. By their sixth year, he wasn't just tall, but the most muscled out of their entire batch and the one above as well. In contrast, Sirius remembered seeing Harry for the first time. Even as Padfoot, he remembered doing a double take at this tiny child who only looked like James Potter's descendant because of his hair and knobbly knees. In the months after, Sirius would often think that all the comparisons about Harry's resemblance to James were overblown because yes, while they shared many of the same features, the body proportions were entirely too off for them to be identical. (It was one reason why, despite what everyone else thought, he could never confuse the two. They looked too dissimilar for that.)

After the War, though. That is when he truly looked like James' twin. Again in so many years, Sirius was gobsmacked the moment he laid eyes upon Harry. It was obvious he'd gone through a rigorous potions treatment (Sirius had to fight back a fresh wave of anguish at what that implied and at missing yet another thing that was supposed to be his responsibility) because the first thing that drew his attention was the height. Whereas Harry could comfortably fit under Sirius' chin the last time they'd hugged, now he was a couple inches taller than Sirius. His muscles, which used to be more like a swimmers -lean and subtle- were now more…hulking, defined, visibly stretching his clothes (and it wasn't deliberate, like some people, like James , went for. Sirius could see that. Harry still dressed like he did when he was fifteen, for better or for worse).

However, there was one very crucial way in which Harry was not like James, and could never be. His eyes . Not just the color, but the— darkness in them. And even though James had been in a war as well, he had never gotten remotely as close to it as Harry had been, arguably for his entire life. He still had life, hope , left in him. Until the last moment, his laughter would still reach his eyes. Not like his godson, who was suffering for longer than any child ought to.

When Sirius first saw Harry, it was his eyes, even before the drastic growth spurt, that had truly caught his attention. They were so haunted, and even if Sirius hadn't known that his godson had endured some truly horrific things in life, just looking into his eyes would've given him a fair idea. Even now, there was this …emptiness in him, as if something had been broken and couldn't be fixed. It shattered Sirius' heart every time he had to see that expression on his godson ( one he saw in the mirror every single day. But Harry hadn't been in Azkaban for twelve years, he should've never known what that level of despair feels like) and perhaps that was one of the reasons he did outrageous things like this, trying so hard to make up for all the time he wasn't there. Harry deserved to be spoilt, deserved to get back at least some of the childhood that had been snatched from him, and Sirius would do everything in his considerable power to give it to him.

"Aaaaaand done," Brian's voice cut through his musings. Sirius glanced at his watch in shock, had it really gotten over so soon? But there it was. A whole three hours. Seemingly just like that. Huh. Time really flew when you weren't the one having to sit through the annoying pain of a needle constantly going in and out of your skin, huh?

Looking at Harry though, who looked as casual as any other day, you wouldn't think he had just gone through that either but well. Such was his life now.

"Woah," Harry whispered as he looked at his forearm. Sirius could see where he was coming from. The arm band was simple, but it sat nicely against his brown skin, and definitely highlighted the muscles in that area. There was a lot of blank space above it, though, that looked strategically left out and Sirius was itching to ask him the story behind that. One look at Brian, though, and he managed to keep his mouth shut. No more than one slip up in one evening, thanks.

"That looks real good, mate," Sirius added, more about the happy smile on his godson's face than the tattoo itself. All that mattered was that Harry was pleased, and he so visibly was.

The process after that was simple. Brian gave him instructions for aftercare and cleanup, and told him to come back immediately if there was anything funky going on. They thanked him and that was it. Easy from start to finish.

Getting home was equally simple- a basic Cloaking charm in a little alleyway and one Apparition later, they were at their cottage.

As the place came into focus, Sirius realised there was a…slightly tense atmosphere between them and mentally sighed. That basically confirmed his earlier suspicions. Clearly, there was something that Harry was keeping to himself (truly, Sirius didn't know how he'd lucked out this way, but he found himself probably the one teenager in all of Europe who couldn't, or didn't want to lie to him). He'd already started fidgeting with his fingers, usually the first tell.

Now, Sirius really did sigh out loud. Guess they'd talk about this before the day was done, then.

"Let's go in, I'll put the kettle on for us, yeah?" He smiled softly at Harry, wanting to reassure him. He needed his child to know that there was nothing that could get him in trouble. Even if he'd gotten a huge swarm of Cornish Pixies tattooed across an arse cheek, pissed as all hell, Sirius still wouldn't look at him differently. The way he saw it- he wasn't there when it happened, what right did he have to discipline him years after the fact?

Harry bit his lip, indecision clear on his face before he visibly steeled himself and nodded in assent. Sirius squeezed his shoulder once before dropping his hand, and made his way to the kitchen. He wanted to give Harry some space. He was smart enough to pick up on the obvious cues as well, but he wasn't one to back down so there would be a conversation happening. It just depended on Harry which direction it'll go in.

What do yall think harry's tattoo is? leave a review telling me what you thought!