Author's Note: This piece was written for A Devious & Diverse New Years Fest hosted by Kinks of Knockturn Alley (18+) on Facebook. This fest required the use of a prompt, a kink (or more) of your choice, and the overall theme of Body Positivity. The prompt I chose was "Knockturn Alley".


The first time Hermione Granger told me I was doing such a good job, I thought she was patronising me. If only I knew then what the witch's affirmations would do to me.

It all started after the war, when everything around me continued to go to shit. Father was sentenced to an extended stay in Azkaban. Mother was suffering the consequences of living with the Dark Lord, and the subsequent fall from grace within the eyes of many old family friends. She shut herself up in our Chateaux in France, and honestly, I didn't know how long that would last.

This left me to bear the brunt of public scorn and manage the family's estate ages before I was prepared.

Pulling myself out of the ashes of the war had been no easy feat; admittedly, it was something that I was still struggling with five years later—until I met her.

I had been marked–no, branded—by a megalomaniac. Torn to pieces by The Boy Who Lived. Endangered my peers that fateful night by letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts. There was more, of course, but that was the highlight reel that played in my subconscious.

Learning to live with the shame of my past sins was daunting.

I hated myself, I hated my body, and I hated the prospect of the future that had been expected of me since I was young.

In the wake of the war, there had been a real push to clean up the Wizarding World's seedier areas, with wide eyes on Knockturn Alley. At first, there was an uproar from the current purveyors, but they slowly shuttered or rebranded themselves in a new light as time went on. New shoppes and storefronts began to emerge with one, in particular, that piqued my curiosity.

A small otter swam back and forth through the name on the magical sign—Skin Deep—which only heightened my interest. I had always been fascinated by magical tattoos, and now that I had money to burn and scars to cover, I knew I had to check it out. It didn't hurt that I had heard rave reviews from my fellow Slytherins. To my dissatisfaction, the parchment on the door indicated that I must inquire via owl post for a consultation.

A consultation.

Who did this person think they were?


To Whom It May Concern,

I would like to schedule a consultation for a small, yet intricate piece on my forearm. You have come highly recommended by numerous friends, but other extenuating circumstances may make this an atypical design. Please let me know of your earliest availability and your willingness to work with me.

I await your response.

Draco Malfoy

Dear Mr Malfoy,

It would be my pleasure to schedule your consultation, and I have ideas as to the nature of your extenuating circumstances, but it is not my place to make assumptions. All consultations are to be held in strict confidence, and by showing up, you agree to this request. If you are amenable, please arrive at the shoppe, 10 am sharp on the 2nd of May, and we can discuss your ideas further.

Sincerely,

Skin Deep Tattoo


I should have known to expect the unexpected when the artist hadn't signed their name, but I thought it no different than the secrecy Knockturn was shrouded in before the war.


Preparing for my consultation was a bit harder than I'd anticipated. How do you balance the shame of the Dark Mark while still showing that you embrace your mistakes and are moving forward?

Tricky is what it is.

Pouring over the extensive section on flora in the Manor's Library, I had settled on a combination of Narcissus and Clematis amidst Lady Ferns to help overrun the darkness the mark exuded. Hopefully, there wouldn't be any issues adding to the brand; Merlin knows the Dark Lord might make the task difficult.

If this tattoo artist were all that I'd heard they were, it would be a non-issue. The idea of someone else bearing witness to the mistakes that I had made as an ill-informed child in such an intimate fashion was unsettling, but Mother always said—the only way out is through, Draco—and this was no different.

From what I had heard from Theo and Pansy, this artist could take any idea and turn it into more. They were dedicated to their craft and brought a new and different spin to traditional magical tattooing. The confidentiality clause, in response to my consultation inquiry, made their secrecy more palatable.

I also hadn't been prepared for the deep hatred with myself—and the scars I was ladened with—to flare to life as I examined my Dark Mark more thoroughly. Many nights were lost to night terrors and reliving the darkest times in my life. But this—this—was the first step towards acceptance and seeing myself in a new, less grim light.


The second of May had finally come, and as I approached Skin Deep, I felt more and more insecure with both my body and my choices. Not only had I dragged myself through the muck to plan for this, but the artist must have been fucking with me to schedule the consultation on the fifth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.

Nevertheless, I proceeded onward until I found myself under the curious sign above the shoppe door. Once I was close enough, I heard a distinct click, and the door swung open to reveal a thin, modern stairwell. Curious.

"Hel—"

Time froze, and I stopped dead in my tracks as I entered the foyer of the shoppe at the top of the steps.

None other than Hermione Granger was seated at a small desk overlooking the Alley.

Hermione-fucking-Granger.

"Hello, Malfoy. Prompt as ever." She motioned to her left without looking over, and my eyes caught on the vibrant sleeve adorning her arm. "Please have a seat on the chaise, and we can discuss your vision for your artwork."

From what I could tell, Hermione Granger hadn't changed much since the last time I saw her. After the war, she hadn't basked in the limelight that shone on war heroes, unlike her former friend—Weasley. Not many knew what happened there, but rumour had it they were volatile in all the wrong ways. Ultimately, they had chosen to separate too late to salvage any vestiges of friendship that had once been there.

Taking the time to drink her in as I crossed the room to the chaise, I noticed that her hair was still as unruly as ever, fighting to free itself from the intricate plait. Her posture was still perfect, reminiscent of when I sat behind her in the Dungeons—even her quill was positioned just so. The faintest view of ink crept up her neck only to vanish from sight just as quickly.

Reaching my destination, I settled myself on the chaise with a false air of confidence, but it was necessary to quell how off-kilter I felt. Going into my satchel, I withdrew my parchment and readied myself to be shot down in person. There was no way that a war heroine would be interested in helping me overcome my issues.

Swotty as ever, she immediately reached over and plucked the parchments from my hands, examining my rough sketches with keen interest. I had been sure to include magical copies of the botanical features, and when she noticed, she furrowed her brow.

"Look, Granger. If you've no intention of helping me with this, please don't waste my time." I consciously withdrew my arm from its previous position as she scoffed in my direction.

"Malfoy." Her eyes narrowed with contempt, and I was prepared for a verbal lashing of a different sort. "Don't be absurd. If I weren't legitimately considering taking you on as a client, I would have said as much in my correspondence. Speaking of, I assume, by your presence here today, that you agree to keep the nature of our business dealings—and my identity—quiet."

It hadn't gone unnoticed how she said the last bit—leaving no room for misinterpretation; it was more statement than inquiry. As I acknowledged her remark with a smirk and quick nod, the room briefly glowed, and I knew then that she had the space spelled to enact a binding oath at the client's confirmation.

"Very good, Malfoy. Now, onto the matter at hand." Granger shifted back into business mode, shuffling through the various parchments that I had placed on the small table with a much shrewder focus. "I see that you've come prepared for our discussion—I wouldn't have expected any less. Please remove your robes and roll up your sleeve."

We spent the better part of an hour in silence as she reviewed the sketches and compared my notes to those in a book she had retrieved from a bookshelf I hadn't noticed when I first entered the shoppe. Every so often, she would stare intently at my Dark Mark as though fitting pieces of a puzzle together in her mind.

Eventually, I felt the need to break the silence as her scrutiny, combined with feeling ill-prepared for her presence, placed my insecurities on high alert. Every time I tried to draw my arm back, she made a small noise to indicate her displeasure, and I immediately realised that I wanted to please her.

"How long can you look at the same things, Granger? Are you ever going to inquire about what I'd like?"

What she said next threw me for a loop.

"Do you trust me?"

"Do I—"

"Don't play games, Malfoy. You heard me correctly the first time. Do you trust me?"

Quickly assessing the situation, it seemed that this was the make or break point of the consultation. After everything that had happened in our past, trust was not a commodity that I traded lightly.

As my mind continued to whir, I heard myself respond. "Of course."

She nodded and sucked the tip of her quill into her mouth before swishing her hand through the air and wandlessly making copies of my sketches. She muttered something under her breath while running her fingers slowly along the mark on my arm until she wrapped her small hand entirely around my wrist. As she traced the lines, a replica of the Dark Mark appeared on her parchment along with the curvatures of my limb on full display. Her touch was light, and I couldn't help but imagine how many others she'd stroked so casually.

After another extended period, wherein I watched as she flipped back and forth through her copy of Madge Birchwick's Mystical Flora for Tinctures, Tonics and Potions, she began to etch out her take on my vision.

What had initially started as a simple Narcissus design, with Clematis and greenery around only the skull, soon grew into something much grander. It seemed as though she had picked up on my intentions to place my conscience on my sleeve, in the most literal of fashions.

Using the snake as her guide, she twisted rows of Foxgloves into a set of lungs that ran adjacent to the bottom half of my mark.

Healing.

Pain.

Insincerity.

Insecurity.

Last I had heard, Granger was no Legilimens, but it was as though she knew my motives for covering the mark, as though she could feel the depth of the hatred I reserved only for myself and etched it onto the parchment as if it was nothing.

Healing through pain.

Insincere actions to cover the insecurities that ran deep.

I watched as she furrowed her brow once more and tilted her head slightly to the side, deep in thought. After carefully examining her work thus far, she drew her lip between her teeth. I was taken aback when she began to add what looked like a King Protea to the mouth of the snake.

Courage.

Daring.

Transformation.

"Granger, what—"

"You said you trusted me, Malfoy. Give me a few more minutes, and we can see what this will look like when the time comes for placement." She cut her chocolate eyes to meet mine over the parchment between us. Her gaze softened, and with a hint of a smirk on her lips, she added, "You've done a much better job with this process than I thought you would."

Her words sent an all too familiar jolt through my body, and it didn't help that I had already begun to examine Granger in a new light throughout the consultation. Clearing my throat—most certainly not my mind—I shifted in my seat and waited for her to finish the final touches of her sketch.

Taking my hand in hers, she waved her free hand over the finished piece and then again over my forearm, twisting and turning it so that the drawing lined up perfectly.

The flowers surrounding the skull were intermixed while the ferns crossed behind the skull and came to two points on opposite sides. Upon closer inspection, the Foxgloves appeared to inflate and deflate in sync with my breathing pattern, and the flowers throughout slowly unfurled, bloomed, and closed once again.

"It seemed as though you had a specific vision, and though I may have… added some things, I hope these additions align with your end goal."

Growing up, Granger was nothing short of insufferable when it came to lessons and coursework. Here and now, though, she applied that same rigour to her craft, and it was anything but. It was apparent why she came so highly rated, even if no one could disclose her true identity to future clients.

"Your additions far exceeded my initial vision, honestly. I quite like it. Though, I must say that I was a bit shaken at the addition of the King Protea."

At that, her smirk widened as a mischievous look crossed her face. "I find it fitting if my understanding was correct. As I said in my correspondence, I do try my best not to make any assumptions. My last inquiry regarding the tattoo is if you intend it to be greyscale or colour? You have the perfect skin tone to contrast either."

"I thought colour would do. If I may ask, how did you find yourself in this line of work? I always envisioned you at the Ministry or working to save the underserved. Seeing you sitting up here almost put me in a state of shock." As if to prove my point, I let my eyes roam over the floral sleeve on her left arm, catching momentarily on the crude word I had once apologised for, still etched into her skin.

True to her house, she had positioned the word—Mudblood—within the Sword of Gryffindor, and had vines with deep red Amaryllis creeping up the blade. If she noticed, she didn't mention it. I hadn't expected her to respond so I was shocked when she spoke.

"Growing up I always loved to draw as it was something that I was able to fully immerse myself in without too much thought. Even at Hogwarts, I was able to find time between lessons to take in the landscapes from the turrets or get lost in the finer details of the Common Room. My dad had a love of traditional tattoos and had quite a few too. They always fascinated me, and imagine my surprise upon entering the Magical community to find that tattooing was a sacred form of art. After what we went through as children, I just couldn't see myself working for an institution that was so easily corrupted. How would I ever know that my work was meaningful? Here, I'm able to do something that I love—something that I'm genuinely good at—while helping people cope with the traumas we all faced. Not every tattoo is that way, but I find ones like yours to be the most meaningful. What more can I ask for?"

"It seems as though you've found quite the niche for yourself here in Knockturn. And, it appears that you've been able to infuse a bit of your brilliance into your art. I'd never seen a tattoo in motion before your work began to adorn my friends' bodies. Caused quite the stir, if I'm not mistaken."

Her eyes glittered as she laughed, a full-bellied laugh, nothing like the reserved showings of the women that I grew up around. "Well, Malfoy. I think that's enough for today. How soon would you like to get started on this? I believe that it should take two to three sessions, depending on if there are any unexpected… side effects associated with the selected location."

After confirming that I would be back next week, I gathered my items and began to head for the door. Looking back over my shoulder, I caught Granger giving me a once over, and I smirked when her eyes finally made their way back up.

"Don't look so smug, Draco. You know that you've always been easy on the eyes." Her smile held no shame. "Today was quite enjoyable. I look forward to seeing you next week."

The slip of my given name didn't go unnoticed by either of us, and with that, I made my way down the stairs and out into Knockturn Alley. It seemed as though I was one step further on the road to acceptance, and it only had a little bit to do with the confidence of the curly-haired witch watching me from her window.