For the third night in a row since he had broken the secrecy disc in Potter’s room Snape was awakened by the sound of Harry’s cries. The occlumency lessons were going well but did nothing to prevent Potter’s persistent nightmares. The keening sound of the boy’s grief grated on Severus’ nerves. It made him feel as if he was intruding on something that should have been private.

Previous nights he had simply waited for the boy to wake himself up but tonight he felt compelled to do something. As he entered the room he saw Potter curled up in a ball of pure misery. The young Gryffindor’s breath hitched as he sobbed into his pillow.

“Nooo, Sirius!” Potter moaned. His hands clutched at the sheets as he flailed about blindly. The sound of the boy’s teeth grinding together made Snape’s skin crawl. He moved quickly to the bed and put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. The boy was sweating and his skin trembled at his touch.

“Wake up, Potter,” Snape growled. He shook the boy lightly and watched as he clawed his way up through the shrouds of sleep. Startled green eyes opened wide and latched onto his. The boy jerked out of his grasp and rolled off the bed, wand already out and pointed at him. Snape stepped back and wondered if the boy woke up this way every morning in Gryffindor tower. The image of Potter waking up with his wand at a trembling Longbottom’s throat amused him considerably.

Waiting for the boy’s sleep dulled mind to catch up with the situation Snape scowled, uncomfortable with being on the business end of Potter’s wand yet again. The boy sucked in a few ragged breaths, glanced around the room, then lowered his wand. “What’s going on,” Harry grunted. His voice was an octave lower than normal.

“You were having a nightmare,” Snape said in clipped tones. He had no intention of getting into an emotional conversation with the boy. “It’s the third night in a row. This needs to stop.”

The boy scowled and picked up his glasses. “You wouldn’t be hearing me if you had left the secrecy disc alone.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “The idea is to fix the problem, not pretend it doesn’t exist.” He didn’t have the energy to bring up the occlumency debacle.

“You can’t fix me, Snape,” Harry ground out. “This is as good as it gets.” He scrubbed his fingers over his face and through his hair. Then the fight seemed to go out of him and he sank down to the bed. “I’m sorry I woke you. It won’t happen again.” He looked dully across the room and waited for the older wizard to leave.

With another roll of his eyes Snape said, “Get dressed. We’re going out.” Harry remained motionless, still staring blankly at the wall. Snape frowned in annoyance. “Potter?” The boy started and looked up at the potions master.

“What?”

“I said get dressed.” The boy looked confused. He still didn’t move. Snape grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. Still muzzy from being woken so suddenly, Harry staggered a little so Snape kept his hold on him and walked him over to the wardrobe. “Get dressed,” he repeated and gave him a little shove. The boy obeyed, reaching for jeans and pulling a jumper over his head. He shoved his bare feet into a tattered pair of trainers and turned to the older wizard.

“Good enough?” he said with his arms extended slightly.

“Comb your hair, it is atrocious,” snapped Snape. He mentally cursed the Dark Lord for killing the brat’s parents and putting him in this ridiculous predicament.

“Won’t do any good,” was the sleepy reply. The boy swallowed a yawn and combed his fingers through his unruly mop. The result was slightly less obnoxious than before and on par with most days Snape had seen. Patience exhausted, Snape growled low in his throat and grabbed Harry by both forearms. The action sparked Harry’s memory of a similar episode and he automatically pulled back. “Wait a minute,” he said, finally starting to look awake.

“We’ve waited long enough,” was the snarled reply. He jerked the boy close and with a nasty, wrenching sort of pop they disapperated. When they reappeared on a dark village street Harry yanked his arms out of Severus’ grip and backed away.

“What the fuck was that all about,” he spat as he rubbed circulation back into his upper arms.

Snape regarded him coolly for a moment then replied. “Your nightmares are not getting any better. You are losing sleep and are not able to properly cope with the loss of your godfather.” Harry flinched at the mention of Sirius. “I propose a possible solution.” With a tilt of his head he indicated the shop they had arrived in front of. It huddled between two buildings, appearing to shoulder them aside as Harry watched. The sign above it said ‘Magical Tattoos’ in flowing script.

Harry raised his brows in question and Snape gave a small nod to indicate he should enter. Intrigued, Harry pushed open the door. Inside he found a dark and dingy shop with nothing but a counter and a rather bedraggled, elderly man behind it. Not appearing to be surprised to see the two wizards at such a late hour the man shook back straggly gray hair and looked Harry over.

“So, lad, what brings you here to Wedden Cross?” he asked with a friendly smile.

Harry did not return the smile. Turning to Snape he said, “What brings us here, sir?” Snape gave him a look for his rudeness and faced the proprietor.

“Please excuse his lack of manners. We are here to enquire about a tattoo.”

Harry gave his professor a look of incredulity. “You brought me here to get a tattoo? I thought that was something that muggle boys snuck away from home to get. I’ve never seen one on a wizard.”

The man gave the potion master a grin. “Muggle born?”

With a shrug Snape said, “Close enough.”

“Well, a wizard tattoo is permanent like a muggle one but there’s where the similarity stops. It moves like a wizard photograph.” He shrugged. “It’s a lot of things, depending.”

“Depending on what?” asked Harry.

“It depends on the type of ink used, the magical strength of the subject and recipient, the skill of the artist, and of course the type of emotions involved in choosing the artwork. Really, the results are quite variable. A lot depends on you.”

Snape took Harry by the shoulder and turned him so they faced each other. “Wizards sometimes get tattoos to pay tribute to a comrade. The spirit of the departed may be captured in the artwork, much like in a painting.” He could see Harry thinking about the possibilities. “It is said that some find closure and forgiveness through this mark of respect for the fallen.” He caught and held Harry’s gaze. “I think this will help you with your grief.”

Open mouthed with shock, Harry stared at his professor. Snape could tell that assistance was the last thing the boy was expecting from him and it rankled despite his efforts to remain detached from this ludicrous assignment. He watched as various emotions paraded across Potter’s too expressive face: sorrow, fear, and finally hope all made an appearance.

Harry did not throw off Snape’s grip on his shoulder. He looked over at the proprietor and asked, “What do you need to do it?”

The man had stepped back to allow them some privacy. He now moved up to the counter and said, “A picture is helpful. Also if you have something that the person owned or gave to you, that will be beneficial as well.”

The young wizard looked reluctant. Severus could understand this, he knew Harry had kept Sirius’ existence secret for so long that it would be difficult to speak of it openly. “Go ahead, Potter. No reason to keep it secret now that he is dead.” The boy reacted as if he had received a blow. Severus mentally berated himself for the callousness of that statement as he watched Harry try to master his emotions.

He wondered about the wisdom of taking Dumbledore’s golden boy to be marked but dismissed it immediately. If the old meddler wanted things done his way he should have kept the brat himself. Potter needed some kind of absolution and he was certain that Black’s devotion to the boy would not have faded with his death. As much as he distrusted Black, Snape was certain the man would not fail him in this.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry, feeling strangely numb, reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. A picture of Sirius grinned up at him, waving and mugging. Harry glanced back up at the tattoo artist. It felt strange to share Sirius with anyone but the man’s kind expression convinced him and he held out the photo.

“He was an animagus. If you wait a bit he’ll change into his animal form.” Harry swallowed a wave of emotions that threatened to bring tears to his eyes. “That’s what I would like for the tattoo.” The last sentence came out rather strained but the man nodded and took the photo. He studied Harry’s face for a moment then turned to the picture.

Sirius obliged by promptly changing into Padfoot, with his tongue lolling out happily. Harry blinked back more tears as he watched Sirius’ carefree antics. He was looking at the floor, trying to master himself when the man placed the tattered photo back into his hands. “It’ll make a fine tattoo,” he said gruffly. Harry nodded, unable to speak right then.

The man stood and pushed his chair back loudly. That broke the tension in the room and Harry gratefully slipped the picture back into his wallet. He was hesitant to proceed as the idea of a tattoo reminded him of death eaters with their dark marks but the thought of keeping a bit of Sirius with him was tempting. The promise of easing a bit of his grief and loneliness finally swayed him. “Can we do it now?” he asked.

The man pretended to look around the shop for other customers. Harry was strongly reminded of the twins and a grin split his face despite the heaviness in his heart. “I think you are next in line,” said the man with a grand sweep of his arm. “Name’s Michael, by the way.”

“Harry,” said the Gryffindor, and they shook hands. Michael slapped Harry on the back in a comradely fashion. The boy began a silent countdown from ten as he removed his shirt. When he reached three he saw Michael’s brows join his hairline. He let out a little, “Gads!” of surprise. Without taking his eyes off Harry he quickly sat on the stool he had next to the counter. He grabbed two handfuls of his hair and rested his elbows on his knees, now staring fixedly at the floor.

After a few seconds of harsh breathing, Michael looked back at Harry. “And I suppose that picture was Sirius Black?” Harry nodded mutely. Michael puffed out a lungful of air then made an obvious effort to compose himself. He stood and took a few steps to the doorway and leaned there, facing outward. Harry could see his shoulders beginning to shake. Resignedly Harry reached for his shirt and began to put it back on.

“What are you doing,” came Michael’s voice just as Harry had the shirt covering his face. He pulled it the rest of the way down and replied.

“I assume you aren’t going to do the tattoo now,” he said tersely.

Michael smirked and Harry had a sudden urge to ask him if he was related to Snape. “Never assume,” he said with a laugh. “You know what that does. Now take off your shirt. If anyone is going to ink the famous Harry Potter then it had better be me.” Harry grinned and quickly pulled the shirt back over his head. Snape stepped forward and Harry started with surprise. He had forgotten the man was here.

“I assume you will keep Mr. Potter’s presence here to yourself,” Snape said ominously. “It would be most unfortunate if … certain parties… were to hear of his whereabouts.

Michael blanched but recovered quickly. “One of the rules of the trade. Complete confidentiality. Never you fear, Mr. Potter. You were never here.” Harry looked a little doubtful so Michael continued. “Wizard’s promise.”

Harry looked at Snape who nodded slightly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the knife Sirius had given him. “This was a gift from Sirius,” he said as he held it out to the tattoo artist.

“Great. You just hold on to that while I work. Try to think about him and the things you did together. It will strengthen the spell.” Harry nodded and lay down on the bench. Thoughts of Sirius swamped his emotions and he was glad to be facing away from Snape and Michael.

Several sweaty hours later, it was done. Michael sat back and surveyed the tattoo with a satisfied grunt. “Some of my best work,” he allowed, wiping blood and ink from Harry’s shoulder. “Now I must activate the spell.” Harry sat up stiffly and faced him as he explained. “The tattoo will bind with your magic as that is what will power it, so to speak. The depth of your feelings for Black and the strength of your magic will determine the way the tattoo will turn out.”

Harry stood and moved over to a small mirror on the wall. He half turned and examined the tattoo. It was beautiful and heartbreaking. Michael had captured Padfoot exactly as Harry remembered him. He looked at the artist and said quietly, “It’s brilliant.” Michael smiled and gestured for him to come back over to the bench. After Harry was seated facing away from him he took out a wand.

“This is the part that can be quite painful,” he warned. “The ink will connect with your magic and activate the tattoo. Are you prepared?”

Harry nodded and clenched his eyes shut, shoving memories of Sirius into the front of his mind. Michael raised his wand and with a complicated flourish he chanted, “Connectivus Ambulatorus!” A hiss of pain was forced past Harry’s clenched teeth as he arched from the power of the spell. He stood and stumbled away from Michael’s comforting hand.

Standing with his forehead leaning against the wall, he clutched his shoulder with his left hand and held his right fist against the plaster. Fingers of pain worked their way through him, seeming to search his body for something. He clenched his jaw, refusing to allow any more sounds to escape him. Acutely aware of Michael and Snape watching him, he tried to soften his ragged breathing as the pain continued to course through his body. Minutes dragged by and Harry began to wonder how much longer he could stand it without crying out. Finally, when he had begun to shake with the throbbing ache, it stopped. His knees gave out and he slid down the wall to the floor. He heard Michael stand up and leave the room, only to return moments later.

“Here, boy,” he said gruffly. “This’ll ease the tension a bit.” He held a small glass in front of Harry who had turned and leaned cautiously against the wall. His shoulder felt completely healed as he stretched his right hand for the drink. An amber liquid nestled in the tumbler. Michael handed another similar glass to Snape and kept a third for himself.

“Well done, Mr. Potter. Here’s to Sirius Black, long may he live in tattoo art.” Harry smirked but Snape’s glare kept him from voicing any comments about his low odds of survival. Michael downed the drink, Harry and Snape followed suit. The alcohol burned its way down to his stomach then lay there extending tendrils of warmth and relaxation to his tense muscles. Harry smiled as he imagined Sirius’ reaction to Snape drinking a toast in his honor.

After a few moments of silence Michael extended his hand to Harry and hauled him to his feet. Harry still felt a little shaken up but managed to stay standing. “One of the longest activations I’ve ever seen,” remarked Michael as he eyed Harry, obviously ready to steady the boy if needed. “Should be a very good tattoo by that indication.”

Harry stumbled over to the mirror and turned to examine his shoulder. The image of Sirius was now bounding around on his back, barking silently with enthusiasm. Harry’s eyes bulged and he looked over at Michael. The artist grinned and said, “He’ll settle down some with time.” Harry heard a soft snort from Snape.

Harry looked at the tattoo and smiled. “Wicked,” he whispered, feeling completely awestruck. He couldn’t wait for Ron to see it. A sudden thought struck him. “Michael, will muggles be able to see this? I’m working a summer job with them and this could be hard to explain.”

“Not to worry my boy. A muggle disillusionment spell is part of the price. Wizards will see the full beauty of your artwork but to a muggle it will look like one of their still tattoos.” He waved his wand and Harry felt a sensation like the time Moody had disillusioned him.

Harry paid and after a final satisfied look at Sirius leaping about on his back he donned his jumper and bade Michael farewell. The moon was waning as he and Snape exited the shop. An enormous sense of comfort infused him knowing that Sirius was watching his back. He already felt Sirius’ steadfast love replacing some of the guilt that had taken root in his heart. When Snape faced him preparing to apparate Harry felt overcome with gratitude. “Thank you, professor,” he said. His voice was thick with emotion.

Snape looked at him with a strange expression of relief. Harry wasn’t sure what that meant but he decided not to worry about it. The stars were still visible and he began to pick out the constellations. The dog star seemed especially bright and Harry smiled as he gazed up at it. He felt the tattoo’s connection, warm and comforting like one of Mrs. Weasley’s hugs.

A shadow fell across him. He looked over, still grinning. “Shall we go, Potter?” Snape asked snarkily. “Perhaps we can still salvage a few hours of sleep.”

Harry’s smile did not fade. “Yeah. I just felt like enjoying the stars for a while.”