What lies in our wake

Severus listened to the soft sound of the magical tattoo needle in his hand. There were no other noises in the room, save for the breathing of two different people. There was no conversation, which suited him just fine. He did not need to speak while he worked.

Even though tattooing itself was not actually his main occupation, he would spend the entire day doing nothing else. His real business—the one he had had to fight the Ministry hard for permission to open at all—was the removal of tattoos. Magical or otherwise. Whether they had been inked into the skin or hexed onto a body.

Naturally, there were not many former Death Eaters walking free who could make use of his services. But as it had turned out over the past year, there were plenty of other people who, for one reason or another, wanted to be rid of their tattoos all the same. Muggle ink was, in principle, the simplest to remove—if one knew how. Magical tattoos, on the other hand, came with significantly greater complications.

He himself used ink that he brewed individually for each client, and he very much doubted that anyone else would be able to figure out particularly quickly how to remove it again.

The man lying face down on the cot in front of him knew that as well. If he allowed Severus to tattoo him, it was not something that could simply be undone.

In general, Severus made a point of providing thorough explanations before every tattoo he agreed to do. He did not support impulsive decisions under any circumstances. He accepted no drunken clients, no minors, and no idiots—which, naturally, was entirely subject to his own judgment.

Which placed the client whose back he was currently working on into a category he admittedly would never have assigned him to himself.

Harry Potter. That was the name on the contract. Incredibly so. And of course, Severus’s very first reaction when the man had stepped into the shop had been to wordlessly point at the door the moment he recognised the unruly hair. Only Potter – naturally - had not simply left again. Instead, he had approached Severus and laid out several individual sketches in front of him, none of them particularly well done.

„I need your help“, he had said, and although Severus had not wanted to, he had inevitably looked at the drawings—and had understood almost at once that Potter had not stumbled into his shop because of some short circuit in his brain. There was work behind them. And a damned great deal of thought.

„I’m not good at drawing“, Potter had explained, entirely unnecessarily. „If… if you don’t want to tattoo them on me, then… maybe you could at least help me with the images.“

That was the point at which Severus would have very, very much liked to hurt Potter very, very badly. The request was, after everything that had happened, more than brazen. Disrespectful, insolent, and utterly shameless.

„Why these images?“ he had asked instead, before he could stop himself.

„Because I don’t know how else to leave them behind“, had been the crushing answer. „I, uh… I talked about it with my therapist. He thinks it’s questionable, but entirely possible that the symbolism might help“, he had added quietly, but honestly.

„So they are meant to go on your back?“

Potter had nodded and rolled his shoulders.

„They will always remain a part of me, but they are behind me. I don’t want to be able to see any of them myself. I…“

He had clearly struggled for words, but Severus no longer needed them. Tattoos - provided one did not decide on a whim to have some piece of nonsense inked into one’s skin, or to take on the Dark Mark - were, as a rule, a deeply personal matter. One that often revealed a great deal about a person’s inner life. This case was no exception.

At the time, Severus had not been certain whether he would truly tattoo Potter after all - also because he could not be sure he would be able to keep the needle steady enough. They might have been Potter’s nightmares, but quite evidently, they shared a few of them.

„It will take time to draw this properly, to a standard that meets my expectations“, he had merely grunted then, folding his arms across his chest.

„I’m in no hurry. There’s plenty of other rubbish I can work through in the meantime.“

And why had Severus believed him without question? That Potter had actually brought himself to seek help had surprised him—and, he had to admit, impressed him. As much as he disliked acknowledging it, he did not only share the occasional nightmare with him, but a number of traits as well. They both had a tendency to do things their own way when in doubt. They were both stubborn. They were both wounded, and had suffered too many losses.

And somehow… in the end, he had nodded.

„You will pay me, and I have time on Saturdays to draw with you“, he had stipulated. „One thousand Galleons per day.“ Not that he would normally earn that much - but Potter wanted something from him, and he would take care to give him exactly that, for appropriate compensation. In the end, Potter was likely paying for Severus’s nerves more than anything else.

Nearly ten weeks had passed since then. Eight of those Saturdays had been spent buried in the drawings, often enough well into the night. Severus had drawn the individual images and eventually combined them into one large composition that would, one day, cover Potter’s entire back—his shoulders and his sides, all the way down to his hips. From the hairline at the nape of his neck down to the crease of his arse.

To that end, Severus had had Potter standing half-naked in front of him more than once, had laid out and adjusted the massive template, and familiarised himself with the nature of his skin. It was an intimate process - not only because it revolved around the state of his soul. He had to know every scar, every mole, every other irregularity, and even Potter’s complexion played a role, since Severus brewed his ink himself and always tailored it perfectly to each client.

The result was a flawless piece that would not fade significantly even over long periods of time or under external influences. Should Potter ever decide that he wanted to be rid of it again, the most sensible course of action would be to separate his body at the neck.

In the previous week, they had applied the design as a test for the first time, and Severus had set one or two fixed points he would be able to orient himself by in the future, before they had finally discussed the colours. Even though he had explained to Potter that colourful, magical ink caused considerably more pain, and that, due to the interaction involved, he would not be allowed to take any pain potions for the duration of the entire procedure, Potter had still insisted on using several colours.

He wanted to manifest his nightmares on his back ‚realistically‘.

Just as well that he would not be able to see it himself - Severus already felt ill at the sight of it in black and white alone.

Today, they were finally working on the outlines, and Severus focused solely and exclusively on his lines, on guiding the magical needle, while Potter lay face down in front of him and simply remained silent. He had been quiet for most of the time anyway, watching Severus draw and only occasionally interjecting something. Severus’s near-perfect visual memory made it unnecessary for Potter to remind him of many details.

There were one or two things Severus had simply never seen, however - and for those, Potter had come up with a solution that was as simple as it was cruel: Legilimency.

Severus had refused, but Potter had had a half-hysterical fit because Severus’s version of the idiotic locket had not been entirely accurate, and in the end, he had given in - for a hefty surcharge. Of course, Potter was still utterly hopeless at Occlumency, which meant Severus had ended up seeing far more than he would have liked. One had to be exceedingly disciplined to show someone only a single, specific thing.

At least Severus had taken the opportunity to look at everything he might still need in the future, even if Potter had been completely spent afterwards. The man really was a wreck—but then again, Severus supposed he should not complain. After all, the same could very well be said of him.

He wiped blood and ink from Potter’s back with the cloth and straightened, rolling his shoulders back.

„That’s it for today“, he declared.

Potter blinked sluggishly before carefully pushing himself upright, his lips twisting slightly. „Stand still“, Severus ordered, spreading the salve he had prepared generously across Potter’s back.

„What does it look like?“ Potter asked quietly.

„The outlines are completely finished.“

„Wow… you’re fast.“

„Don’t kid yourself“, Severus countered. „We’ll be at this for weeks yet. Outlines go quickly - the filling takes time, not to mention the shading.“

„All the more reason to come here more often.“

„Don’t tell me you enjoy this.“

„Why wouldn’t I?“ Potter asked, turning towards Severus once he had let go of him. „You seem to be the only person who even remotely understands why I want this in the first place. It’s quiet here, and I don’t have to talk to anyone if I don’t want to.“ He shrugged, then winced slightly.

In that sense, he was probably right. And, admittedly, Severus no longer found his presence quite as bothersome. He had become far calmer compared to before—almost withdrawn into himself.

„We should have taken a break earlier“, Severus said instead of pursuing the matter further when he noticed Harry trembling. „I told you beforehand that tattooing is extremely taxing on the body.“

Quite apart from the fact that Severus himself had not eaten anything all day either, and his stomach was by now residing somewhere near his feet.

Potter frowned as he slowly reached for his shirt.

„I could invite you to dinner“, he suggested. „There’s a good restaurant nearby.“ He grimaced noticeably as he carefully pulled the fabric over himself.

„Do you think you’ll manage?“ Severus asked sceptically.

„I’ll have to eat something and sit somewhere anyway. And I don’t usually walk around my flat half-naked, either.“

„Just wait until we get below the waistband.“

The restaurant really was not bad at all—clearly upscale, which explained why Harry had conjured a jacket before they arrived. Fortunately, Severus did not have to concern himself with such matters; he was, after all, always properly dressed. In the studio he had only worn a black shirt, but when they left it together, he had pulled on his frock coat out of sheer habit.

The interior, done in dark browns and cream tones, was easy on the eye. There was ample space between the individual tables, and the lighting reached every part of the divided room. The classical music in the background was unobtrusive, and although the restaurant was well frequented, the conversations of the other patrons were little more than a soft murmur. This was not the sort of place where one was served a heaping plate meant to leave one full, with the option of having the leftovers packed up if it did. Here, every plate was a small work of art.

They sat down at the table indicated by the waiter, Potter draping his jacket over the back of the chair, and—admittedly—Severus found it a little too warm as well, so he removed his frock coat, too. He did think it somewhat at odds with the establishment to misuse the chair back in that manner, but very well. He had no desire to return to the entrance to hang it up properly.

„Personal experiment?“ Potter asked, when Severus rolled his sleeves up slightly, granting him his first unobstructed view of Severus’s forearm.

It was, of course, none of his business. And yet, after having spoken with him so often and at such length about his own nightmares in the form of images, Severus felt no real aversion to speaking to him about it in return.

„It may seem absurd, but once my forearm was free of ink, something was missing“, he explained, even mustering the resolve to continue. „You do not see the true motif. No one does, unless I want them to.“ To Potter, it was nothing more than interwoven - if elegant—lines of black ink. Ornamentation without meaning.

Potter tilted his head, studying him and his arm.

„Can you see it yourself?“ he asked, rather than posing the obvious question - what it truly depicted.

„The spell does not work on me. It never works on oneself. One knows one’s ugly sides, even when they are disguised.“

Menus were handed to them along with glasses of water and small baskets of bread.

„Why did you become a tattooist?“ Potter continued, opening the menu.

„Is this where the small talk begins?“

„If you didn’t want that, you shouldn’t have agreed to have dinner with me“, he said with a faint smile. „Besides, I really am interested.“

„I did not become a tattooist. That merely resulted from it. My primary concern is removing tattoos - be it the faded Dark Mark or other abominations.“

„And did that help? Or was it merely another way of covering things up?“

Severus frowned deeply. Potter asked the question without accusation, without mockery. He sounded far more… hopeful. Hopeful for Severus.

„I laboured under the mistaken notion that it would allow me to integrate more easily into society. It is good that it is gone, but it did not serve that purpose“, he said, rather than answering the question directly.

„Mmh“, Potter murmured softly, taking a sip from his water glass with trembling hands. Clearly, during the next sessions they would have to take breaks. If the outlines alone were already this exhausting for him, the rest would only be worse - especially once the colours came into play. „Do you at least like the new tattoo?“

„I do“, Severus agreed. That it also served as a form of self-flagellation was not something Potter needed to know.

„It’s strange. I used to think Sirius was the only tattooed wizard. Ever since I decided to get one myself, I see tattooed people everywhere.“

„Try asking in Azkaban“, Severus said coolly.

Harry shrugged.

„They’re not allowed to remove the prisoner number, are they?“

„After fifteen years—provided the person did not commit any further offences after their release.“ Which, in effect, meant that most of them would never live to see that day. At least not those who had committed truly serious crimes and had been in Azkaban—or, more accurately, still were. For a very, very long time yet.

Potter nodded and then fell silent again. He was silent so loudly that even Severus found it uncomfortable.

„Where do you live?“ Severus asked eventually, once they had placed their order.

„Grimmauld Place“, Harry replied quietly, clearly uncomfortable.

„Have you renovated it?“ Severus pressed, frowning.

„No.“

„Why do you put yourself through that?“ He could not, for the life of him, understand it. Severus himself did not exactly live in a luxury villa either, but his flat was clean and bright.

Harry lifted his shoulders slightly.

„I don’t know where else to go“, he answered, as depressed as the answer itself. „Everyone around me has started leading a proper life. They’ve left the war behind. While I far too often feel like it hasn’t ended for me at all yet. And… that I remind people too much of those things when I’m around.“ He hesitated. „No one comes to Grimmauld Place. I don’t disturb anyone there.“

Severus studied the man, who spoke with hunched shoulders and lowered gaze, sounding like a child being blamed by adults for their misery—despite having done nothing to deserve it. Merlin, the comparison was probably not even that far removed from reality.

„Does anyone even know what you did to make their future possible?“ Severus asked quietly.

„What for?“ Harry looked up at him. „It was no more than what was expected of me. Even if no one ever said it out loud.“

As bitter as the words sounded, they were likely true in the end. All of England had relied on the assumption that Harry Potter would save them. Severus knew they had asked behind closed doors, Why isn’t Potter doing something?—while the boy had barely been grown at all.

„Do you know what you owe them?“ Severus asked.

Potter looked at him, puzzled.

„Nothing“, Severus stated calmly. „You never did. Of course… it was necessary to remove the Horcrux from you - but beyond that? Nothing. None of it should ever have been your responsibility. Not the search for the others, not the fight against the Dark Lord. It was not your task to protect the Philosopher’s Stones, to battle Basilisks, to apprehend murderers and traitors, to stand up to the Ministry, or to do any of the countless other things you have done over the years. And it is most certainly not your task now to make yourself scarce, simply so as not to remind people that a child was forced to shoulder all of this.“

Potter blinked at him outright, clearly somewhat overwhelmed by the torrent of words - one that nearly exhausted Severus’s usual word quota for an entire week. At last, he took a deep breath and lifted his shoulders again.

„Maybe“, he muttered. „But I don’t have any control over how people feel about it, and I find it hard to bear constantly feeling unwanted. You only tolerate my presence because I pay you.“

Severus straightened involuntarily.

„That is not true“, he said, faster than he could think.

Potter gave a crooked smile.

„You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better.“

„Do you really think I would?“

„Contrary to your assumption, I do not consider you a bad person“, Potter stated calmly. „So why wouldn’t you?“

„You do not consider me a bad person, yet you still believe I am wasting my time for your money? Had I not wanted to help you, you could have offered me your entire family fortune and I would not have done so. I understand what drives you. I know why you want this tattoo. That is the reason I am helping you. Neither out of greed nor out of mercy.“

That it made the matter all the more reprehensible that he accepted Potter’s money regardless was an entirely different issue.

Potter’s features fell in on themselves again, but he nodded.

„I know. That’s why I wanted to come to you in the first place… and was hardly brave enough to do so at the same time. That still doesn’t mean you enjoy spending time with me.“

„I do not enjoy spending time with anyone“, Severus stated. „And yet, here we are.“

That seemed to make even less sense in Potter’s mind.

„Why is that?“ he asked, leaning back slightly as the starter was served—a vast plate bearing a tiny work of art made of salad. „Not everyone in England considers you a traitor and a liar.“

„You know why“, Severus grumbled in response, even though Potter looked utterly clueless on the whole. „I have made the mistake of opening myself to other people twice in my life. Once, I hurt myself. Once…“ He waved a hand dismissively. Once, it had resulted in twenty years of misery and suffering.

„Are you afraid?“ Potter asked quietly, genuinely perplexed.

„Courage is not the trait one typically associates with Slytherin.“

„What nonsense.“ Potter shook his head emphatically. „You lived an incredibly dangerous life for years and risked your life again and again - for other people, no less. For the very people we were just talking about because of me. The people who felt nothing but contempt for you. You stood in front of Voldemort, looked him in the eye, and told him exactly what he wanted to hear, even though it wasn’t true. Show me someone braver than that.“

Potter had lowered his voice enough that only Severus could hear him, but he spoke with more energy than Severus had seen from him at any point over the past few weeks.

„That was simply my task“, Severus waved it off, clearly uncomfortable.

„Just like it was my task - the one you just praised.“

Severus’s brows lifted of their own accord. Put that way…

„Perhaps we should start a club“, he sighed at last, reaching for his fork.

„Hm. The Blokes Who Had a Task Club?“ Potter suggested dryly, picking up his cutlery as well, and for a few moments, they fell silent.

„So what now?“ Severus pressed, after he had finished his plate. „Do you go straight home, sit in the dark in an armchair, and stare into the night?“

„More or less“, Potter muttered, lingering surprisingly long over the small salad. „Possibly interrupted by Kreacher’s muttering while he believes he’s cleaning the house and only manages to make it dirtier.“

„Merlin“, Severus sighed, leaning back. „You are depressing. By comparison, I almost feel like I have a proper life.“

The younger man gave a crooked smile.

„Let me guess. Yours goes much the same - only you have a book for company.“

„They’re not particularly demanding companions. And no one mutters in the background.“

Harry finally cleared his plate and leaned back as well; it was promptly taken away.

„Rather sad, isn’t it?“ he said thoughtfully. „I mean… why do we put ourselves through this?“

„Too proud for suicide.“

Harry’s mouth twisted visibly.

„Hopefully not. I mean…“ He hesitated, clearly wrestling with himself. „I still have hope that it will get better eventually. Don’t you?“

And that was something Severus truly had to think about. It was a question he deliberately avoided confronting. He was a little afraid of the day the answer would be no.

„Nothing changes if one does nothing to change it“, he replied instead.

„But we are doing something. We’re talking to each other. Depressive undertones aside, actually quite well. I think my therapist would chalk this up as a considerable success after the past few months.“

„Shall we buy wedding rings, then?“

Harry grinned - for what felt like the first time since he had walked into Severus’s shop. Genuinely so; even his eyes narrowed with it.

„Perhaps you could invite me for tea first“, he shot back. „It would also be strange to marry someone I still address formally. Rather medieval“, he added, amused.

„We still have four courses to get through. Who knows—if you manage not to get fatally on my nerves until then, I might be persuaded to consider one or the other.“

~°~

Severus’s fingers stroked gently over soft skin. Even after all this time, he was still grateful that the method he used for tattooing never left scars behind. In Harry’s case, the skin might have been even softer than before - simply because he enjoyed it when Severus applied the ointment. Much like he responded positively to every small gesture of care.

He opened his eyes and blinked into the pale, cool morning light filtering into the bedroom through the window. Outside, thick flakes drifted down in utter silence. A Christmas morning, with snow.

He smiled involuntarily and turned more fully towards the body beside him. Harry lay flat on his stomach, only one arm draped over Severus’s hip before slipping limply back onto the mattress. His face was buried deep in the pillow, leaving Severus to wonder—once again—how the man managed to breathe at all. He looked completely worn out, which was perhaps hardly surprising, considering how the previous evening—already well past nightfall - had ended.

Still smiling, he traced the enormous tattoo covering half of Harry’s body with his fingertips. It had taken an eternity to finish it to perfection. Now, all the many symbols merged into a single, vast image. Slytherin’s locket, Ravenclaw’s diadem, Hufflepuff’s cup, Tom Riddle’s diary, Nagini, and the Gaunt ring—along with a lightning bolt—each split apart by the Sword of Gryffindor. The hilt began at Harry’s right shoulder, the blade’s tip ending just above his right buttock. The two crossed wands, surrounded by red and green, occupied his left shoulder blade, and behind it all loomed the silhouette of a burning Hogwarts.

It was a damn masterpiece, regardless of how dreadful the story behind it was.

The doe and the stag, curled protectively around one another, had been added later, filling the back of his neck entirely—something Severus liked far better than the tower spire that had originally been there. What a blessing it was that he worked with his own ink, making that change possible even later on.

The basilisk coiled along Harry’s left ribcage, almost reaching forward to his chest; the Philosopher’s Stone shimmered red between two protective, ringed hands. The small head of the werewolf was nearly lost within the overall composition, half obscured by the black quill. Yes, it was terrible - but viewed without grief, it was beautiful as well.

Severus let his hand trail along Harry’s side, which inevitably made him roll onto his side and curl up against him.

„Wake up, sleepyhead“, he purred, pressing kisses to his temple. Harry grumbled in reluctant protest.

„A thousand Galle’ns if y’let me sleep“, he mumbled sulkily.

In three months, your fortune will be my fortune anyway - so that won’t tempt me“, Severus assured him dryly, slipping his hand under Harry’s arm to his stomach and tickling him.

Harry hissed softly and in the very next moment latched onto Severus’s body, squashing his nose against his shoulder.

„So cruel.“

„Don’t you want to see your Christmas present at all?“ Severus coaxed, stroking his hair. Every time Harry made an effort to engage with his few social contacts, he was completely wiped out afterwards. It was still so difficult for him to interact with people outside their small, comfortable bubble. Yesterday, he had spent the entire day—from breakfast until after dinner—with the Weasleys. That was, in itself, a good thing—but it left Harry utterly drained afterwards.

He grumbled again.

„Is it worth it?“ he asked, sounding noticeably more awake despite himself.

„Oh, honestly“, Severus complained.

Harry sighed and flopped onto his back.

„Fine“, he muttered, rubbing his face several times before sitting up—naked as he was—and making an effort to blink his eyes awake so he could look at Severus with full attention.

„So? What am I getting? Do I get it now? Where is it? Now?“ he asked, dredging up every last scrap of enthusiasm he possessed as he bounced about on the bed.

Severus rolled his eyes, shaking his head, but then leaned to the side to retrieve the carefully trimmed paper from his bedside table and slapped it onto Harry’s right pectoral, where it stuck fast.

„Yay, I’ve always wanted to be covered in paper!“ he exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air.

„My God, you really are an idiot“, Severus remarked dryly, though he could not quite suppress a smirk.

Harry laughed softly and rubbed his hand broadly over the paper. After the mammoth project on his back, Severus had allowed himself to be persuaded to tattoo a Snitch onto Harry’s left collarbone, and his left forearm now bore the Patronuses of his friends. Harry was well acquainted with the process and knew perfectly well what it meant when Severus ‚covered him in paper‘.

After a moment of rubbing, he carefully peeled the paper away and stared down at himself, his fingers hovering just short of touching the design - but he stopped himself.

„Are you sure that’s all right?“ he asked quietly.

For a moment, Severus had to restrain himself from making an inappropriate remark. Instead, he nodded.

„I wouldn’t have drawn it if it weren’t“, he assured him.

Harry placed his hand over his chest, completely covering the shaggy, detailed dog.

„Thank you“, he said sincerely. „I wouldn’t have asked you for this.“

Severus knew that. But he also knew that it carried just as much meaning as every one of Harry’s other tattoos—well, if one disregarded that idiotic Snitch. Harry shuffled closer, nestled against him, and lifted his head to kiss him gently.

„Compared to that, my gift is very small“, he murmured then, almost sheepish.

„You are not meant to give me anything, you blockhead.“

The younger man grinned.

„Actually, it’s more of a gift to myself“, he laughed, hopping out of bed. „Come on!“

He grabbed Severus’s hand and tugged him along until they were both standing in the kitchen, still naked, where Severus watched with interest as Harry reached up to one of the wall cupboards. Who, exactly, had invented clothes anyway?

„Here.“ He pressed a large jar into Severus’s hands.

„You cannot be serious.“

„I swear you’ll love it, and I will never complain again“, Harry assured him—Harry, who had complained every single day since that evening about Severus’s ‚terrible taste in tea‘.

Severus opened the jar sceptically and drew in a deep breath of the scent rising from its contents. Although he had not worked actively with potions or ingredients—beyond what he needed for his inks and salves—for several years now, it still surprised him that he could not immediately identify every component. More surprising still was the fact that he actually liked the smell.

„Merry Christmas“, Harry grinned, kissing him on the cheek. „I’ll make breakfast!“

„You’re naked“, Severus grumbled in his direction, still preoccupied with the scent of the tea.

„Yup.“

And that - aside from his markedly improved depression - was truly the most drastic change in him. He was comfortable in his own skin. And not merely because Severus found him undeniably attractive and made no secret of it. The tattoos played their part in that.

Originally, Severus had opened his business to free people from that burden—to help them feel more at ease with themselves. Harry, on the other hand, he had covered with more ink than he had ever removed…

…and somehow, that had helped him.

It was exactly as he had hoped—his past lay behind him. It belonged to him, was a part of him, but he did not have to see it if he did not want to.

Severus looked past the large glass jar at his own forearm. Where the Dark Mark had once been, his doe now stood. What had once served only to keep his failures before his eyes had become just as much a part of him as it should always have been. A part of him… and a part of Harry.

He glanced over at his fiancé, who was swaying about in front of the stove with his bare backside on display, frying eggs and bacon. At the back of his neck, the creature could be found again, lovingly entwined with the stag. Just as it was meant to be.

He set the jar aside and stepped up behind Harry instead, wrapping his arms around him.

„Merry Christmas, Harry“, he murmured into his tousled hair.