#wizard tattoos

She looks up at him as a stack of paper falls over.

“What the bloody hell you going to get a tattoo for?” He fixes the papers with his wand and shrugs. “Well, you know they’re cool.” “Yeah so are the Rolling Fucking Stones, you going to leave Molly and join them?” “I want to get a watch.” “I thought you wanted a tattoo?” “No Al.” He laughs and refills her coffee. “I want to get a watch tattoo.” “Wouldn’t it be simpler to oh, I don’t know, buy a watch?” “I have a watch. I got it when I was seventeen, from my dad. See?” It’s a little tarnished and quite obviously has not been taken off since that birthday, due to the fact that it was next to imbedded in his left wrist. “This one is to tell time and this one….” He holds up his right wrist. “This one will show me where my family is at all times, see?” He’s excited again, he knocks the stack of papers back onto the floor as he maneuvers his lanky body around her desk.  He pulls out a slightly crumpled sketch and presents it to her. It’s a simply drawn clock with seven hands. Each tip of each hand was a decently drawn portrait of each member of the Weasley family, instead of time, the clock face was surrounded with locations including: “Home, Work, School, Hospital, Shopping, Traveling and….” “Mortal Peril?” “What?” “Bit dark innit?” “The times warrant it.” “Aye.” Alice says weakly, her heart dropping at the thought of ever seeing her godson’s or any member of the ginger family’s hand ever pointing straight up. “What do you think?” “It’s bloody brilliant.” “Molly hates it.” “I’m sure she does. You won’t be little lovey Artie with a big boy tattoo.” “Can it, Allyson.” She cackles, finally fixing her desk, and stands. “Come on, I can’t handle this right now anyway and there’s this place not too far into Knockturn where I got mine.” “You ever going to tell me what it is?” “Maybe.” “So no.” “Definitely never. Although this is earning you points.” He grins and follows after her small form.

**** “Al?” “Hmm?”

She looks up from the display of stripper tattoos in the process of removing their minimal clothes. Arthur is strapped into the tattoo chair. They’re alone as their artist, a lovely man with four lovely neck tattoos by the name of Obsidian is in the back getting the right kind of magical ink that would make the watch add hands as the Weasley family grew. The place, Obsidian and Co. Ink, was rather murky and Arthur had been 94% sure that Alice had taken them to the wrong shop when the after mentioned Obsidian greeted her with a bear hug and a rather lengthy discussion about the health of her cat.

“If I ask you something, will you promise not to laugh?” “Yes, it does hurt.” “I am aware of that, thank you.”

She grins, his leg is jittery and he’s looking around the room like someone is going to burst out of the walls and call him out at knifepoint. He sighs.

“Will you hold my hand?”

He looks and sounds so much like Charlie that she does laugh, but she manages to turn it into quite a convincing cough.

“Of course. Ya baby.” “I…” He says, gripping her hand hard enough to break blood vessels “am a god damn adult, thank you. Oh bloody hell.”

Obsidian returns with the needles and ink. He’s drawn rather astounding portraits of the Weasleys based on Arthur’s drawings and the collection of photographs he had brought. The clock face is ornate, beautiful actually, an homage to the one on Arthur’s left while still obviously being a tattoo. Arthur would feel bad for doubting either Obsidian or Alice had the former not been holding a giant needle. Obsidian tapped the needle once with his wand and it flew directly over Arthur’s wrist, hovering an inch above his skin. Obsidian begins tracing the piece of paper in front of him with his wand, and instantly, the needle begins its work. Arthur let out a yelp as it starts, nearly breaking Alice’s fingers, but as the process goes on, he finds himself on the verge of relaxation. It certainly helps that Obsidian has an extensive knowledge of Muggle tattoo processes, his grandfather had been one of the first Muggle tattooers in London. Between the conversation and Alice calling him a pansy every time he grasped her hand, the two hour process flew by.

After paying with a generous tip and leaving the shop, Arthur cannot stop staring at his own wrist. The Molly portrait, just as pregnant as its living counterpart, glares at him from her frame. He hopes that once Molly saw the purpose and the practicality of what he had actually gotten (he might have lied and told her he was getting Mollywobbles on his shoulders, this made whatever he did end up getting seem so much better) that she’d at least come around to the idea. Obsidian had given him some potion to put on it for the next week to make sure nothing smudged and shown him the spells to properly hide it for work if necessary.

“What’d you think, Al?”

She takes his wrist in her hands, and as she does, a bumblebee flies out from underneath her shirt. Arthur is about to swat it when he realizes.

“That’s your tattoo?” She grins. “Nope. It’s a fake one.” “Ah, naturally. It’s very pretty. And perfect for you.” “This is just…Arthur it looks great.” She smiles at the Charlie portrait making faces out of his clock hand frame. “Incredibly accurate.

They continue out of Knockturn Alley, hurrying due the darkening sky.

“So, now that you’re dangerous and tattooed to bit, fancy a bar fight?” He laughs as she tilts her head towards the Leaky Cauldron. “Nah, I’ve got places to be, ya wanker.” “Well fuck you too, ya pansy.”

They grin at each other before he spins on the spot. The warm lighting and the smell of whatever was for dinner confirmed where he was before he needed to check, but as three red-haired children rush towards him and grab onto his legs, he raises his right wrist to check the time.