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Sirius Black had survived twelve years in Azkaban, but the questions about his ink had only begun.
"Sirius," said Harry, watching his godfather pull his shirt over his head after the family Quidditch match, “are those… alchemical symbols?”
Sirius glanced down at the intricate runic patterns covering his chest and arms. "Oh. Yeah."
"And that one?" Hermione pointed to what appeared to be some sort of geometric design near his collarbone.
"Mm-hmm."
"But Sirius," Hermione said, in her most logical tone, "you were in solitary confinement. For twelve years. Who gave you tattoos in Azkaban?"
Sirius made his way to the table, where a pitcher of lemonade awaited him, and took a long, slow drink. "Would you believe me if I said I did them myself?"
"With what?" Ron asked. "A rock and your nails?"
"Look, it's not important –"
"Some of these are on your back," Harry said. "How did you reach your own back?"
Sirius shifted uncomfortably. "I'm very flexible. Years of yoga. Very calming in prison."
"That's definitely not yoga," Hermione said, squinting at a particularly complex symbol. "That's advanced runic script. You'd need actual ink, actual needles –"
"I was VERY resourceful, Hermione."
But the trio wouldn't let it go. Over the following weeks, they catalogued the collection: various alchemical symbols across his torso, ancient runes spiraling down his arms, and several geometric patterns that looked almost Celtic.
Finally, after the fifth interrogation, Sirius cracked.
"FINE!" he shouted, slamming his hands on the kitchen table. "You really want to know?"
The three leaned forward.
Sirius took a deep breath. "There was this one dementor. Kevin. Worked the night shift on my cell block."
Stunned silence.
"Kevin?" Harry repeated faintly.
"Yeah. Kevin. He was different from the others. See, most of the time I was in my cell going mad, right? But sometimes – when I needed to keep my wits about me, when I was planning my escape – I'd transform into Padfoot. Dogs don't have happy memories to steal. It doesn't work this way, dogs are just happy themselves. Made me invisible to them, in a way."
"I've said you before but that was actually brilliant," Hermione admitted reluctantly.
"Right? So I'd scout the corridors at night as Padfoot when I became thin enough. Map out the guard rotations. Look for weaknesses. And Kevin... Kevin started to notice this dog. I think he was lonely. Started following me around on his patrols."
Ron's mouth fell open. "You're saying a dementor followed you around like a... like a weird, soul-sucking pet?"
"More like I followed him, honestly. Easier to track his patterns and explore Azkaban. But yeah, after a few months, Kevin seemed to actually... wait for me? He'd hover near my cell around the same time every night. So one evening, I transformed back to human just to see what would happen."
"And?" Harry prompted.
"And nothing. He just... floated there. Staring. So in my infinite madness-wisdom, I thought: 'What if I can befriend a dementor?' Started simple."
Hermione's eye twitched. "You named him Kevin."
"I'd been in Azkaban for six years at that point, Hermione. I named the rats too. Anyway – and this is the weird part – they can't talk, you know. But they can draw. Also show you some things but I'm not sure I haven't just imagined that."
"This is mental," Harry whispered.
"So I started directing him. Drew out the shapes with my finger. We can't use walls or floor because it's hard to draw on stones. But my skin... The alchemical symbols came first – those are about transformation, which felt appropriate given the whole Animagus situation. Kevin got really good at the detail work. Even figured out shading."
"Why are you calling it KEVIN –"
"Because that was his NAME, Ron! Or... well, the name I gave him. He responded to it!" Sirius was getting defensive now. "Look, I'd spend my days in human form being tortured by dementors, barely holding onto my sanity, then at night I'd be Padfoot running around the prison, and sometimes – just SOMETIMES – I'd let Kevin practice his craft on my unconscious body."
"On your WHAT?"
"I'd pass out from the soul-sucking maybe in five minutes or so, wake up with a new tattoo. Honestly, it was better than the alternative entertainment options." Sirius gestured at his chest. "This amalgamation symbol? That's Kevin's masterpiece. Took him three sessions. He was very proud."
"This is..." Hermione trailed off, looking genuinely disturbed. "This is the most insane thing I've ever heard."
"And it gets weirder! Kevin started bringing friends. See, word spreads fast in the dementor community when someone's doing something interesting. Pretty soon I had a whole rotation. Trevor did line work. Bethany specialized in the geometric patterns. There was even this one called Maurice who INSISTED on trying portrait work, but I shut that down real quick."
"Why?" Ron asked, morbidly fascinated.
"Because he wanted to tattoo DEMENTOR FACES on me, Ron! I had to draw the line somewhere!"
"We'll never know who dementors' faces look" Hermione said sadly.
Harry put his head in his hands. "So you're telling me you escaped Azkaban with the help of a dementor you'd befriended by letting him use you as a canvas."
"Oh no, Kevin had nothing to do with my escape. Different dementor entirely. I just swam to shore. Kevin was gutted I left, though. I could tell."
"How could you POSSIBLY tell – "
"Body language, Ronald! You pick up on these things!"
The kitchen fell into a heavy silence.
Then Sirius's expression changed. The manic energy drained from his face, replaced by something far more haunted.
"Or," he said quietly, "I spent twelve years in complete isolation, slowly going insane, talking to walls and shadows, and somehow gave myself these tattoos with whatever I could find – rust, stone fragments, my own blood. And later, I made up a story about a dementor named Kevin because that was easier to explain than admitting I have massive blank spots in my memory and absolutely no recollection of doing any of this to myself."
Another silence, this one awful.
"The Kevin story's better for dinner parties, though, don't you think?"
Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it.
"Sirius," Harry said carefully, "which version is true?"
Sirius poured himself another drink, his hands shaking slightly.
"Honestly, Harry? I have no bloody idea."