Colour tattoo of the Deathly Hallows triangle with a wizard silhouette in a teal forest, above a script quote, on a forearm.

Deathly Hallows and quote on a forearm

Lettering · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A dark-outlined triangle frames a teal forest scene with a glowing ring and a black silhouette of a wizard raising a wand. Below, black script reads 'It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live' with the attribution 'Albus Dumbledore'. The design is mainly teal and blue with solid black lettering and outlines, shown straight on against a dark background.

Lettering Forearm Deathly hallows Silhouette Forest Triangle Quote Script Wand

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Marisol Okonedo had run the lost property shelf at the Lewisham depot for eleven years, and she knew the sound a bag made when its owner had stopped expecting it back. Tonight it was a wooden box no bigger than a cigarette tin, a triangle burned into the lid, and something small and metal rattling inside. She meant to log it before the 2am buses came in, but the radio kept crackling with river fog and the drivers were tired.

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She tipped the box into her palm. A silver ring, thin as wire, and folded beneath it a card in careful blue biro. Someone had written, Every night I meant to go back to the forest by the water and every night I stayed in and watched the rain. Don't be me. Live the bit you're given. Marisol read it twice under the sodium light in the yard, then slid the ring onto her middle finger. It fit as if it had been measured for her, which annoyed her more than anything else that week.

She went out to the stop on Lewisham High Street with the card in her coat pocket. The lamp above the shelter threw a pale circle onto the wet pavement, bright at the centre and blurred at the edges, and for a moment it looked like the ring of light in the picture she had once pinned above her bed, the one with the lone figure lifting his arm against the trees. She had never got round to going anywhere with that picture. She thought about her brother's voicemails in Accra, still unplayed on her phone.

The number 47 came round the corner with its windows lit like an aquarium. Marisol stepped into the circle of light, put her hand up, and felt the cold ring warm against her skin as the bus pulled in.