Small fine line tattoo of the Deathly Hallows symbol, a triangle with a circle and vertical line, on the inner forearm beside pearl bracelets.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Deathly Hallows symbol on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A small tattoo of the Deathly Hallows symbol, made up of a triangle, a circle and a vertical line through the centre, sits on the inner forearm. The outlines are thin and even, in dark ink with no shading. The pale skin and pearl bracelets surround the design against a plain, softly lit background.

Fine line Geometric Forearm Deathly hallows Triangle Circle Symbol Line

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The last tram had rattled up Fargate an hour before, and Quaye was still bent over the workbench when the bell above the door gave its thin double ring. The girl who came in was soaked to the knees and carried a biscuit tin under one arm. She set it on the counter without speaking and lifted the lid. Inside, on a bed of wet newspaper, lay three things: a ring of dull brass no wider than a wedding band, a grey stone disc polished smooth as a river pebble, and a rod of blackthorn stripped of its bark, the length of a forearm.

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"My gran said you'd know what they are," she said. "She said never to put them together."

Quaye did not touch them at first. He had seen the pattern once before, in a ledger his old master kept in the cellar, and he knew the rule was older than the ledger. The ring was for closing, the stone for keeping, and the rod for drawing a line between the two. Set them together and whatever they made would outlive everyone who had handled them, and no clockmaker in Sheffield had ever been fool enough to try.

"She wants them gone," the girl said. "Just gone. She won't say why."

He weighed each piece in his palm, the rod last. Outside, the canal at the bottom of Kelham Island lay black and still under the streetlamps. Quaye told her to walk the tin down to the water and tip it in, and not to look back. She went out pale and silent, and when the bell rang behind her the workshop clock went on ticking as though nothing had changed. Quaye kept the rod. He laid it across the ledger, where it fitted the groove the old master had worn there, and he found he could not bring himself to close the book.