Small black fine line tattoo of the Deathly Hallows symbol, a triangle with a circle and a vertical line, on the outer ankle of a foot in black and white.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Deathly Hallows symbol on an ankle

Fine line · Ankle · Black and grey · Photo

A black and white photograph of a foot and ankle showing a small tattoo of the Deathly Hallows symbol, made of a triangle, a circle and a vertical line through the centre. The linework is thin and slightly sketchy, with short stray strokes and a few dots around the edges of the triangle. The tattoo sits near the centre of the frame against smooth skin, with dark glossy material visible in the background.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit down, the lot of you, and let the band take a breath, because Mrs Tulley is going to tell you about the three things a drowned man left on the Pier Ballroom floor, and not one of you has heard the end of it. He came in off the last boat in March, soaked to the knees, asking for a partner for the waltz. Nobody would dance with him. Nobody dances with a man who smells of the harbour.

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So he went to the bandstand and bought the fiddler a drink with three coins that had no year stamped on them. Then he laid out, one after another, a brass hoop as wide as a wedding ring, a folding rule that opened into a perfect triangle, and a long thin needle of black iron with a bead of salt on its point. 'Choose one,' he said, 'and you will never dance alone again.' The fiddler took the hoop, because fiddlers always want the round thing. The barmaid took the rule, because she measured everything twice. Old Dessie took the needle, because he was already sewing his own shroud.

Here is the trick of it. At midnight the three of them met at the foot of the stairs, the hoop rolled through the triangle, and the needle ran straight down the middle of both, and the whole hall went as quiet as a pin dropped in a glass. When the lights came back the drowned man was gone, and the sea had come up through the floorboards to the height of a dancer's ankle, cold as a hymn.

So mind your feet on the way out tonight. The tide is making, and it has never once forgotten a name.

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