Small black sketch-style tattoo of the Deathly Hallows symbol, a triangle with a circle and a vertical line, on the skin of an arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Deathly Hallows symbol tattoo

Other · 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 in the middle of the frame on pale skin. The linework is black, slightly doubled and sketchy, with some strokes overlapping the triangle's edges. The image is in black and grey against a soft, plain background with a dark area at the left edge.

Other Deathly hallows Triangle Circle Line Symbol

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Tomas,

Keep reading

The causeway had gone under again, so I walked the last mile to Carrick Mor with my boots tied round my neck and the tide snapping at my heels like a dog that wanted its bone back. The castle is more ribs than walls now. Someone has hooked a rusted gate across the chapel arch, but the hook was only hung, not locked, and inside the air smelled of wet slate and sheep.

On the altar slab, where the old lairds used to lay their dead, someone had left three things in a row. Nearest the window lay an ash stick, grey and no longer than my forearm, its tip whittled to a point. Beside it sat a flat river stone with a hole worn clean through its middle, the sort you hang on a nail for luck. The third was a scrap of grey wool, folded so neatly it might have been pressed. Scratched into the slab beneath them, in letters a child could have made, was a single line: whoever holds all three need not fear the water.

Father always said that was a story for fishermen who wanted a reason to stay ashore. I thought so too, until I picked up the stone and the hole lined up with a draught through the broken roof, and the stick in my other hand went suddenly heavy as a rudder. I didn't touch the wool. I'm not a fool, and I'm not brave enough to be a legend.

I've taken the stone. It's in my coat pocket now, warm as a hen's egg, and I'm writing this on the gatehouse step while the water creeps back over the causeway. Come up at the spring tide. Bring a rope, and tell Mam I'm alive.

Yours, Ailsa