Black ink tattoo of the Deathly Hallows symbol, a triangle enclosing a circle and a vertical line, on pale speckled skin.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Deathly Hallows symbol tattoo in black ink

Geometric · Black and grey · Photo

A bold, solid black linework tattoo of the Deathly Hallows symbol, made up of a triangle, a circle and a vertical line through the upper part of the circle. The lines are even and crisp with no shading, set against pale, speckled skin. The symbol sits centred in the frame in a close, straight-on view, with the body part not visible.

Geometric Deathly hallows Triangle Circle Symbol Line

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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

The fair had packed up at Hollin Marsh by eleven, leaving only the generator grumbling behind the coconut shy and you, counting coins into a tobacco tin. Mrs Ansell from the hook-a-duck stall came across the wet grass with a biscuit box under one arm. She set it on the bonnet of your van without asking. "Three things came out of the pot at dawn," she said, "and the lad who won them went off down the A-road without a word."

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Inside, on a bed of folded tarpaulin, lay a stick of hawthorn no longer than your forearm, its tip sharpened to a point, a grey pebble with a hole worn clean through its middle, and a scrap of cloth so fine it might have been breath on glass. Mrs Ansell tapped each one in turn. The stick, she said, was for winning any argument at the end of a rope. The stone was for calling back whoever you had lost, for one hour, on the big wheel at midnight. The cloth was for walking past the one who came looking. "Pick one," she said. "The others stay with me."

You chose the stone, because the cloth seemed a coward's gift and the stick was too heavy to carry home. At midnight you stood under the wheel, its spokes ticking as they turned, and held the pebble up to the lamp. Through the hole, a girl in a yellow cagoule waved from the top of the wheel, the same girl who had once sold you candyfloss on a summer that was thirty years gone.

"You've got till the bell," Mrs Ansell called from the dark, her voice closer than it had any right to be. "Then put it back in the box. Everybody forgets that part."