Black and grey tattoo of the Deathly Hallows symbol, a triangle with a circle and vertical line, framed by ornate scrollwork and vines on the forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Deathly Hallows symbol with scrollwork on forearm

Geometric · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black ink tattoo of the Deathly Hallows symbol, made up of a triangle, a circle and a vertical line with three dots, sits within an ornate frame of curling scrollwork and leaf-like vines. The linework is bold and even, with the shapes filled in solid black and no shading or colour. The tattoo is centred on a light-skinned forearm, with a patterned sleeve visible at the lower edge of the frame.

Geometric Botanical Forearm Deathly hallows Triangle Circle Scrollwork Vine Leaves

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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

You take the late shift at Thornfield Junction because nobody else will sit under the clock beside the lost property hatch, and on the third wet Thursday of November the tin tray holds three things nobody has come back for. A set square with one corner snapped clean off. A pewter ring worn thin on the underside. A length of ash cane with three knots cut into it, evenly spaced, as though someone once counted something by it.

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You log them in pencil, because the ledger ink ran out in March and the stores van is always late. Mr Abbot from the ticket window leans over the counter with his tea and says the ring belonged to a signalman called Pell, who walked the Lune line for forty years and never once missed a train. The cane was his father's, he says, used for measuring the gap between sleepers before anyone trusted a tape. The set square he doesn't know. Nobody ever does. You find yourself checking the platform clock twice before you lock up.

On the last night before the winter timetable, the tray is empty. In its place lies a single card ticket, the old punched sort, with a neat round hole in the centre and a line drawn through it in biro. It reads Platform Four, one passenger, departs midnight, and the destination has been rubbed out. The rails are humming the way they do before a train that isn't on the board. You walk out with the lamp and find the cane leaning against a bench on Platform Four, its top knot undone.

You don't get on. You wait until the hum fades, then carry the cane back to the hatch, which weighs nothing at all. In the ledger you write returned to owner, and beneath it, smaller, the date. The tray holds only the set square now, its broken corner pointing at the door.