Colour tattoo on a forearm of a triangle with a circle and a silhouetted figure against blue trees, above black script reading Don't let the Muggles get you down darling.

Deathly Hallows triangle and quote on a forearm

Lettering · Forearm · Mixed · Photo

A triangle enclosing a circle and a dark silhouette of a figure raising a wand stands above a line of black script. The background inside the triangle uses layered teal and blue tones to suggest a forest with a glowing moon, while the outlines and lettering are solid black. The design is centred on the forearm and photographed straight on, with the lettering reading clearly from top to bottom.

Lettering Forearm Deathly hallows Triangle Silhouette Wand Forest Moon Quote Script

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The last of the Bramleys were coming down in the wind when my aunt Maud told me she had walked into the wood on the night of the harvest moon and come out with three things in her apron pocket. I was twelve and assumed she was making it up, which she often did after the cider. She set them on the kitchen table in a row: a grey stone with a hole worn clean through it, a length of hazel no longer than my hand, and a brass button stamped with a crescent.

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The stone, she said, let you look through the hedge and see who was standing on the other side, though she had only ever seen the Pearsons' cat. The button took you back to whatever day you wished you had stayed in, and she would not say which day she had used it on. The hazel was the one she kept. She had raised it once at the orchard gate when the frost came early and every blossom went black, and the whole row of trees stood up straight again like a line of soldiers. Nobody believed her except the bees, who came out in their hundreds the next morning as though nothing had happened.

At the end of that summer she pressed the hazel into my hands, saying the wood would want a keeper and she was too old to climb the wall. I asked what the trick was. She said to raise it at the moon and mean it, and never to tell the village what it cost. I carried it up to the top field the night before the pickers came, lifted it into the white light, and nothing happened at all except that my hands ached and a fox looked at me as if I were a fool.

The trees are grubbed up now and the orchard is six new houses with plastic windows. But on the last warm night of August I still walk to where the gate used to be, hold the hazel up under the moon, and tell the empty field the year's news. Then I go home, peel the windfalls and make a pie for anyone who happens to be passing.