Fine line script reading expecto patronum in pale ink across the inner forearm, with a white t-shirt and earphone cable visible behind.

Fine line script lettering on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A close photograph of a forearm with the words expecto patronum written in a thin, joined script across the skin. The linework is delicate and even, and the ink looks pale and light-toned, sitting only slightly darker than the skin. The background is a grey top and a white earphone cable, with the arm filling most of the frame.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Script Lettering Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The kettle has boiled twice since I started this, so forgive the wobble in my hand. Your mother rang on Sunday to say the hospital has finally let Dad home, and that he has asked for the cheap marmalade, which we are taking as a sign of recovery.

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You will remember the summer you were nine, when the garden shed was our fortress and the torch from the kitchen drawer was our wand. You stood on the upturned bucket with your arms out like a scarecrow and shouted the words your cousin had picked up from the television, expecto patronum, pronouncing every syllable as if it owed you money. Nothing came. The hedge stayed a hedge. You said the spell was rubbish, and I said it needed a memory behind it, not a shout, and you rolled your eyes at me the way only a nine-year-old can.

I have thought about that a good deal lately. Last night I went down to the bottom of the garden with the same torch, which still works if you thump it on the heel of your hand, and I stood where your bucket used to be. A fox came through the gap by the compost, pale in the beam, and stopped to look at me as though I were the one who had got the spell wrong. I said the words, quietly this time, and it trotted off without any sign of being impressed.

I am sending you the torch. Your father says it is junk, which is how I know it matters to him. Keep it by the bed when you are over there, and say the words on the bad nights, not because anything will come, but because the saying was always the part worth keeping. The fox came back, by the way. I think it liked the company.