Black ink tattoo on a forearm of bold outline symbols, including a Deathly Hallows triangle, a wand, three golden snitch style circles, a lightning bolt and a snake shaped S.

Harry Potter symbols spelling a word on forearm

Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

The tattoo runs across the forearm as a row of bold black outline symbols. From left to right they show a Deathly Hallows triangle with a circle and vertical line, a wand, three winged circles, a figure that is hard to make out, a lightning bolt crossed with a wand, and a snake shaped letter S. The symbols appear to stand in for letters, and the linework is thick and even with solid black fill in places. The photograph is taken straight on against a pale tiled floor, with no other colour in the design.

Forearm Deathly hallows Wand Lightning bolt Snake Triangle Circle Symbol

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The carrier Osric came up the Vell pass the morning after the thaw, three mules on a rope and a dead man's cloak folded across his saddle. He did not stop at the toll hut. The toll-keeper's daughter, Ilse, stood in the middle of the road with her hand out and a hazel stick in her other fist, and when the mules stopped she asked what he was carrying over, the way her mother had taught her to ask.

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Salt, he said, and a letter for a cousin in the valley. She said the pass wanted more than salt. The old law was that anything carried over the summit must be marked on the Stone of Keeping, a flat grey slab under the cairn, so the mountain would know what it held. Osric laughed, but he climbed down. On the slab were a dozen signs worn to ghosts: a triangle with a ring inside it and a bar drawn through the ring, a thin rod, three rings strung on a line, a forked flash, a serpent coiled tight.

Ilse took a stub of chalk from her apron and drew the rod, then the three rings, and told him the rest was his to draw. He looked at the cloak for a long time. The man in it had been his brother, who went over in autumn and never came down, and Osric had not once said the word for what he was carrying. He drew the serpent, then the flash, and when he came to the last place his hand would not move.

Ilse took his wrist and steadied it. He wrote the word the mountain was waiting for, letter by letter, and she read it back to him in her slow voice. The wind took the chalk dust off the stone, but the marks stayed, and every carrier since has stopped at that slab to read them aloud, and nobody has ever told the pass anything else.