Colour traditional tattoo of a golden potion bottle with a cork stopper, purple ribbons, a Lucky banner and a Felix Felicis tag, on the calf, over a pink stippled cloud.

Potion bottle with Lucky banner on a calf

Traditional · Calf · Colour · Photo

A corked potion bottle filled with golden liquid sits at the centre, wrapped by a purple ribbon reading LUCKY and with a smaller tag reading FELIX FELICIS beside it. Bold black outlines define the bottle, ribbons and tag, with smooth amber shading inside the glass and highlights on the cork. A pink stippled cloud sits behind the bottle, and the design is centred on the lower leg.

Traditional Neo-trad Calf Ribbon Banner Lettering Cloud

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The bottle came up out of the bilge of the Mercy Jane the morning we were due at Stoke Hythe lock, rolling against my boot with its cork still sealed in red wax. Dad had never mentioned it. Forty years hauling coal on the Trent and Mersey and he kept nothing aboard but a tin of shag and a grudge against the lock keeper. The label was in a hand I didn't know: FELIX FELICIS, and under it, smaller, for the carrier and not the cargo.

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I held it up to the grey light. The liquid was the colour of barley sugar and it moved slower than water should, as though it had thought about things first. Jessop, who had the mill contract and a mouth like a drain, had been telling every wharf between here and Burton that the Mercy Jane would be sold for scrap by Friday. I had eleven tons of slack to deliver, a crew of one, which is me, and a mill owner who docked a penny for every hour late.

I drank a thimble of it standing at the tiller. It tasted of pennies and orange peel and the first warm day of spring. Then I walked the gate myself, which the lock keeper swore he'd never let a woman do, and the water came up beneath us smooth as a bolt of silk. A heron lifted off the beam. Jessop's boat was jammed on the far side with a snapped line, and I slid past him through a clear channel with a grin that cost me nothing.

At the mill the foreman weighed the coal twice and said nothing. I corked the bottle again and left it on the hatch cover, half full, for whoever came along next and looked as if they needed it. By the time I reached the junction the water behind the stern had a faint gold sheen, closing over our wake like a thread drawn back through cloth.