Harry Potter Tattoos Dark Mark Novels & Stories

The Shadows seemed to feed on her wrath, growing stronger and more aggressive as they held her in their dark, unyielding grasp. I approached the Forsaken, my movements deliberate and calculated, and grasped her leg just above the ankle. As I examined the area, I was met with a sight that both intrigued and unsettled me. There, on her skin, were the unmistakable marks of my brothers and me. Each mark was a unique color, shimmering with an otherworldly light, as if we had branded her with our respective signatures. My own mark, a deep, burning gold, adorned her ankle, seeming to pulse with a life of its own.

“Something exclusive.” “Exclusive? Sure. I’ll have him recommend some.” Soon a batch of designs came through. Forrest introduced them seriously. “Demon tattoo, also called a slave mark. Usually on the lower abdomen. You know what it means. But people who get this are usually women…” Forrest turned his head and saw Lorenzo studying the designs with full focus. A chill ran down his spine. “Bro, you are not thinking of doing this, right?” Lorenzo stubbed out his cigarette and said calmly, “She said she wanted to leave her exclusive mark on me.”

"No, but..." "There are no buts, Derek. She does not accept excuses." Lukas' voice changed to a more sinister tone. Derek felt a seering pain on his forearm, and as he rolled up his sleeve, he spotted the tattoo that was engraved into his flesh. It burned with an ominous gold hue. He touched the Mark carefully, tracing the intricate pattern until the pain died down.

"I tend to do stupid things... What if I… hurt you?" Bitter laughter escaped his throat. "That's impossible. I made sure of it." Then he took a deep breath and waved his hands over his chest, taking off his glamour spell and revealing a series of tattoos. I instantly recognized one of them—a triskelion. The Celtic symbol looked exactly as I remembered it from my dream, and before I knew it—just like in my vision—I reached out my hand to touch it.

He beckoned me over. I walked to the corpse of the assassin, the one with the poison spear. Drax was holding the rogue's arm up. He had ripped the tattered sleeve away to reveal the forearm. There, branded into the greyish skin, was a tattoo. It was a black circle with a jagged red lightning bolt cutting through it. "I know this mark," Drax said, his voice grim. "It’s the sigil of the Iron Hounds. Malakar’s elite guard from the old wars."

“ This tattoo was something that was given to me by a dark wizard, I had a hard time keeping it restrained. Only the blood infused with dark magic can break through the dark spells that are cast on a person or a thing.” As he spoke the red blood that was dripping down on the voodoo doll slowly turned dark and then it started to ooze a sticky black liquid which dripped from the edge of the counter and then gurgled on the bottom of the floor before it started to rise and formed the shape of two human beings while the one on the left was completely deformed while the other figure formed a figure of a woman. “ This must belong to the dark wizard since it’s impossible to track them down without t

He said. "Then how'd you...get that?" I pointed with my index finger towards his neck. "I heard you get that type of tattoo or something similar when you come of age as a wizard. It's the symbol that shows the moon goddess has shown her blessings on a wizard, and he is ready to conquer the world with his magic. Also, they say a half moon tattoo could only be found on some unique wizard who has something related to the Alpha blood." He said that as if it wasn't a big deal but for me it was. I was stunned to think that he was taking his powers so lightly.

The large tattoo of a black bird etched on his chest as he lay on the floor bare and cold that day made her heart ache the most. It was shortly after her sixteenth birthday that Draco got the tattoo, right over his heart. The image of a Raven, the bird she was named after. He never admitted to anyone why he got the tattoo or what it meant but he didn’t really need to, it was clear for everyone to see— He marked his heart with her name. What else could it mean? She sighs and rolls out of her bed, her eyes red, heavy and burning. She reaches underneath her bed and pulls out a small box.

Mark was slightly taller than I and was a hundred and ninety pounds of rock solid muscle, his shoulders were wide and his waist narrow, he was not muscle bound, but there was not a damn thing on him that was not exactly where it should be including a set of abs that would make a twenty year old jealous. Mark, like me in a sleeveless shirt caught a bit of attention. Both of his arms shoulder to elbow were covered in enormous tattoo's, on the right was Pan the Celtic devil; horns, hooves and red eyes glaring, on the left was an incredibly detailed image of the Pale rider of revelations fame. With his build, the tats and his five o clock shadow Mark was flaunting the "Bad Boy" look and carried

he replied. His scent filled the space between us..cleaner than anything in this rotting dungeon. It made something deep in my chest twist. I didn’t trust it. I didn’t trust him. But I wanted to. He leaned back just enough to look at me fully, hood falling away from his face. A tattoo peeked from the side of his neck…two crescent marks overlapping. Purplemoon. Old-blood. Rare. I stared before I could stop myself. Before I could ask. Before I could breathe.