She bore many marks from a life well lived, Luna Lovegood did. A small scar just above her knee where Harry had once cut her during a DA lesson, a burn on the inside of her left wrist from handling the blast-ended skrewts. The worst, she thought, was the bright, purple line that stained the skin from her left collarbone to her right shoulder. Rabastan Lestrange had given her that one, almost identical to the one Hermione still wore. She didn't want to remember, sometimes, but she always did. How could she forget, with all those reminders?
So, eventually, Luna started getting them herself. She had tattooed in golden ink a swirling pattern of horses riding into battle, women swinging wands and swords alike, men dancing deathly duels, and lilies growing on the edge of a battlefield.
Beginning at her right ankle, the battle scene stretched up her leg, over her stomach, and up over her left shoulder to cover her back in shining, tattooed memory.
The figures did not move, as many a witch's tattoos did, but stayed still, forever frozen in a moment. Luna had wanted to forget, before. Then she had realized that she could not. To try always would be to always hurt. Instead, she owned the battle, kept it on her skin. This way, when she looked in the mirror, she would not see the eyes of a dead girl staring back.
So many things had been taken from her.
This, she could keep.