I hope our story has a happier ending

epilogue

"I'm so glad we're finally doing this."

Hermione reaches her free hand out for him to take, replying, "Me too," with a small smile.

"Nervous?" the artist asks as she sets up the ink, already having gotten an okay on the indigo stencil now gracing Hermione's arm.

She hasn't asked once about the scars her art is meant to cover up—not a single question about the awful word, or why it was ever there in the first place; Hermione already loves her for that alone.

"A bit, just because I've never gotten one before," Hermione replies honestly. "But I have a pretty high pain tolerance so it's not that I'm worried about—I can't imagine it could ever hold a candle to labor." The last bit is hastily added on; true, but nonetheless not what she was thinking of when she spoke.

(Because that hurt, but it wasn't the pain that made her numb; that was the pain that made her feel.)

"Damn straight," the artist nods.

Draco meets her eyes, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I still think Harry's going to kill you for not telling him beforehand."

"Ah, but you're working under the assumption he'll notice—you know better than to think he's that observant. Besides, it's not him we need to be afraid of, Tonks is the one who will never let us forget it. "

Her husband waves away her concern. "She's a Hufflepuff—and no, I don't mean that as an insult, but once we remind her why we needed them in the first place she'll stop being mad and just be glad for us."

"I suppose."

Draco watches intently as their artist starts up the tattoo gun, captivated as ever by muggle technology. The attention to detail, the way slowly but surely the harm that was wrought on his soul mate begins to disappear beneath the piece she's chosen to instead grace both of their arms.

(Not hiding it, she'd reminded them both that morning, but moving forward, building better atop of the ruins.)

Eventually it's finished, a swirling pattern of flowers and vines in black and white shading all along her forearm, so carefully done there's not a hint of the cursed scar left behind.

They break for lunch, and then it's his turn.

Both of them have done hours upon hours of research ahead of time, so he has no reason to worry—but even still, he can't help the feeling that something will go wrong, that somehow, it won't work despite it all.

The worries are unfounded; line by line, he watches as the needle leaves behind swollen skin and new art, and most important of all, not a trace of the Dark Mark beneath it.

(For so long, he never thought this day would come; never thought there would be a moment he could look at his arm again without feeling anger and sadness.)

(And yet here they are, and all he can see when the tattoo is done is the picturesque silhouette of constellations that's replaced what came before.)

It's evening by the time they leave, beaming and teary eyed, hand in hand.

/

"Here you go," Draco says as he hands Harry the red mug he keeps in the staff lounge.

They've been in there chatting over tea for twenty minutes, but now others begin to trickle in.

"Thanks, mate. Also, I have an idea."

Draco starts rubbing his temple instinctively. "Do I even want to know?"

"Staff meeting bingo!" When Draco doesn't react, Harry carries on explaining. "Imagine it: a square Trelawney yelling, McGonagall giving my dad a look like he's got detention, Slughorn falling asleep, someone sending an inappropriate patronus..."