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Epilogue

Nine Years Later

"Dad?" asked Scorpius. "What does your tattoo mean?"

Hermione paused beside her son's bedroom door, raising an eyebrow at the question. It was a good one, she had to admit, but it was certainly not something that most four-year-olds would think to ask. Nudging open the door, she leaned against the doorframe, and the smile that spread across her face was one that she couldn't help.

Scorpius was in bed with Cuddles, his stuffed ferret—and, Merlin, but she could still remember the way Draco had indignantly spluttered when she got home from work with that particular toy, and the blanket pulled up to his chin. With his shock of white-blond hair, stormy-grey eyes and skinny frame—all elbows and knees—he looked very much like the baby pictures she'd seen of her husband.

Draco perched on the edge of the bed, still dressed in green healer's robes, a storybook closed upon his lap. The Frog Prince, thought Hermione, glancing at the cover. It was their son's current favourite, though he tended to change his mind about these things at least once a month. Disney was making a movie of the fairy tale, she knew, and knowing Draco, he was going to insist that they took Scorpius to the cinema on opening night.

"Dad?"

Her husband blinked, turning to glance at her. With an imperceptible nod in his direction, she crossed the room and came to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. Snaking a reassuring arm around his waist, she adjusted herself as best she could against him, well aware that her stomach was only going to get bigger over the next few months now that they were expecting their second.

"What about my tattoo?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at her son as he stuck out his tongue at her. "Is mine not cool enough?"

"Mum," he whined, stretching out the word. "You both have the same tattoo."

"He's got you there, Hermione." Draco chuckled, reaching out to link his fingers with hers. Turning back to Scorpius, he smiled. "How do you know that tattoos have meanings?"

"James told me," Scorpius replied, nodding excitedly. "He says his Uncle Charlie has loads of tattoos and rides dragons and even has piercings. Mum, can I get a piercing? It'll be wicked cool."

"Maybe when you're older," she said, hoping that by the time he was older, he'd have forgotten. Leaning in so that her lips were an inch away from Draco's ear, she whispered "Remind me to never let Charlie babysit."

"Remind me to have a word with Harry about what James overhears. I swear, that boy has his father's nose for trouble," whispered Draco, shaking his head.

"It could be a Prince Albert piercing," said Scorpius. "James says he heard his Uncle Charlie telling his Uncle George that he plans on getting one, and that his Aunt Angelina warned his Uncle George that if he ever got one, she'd cut it off."

Draco turned red, and Hermione felt as though she needed to go out for a breath of fresh air. That was… not something she'd have ever expected to come out of her son's mouth, and she doubted she'd ever be able to look Charlie in the eye again. Leaning back to her husband's ear, she hissed:

"Remind yourself to hold me back next time we see Harry, because I swear to Merlin I'm going to thump him so hard. He's also never babysitting again. Never."

"Agreed," hissed Draco. "And remind me to tell Ginny, because we both know she'll tear him and Charlie a new one if she hears what James has been hearing."

"Mum! Dad!" Scorpius scowled, folding his arms across his chest and glaring up at them. "Stop whispering and answer me."

"He gets the bossiness from you." Draco rolled his eyes before scooting closer to their son. "Okay, Scor, but you're going to have to promise to go to bed right after, is that fair?"

Scorpius nodded, and Draco stretched his left arm out in front of him. Slowly, he rolled up his sleeve until it was well past his elbow, and the tattoo on his forearm was on full display. Two butterflies were inked across his pale skin, their wings blotting out the Dark Mark that had once stained her husband's skin, and Hermione smiled as she rolled up the sleeve of her jumper. Their tattoos were the same, down to the last detail, with the only difference being that hers were to obscure the still-vivid word carved into her skin.

"Butterflies, Scorpius," said Draco with a wan smile. "When we were younger, your mother and I were very sad and angry. It was like… do you remember the story I read to you last night, the one about the girl who slept by the fireplace and wore shoes made of glass?"

"Cinderella, Dad," corrected Scorpius, sounding distinctly unimpressed. "I remember it better than you, clearly."

"Merlin, above." Draco groaned. "How is it that he looks like me, but every time he opens his mouth, it's your voice that comes out?"

"Yes, Cinderella," said Hermione, thumping her husband in the back for that last remark. "Do you remember the part when Cinderella was locked in the attic and she was very sad?"

"Yes." Scorpius nodded, looking unsure of where this tale was going.

"That was Mum and I," said Draco with a wan smile. "But, when it was really bad, do you know what your mother told me? It's actually something that your grandmother used to tell her."

Butterflies, Hermione, her mother's voice whispered into her head, and she smiled as she rested her head on Draco's shoulder. She was starting to believe that this particular phrase was going to become a bit of sage wisdom in her family tree. One day, they'd have to tell their son the full story, but for now, it was best he simply learn the truth that had saved them both in the dark.

"What?" Scorpius asked, stifling a yawn.

"That butterflies are God's proof that you can have a second life, a better life."