He finds her scar beautiful
The word mudblood carved onto her skin. Grazing the edges under his fingertips, the sensation brought back her memories of blood gushing through it. Her sorrowful scream breaking the silence of a dry, cold winter night. The vicious woman's laughter, filling his family's manor to the deepest, darkest, corners. His lips traced the scar softly, brought chill down her spine, going north from her right arm to her clavicule, nibbling down her neck a bit longer, until it reached her earlobe as he whispers kind words of love, and how she is not defined by the kind of blood running through her veins.
She finds his scar beautiful
The remains of the dark mark at his lower left arm always made her stop and stare. She remembered the enormous amount of fear coming upon her the first time she saw the same one on another person, the feeling came again when she saw his. It can be barely seen now, aside from faint lines and dark discoloration at where it used to be. Her touch reminded him of that night, when flaming hot metal touched his skin. His screams of agony, begging for the pain to subside. She gave him butterfly kisses along the mark, rubbing it softly with her thumb. Wordlessly telling him that he is not defined by what had stained his skin, what he used to be.
The were both broken adults
Hurt, scarred for life, no longer the innocent children who threw insults back and forth with no malicious thought in mind. They have both spoken the unforgivables. They are both unforgivable to others, but they found forgiveness in each other every time the fingers in their scarred arms intertwines automatically like magnet,
–and it feels as if they are whole again.
