Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters. (Nor do I profit from this story) Everything Harry Potter belongs to J..

Note: I was surprised by the number of people that came to the conclusion “Ah, Harry’s in a threesome. And they lived happily ever after.” Thinking on it again, I suppose it’s not that surprising after all. In a sea of fanfictions (and I must say, I am in many ways no more different than the next) it’s hard to stand out. It’s even harder to break the mould and lead readers away from things they’re so used to reading that they inevitably expect so-and-so-this-way to happen.

This being the last chapter, I’d be the happiest writer in the world if you would leave your thoughts on the story as a whole or perhaps on any little thing that cropped up! (There are some mysterious –or-not-so- reviewers who I think I’m supposed to know in person...)

Thank you.

EPILOGUE

S o n o f A v a l o n

-a n . e p i l o g u e-

Stone arches engraved with twining rowan and snowdrops, the worn grey pallor dressed in a layer of frost and sunlight flooded through, spilling into the corridor. The castle, the stone walls and masonry, every block of granite sang of mortal lives born and lost within the ancient house. The man breathed in the damp, musky scent of his father’s home, unconsciously searching for clues to the figure that had framed his young childhood. He wanted to run his hands along the pillars and stone arches, imagining that his father had done the same as a boy. He wanted to remember more than the hazy, childhood impressions.

If stones could speak then the man would poorly be disappointed. Draco Pendragon Malfoy was not known to the House of Camelot; not as a child, as a son or even as a young man. Draco Pendragon Malfoy was only briefly, king.

He knew this, time and time again, his mother had told him their story, theirs to keep and hold. The man smiled broadly; remembering how his mother lit up a room by just being there with his loving green eyes. And when that soft lilting voice drifted close to you, there was nothing you would not do to keep him there beside you.

He paused and cleared his head of drifting thoughts. He stood on the top of a short, yet grand flight of steps at the bottom of which were towering oak doors closed to him. His palms were sweating now, and the pulsing rush of blood seemed loud enough to hear. So close, he was so close to sealing his decision.

“There is no reason for you to do this.”

Swearing, Arthan almost jumped out of his skin and whirled around to glare at the intruder; wrapped in a hazel cloak, dark haired, and deep blue eyes dancing with mirth, Blaise grinned at the young man from where he idly leaned on a pillar. The Fae had his arms folded, one shoulder resting on the stone and his legs coolly crossed. “You can turn around and come home right now, Penny.”

Arthan ignored the annoying pet-name. “Shouldn’t you be tutoring Moira’s studies?”

“Your mother does a better job of it than I do.” Blaise shuddered slightly. “Of course, knowing Moira, she will have her own ideas on how to rule over Avalon. I cannot say that I look forward to the day Harry decides to pass on the Fae circlet to our Moira.”

“Yeah? Tough,” said Arthan dismissively but Blaise simply settled himself comfortably again, sitting down. “Must you be here? I can and will do this. Have I not proved myself enough?”

“You have. More than enough,” Blaise answered quietly. “But there is nothing you need to prove, Arthan. Your mother and I are very proud of you,” he smiled wryly, “even Moira. There is no reason for you to do this.”

Arthan braced his hand against the oak wood, closing his eyes and savouring the feel of nature’s gift. A beacon glowed in his mind—a memory, lilac and honey-suckle—and Arthan knew that there was every reason to do this.

He pushed open the doors and it creaked with age. Tapping into a hidden source of energy, closing his eyes, Arthan willed the air to take flight and gush outwards from him. Solidly, the doors bang open and all those in attendance—sheaves of documents sent fluttering, mouths agape and courtiers staring—froze where they were. Across the wide hall dotted with groups of business, was the throne and by the throne was a lesser seat from where the steward stared at him.

The young man—hair a flaxen gold, tall build and eyes the green of forests—did not give the mortals a chance to speak. He had every reason to return and claim the throne. He would make his father proud.

“I am Arthan, son of Avalon.” In clear, commanding tones, he spoke and he strode in, noting every gesture and filing away the reaction of every face. The steward appraised him as he approached then stepped aside from the throne. “Arthan James Pendragon.” The whispers broke out into shouts; a mixture of supporters and abject denial. But Camelot had not forgotten its king and Arthan would give them reason to remember.

The din rushed up around him, drowning his echoed words but amidst the commotion, Arthan eased onto the throne and took in his father’s court. He saw the man that tried to replace his father leave silently, knew what news would reach his mother, knew how his mother would react immediately, but Arthan was undeterred. In his palm, he held onto their story; a memory of lilac and honey-suckle.

And their story would live on.

‘’

Little feet pattered through the nursery, small hands lugging the sleeping (and protesting/meowing) cat from under the dresser. The animal hissed at the stubborn boy, then darted under the boy’s cot. The sweet face pouted. “Cat? Come out,” the child asked quietly, trying to sound brave at the same time.

He dropped to his knees and looked under his cot, reaching in but just at that moment another flash of lightning lit up the dark room. Quickly the small child shut his ears and eyes, anticipating the big roar in the sky. It grumbled lowly and then another, quicker flash of lightning blazed streaks through the clouds. He gave a frightened whine, bright green eyes steadily filling up with tears and resolutely decided to find his parents’ room. A mighty boom ripped the sky apart and loud drops of rain fell onto his window pane. Forgetting how he had tried to convince his mum that he was big enough not to need a faerie light in his room, little Arthan dashed towards his parents’ chambers. The door was not often closed (and never locked) but tonight, the child stared miserably at the high knob keeping him from the comfort of his parents’ warm bed.“Mum?” he whispered on the door. “Father?” There was no answer and another flash of lightning ripped the sky wider. Determined that he definitely must check on his parents (just to see that they weren’t scared), Arthan set about looking for something to stand on. It didn’t take long; Cat had slunk out of the room in time for him to catch the poor animal. There was a screeching yelp from Cat but the door opened and Arthan stumbled into the dark room right onto a lump of softness. It looked a lot like his father’s breeches.

“Draco?” Arthan heard his mother’s voice ask worriedly and his little heart swelled when he blearily saw his mum’s outline sitting up on the huge bed. “What was that?”

“Lie down, love,” his father mumbled in a funny voice, which sounded to young Arthan like a cold. There were more breathy sounds (a very bad cold, Arthan conclusively decided) and odd movements. “It’s just the cat.” He heard his mum moan and Arthan’s little heart of hearts worried for his mother. ‘What’s father doing?!’

A gasp and more odd movements. Arthan pushed himself to his feet and edged closer to the bed. “Stop, Draco wait- I’ll just- check on Arthan first-” He had never heard his father make that sort of noise before—they played pretend loads of times, but father never growled that way; it sounded too real. “Dra-co- please... just one second, I promise-”

“Need you now...”

“S’alright, mum. I’m fine,” Arthan quickly piped up. A big thump filled the room as lightning flashed again and Arthan saw that his father had somehow rolled off the huge bed, dragging half the sheets with him. His mum was bolt upright. “Aren’t you cold, mum?”

He couldn’t see, but his mum was blushing furiously. Arthan looked around on the floor and found his mother’s tunic next to his father’s leg. “Hello father,” he said to which Draco nonchalantly grinned a simple, ‘Hello son’. Pulling that out from under him, Arthan crawled onto the bed and gave it to his mum; smiling in answer to his mother’s welcoming arms. He cuddled close, giggling as they slipped under the thick blankets they pulled back from Draco.“Did the lightning scare you?” asked Harry, checking over his baby boy with his hands instinctively.

Arthan shook his head. But then he nodded a little. “Can I sleep here with you and father tonight? Please, please, please?” Harry is hardly going to say no to him, thought Draco grumpily. It was the Malfoy charm really, but most of it was Harry’s nature to spoil and mother the little boy. Draco sighed as he tugged on some clothes before getting back into bed with his family. And if he had said that out loud, he knew exactly what Harry would bite back with; he was guilty of spoiling their son just as badly. Grinning, Draco tugged his son and lover close to him, tucking the small hands under the blankets and placing a chaste kiss on Harry’s temple.

It wasn’t long before they were both asleep; nestled in a cocoon of warmth, even the storm outside could not reach them. Draco stroked the smooth skin and brushed the raven and pale blonde hair, his eyes softening when Harry’s arm draped over their son to rest on his chest. Three years. Three blissful years with these godsend angels, thought Draco, cringing at the sudden pain lancing through his lungs. He stifled a grimace and breathed in the fresh honey-suckle scent of his angels, holding them close to him.

‘How mortal it was to be mortal,’ Draco quietly thought. He wondered if his mother had suffered this much pain and could not imagine how she kept her illness so safely secret from him. But his mother had done it for him and he would do the same for his angels.

Out of respect, Blaise had kept a fair distance, even going as far as helping him hide their secret from the elfin young man. And grudgingly, Draco had to admit that he would not have gotten this far without the Fae’s help. Another lancing pain through his chest and Draco battled down the urge to cough. He didn’t want to wake Harry or Arthan up and so very gently tried to ease off the bed.

But the soft voice whispered from beside him and Draco stilled, holding his breath. “Don’t go, Draco. Don’t leave me.” He could see the shimmer of tears in those haunting green eyes even in the near-darkness and in the next flash of lightning, there was no hiding his ashen pallor, or his dry, bloodless lips from Harry. “Don’t leave us.”

Draco did not pretend now and could not make false promises. He sank back onto the bed, kissed his lover with every bit of passion he had brimming for the youth and breathed deeply against his son’s cheek. Harry bravely held in his tears, gripping Draco’s side. “Do you remember everything we’ve been through together, love? Our story?” Harry nodded, eyes blurring even as he blinked away his tears. They slid down his cheeks and instinctively, Draco wiped them away with his thumb. “Tell your children our story, love. Remember it and I promise we will always be together.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

Their son cuddled closer to his father, tugging at his mother’s slim fingers at the same time and where they could not speak, the child spoke for them. “Love you,” he mumbled through his child-like dreams. And the parents broke into teary smiles, mouthing the same sweet reply on the boy’s baby cheeks. “Love you so very much.”

And in memory,
They lived happily ever after.

-e n d-