FD20

Epilogue.

“He’s beautiful,” Artemis murmured against Harry’s flaming red hair, his arms snaking around his husband’s waist in the cool Moroccan apartment.  “What should we call him?”

Harry sighed, his hand reaching out to trace their newborn son’s beautiful nose.  Unlike their daughter Miranda, who was nearly three, their son had Harry’s wild fairy hair and bright blue eyes. 

“Should we name him after another of Uranus’s moons, perhaps?” Harry whispered tiredly as he leaned against Artemis.

Artemis placed a gentle kiss on Harry’s smooth neck, marveling at its beauty and whiteness.  He knew his husband was still exhausted from the several hours of labor two weeks ago.  He had Juliet flown in from Fowl Manor to help look after the children so he could care for Harry himself.  His parents still didn’t know about their grandchildren—Harry and Artemis hadn’t been back to Ireland since they had left three and a half years ago, and Artemis still hadn’t forgiven his mother who had attempted to track Artemis down and insist he give up his folly for loving a boy.  They had the Malfoys, however, who would visit twice a year wherever they were, and they spent their holidays at Viktor and Draco’s comfortable townhouse in Sofia that they purchased just before their marriage the previous summer.  It was all they needed, their little family. 

“Which one then?” Artemis questioned lightly.  “Oberon from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer’s Night Dream, or Ariel—“

“From the Tempest,” Harry supplied laughing slightly.

“And Umbriel.”

Harry turned to him in question.

“He’s from Alexander Pope’s The Rape of the Lock,” Artemis supplied, kissing Harry’s sweet lips gently, lingering for a few moments in happiness.  “Then the last possible name—unless you want to use Titania, Margaret, or Mab,” he teased, “is Cupid.”

“Cupid is fitting,” Harry said breathlessly, “but somehow I think he’ll be teased at school.”

“True,” Artemis conceded, kissing Harry once again before turning again to their sleeping son.  “And at Beauxbatons they will mispronounce it as Cupide.”

“How dreadful,” Harry responded in mock-seriousness, drawing a quiet laugh from Artemis.  “Ariel or Oberon, then.”

“Oberon,” Artemis decided after a pause.  “Oberon Regulus—for your father.  Oberon, though a trickster, was the king of the fairies, not an enslaved spirit.”

“Oberon Regulus,” Harry agreed with a sigh.  “He’s so small, our little Lord Black.”

“He’ll grow,” Artemis soothed.  “Now, Hyperion, come to bed.”

A shiver ran through Harry’s body at the words and Artemis smirked.  “Make love to me?” he whispered.  “It’s been too long.”

“Much too long,” Artemis agreed, thinking of the past three weeks.  “I’ll be gentle.”

“I know.  You were my first friend, my love.  I’ve always trusted you.”

They kissed quietly and, just as Harry drew away, Artemis lifted him into his arms, and carried him to their bedchamber, the night swallowing up their quiet sighs and soft moans.

The End.