Lips of an Angel
Haven't posted anything on here in a while. Better late than never, I suppose. So... read and rate? Oh, and it's a songfic. Inspired by Hinder's Lips of an Angel. And all of the characters and everything belong to JK Rowling, and the song belongs to Hinder. I don't get any money.
Though reviews are what keep me alive and would be very much appreciated.
3mhr
Honey why are you calling me so late?
It's kinda hard to talk right now.
Honey why are you crying? Is everything okay?
I gotta whisper cause I can't be too loud.
Harry was reading The Daily Prophet at the kitchen table when the fire crackled and a small voice asked "Harry?" He looked up with a start, and there he was, his head suspended in the flames of the dying fire. You could hardly tell where his hair ended and the fire began. Harry glanced around, and in one fluid movement, he was down on one knee in front of the fire.
"Honey, why you calling me so late?" Harry asked quietly. He was so close to the fire that he could feel his eyebrows getting singed, but he didn't care. He irritably ran a hand through his messy black hair.
Ron gazed at him, his eyes a brilliant green. Green? thought Harry. But Ron's eyes are only green when--
"Honey, why are you crying? Is everything okay?"
Ron just looked at him, face stony and revealing nothing. "No," he whispered hoarsely. "No, nothing's okay."
Well, my girl's in the next room;
Sometimes I wish she was you.
I guess we never really moved on.
Parvati was rocking their son in the nursery when she heard the fire crackle into life, and heard her husband talking to someone. "Harry?" she called. "Who's calling?"
"It's just Ron, love," Harry called back. Parvati smiled. It was good that he still kept in touch with his old school friends. It was a pity that Ron was the only one to have survived the long, hard war, she mused. The fifth anniversary of Dumbledore's death was coming up soon, now that she thought about it. The very next week, in fact. The Wizarding community had been rocked by the war and its aftermath; more than a quarter of all British wizards were dead, whether from the death eater attacks, or the battles, or the War trials. Parvati, Ron, and Harry were lucky to have escape the Ministry's roving eye.
They were currently in hiding in Russia, which was bitterly cold but relatively safe. She glanced out the window; it was still snowing. She couldn't actually see outside, of course; with the Aurors constantly combing the Northlands for sign of the fugitive Potters, they couldn't take any chances. The little bit of magic required to Charm the window was all Harry allowed her to do. Come to think of it, she mused, Ron's call might put their magical signature on the map. With a flick of her wand, which had been lying on the side table, she removed the charm on the wall, and it faded into plain wood. She leaned back against the rocking chair and sighed happily, hugging their son close. Harry made her so happy.
It's really good to hear your voice saying my name;
It sounds so sweet, coming from the lips of an angel .
Hearing those words it makes me weak,
And I never wanna say goodbye.
But you make it so hard to be faithful,
With the lips of an angel.
"Ron," Harry whispered, reaching his hand out to caress Ron's cheek and catching himself just in time. "Ron, what's wrong?"
"Everything!" Ron burst out. "I'm sick of hiding. I'm sick of all of this. I just want to go back to when we were happy! I'm freezing, Harry, and I miss you. I want to go home," he said, almost crying with frustration.
Harry's chest hurt. He missed Ron so much. He stood up to apparate, before cursing and remembering that they couldn't apparate without blowing their cover. "Just..." Harry began, but couldn't think of anything to cheer Ron up. "Just remember," he finished, after a moment of thought.
It's funny that you're calling me tonight.
And yes, I've dreamt of you too.
"Harry?" Ron asked hesitantly. "Help me remember." A botched Charm from his sister had impaired Ron's memory. He remembered only Harry smiled and whispered a word into the fire. "Recordor."
vvvv
It had been a long Quidditch practise. Harry was talking to Ginny in the Captain's office, and Ron was showering. Ron stretched languidly as the warm water ran over him in rivulets, washing away some of the pain of his tired muscles. He leaned against the shower wall, the cool marble against his forehead making him shiver with the pleasurable contrast. He didn't hear Harry padding into the shower barefoot until he was pinned to the shower wall by the smaller, stronger boy. Harry held his shoulders fast as he struggled. "Harry, mate, what do you think you're doing? Are you mad? Or are you--" Ron stopped at the look in Harry's eyes. "Harry?" he asked.
The water fell around them as Harry leaned in and their bodies met...
vvvv
"Ron?" Harry asked as they lay in bed late one Wednesday night.
"Mmm?" Ron murmured, his head on Harry's broad chest. He snuggled closer to Harry's warm, soap-scented form. The blankets were pulled up all the way, leaving just enough room for them to breathe, and they were both spent. It was the week before graduation, and the cool night air smelled of heather and new life. It was just cold enough to keep their down quilts on the beds, just cold enough to hold someone close. Needless to say, it was Ron's favorite time of the year.
"What would you say if I told you I loved you?"
Ron's mind went blank. "I would, erm, I mean, I would, you know... yeah." He felt like kicking himself. That didn't even make sense! How much stupider could he possibly sound?
Harry laughed, and the vibrations through his chest made Ron smile nervously. "Well, Ronald Weasley, I love you."
vvvv
It was the night before the final battle, two years after graduation. In their battle tent, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were suiting up. When Ron feebly protested Hermione's presence, Hermione turned a deaf ear. "Oh, please, Ronald," she said irritably as she pushed her way into the tent. "I've seen you both naked before--" They both winced at the memory of her catching them in the middle of a rather personal act "--and one more second with Parvati is going to drive me completely insane. Now, shove over."
The air smelled of blood and sweat and rot. Harry breathed in deeply, smiling slightly. There were butterflies in his stomach as he laced up his spell-repellant armor. Hermione came up behind him and tightened the hardest-to-reach straps. She stood on tiptoes to reach his shoulders, and fastened his coat. "You ready?" she murmured into his ear. He nodded, mute. "Well then, get your boyfriend over here. I need to say goodbye."
With a nod, Ron was standing next to them. They wrapped their arms around each other for what could well be the last time. They stood there for what seemed like only moments, before Harry's forearm began to burn. "He's calling us," Harry murmured, looking into both of their eyes. They nodded silently and followed their leader out of the tent.
Outside the small tent, the Deatheater camp was filled with activity. Lucius and Draco Malfoy nodded curtly to the trio, MacNair inclined his head slightly, and the hordes of black-robed men parted like the red sea as the Voldemort's three prized lieutenants, formerly known as the Golden Trio, made their way to their Master's feet.
Voldemort sat on his magnificent throne, towering above his minions. Severus Snape sat on his left, eyeing the three coldly. "My Lord," Harry said, bowing his head to kiss Voldemort's outstretched hand.
And does he know you're talking to me?
Will it start a fight?
No, I don't think she has a clue.
Well, my girl's in the next room,
Sometimes I wish she was you;
I guess we never really moved on.
Ron smiled. It was beautiful to Harry. Ever since the Deatheaters had been forced into hiding, there was so little joy in their lives. Even Harry's own son couldn't cheer him like the sight of Ron's smiling face. Ron's face turned to panic, however, when Harry heard a faraway voice from Ron's end of the fireplace. "Ron?" called Blaise Zabini. "Ron, you there?"
"I've got to go," Ron said hurriedly. "He's home from the revel. Love you, Harry," Harry started to reply in kind, but he only managed "I lo--" before the fire flickered and went dark once more.
It's really good to hear your voice saying my name
It sounds so sweet
Coming from the lips of an angel
Hearing those words it makes me weak
And I never wanna say goodbye
But you make it so hard to be faithful
With the lips of an angel
(And I never wanna say goodbye)
But you make it so hard to be faithful
With the lips of an angel.
Parvati found him an hour later, still watching the now long dead fire. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Come to bed, love," she murmured, her quiet voice so unlike Ron's. And so Harry allowed himself to be helped up and supported into the bedroom by his beautiful, sweet, completely-wrong-for-him wife.
Honey why are you calling me so late?
r&r?