**Disclaimer: The characters herein are the sole intellectual property of J.K. Rowling.**

Warnings: Slash/ Adult Situations/ Coarse Language/ Mentions of Tobacco and Alcohol Use/ AU

This story was written, as a gift, for the wonderful Euclidian. It is dedicated to the gay and lesbian soldiers serving, fighting and dying, overseas who, much like Harry and Ron, are faced with an impossible situation.

9:00 p.m.

Warm light seeped through tent flaps as he passed through camp. Inside, haloed by the glow, people, fellow soldiers, friends, slept, smoked, drank, whispered, laughed, cried, fought, fucked or prayed.

He'd spent this last sun-down in silence; no alcohol, no cigarettes; just himself and his thoughts as the moon rose high over the snow covered field.

Ron's tent was on the north side, two down from his own; he didn't announce himself as he ducked inside.

Ron lay on his cot, hands clasped behind his head; Harry hoisted his feet, moved them aside and sat himself at the end. They stayed like that for a while.

"We're gonna die tomorrow." Ron said with all the enthusiasm of a sleeping cat.

Harry smiled softly and nodded.

They lapsed into silence again.

"Do you think Hermione and Ginny'll be alright?"

"Yeah." Harry said. "I mean, maybe not at first but…" he turned to Ron. "I think… I was reading a letter Ginny sent me a couple weeks ago," he smiled. "The way she talks about Hermione." He shook his head. "They've gotten… close. They'll be fine."

Ron smiled and stared back up at the ceiling. "Good for them."

Someone's owl hooted softly outside the tent.

"Ron?"

"Yeah."

"Sit up a second."

Ron pulled himself up and crossed his legs on the cot. "Yeah."

Harry took a deep breath. "There's ah… There's something I…" he sighed, leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against his friends'. Ron gasped and Harry began to pull away when he felt Ron's hand on the back of his neck, holding him gently in place. He sighed, lips parting in a soft smile and he lost himself in the feeling of soft lips and warm, sweet breath.

Ron's eyes were heavy lidded when they finally broke away. "I've been waiting for you for a long time now." He whispered.

"Sorry it took me so long." Harry smiled.

Ron laughed softly and pulled him closer.

11:00 p.m.

"I don't think I could have been an Auror after this." Harry said. His fingertip traced Ron's cheek bone and slowly skated his brow; his head rested in the crook of Ron's arm against his pillow as they lay together.

"What would you have done?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Something that didn't invite the attention of the Prophet."

Ron laughed. "Mate, you'd have always been Harry Potter. You take a piss and the papers want to know about it."

"Fuck off." Harry grinned and shoved at his shoulder. Their laughter died away. "I don't know." He sighed. "I think I would have liked to have gone away. I've never been anywhere." He smiled up at Ron, hand cradling his cheek. "Would you have gone with me?"

Ron smiled. "'Course I would; you know that, Harry."

Harry nodded, tangled his fingers in his red hair and kissed him.

12:00 a.m.

"… with top hats and canes." Harry laughed.

"Very classy." Ron grinned.

"And we could rope off a little section to the side of the altar with tiny chairs and a sign that read "Reserved for the Gnomes"."

Ron looked up into the bright green eyes hovering over him and couldn't help but smile. "You really think Mum would have gone for all that?"

"It's our wedding isn't it?" Harry rested his chin on his arms where they crossed Ron's chest. "And besides, we spend so much time de-gnoming the garden and they always end up creeping back in at the most inopportune times. I say we give them something nice to wear, a place to sit and maybe they'll behave a little better."

"You're brilliant."

"Fucking genius is more like it." He scoffed.

Ron smiled, fingers tracing Harry's spine. "Hey; it's officially Christmas."

"Our last one."

No one said it, but the words hung in the air like a pall. Harry smiled sadly. "I'm glad I'm spending it with you."

And they were kissing again.

2:00 a.m.

Harry's head rested on his chest, memorizing the rhythm and committing it to memory; his new favourite song, his happy death march. "I would've wanted a family." He whispered. "Not right away; but definitely in the future. I've always wanted to be a father."

"Me too."

"Would we have a large family, you think?"

"No." Ron shook his head. "Two, three kids tops."

Harry smiled sadly up at him. "You don't want a whole passel, like your Mum?"

"God, no." Ron said as though the thought left a bad taste in his mouth. "I know what it's like to always be competing for affection, to never measure up to the brightest, to never be as cool as the oldest, to never be loved like the youngest…" he shook his head again. "I wouldn't put our kids through that."

"Do you really feel like that's what happened?"

"I know that's what happened." He said quietly. "I don't think Mum and Dad ever meant for any of us to feel that way but… it couldn't have been helped." He shrugged a shoulder.

They lay in silence for a while, close in each other's arms.

"Dawn's coming soon." Ron whispered.

"Not yet." Harry whispered, and Ron knew he was pleading. "Don't rush it." They fell back into each other.

4:00 a.m.

The sweat had barely cooled on Harry's brow, his heart still beating a somewhat frantic staccato, Ron's head nestled into his neck, when he heard him.

"I don't want to die."

Harry's eyes squeezed shut against tears that threatened to spill over and, in one crushing moment, he felt an overwhelming sense of loss, of regret; they'd had so little time. He'd waited too long; and now all they had was a lifetime's worth of hopes and dreams, of love and affection, condensed and spread thin over a few short hours; it simply wasn't enough.

"Don't." he whispered. "Please don't."

"I was ready before," Ron spoke into his neck. "I was ready… but not now."

"Ron, don't." Harry shook his head; his fingers twisted in Ron's hair as he pulled him up. "I can't give you false hope. We're outnumbered at least ten to one." He whispered fiercely. "We'll be the first out to meet him; and we're going to fall… but not before we see the light go out in his eyes and not before we take out as many of those evil bastards as we can."

Ron nodded, wide eyed, tears streaming silently down his cheeks. "I love you." he whispered.

"I love you too."

"I would have followed you anywhere; I would have married you, given you the family you've always wanted. I would have made you happy, kept you safe… from all this."

Harry nodded, wetness pooling at his collar bones, and wondered whether it was from him or Ron or both of them. "I would've spent everyday making sure you knew just how amazing you are, how loved, how important you are… to me. I wasn't alive 'til I met you… and you have no idea… you'll never know how much you mean to me."

They held each other close and mourned, not their losses, but what they'd never have.

5:00 a.m.

The sun was creeping over the horizon, bright and blinding, reflecting off the snow covered ground.

Harry and Ron dressed slowly, stealing kisses and caresses in the silence and stillness of the morning. With one last lingering kiss Harry cupped Ron's cheek and smiled softly. "Happy Christmas, Ron. I love you so much."

"I love you too."

Hand in hand they stepped out of the tent, not with hope, but at peace.

…

9:00 p.m.

Harry lay on the icy grass; a persistent ringing in his ears, blood in his eyes and a smile on his face.

Ron's hand was clasped weakly in his own.

Their hearts beat in unison; slow, faint, but steady.

Alive.

"Happy Christmas." Ron's words were little more than a breath but, to Harry, it was more rapturous than a choir of angels.

"Best ever." He sighed.