In November

by Icarus

His lips were soft, which was unexpected. Ron looked like he was all skinny angles, but he was soft really. His eyelashes fluttered closed, his breath a warm pant on Neville's cheek, a November mist.

They had just been talking, that's all, about Quidditch and family and girls and things like that, when it got really, really quiet.

Neville breathed a sigh, and took in the arching branches overhead, the quiet lake, the patch of sky.

"We probably shouldn't do that again."

They both agreed, as they leaned in for a second kiss.

Finis.