I went and piqued my own interest with the way I ended this thing. So I just had to figure out a certain little detail...

"or with a feather-light first kiss in the forbidden forest the following week"

Just a little elaboration, not really a chaptered thing.

D: Not mine.

Enjoy!

He felt nice. More than nice, really.

It might not have seemed like a Once Upon A Time, as they stood alongside tear-stained friends around a Hogwarts left in pieces from what was almost the end, but as they tried to put it back together, it felt like one. He felt like it.

She had never though that something had to be tangible for it to be real, she believed in too many great and mysterious things she couldn't quite grab hold of which were no less true to her. Seeing wasn't believing (for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack hadn't been seen in almost a century)...but maybe feeling was. Because she believed in him, and he was very, very real. She loved being able to reach out and touch him now, whenever she wanted, just because she could. When she considered it, she supposed that there had been nothing stopping her from doing so before, but she never had thought of such a thing. In general people, had always been a bit put out when she touched them, even when she felt like it was the appropriate thing to do in the moment.

He seemed to like it when she put her hands on him though, which was nice also.

She had friends now, and because from what she understood about the nature of friendship was that as such they should tell one another about these things, she did. One night at the burrow while Mrs. Weasley was preparing dinner and they were setting the table, she told Ginny and Hermione about how lovely the touching was. Their eyes went wide as she said it, and they glanced incredulously at one another and snorted and giggled behind their hands at her. She could tell that it was not in an unkind way though, and through the blush rising in her cheeks, Hermione said she understood, with Ginny nodding in agreement. She could see it in them, as well, as the others joined them around the table. It was obvious in the way that one would place a hand on a sleeve, or the soft glow another's eyes would take on when the gesture was reciprocated. It was all lovely, and she was so very happy that they were all together. And that he sat by her at dinner and held her hand under the table.

It was different now, what a simple touch could mean now, because they were different. They were in love.

Love felt nice, like what a Once Upon A Time should feel like.

It felt like his arms, which were surprisingly powerful. When coming upon him unaware, she would lay her palm upon his arm to convey her presence so as not to startle him. Everyone was ill at ease in those painful first weeks of rebuilding lives after the final battle, especially him. The muscles in his bicep would tense up immediately at the contact, and the feeling of the forceful contraction beneath his skin fascinated her. It was nice, the way the newly implemented sinews felt under her touch, still so sturdy even after he recognized her touch and relaxed. She enjoyed the sensation of running her hand down the length of his arm, experiencing the contours so new and captivating to her, especially when she reached her destination, which was to intertwine her fingers with his.

His hands felt childlike. Not in size, as they were bigger than a child's. In fact, they were much larger than her own by comparison, which felt rather nice, like a warm glove to slip into. And yes, they had accomplished feats no child should ever have to face, but there was something youthful about them just the same that she adored. She wished she could have held them when he actually was a child, and in thinking so felt dreadfully sorry for the mother who had, but could not remember to tell her what they had felt like then.

Sometimes, if he had just come from trying to make sense of what was left of the herbology gardens, there might be dirt under his nails or a green-ish tinge to his fingertips, but she didn't mind in the least. It only made her long to show him her Father's lovely dirigible plums, and to work in them alongside him until her hands matching his. When she would take hold of his hand, dirt and all, they were often clammy against her own, especially in the beginning, but the warmth of her own palms seeped through soon enough. And if, on the off chance that he happened to be the one to initiate taking her hand, like that night at the Burrow, they even trembled a bit. It was this that reminded her of the little boy from Gryffindor, the 'nobody' who could never quite make eye contact with her. But then she would smile at him, and he would smile at her, and that always seemed to help.

Holding hands was nice. Much nicer with him than she had thought it could be, than it had been before. She had held another boy's hand previous to his. Her father's, of course, when she was little, but then she had held Harry Potter's hand, back in her fifth year the night of Slughorn's Christmas party. When she told him about that, his grip went a little slack in hers, but she only tightened her hold. She hold him how holding Harry's hand had felt very ordinary, like a hand wrapped in another looked like it might feel. Not unpleasant, but nothing she desired to do again. Maybe it was because their hands had been clasped, and not intertwined the way theirs were now, but more likely it was due to whose hand she had been holding. After he heard this, he released her hand and she felt rather sad about the loss of contact and wondered if she had offended him. She did that sometimes, though she never meant to. However, she had only a moment to ponder this, before she felt the arm at his side sliding around her shoulders, and his lovely hand pulling her closer to him.

His side even felt nice, she noted, as she was pressed up against it tighter than she thought could have been comfortable. But it was.

Hermione had smiled secretly when she saw them like this, whispering to her once the girls were alone that all the two of them needed now was a great white horse upon which they could go riding off into the sunset. The suggestion confused her though, and she wrinkled her nose at the thought. Horses were notorious for carrying nargles hidden in their forelocks, she had thought that everyone knew that. She appreciated her friend's suggestion, but as for herself, she would much prefer a thestral.

She thought he would too, though he had never seen the creatures before. He mentioned it one evening as they were taking a break from leveling the grounds just outside the forbidden forest. Even with magic it was slow and exhausting work, and they were both sweating as they pointed their wands at the massive divots left in the dirt from exploding curses and refilled the soil which had been disturbed inch by inch. Staring a bit absentmindedly into the thick grove of trees just beyond them, he asked her if she had ever seen the thestrals that always pulled the carriages into school when they were younger. He hadn't, but he couldn't have before of course, but now...well, most people could, he supposed. She replied in the affirmative, tucked her wand behind her ear, and, because it seemed to be the right thing to do, she took his hand in hers and led the way.

It was colder once they were inside the forest, and darker too, but she navigated them both between the gnarled bark and exposed roots with ease. A soft breeze ruffled the leaves and cooled the perspiration on their skin, leaving chillbumps and the smell of damp earth in its wake. There was a tug on her hand, and in looking over her shoulder she saw him stop to close his eyes and inhale deeply. The expression on his face was blissful, and she wondered if this was what amortentia smelled like to him. She had never made it to this part of sixth year potions herself, but in observing the effect the scent had on him, she supposed it was very attractive indeed.

Possibly feeling her stare upon him, he opened his eyes to find that she had not dropped her gaze, as so many would be prone to do when caught gaping. The thought had never occurred to her though, for why would one look away from something they found beautiful? Because he was beautiful to her, a thought which was reaffirmed as he began to blush under her enraptured gaze. He smiled then, a bit anxiously, his lips sliding back over his teeth to draw up in peaks in the corners, and she found herself wondering what they felt like.

His lips, that is. She had never touched another person's lips before. Holding hands was one thing, but even she could tell that kissing a boy held an entirely different meaning.

Though the allure of his lips held her gaze securely, she could make out faintly the dark blur of several large shapes moving slowly in their direction from out of the corner of her eye. The thestrals were quite used to her by now, and a few had even grown accustom to the fruits she routinely offered...though they never ate more than a bite before dropping it. Still, they were truly very docile animals at heart and did not seem to dislike human company. Now that the acromantula's had vacated the forest, they were much more approachable and she was sure that one would let him give one a pat or two on the withers. Seeing them draw near, she felt should say something, whisper it so as not to frighten them, to let him know that the animals were there. It was to witness their strange beauty that she had led him to this very spot in the first place, but now, with the objective of their journey so close, she could not make the words form on her tongue. To do so would most surely break the spell of silence they seemed to be lost in, and with a desperate kind of hope to preserve the moment she wished fervently that he would not notice they were no longer alone.

But if he had noticed that the two of them had company, he made no signs of showing it. He was looking at her, only her, and she knew she was doing the same. It felt as though they might be the only two people left in the world right now, the way they were looking at each other, staring deeply and breathing rapidly and...and...oh, the wrackspurts were making everything terribly hazy, and she could think of nothing, not thestrals nor Hogwarts or anything that wasn't him. Something in the pit of her stomach clenched of its own accord, and in reaction she drew her lower lip in between her teeth. It happened again when she realized her simple action had caused his eyes to focus directly on her mouth.

Could be possibly be thinking the same as her? Was he wondering what her lips felt like as much as she was about his?

It was foolish, though, to wonder things that could so easily be determined.

And so Once Upon A Time she posed the question quite frankly, because there really was no other way to put it. She told him she wanted to kiss him, and she asked if he wanted to kiss her. And this time, he didn't blush.

She watched as he shifted his weight and slowly took one, then two steps towards her. They were close, so very close to one another. He didn't say a word, but cocked his head slightly, lifting a hand up to her face and briefly cupping her cheek. With a reaction so instinctual it almost surprised her, she found herself pressing into his palm, which was maybe still a little clammy, but it was his, and so she loved the way it felt. It was only for an instant though, and then both of his hands were in her hair, sliding back through the windblown tangles to clutch at the nape of her neck. His fingertips pressed lightly into her scalp, and she felt as though little bolts of lightening might very well be shooting out of her hair and into the darkening twilight due to his touch. She wasn't sure what to do with her own hands, but she knew that they needed to be touching him, for all of her body was crying out to do so, and so she reached up, standing on her tip-toes to take hold of his forearms and pull herself to him, all the while staring wide-eyed in anticipation.

Until his eyes closed.

And his lips felt very nice on hers indeed.

She let out a tiny gasp as the short distance between them was breached, the contact of skin so warm and almost familiar, and at the same time completely foreign to anything she had ever known. His lips were parted ever so slightly, and she could feel the heat that lay just beyond them as he sighed into her mouth. He kept a tender yet steady pressure between them, and she returned it with the same gentle hesitation for but a moment before they both pulled back with a breathless kind of wonder.

A short, almost dazed sort of laugh escaped him, and he muttered something under his breath about the thestrals, which were now almost close enough to touch. He seemed content to leave his hands where they were, and instead of reaching out towards the creatures he only delved deeper into her silver-tinged tresses, winding it around his fingers in what was sure to be a tangled mess as though he would be content to lose them there forever. Using this leverage to pull her even closer, he kissed her once more, and this time his lips pressed against the skin of her forehead as she nuzzled tightly into his chest.

Other girl could take knights in shining armor upon great white stallions. She would love the brave, fumbling man with clammy palms but warm lips and a strong heart, who kissed her like they were living inside a fairytale.

And to her, it was.

This is Neville and Luna, btw...