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.