Huge thanks to my beta, Maggie!

This was originally written for the Charlie Ficathon on LiveJournal, and it is part of my Pieces Universe. Charlie and Dom reference her section from the story cycle, but this story stands on its own.

Please excuse my brief French. I don't speak the language, and neither does my beta, so I did my best with it, but please let me know if I got anything wrong!

Dominique was the first of his nieces and nephews to ask him The Question.

"Uncle Charlie? Why are you weeding Gran's garden without magic?"

That was not The Question.

Smiling, Charlie sat back on his heels, mopping his forehead with the back of his borrowed pink floral gardening glove. "I spend two months here every summer, living off your grandparents' generosity. Helping with yardwork and general maintenance is just my way of paying for my room and board."

"Yeah, but you can use magic, right? You're not being punished, I mean."

"It's nice to do some honest work with my hands for a few hours every morning. Now, why don't you stop swinging your legs on that fence and come help me out, huh? These weeds aren't just going to walk out of the garden on their own."

Dominique grinned and hopped lightly to her feet. "They might if you'd cast a simple Ambulation Charm," she said, kneeling beside him in the dirt.

"Could even make them do cartwheels," Charlie said with a grunt, working on a particularly stubborn patch of nettles. Dom raised an eyebrow.

"With an Ambulation Charm? Sounds like someone needs to take a Remedial Charms course. I could mention it to Professor Flitwick if you—" She broke off with a shriek as Charlie sprayed her with water from his wand. "You'll use your wand for that but not to help with the weeding?" she demanded with a laugh.

"That's more fun," he said, grinning. Dominique stuck her tongue out at him and wrinkled her nose, then set to work weeding the cabbage bed.

Uncles weren't supposed to have favorites; Charlie knew that. But there were some things you just couldn't help. Victoire may have been his goddaughter, but she had never sought him out the way Dominique had. He'd always had a soft spot for Dom, because she'd always seemed to need him more than the others. It had been a privilege to have a front row seat to watch her grow from the self-conscious, awkward young teenager she'd been even only last summer, into the confident, self-content young woman humming and weeding beside him.

"Uncle Charlie?" she asked after a long stretch of companionable silence.

"Mmm?"

"Why don't you have any kids?"

That was The Question, and the asking of it caught Charlie completely off guard.

He sat back on his heels, momentarily stunned. Then he laughed. "And where is this question coming from?" he asked. Dom shrugged.

"You know Louie's almost walking, right? He'll be a year old next month. Gran was watching him the other day and lamenting that he's growing up so fast, and once he does, we're done with babies until us grandkids grow up and get married, and it occurred to me that I have nine aunts and uncles, eleven with Aunt Gabrielle and Uncle Philippe, and all of them have had kids except you. And I just wondered why."

Charlie sighed, squinting up at the sun, and considered his answer. "Why do you think?" he finally asked. Dom chewed the inside of her lip.

"I think . . . there could be lots of reasons," she said slowly. "I think, maybe you never found the right person. Or maybe you thought your career didn't mesh with settling down. Or maybe you loved someone once and it didn't end well. I don't know. That's why I'm asking."

"Interesting theories," Charlie said, rubbing his chin. "What say we make finding the answer interesting, too?"

Dom rolled her eyes. "Another summer assignment? Don't you have other nieces and nephews to torture?"

"None who come to me with such interesting questions," Charlie said with a grin. Then he peered at her. "I thought you liked my summer assignments."

Dom ducked her head and shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah, I do," she admitted with a smile. "But I can't go around telling you that, Uncle Charlie."

"Ah, yes, you must maintain the illusion of the contrary teenager, I understand."

Dom nudged him with her shoulder, then turned back to the garden. "Is it time to thin the carrots yet?"

"Another few days," Charlie said, with a practiced eye toward the young plants. "Now. Do you want the assignment?"

"Hit me," Dom said, pulling the last clump of dandelions from the dirt in front of her and dusting off her hands.

"Okay," Charlie said. "Here goes. Last summer, you worked on getting to know yourself. This summer, you're going to work on getting to know someone else."

"You?" Dom asked. "I already know you."

"Exactly," Charlie said, pointing a finger in her direction. "You know me. So using what you know about me, and what you've observed about me over your long and storied fifteen years of life, put together a list of your theories and decide which you think is most likely, and why. And in, oh . . . ten days? You come back and tell me, and I'll let you know how close you are."

"Ten days?" Dom repeated. "Last summer I had three weeks!"

"Last summer, the assignment was considerably more complicated. Take these weeds to the compost pile on your way back to the house, yeah?" Dom made a show of grumbling, but she did as he asked with a wink and a skip in her step.

.::.

The next day, she tracked him down out by the pasture fence. "Uncle Charlie?" she asked, twisting the hem of her shirt in her hands. The hesitation in her voice made him look up from the post he was repairing.

"You all right?"

"Um . . ." She chewed her lip nervously. "I may have started something?"

Charlie set down his post and leaned against the fence. "Started something?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. Dom took a deep breath, then spoke in a rush, not meeting his eye.

"Molly asked me what I was working on last night and I told her and I didn't expect her to actually be interested, but she was, and then she told James and Fred and Lily, and now everyone is — speculating about why you don't have kids?"

One corner of his mouth quirking upwards, Charlie ran a hand over his bicep as he thought, his dragon tattoo moving playfully out of the way of his fingers. "They are, huh?" he asked.

"Are you angry?" was the next rushed question from his niece.

"Angry?" he repeated. "Dom, if I didn't want anyone speculating about my life, I wouldn't have told you to."

"Yeah, but you told me, not . . . everyone."

"Everyone is . . ." He exhaled, thinking. "You, Molly, James, Fred, Hugh, Lil, and Luce?"

"And Rose and Al. And Victoire."

Charlie shrugged. "Still not that many people." When she kept looking uncertain, he crossed to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Dom, seriously. It's fine. Okay?" Finally reassured, she nodded. "So," he said, returning to the fence and inviting her to sit with him. "What are the popular theories so far?"

She stared at him. "Are you serious?" she asked. "You want to know?" Charlie grinned.

"I'm actually insanely curious," he said, and he was.

The Question was not a new one; people had been asking Charlie The Question since his siblings had started marrying and having kids of their own. And Charlie usually shrugged The Question off easily enough. The people he cared most about knew the answer, and had for years. And he'd known that eventually, the next generation would get curious and ask, and he knew, too, that he would give them the truth. But in the meantime, he was quite intrigued to hear the answers they would come up with on their own.

"Er," Dom said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger as she came to the fence, thinking. "Well, Al thinks you just haven't found anyone more important than your dragons." Charlie nodded; Al was easily the most logical of his nieces and nephews, so that outlook made sense. "And Lucy thinks you aren't able to maintain a relationship because you're still harboring deep-rooted regrets over not signing to a professional Quidditch team."

That made him laugh out loud. "Of course she does," he said through the laughter.

"The most popular theory, though, is that you have a tragic love story somewhere in your past that's still haunting you."

"And who's spear-heading this theory? Victoire? Rose? No, don't tell me. Lily?"

"Um, Fred, actually," Dom informed him, her face wrinkling in shared bewilderment for a moment before she shrugged. "But, yeah, most of the girls have latched onto that idea."

"And you?"

Dom shrugged again. "Wizengamot's still out." She hesitated. "Uncle Charlie, are you sure you're okay with everyone—"

"Yes," he said, gentle but firm. She nodded.

"Okay."

"In fact," he said with a grunt, straightening, "I want you to keep me apprised." Her eyebrows shot up.

"Really?" she asked again.

"Insanely curious," he repeated, and she shrugged.

"Okay. Well, I told Gran I'd help get lunch ready."

"And I have a fence to repair. See you at lunch."

"Saepem Infigo," she called at him over her shoulder as she made for the house. "It'll fix that fence right up!"

"Professor Flitwick must be so proud!" he shouted after her. He caught just the hint of her grin as she disappeared beyond the crest of the hill.

.::.

Dom caught up with him the next day while he was harvesting the berry bushes that ran wild at the edge of his parents' property. "Well," she said, sitting heavily on the ground and swiping a handful of blackberries, "tragic love story has won out."

Charlie glared and moved the basket out of her reach. "I'll thank you not to undo the morning's work," he said. "Tragic love story?"

"Yeah, Al put up a good, logical argument for his dragon idea, but the tragic love story is, you know."

"Much more romantic?"

"Yep." She pulled another berry from the basket and considered it. "Can you summon blackberries from the bush?" she asked with genuine curiosity.

"Yeah, but it's actually faster to pick them by hand," Charlie answered, drawing from personal experience. "Now, tell me more about this tragic love story. When did it take place? School? After? Who was it with?"

"Shouldn't you be the one answering these questions?" Dom asked pointedly. "I mean, it's your tragic love story."

"No," Charlie corrected with a grin. "It's your tragic love story. Yours and your cousins'. You're the ones telling this thing. So what are my details?"

"Uncle Charlie, you are attributing a much higher level of organization to us than we actually have, you know that, right?"

"Well, then, it sounds like someone needs to stop eating all my blackberries, get back to the house, and do something about that, doesn't it?"

Dom made a show of stealing one more berry before she headed back to the Burrow.

.::.

"Forbidden romance."

Charlie looked up from the tree stump he was removing, grateful for the distraction and the chance to take a brief rest. "Forbidden romance. I like it," Charlie said conversationally, laying his pickaxe on the ground and Conjuring two stools and a handkerchief. "With who?"

"Want to put that wand to use, maybe . . . Vanishing that stump?"

Charlie smiled. "With who?" he repeated.

"Well, I'd help, but I'm not of age, so legally, I can't," Dom said with a smirk.

"Very funny," Charlie said dryly. "You should seriously consider becoming a comedian."

"I have been working on my stand-up routine, but I don't think it's ready for the big time yet."

"You're cute when you're sarcastic."

Dom slid onto her stool, pretending to blush. "Oh, Uncle Charlie, I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Uh huh," Charlie said, crossing his arms. "Forbidden romance. Go."

Dom grinned. "Okay. It was while you were at school. So, you're young, wild, impassioned–"

"A perfect specimen of masculine athleticism, yes, I remember. Go on."

"Yes," she agreed patiently, "and there was a girl – quiet, shy, and . . ." She paused dramatically for the big reveal, and Charlie obliged her by leaning forward in expectation. "A Slytherin."

Charlie learned back and crossed his arms. "A Slytherin?" he repeated. "Really, Dom? Is that the best you can do?"

"Hey," she said defensively. "You went to school against the backdrop of a blood status war! You—"

"No, I went to school in the calm lull between the two halves of the blood status war," Charlie corrected. "I'm not saying Gryffindor/Slytherin tensions weren't high, but nothing to write a can-never-love-again forbidden romance about. I knew plenty of people in inter-house relationships. If I'd wanted to date a Slytherin, I could have dated a Slytherin. I'm not saying my mates would have been happy about it, but no one would have stopped me."

"But what about her mates? They might have—"

"Make her the daughter of a Death Eater." Dom peered at him, suspicious.

"Why?"

"Because it adds the element of the forbidden that this mystery girl being a Slytherin alone doesn't have."

Dom considered this. "But there weren't any known Death Eaters between the two wars, were there?"

"Sounds like someone needs to spend a little more time studying History of Magic and a little less trying to school her uncle in Charms," Charlie said, tweaking Dom's nose.

"Vanishing Spells are Transfiguration skills, thank you very much," she said primly, moving out of his reach. "Should I track down Minerva McGonagall and tell her about your confusion?"

Charlie shuddered. "Don't even threaten it!" he said. "Go tell your cousins Tragic Love Affair Girl needs to be the daughter of a Death Eater."

"Am I supposed to tell them that you told me so?" she asked, standing.

"Now, that would ruin all the fun," Charlie said with a wink. "Oh, and Dom?" When she turned back, he waved his wand, and the two stools disappeared. "Nothing wrong with my Vanishing skills," he said, then picked up his shovel and went back to work on the stump, whistling.

.::.

The next morning, Charlie set to work cleaning out the chicken coop. He didn't expect Dom to come in – the place really was filthy – so he kept an eye out for her. Right on schedule, she made her way out the back door of the Burrow while all her cousins trudged out the side, brooms in hand, for an impromptu Quidditch match in the orchard.

"So how fares the forbidden romance?" Charlie asked, skipping lightly down the wooden steps to the ground, wiping his hands on a waiting rag. Dom looked puzzled.

"Forbidden romance?" she repeated. "Oh, you mean the Slytherin girl? Yesterday's news, Uncle Charlie. Do try to keep up."

"My apologies," Charlie said with a laugh, leaning against the outside of the coop, ignoring the squawking of the chickens within. "Why don't you bring me up to speed?"

"Okay, so, Rose and Lily made the point last night that school-day romances don't usually make for 'I'll never love again' kinds of tragedies."

"Rose and Lily are aware that they are products of school-day romances, right?" Dom dismissed the concern with a wave of her hand.

"Those love stories came out against the backdrop of war," she said, "which you so specifically pointed out yesterday was lacking in your own circumstances."

"Fair enough. So, a post-school love story, then?"

"Yes. With a Muggle."

Charlie laughed and clapped his hands together, startling the chickens. "A Muggle! I love it. One problem."

Dom huffed. "Yes?" she said, with a long-suffering air.

"How did I meet a Muggle?" Dom glared, a hand on her hip and accusation in her eyes. Charlie held out his hands in defense. "Hey, I'm just asking. Remember, I went to Romania at 17, and I live and work on a dragon reserve. I don't go off base very often, and given how poorly dragons and Muggles tend to mix, we're pretty good about keeping the latter away. Also, there's that pesky Statute of Secrecy."

"Well, fine, if you want to bring logic into the story."

"It's a failing, I know."

Dom blew her bangs out of her face, thinking. "Okay," she finally said. "I will get back to you on this."

"I await your return with great anticipation," Charlie said with a grin, pushing off from the wall of the coop to gather his cleaning supplies once more.

"You know, if you're worried about damaging eggs with a Scourgify, you should know that Gran collects them all first thing every morning, so there's no reason for you to physically clean chicken shit off the floor," she informed him in a conversational tone.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Sorry. There's no reason for you to physically clean la merde des poulets off the floor."

"Much better, thank you."

"Tout sonne mieux en français, n'est-ce pas, mon Oncle Charlie?" Dom said, dropping a curtsey, then headed for the orchard to watch the game. Charlie grinned, watching her go. Everything sounded better in French, indeed.

.::.

Dom was later than usual the next morning; Charlie had nearly finished trimming the grass in the back pasture by the time she sauntered over the hill.

"She was an archeologist!" Dom called as she approached. Charlie grinned.

"Yeah?" he asked. Dom nodded, looking very self-satisfied.

"Indeed," she said. "A Muggle archeologist, in Romania studying dinosaur fossils."

"Fascinating," Charlie said genuinely, his smile never leaving his face. "But I'm still not sure how I met her."

"Patience, grasshopper," Dom said. "I'm getting to it." Charlie chuckled. "She and her team found a dragon skeleton, and this girl was so insistent that it was a dragon skeleton that the discovery came to the attention of the Romanian Ministry of Magic, who had to send someone in to take care of it."

"I hope that someone wasn't me, as I don't work for the Romanian Ministry."

"Don't worry, it wasn't. But the official contacted the reserve because he wanted a consult from someone who had experience with dragons. Which is when the reserve sent you."

"My experience is more with the living specimens," Charlie pointed out.

Dom shrugged. "There wasn't a fossil expert on hand, so they sent the next best thing."

"Thanks, I think."

"You're welcome. And that's how you met this Muggle archeologist with the rock-firm belief that dragons are real, convinced she has the proof before her."

"I see." Charlie considered the story carefully. "Procedure in these circumstances, which the Romanian official should know full well, but I'll suspend my disbelief for you, would be to hide all evidence of the skeleton and then Obliviate the Muggles involved so that they'd forget they ever saw it. Or, if we didn't care that much about the skeleton, we'd modify the bones and let the Muggles excavate their quote unquote dinosaur."

"Yes," Dom said, a twinkle in her eye, "but the reason the Romanian official called the reserve in the first place was because he needed confirmation of his suspicions that this Muggle team had uncovered not just a dragon skeleton, but an incredibly rare dragon skeleton."

"One that the reserve would naturally want to obtain and study," Charlie said slowly, a smile spreading on his face as his figured out where she was going with this.

"But all those Muggles, Uncle Charlie!" Dom said, her voice intense. "And you can't Obliviate them all."

"Well, you can, actually, you just need a team–"

Dom glared. "Do you mind?" she demanded.

"Sorry, please continue your story."

"Thank you," Dom said primly. "Where was I?"

"Can't Obliviate them all," Charlie offered helpfully.

"Yes. You can't Obliviate all the Muggles. But you need that skeleton intact. It's a difficult and delicate balance that will require very careful attention. In-person, on-site attention."

"And a lot of time spent in the company of this energetic, dragon-loving whats-her-face," Charlie filled in.

"Precisely. And I hope I don't have to tell you that it doesn't take long for you to fall in love."

"Why?" Charlie asked, and the question threw Dom for a loop.

"What do you mean?"

"Why whats-her-face?" Charlie clarified. "Why do I fall in love? What is it about this girl?"

Dom frowned. "I . . . don't know," she admitted. Charlie nodded.

"Don't forsake character development for plot," he advised. "You have your circumstances nicely thought out. Now give the girl the same treatment. Who is my ideal woman?"

"Okay," she conceded after a moment's thought. "Any other questions?"

"Just one. Dinosaurs. That was Hugo, right?"

Dom grinned. "Yep." Charlie nodded.

"Thought so."

.::.

Dom approached the wood block the next morning with a skip in her step and a page of parchment in her hand. She cleared her throat theatrically to get his attention, then began to read.

"'Twelve Reasons Why Charlie Weasley Fell Madly in Love with Miss Rosalie Hawkins.'"

Charlie laughed out loud. "You named her!" he exclaimed, delighted. "I love it. Please continue." And he perched on the edge of the wood block to listen.

"Reason One: She sees the Real Charlie Weasley, and appreciates him for who he is. Reason Two: She is intelligent and observant, which keeps him on his toes and challenges him in a way nothing has for a while. Reason Three: She is also the second sibling of a large family, so she understands the plight."

"Hmm," Charlie said, looking sidelong at his niece. "Why do I feel like these twelve reasons are all going to be specific to twelve grandchildren?"

"Because you're addled. That first one was Dad," Dom answered. "May I continue?" she asked impatiently.

"By all means."

"Reason Four: She has a wicked sense of humor. Reason Five: She has this one curl that will never stay in her ponytail. It hangs down by her ear, and when she's thinking, she pulls on it, and he can't help but fantasize about doing the same."

"Gracious," Charlie said, fanning himself with a hand. "Where is this list going, Dom? Should I be worried?"

"Ha ha ha," Dom said. "Molly is very detail-specific, as you well know, but she's eleven. Give her some credit for innocence. Now, then. Reason Six: She calls her mother every Sunday."

"Family oriented; I like it." Dom smiled.

"Reason Seven: She's full of wonder and curiosity, and has dreams of traveling the world. Reason Eight: Miss Rosalie Hawkins reminds him both of his sister and Miss Nymphadora Tonks, his best friend from school. Reason Nine: She has a smile that lights up a room and makes him feel better just by seeing it."

"And that one has to be Lily."

"Die hard romantic, Uncle Charlie. I had no idea until this week just how far she takes it. She borders on cliche. Her smile lights up a room? Ugh."

"Hey now," Charlie said, laughing. "I happen to have fallen in love with that smile, remember."

"If you say so. Reason Ten: She is as knowledgeable and enthusiastic about dinosaurs as he is about dragons. Reason Eleven: She's athletic and enjoys sports, even if she's missing out because she's never played Quidditch."

"Dom, does Lucy ever talk about anything other than Quidditch?"

"Not really. And reason twelve: she's pretty."

Charlie laughed again. "She's pretty?"

"Hey, Roxie's three, how much were you expecting?" Dom asked.

"Fair point. Very good reasons, Dom. I can easily see how I fell in love, even if she does seem to represent the ideal partners for the twelve of you more than myself, necessarily."

"You wanted Rosalie Hawkins to be fleshed out," Dom reminded him, "and you're asking twelve kids, most of whom aren't teenagers yet, to do the developing. Beggars can't be choosers."

"True enough," Charlie acknowledged. "All right, so once I fall in love, what do I do about it? Or is that the tragedy? I never speak up, and she slips through my fingers?"

"I'm afraid you're going to have to wait in anguish until tomorrow."

Charlie looked at his niece shrewdly. "Because you want to leave me in suspense or because you and your cousins haven't gotten that far yet."

"Telling you that would be telling, Uncle Charlie!" she said, pretending to be affronted at the question.

"Definitionally, yes," Charlie agreed. "Well, whatever the reason, know that I am waiting quite anxiously for more news of my Muggle love."

"Well, there is something I might be able to tell you," Dom said, and when Charlie raised his eyebrows, she leaned in and whispered dramatically, "The incantation for the Severing Charm is Diffindo."

"Severing Charms don't work on things as hard as logs," Charlie replied in the same sort of whisper.

"Fine, I don't actually know a wood cutting spell," Dom conceded, "but I'm sure there is one. Or you could Levitate the axe, which is a year one spell."

"With the amount of precision chopping wood by Wingardium would require, I might as well just wield the axe myself. Now, go on. You and your cousins have some storytelling to do."

.::.

Dom was not in a good mood the next morning when she stormed up to the orchard where Charlie was hard at work pruning the apple trees. He heard her stomping through the grass long before he saw her. "Life related or story related?" he asked as she got close.

"Story," she huffed angrily. "People are being stupid."

Charlie hid a slight smile and decided not to come down the ladder quite yet, if story frustrations were all that were bugging her. "Yeah?" he asked instead, glancing down as he continued to prune branches. "Watch your head, hun."

"Why on earth," she demanded then, the question practically exploding out of her, "would a girl who is so adamant that dragons exist, have any problems with learning that wizards and magic are real things?"

He expected the rant to continue, but when that was the extent of it, he glanced back over his shoulder and spoke into the expectant silence. "Is that question rhetorical, or—"

"It doesn't make any sense!" she interrupted forcefully. "And I told them that, but nobody's listening!"

Charlie set the shears on the top of the ladder and climbed carefully down. "Maybe you should catch me up?" he asked, inviting her to sit at the base of the apple tree, which she did in a huff.

"You fall madly in love with Rosalie Hawkins," she said.

"Right."

"And she makes it very clear that she's in love with you, too, but the longer things go on, the more uneasy you become because you're lying to her about who you are."

"Right," Charlie said again.

"And so, you're having this huge crisis of confidence, you know, about whether or not you break the Statute and tell her and risk losing her, or you don't say anything and keep lying to her, or you come up with some excuse to break it off and let the relationship fade away."

"And this is what you all can't agree on?"

"No, we're unanimously agreed that you break the Statute and tell her. What we can't agree on is how she reacts, which is stupid."

"So you said," Charlie remarked, peering up through the branches of the tree in thought while Dom continued her rant.

"I mean, for Merlin's sake, the girl wants to believe dragons are real with her whole being, why would she freak out to learn you're a wizard?"

"Who's saying she would?"

"Molly," Dom huffed, "which is what makes it even dumber, 'cause her Mum is a Muggle who wanted magic to be real and then found out it was."

"Well, maybe Moll just doesn't want Rosalie to be exactly like her mum. And it would be a tragic ending – my very identity being what drives her away."

Dom scoffed. "Can never love again, Uncle Charlie, remember?" she demanded, turning her irritation on him now. "A girl who balks when she finds out who you are? You'd get over her! When she ran away, you'd say, 'Well, no point pining over someone who can't accept the fundamental truth of who I am,' and move on! That's like we're not even trying! We can come up with a story way more tragic, and you deserve the best we can think of!"

Charlie arched an eyebrow. "I'm a little scared for my future," he said, and Dom rolled her eyes.

"I just mean that if we're writing you a tragic love story, we ought not half-ass it. Go big or go home."

"Then go tell them that," Charlie said, and after a beat, Dom smiled reluctantly and stood, returning to the house at a run.

.::.

Dom didn't look mad when she approached Charlie the next morning as he painted the shed. She also didn't look particularly excited or happy. She looked downright glum. She trudged across the grass.

"What's up?" Charlie asked, and was met with a sigh.

"Nothing. I mean, we've got an ending, sort of, but . . ." She trailed off. Charlie stuck his paintbrush on top of the can, wiped his hands clean, and turned to her.

"But what, Dom?"

She sighed. "It's just, it's all gone scattered." Charlie nodded in understanding.

"Splintering off?" he asked, and Dom nodded.

"Molly refused to believe Rosalie would accept magic being real, and she took James and Fred because they're scared of disagreeing with her. And the rest of us are split between two tragic endings, and I don't have any in depth details on either of them."

"Well, what are the two tragedies?" Charlie asked.

"For sure, she gets attacked by a dragon on the reserve, but we can't agree on whether she dies in your arms or if she survives, but the Ministry hears about a Muggle on the reserve and takes her away to be Obliviated. I'm sorry, Uncle Charlie." She looked so disappointed, so defeated, that Charlie felt bad about laughing, but he couldn't help it. Dom looked up, startled and confused. "What are you laughing at? I failed you. I promised you this grand, epic, tragic love story, and I couldn't deliver!"

"Dom, is that really what you think?" Charlie asked, pulling up a short log still waiting to be chopped into firewood and perching on it. "That you didn't deliver?"

"You were so interested to hear the story we'd come up with, but we didn't—"

"You may not have a firm ending, but you still came up with a story, and what you delivered, Dom, was that story in action."

She glanced up at him. "Really?"

"Really," he assured her. "I don't remember being so entertained in a very long time as I have been the past week, listening to you tell me about how you all came up with the next chunk of this adventure."

She considered that for a long moment, but then she sighed again. "But I don't even know why Rosalie was on the dragon reserve, or how she came to be attacked, or even if she died!"

"Which side are you on?" Charlie asked then, curious. "Which tragic ending do you support?"

"That she's alive, but has no memory of you," Dom admitted. "Just seems more tragic to me than her being dead."

Charlie nodded, thoughtful. "Okay," he said after a moment. "Okay. Sit down, Dom. I'm gonna tell you a story."

Immediately, she brightened. "You are?" she asked, tucking herself into the grass. "Your real story?"

"Well," Charlie said, drawing out the word. "More like, the real story of Charlie Weasley and Rosalie Hawkins." Dom frowned, confused, but Charlie offered no explanation beyond the story.

"Once upon a time," he said dramatically, "a wizard named Charlie Weasley fell in love with a Muggle named Rosalie Hawkins, on a dig in Romania involving a dinosaur enthusiast and a dragon skeleton, but all that, of course, you already know."

"Of course, go on," she said.

"Their love affair was impassioned and frenzied and breath-taking."

"Whoa, Uncle Charlie," she interrupted. "I'm an innocent child. Where is this going?" He threw a handful of grass at her in response.

"Anyway, he fell in love hard and fast. But withholding his true identity made him feel like he was lying, and though he knew it was a huge risk, not to mention illegal, he knew he had to tell her the truth. So one day, he did. He took her aside and revealed that he was a wizard, that she had found a dragon skeleton, that magic was real. He had been sure she'd embrace the truth, but when the moment actually came, she freaked."

"What?" Dom demanded angrily. Charlie silenced her with one finger.

"Patience, grasshopper," he said. "Rosalie freaked. Because while she'd said she wanted dragons to be real, it had always been one of those summer-sighed impossible dreams, and learning that magic was real and that Charlie had been sent to make her think otherwise, to trick her and take advantage of her, was too much. She couldn't handle it, and she couldn't trust him. So she broke off their relationship quite dramatically. She fled, and Charlie couldn't bear to chase after her.

"Unfortunately, a little while later, he realized that he kind of needed to chase after her, because what if she went and told? He was pretty sure no other Muggles would believe her – magic was an impossibility, after all – but the Romanian Ministry was already aware of her; if she started talking about magic and wizards, they'd know, and it wouldn't take long to figure out who had told her. So, at the very least, he needed to find her to make sure she would keep the secret."

Charlie watched Dom carefully as he spoke, gauging her reactions. She had shifted from amusement to honest, undivided attention, and he couldn't shake the feeling that she was watching him as carefully as he was watching her.

"He went to the dig site, but he was told that her team had already left. He had no way to find her, no way to contact her. His heart ached from the loss of her, under such unpleasant circumstances, and his stomach ached from imagining the personal consequences that awaited him if she gave him up. He returned to the reserve, wondering if he would ever feel normal again.

"And then, in the reserve, across a field, he saw her! He couldn't believe his eyes, but there she was, looking overwhelmed and terrified, but determined, and then she turned and saw him. She lit up and came for him at a run, but being a Muggle, she had no idea the danger she was in. She made the mistake of crossing a territory line, of a particularly vicious Ukranian Ironbelly. It charged. And there was nothing he could do. He was too far away, and he was just one wizard. But that didn't stop him from sending up the magical alarm and running for her as fast as he could.

"The dragon clipped her with his claws, and Charlie saw her fall. The dragon reared back, preparing to flame, and Charlie cast the strongest Protego he could muster, reaching her in time to throw himself across her as the Shield Charm flared into place. Then he waited for the heat and the pain, because not even the strongest Shield Charm can fully block dragon fire."

Dom sat straight up now, hanging on his every word, her eyes wide and worried, and Charlie had to hide his smile. "But it never came," he said. "The others had arrived, and managed to direct the flames away from Charlie and Rosalie. He had his wand out, Conjuring bandages to stem the bleeding. She was still conscious. She looked up at him weakly, apologizing, telling him that she realized as soon as they'd left how big a mistake she'd made. So she'd left the team and hitched a ride back. Somehow, she made her way onto the reserve to find him. She apologized again and again, and he told her not to worry about it, that none of it mattered. She whispered that she loved him, then collapsed in his arms."

"She didn't die," Dom gasped, sounding terrified.

"No," Charlie said with a smile. "Just fainted from blood loss. They were able to get her into the reserve infirmary and patched up. She would live, no problem."

"But?" Dom asked hesitantly.

"But, the reserve had to report the incident. Officials from the Romanian and British Ministries showed up and explained to her that her memory would have to be modified, and it was clear that they meant all of it. Anything that had even the slightest bit to do with the magical world. Every piece of her time in Romania."

"But, that means Charlie!" Dom gasped, and Charlie nodded sadly.

"He refused to leave her side as they explained all this to her; in fact it was only his presence that prompted them to explain anything at all. And when she realized everything it meant, that she couldn't escape it, she had one request. That Charlie be the one to cast the spell. Because he was the only one she would entrust those memories to. And he couldn't refuse her. He held her in his arms as he took away her memories of their time together. And though he wasn't supposed to, he saw her off the next morning. She didn't even remember his name, let alone that she had loved him with all her heart only a day before. He watched her ride away from him, the only woman he would ever love, and he knew he'd never see her again."

Dom covered her mouth with one hand and sat in silence for a moment or two. "Uncle Charlie, that's the saddest thing I've ever heard," she finally said. "I'm even willing to forgive the fact that Memory Charms don't work like that, and that I still don't know how she made it onto the reserve."

"Well, as to the first, she's a Muggle, and as to the second, I'm sure the Ministry looked into it. Charlie's memory is a little fuzzy. He was reeling from the devastating loss, you understand."

"So, that's how the story ends?" she asked after another long pause, a smile now playing around the corners of her mouth.

"Must be," he said breezily. "After all, my name is Charlie Weasley, so doesn't that make me the authority?"

"Something like that," she said. "Well, I guess I'd better go tell everyone."

"Guess so. Oh, and Dom? You still have two days on your assignment." He winked at her, and returned to the shed.

.::.

The next morning, Charlie didn't see Dom at all. He washed the windows of the Burrow in peace, uninterrupted but for a brief conversation with his eldest brother.

"So, what's this I hear about you and a Muggle named Rosalind?"

"Hey," Charlie said, holding up an accusatory finger. "Frankly, I am appalled and a little bit insulted that you don't remember that the name of my tragically lost love was Rosalie, not Rosalind."

"My most heartfelt apologies," Bill said, grinning.

"Just, you know, have some respect for the dead, would you please?"

"Hmm," Bill said, his eyes narrowing. "See, the story I heard, she didn't die, despite being clawed by an Ironbelly, she just got Obliviated by the wand of her one true love."

Charlie grinned. "Oh, yeah, that was the ending I went with, wasn't it?"

Bill shook his head, laughing. "Having fun with the kids?" he asked wryly.

"Like you wouldn't believe. Who'd you hear it from?"

"Oh, all of them, but in greatest detail from Dom, over our in-depth conversation this morning." Charlie's eyes narrowed.

"You better not be giving away the answer, William."

"No need to worry, Charles. She's doing the math on her own, I promise. Do let me know how this year's assignment goes, will you?"

"Without a doubt."

.::.

"I know the real story."

Charlie looked up from the garden to see Dom sitting on the fence above him, and experienced a very real sense of deja vu. "Do you, now?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You mean, I didn't fall in love with a Muggle archeologist, only to have her attacked by a dragon and Obliviated?"

"Um, no," Dom said. "C'mon, Uncle Charlie. Let's have a little realism in the discussion." Charlie laughed.

"Okay, so you think you know the real story? Let's have it."

Dom hopped down from the fence and knelt in the dirt to help with the weeding. "See, I listened to you yesterday, telling that story. And it was super sad and everything, but you didn't talk about losing someone as if you ever had. And listening to me talk all week . . . I don't know, but you never seemed sad or melancholy or anything. And I feel like, if there was actually a tragic love story in your past, there'd have been something. So then I talked to my dad. I asked him about when you were in school, and he told me that you did date some in school, but never seriously, and never two dates with the same girl. He said you acted more like it was something you were expected to do than something you wanted to do. And in all the time I've known you, I've never heard you talk about a girlfriend or a boyfriend or anyone you're seeing."

"So, what's your conclusion?" Charlie asked, no longer weeding, just looking with already developing pride at the intelligent and observant young woman beside him.

"I think you're – well, I actually don't know what to call it. Like, I know that if you like the same sex, you're gay, and if you like the opposite, you're straight, and if you like both, you're bi, but I don't know if there's a word for if you don't like either. Or any. But I think that's you."

Charlie smiled. "The word is asexual," he said softly. "And, yes. You're right. I never have been able to see what all the fuss is about."

Dom returned his smile, then turned back to the dandelions. "Who knows?" she asked.

"Oh, everyone," Charlie said. "I think Gran actually knew before I did, but I was about your age when I figured it out. And all the grownups know. And now, you do, too. Does it bother you?"

Dom frowned at him. "Bother me?" she repeated. "Why would it?"

"Well, it's not as emotionally fraught as a long lost love."

"No, you're right," Dom said. "You have disappointed me. How dare you not have suffered emotional devastation in your past." Charlie laughed, and Dom nudged his shoulder with her own.

They weeded in silence for a long few minutes, then Dom spoke again, hesitant. "Uncle Charlie?"

"Yeah?"

"I . . . think I figured something else out this week, too. About you."

"About me?" Charlie repeated, eyebrows raised. "Just how many secrets do you think I'm hiding?"

"I think I know why you won't use magic for Gran and Granda's chores," she said, dodging the joke.

"Yeah?" he said with a smile. "I don't remember that being your assignment."

"My assignment was to get to know you," she said, meeting his eye, serious as ever. "You were in Romania when the big battle happened, right? The Battle of Hogwarts, that ended the war?"

Charlie grew likewise serious. "Yes," he said.

"And you didn't get word that it had started until it was half over? Because it came in two parts?"

"Yes," he said again, all teasing gone. "The fighting started on May 1, then there was an hour's respite, and the fighting started again at midnight, May 2, and ended at dawn."

"And you didn't get there until the second half. Which was after Uncle Fred was killed." Dom took a deep breath and pushed through the next part of her explanation. "You weren't there when he died. And I think a part of you has always thought that, maybe, if you'd just gotten there sooner, if you'd been more available, you could have done something. And you know that there's no logic in that, but it's still how you feel, like you let him down. Like you let Gran and Granda down. And even now, eighteen years later, you're still trying to make up for it." Charlie looked down and swallowed. "That's why you're here two months every summer. You used to only come for a couple weeks. That's what Dad said. And that's why you do chores for them. To make it up to them. And you feel like, if you use magic, it cheapens the gesture. So you put everything you have into it. You don't cut corners. You work as hard as you physically can. In some way, it's to honor your brother."

For a moment, Charlie couldn't speak around the lump in his throat. And when Dom asked, tentatively, "Am I right?," he could only reach out and pull her into a rough, one-armed hug.

"Right on the money," he finally said, voice rough. She smiled up at him.

"I'm glad you're my uncle," she said.

"I'm glad you're my niece," he returned.

"What are you doing tomorrow morning?" she asked then, and he took a deep breath in an effort to get his voice back to normal.

"I was planning on patching some spots on the roof and clearing out the gutter. Why?"

"Because I'd like to help," she said sincerely.

"Then it's a date," he said with a smile.

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