At eleven, he thought she was annoying. She always asked too many questions and she was always following him around, dropping things or tripping over her feet. His mates used to tease him about her mercilessly.

At twelve, he watched her take on a large fourth-year Slytherin in defense of a Hufflepuff firstie, and win. He liked her a bit better after that.

At thirteen, he played his first Quidditch match against her. She caught the Snitch. He hated her for months.

At fourteen, he got paired with her in Care of Magical Creatures. He liked that she didn't get all girly and disgusted when they had to deal with Hippogriff shite and Bobotuber puss. Plus, she let him copy her notes. Well, Huflepuffs were supposed to be helpful, but she seemed particularly so.

At fifteen, she had a mad fling with Jemmy Jordan, and he was always catching them in dark corners, their hands all over each other. He didn't like it, not one bit. And not just because she'd stopped paying attention in Care of Magical Creatures and her notes were useless.

At sixteen, she invited him into her body. It only lasted a few minutes, embarrassingly enough, but she hadn't seemed to mind. She even lied and said he was ever so much better than Jemmy had been, and showed him how to make her come using his fingers. He loved the way her body tightened around them, and it was more than enough to encourage him to try again, later, so that he could actually feel her squeezing around his cock. He thought that she was pretty much the coolest girl he'd ever met.

At seventeen, they fought. A lot. She wanted to be an Auror and he'd heard about an opening at the Negoiu camp in Romania, and both of them knew that they'd probably be bollocks at the long distance thing.

At eighteen, they made plans for her to come and stay with him for Christmas. He'd missed her more than he thought was humanly possible, and letters just weren't enough. He couldn't wait to do stupid things like cuddle up around the fire, talking about all the things they'd been doing. He wanted to know all about the Auror academy, and he wanted to introduce her to Ylenia, his favourite Welsh Green. He'd even managed to convince Petre to give up his cabin for a week to sleep in the dorm, and Charlie begun collecting decorations to make it festive. But a week before she was supposed to arrive, she wrote to tell him she'd decided to give in to her parents' demands (and the Weird Sisters concert tickets they held out as a bribe) and stay home with them instead. It felt like she'd stabbed his heart with a knife, but he didn't want her to know how much she'd hurt him. His parents came instead-his mum had a sixth sense for when one of her nestlings was hurting. Over the next six months, he wrote her less than seven times. Eventually, she stopped writing him altogether.

At nineteen, Greta came to the camp. She loved dragons nearly as much as he did, and she swore in five languages and she could drink him under the table. Sometimes-as she rode him with wild abandon, with her strong thighs gripping his hips, her impressive tits bouncing, and her head thrown back in pleasure-he would think of Tonks and feel a little guilty, as if he was somehow cheating on her by being inside Greta. Somehow, he always managed to ignore the feeling long enough to come.

At twenty, Greta had moved on to a camp in Brazil, and Charlie hadn't even bothered suggesting they try and keep anything going. What was the point? Besides, there was always Brenda the barmaid, and Ivanka the Magizoologist, and Anica the activist (and dozens of others like them) to keep him from being too lonely.

At twenty-one, he ran into her at the World Cup. For a few moments, it was awkward as arse, but then she'd hugged him and he was reminded of how good she felt and smelled and tasted when they kissed, how much he loved talking to her, how she helped him sort things out. Later that night, after the match, he got to remember how good it felt to be inside her; almost like coming home. They both knew it couldn't work out-she was less interested than ever in leaving the squad, especially now that she was so close to qualifying, and he loved it where he was. But, he'd somehow got his best friend back, and he convinced himself that it would be enough.

He saw her again when he brought the dragons to Hogwarts, and they made love under the Astronomy tower while all the kids were asleep, just like they used to. When he kissed her goodbye, he felt a lump in his throat and had to turn away before he made a fool of himself.

At twenty-two, the war started all over again, and he wanted to come home and fight, but Dumbledore convinced his parents that he could be just as much of a help where he was. Information, apparently, was a very valuable commodity for their cause, and it was easier to gather it while not under the watchful eye of Cornelius Fudge and his minions. He also got the privilege of playing host to his old Headmaster for a few weeks in the spring when he need a place to hide.

At twenty-three, his mum mentioned in a letter that Tonks was going through a bad patch. He wrote and invited her to stay for Christmas with him, and for some strange reason, she accepted. He tried not to read too much into it, but he couldn't help holding on to the hope that somehow, some way, things would work out for them. Perhaps, after the war, he could get transferred, or she could get posted closer to him.

He hardly recognized her when she arrived. All her colour was gone, and her eyes had lost their lustre. That night, his heart was broken all over again. She was in love with someone; some other bloke she was fighting alongside, someone who could have been him if he'd bucked orders and come back. And the worst part of it was that the arsehole didn't even seem to care about her.

By the third day, they were sleeping together again. He knew he was risking more pain, but he couldn't stand the way that she was blaming herself for not being enough for the bastard. As if anyone was better than Tonks, especially some mopey middle-aged werewolf. (Not that there was anything wrong with werewolves.)

At twenty-four, they had their first and last dance, and he learned that he'd he lost her forever.

He came back for his brother's wedding, only to hear that she'd actually married the man who put her through all that bullshit. She glowed with happiness, damn it, and she greeted him with an affectionate kiss on the cheek. He'd have liked to think that he'd made her new husband jealous, but he doubted it.

Not long after that, he found out that he had.

At twenty-four, she told him she needed him, and he dropped everything to be with her. The stupid bastard had left her, and left her pregnant, at that. At first, he'd wanted to kill him, but she didn't want Charlie's anger. She wanted him.

At twenty-four, he told her he loved her.

He was softening inside her at the time, and he poured out his soul to her, telling her he never should have let her go. She wrapped her arms around him and wept, letting him know how hurt she'd been that he'd stopped writing, how hard it had been to let go of him, how she'd cried the first time she'd taken somebody new to bed.

He asked her to leave her husband. He'd give it all up, he'd come back, he'd help her with the baby, he'd love it as though it was his.

He returned to the camp, making plans for them. He wrote a letter of resignation, and he put out letters to everywhere he could think of-Gwynedd, Cuilin, even the London Zoo.

But she wrote to him, putting a stop to all that. Her husband had returned, contrite, and they were going to make a go of it. He swore he'd never leave again. He didn't think he was good enough for her. Whatever the man had done, Charlie couldn't break up their family.

At twenty-four, Charlie got drunk for nearly a week.

At twenty-five, he took part in his first battle. Oh, he'd fought before; duels at school, a hundred barfights, a couple of episodes with Bill that had their mother threatening to send them to military camp. This battle was nothing like that. This battle scared him shitless, and he found himself just randomly throwing out curse after curse, knowing that any minute, one of the green jets of light that had already singed his whiskers would actually hit him.

This battle meant that he'd never again see Tonks' hair go pink when she was in a good mood. It had been red when she died; the red of her fury as she'd battled her aunt to the death, determined to avenge her cousin. Red like her blood, which had never even spilled. Red like the haze that went over his vision when he realized she'd fallen and he'd lost any chance he'd had forever. He couldn't even avenge her. His mum had taken care of that. As he stood over her lifeless body, hours later, he tried to come to grips with all the missed chances, all the mistakes he'd made. He'd loved her more than dragons, after all.

If only he'd realized it sooner.

#######

At thirty, Charlie saw her smile again.

It was at his sister's wedding, and Teddy was the ring-bearer for his godfather. He had his father's patrician nose and his lanky build, but his eyes and his smile were all Tonks. Charlie choked up at the altar, trying to keep his eyes from welling up. He figured people would assume he was feeling sentimental about his baby sister growing up, but he was remembering everything he lost.

Later that night he caught the boy trying to break into the broom shed. Apparently, he wanted to learn to fly. Charlie took him up in the air, and for the next two hours, he told him stories about his mum.

His best friend.

The coolest girl he ever knew.

The love of his life.