A/N: Lookit little Charlie, trying out for Quidditch! I have a couple of the 100 Themes as pieces of the Mahogany and Dragon Heartstring story, but I didn't think I could find a way to put this whole section into the story, since it takes place in their second year, and Mahogany takes place mostly in the fifth year and onward, and it was too long to be a flashback... so bang! Super short story time!

Oh, Tonks... just wait until he starts taking Care of Magical Creatures. 3

100 Themes Challenge: Blink

"You're trying for Seeker?"

"Well, why not?" the redhead shrugged his thick shoulders. He knew why not, knew that he looked like a Keeper with his stockier frame or a Beater with his muscled arms. He always took on challenges, though, rather than look for the easy way out, and he looked at this tryout no differently. He knew what he wanted. He had wanted this since he saw his first Quidditch game as a firstie and nearly flunked Flying class every new lesson because he always scared Madame Hooch to death - and she had the nerves of a mother dragon. No one had ever fazed her the way adrenaline junkie Charlie Weasley had.

Charlie reached out, ruffling the Hufflepuff yellow hair of Nymphadora Tonks. "Look, Gryffindor needs to stop getting trounced and the old Seeker was just too fond of her face to take any risks. I'm gonna change that and be the best Seeker this place has seen in a century!" He gave her a slug to the shoulder.

Tonks sighed. "I don't doubt that. Just... be careful, yeah? I-"

She didn't expect to finish her sentence, and just smiled when Charlie jumped in, cutting her off. "Can't win a game being careful, Nym! But don't you worry your lovely head, I got no plans on getting hurt. Got my favorite class right after, don't I? Can't learn much from the infirmary!"

"I'll put you there myself if you do anything stupid and live," Tonks retorted, shoving her friend back. "Get out on the pitch now, or you're gonna be late."

"Yes ma'am!" Charlie said, saluting her before he turned and ran to the pitch. Tonks concentrated hard, turning her hair from yellow to a burnt orange color and dug out the maroon and gold scarf Charlie had nicked for her. She concentrated hard on shifting her face, but only managed to change her eye color and the shape of her nose. She hoped no one would be looking closely at the Gryffindors who had gathered to watch. She didn't want to be accused of spying for Hufflepuff, no matter how laughably ridiculous that phrase sounded. She wouldn't miss Charlie's Quidditch audition for the world. He would never admit to something as silly as feeling free as a dragon on the broom, but his grin always gave him away, and she knew just how much it meant to him.

Some of the Quidditch hopefuls were laughably awful, most were almost mediocre but fell short, and only a handful showed any promise. Tonks wished they had gone in order of who showed up first rather than alphabetically. After the tenth hopeful dropped the Quaffle when passed, she was convinced Gryffindor would never regain a spot in the Quidditch finals again. She leaned her head forward, hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud at each awful performance. She could blend in physically, but she was very, very good at giving herself away. Something about a willful personality that Charlie both teased her and adored her for. Trying to focus past the awful auditions, Tonks found herself dozing off.

"Last but hopefully not least," said a wearied voice that Tonks barely caught, "Charlie Weasley."

Tonks started and rubbed her eyes. "Blimey!" she exclaimed, blinking the sleep away and trying to focus on the pitch. By the time she did, Charlie was already blurring past. He had his eyes straight ahead, intense and focused solely on the golden snitch Tonks couldn't see. Whenever he had played around at Quidditch, he always waved at her, laughing as he went. Not today. She'd never seen a look that intense on his face.

She could almost hear the wind rushing past her own ears as Charlie swept past at a breakneck speed, pushing beyond the limits of the old Comet. Everyone was watching him now, watching the awkward Weasley who few besides Tonks had ever even spoken to before. A twinge of jealousy tweaked her heart the way she tweaked his nose, but it was buried in the collective excitement as Charlie gained on the elusive golden Snitch.

The Snitch, no more than a blur to the spectators who could squint enough to see it, took a sudden dive downward to avoid Charlie. Not about to lose his quarry, Charlie followed without a second thought. He barreled toward the ground, but he barely saw the disturbed sand of the pitch; he only saw the flash of gold that centered in his vision. He was gaining, gaining, gaining - on it and on the ground.

Tonks stood, running to the edge of the spectator box. Her hands wrapped around the iron balcony siding, eyes wide. Her face shift dropped as she screamed, "CHARLIE!" He couldn't have realized how close the ground was, he was going too fast. He had started from so high and he still pushed his broom to its limits and Tonks had ridden once with him, knew how terrifyingly fast those limits were. She loved to play on the edge, but Charlie was living there, could hardly find fun any other way. Don't blink, she told herself. If she blinked, she knew he'd be dashed into the ground. If she blinked she'd never get to see him again.

He was laughing. The fool was laughing. He had reached the Snitch and grabbed it, his large hand enveloping it entirely. He pulled up hard, skimming forward on the sand, his knees only brushing the top and still cutting deep lines. He finally pulled up and slowed down enough to plant his feet in the ground and stumble forward, waving the snitch. "Yeah!" he called, kiddish smile replacing that serious look that had troubled Tonks. After a moment of celebration, she finally crossed his mind again, and he turned, instantly finding her in the crowd and waving directly to her.

"You fool," Tonks breathed, collapsing into the nearest bench. If he made it on the team - and how couldn't he after that display? - she had a feeling she wouldn't survive watching every Quidditch game. "You bloody fool." She remembered his hard eyes, and wondered if she was referring now to him - or to herself.