A/N: This is a little one-shot that came to me as I sat down and began typing out the diary entry at the beginning. I never imagined it being Tonks and Charlie but somehow it seemed to work. Constructive criticism is always welcome!
It's hard to forget. Even harder to remember. Every day the memories grow weaker, as if a thick fog is closing in around them. It hurts to see something so precious become so insignificant, so I try to remember. When the pain of it all makes me moan out in my restless sleep, I still remember. Remembering won't bring them back, not any of them. But similarly, it is the remembering that will keep them alive.
Charlie Weasley put down his quill. He closed the worn, leather-bound diary and set it on his desk. Exhausted, he tried to sleep. The night was silent. With nothing but dragons to keep him company, Charlie was used to the silence. Back home with his large and boisterous family, Charlie sometimes found himself craving the solitude. Occasionally, on a contradictory night like this, he wished there was someone there to break the chain of his thoughts. The war had been over for almost a year. On paper, everything was all right again. With a fair government and no threat of a Dark wizard lurking behind the shadows, wizards of Britain felt safer than they had in years.
To Charlie, nothing was right. At Christmas, there had been no Fred to make jokes about the initialed Weasley sweaters to tell the twins apart. Was that right? Ashamed as he was to admit it, he had never really been close to the Order. To them, he was the other brother: not a traitor like Percy, not brave like the others. For all intents and purposes, Charlie didn't exist. Normally he didn't mind, but there was one that he wished still remembered him. Closing his eyes, he could still see her. Like all memories, his picture of her was fading but he worked to keep it clear.
She was small and slender, nymph like. Not many saw her as graceful, but he did. Her slender hands, knowing exactly where to place themselves, were graceful. The way their tongues could dance, that was graceful. Even when she fell, it was with a sort of poetic beauty. They were the same age, and had been friends in Hogwarts. Only during fifth year did Charlie begin to notice her as something more. Over the summer, she had decided to stay with pink hair. Her eyes always changed. No matter what shade, they were always beautiful. He could gaze into them for hours and never find the end of their depth. They had dated that year. He remembered everyone saying that she would be better suited to his older brother, but neither had cared much for such rumors. She had been perfect in every way. When her head rested on his chest, his arm fit perfectly around her. When they kissed, their mouths fit together so that it was impossible to tell where one stopped and the other began. Even when they first lost their virginities in seventh year, it had felt completely right.
He still remembered seeing her, dead on the floor of the Great Hall. That was one memory that would accompany him to the grave. She had looked so serene. One who didn't know her might think she was sleeping. Charlie knew better. Nymphadora had never been that peaceful. Even when she slept, she was in motion. It was something, one of the infinite things, which he had loved about her.
Despite his love for her, he had never begrudged her for marrying Lupin instead. When she had broken off their relationship after graduation, he had known it was goodbye. For her, they had been a school romance. Yes, she had loved him, but not with the same intensity he felt for her. He could accept that. Trying to forget, Charlie threw himself into work with dragons. He became known as something of a loner, though nobody could understand why. It was easier that way. He didn't need to be told how silly he was or how he could "just move on". It wasn't that easy. Nymphadora (she had never been Tonks or Dora in his head, only Nymphadora) wasn't just some girl that he had met in the throes of adolescence. She was the air he breathed and the earth he walked upon.
He liked to think that somewhere, she was watching him. She was always with him in the flying eagles and galloping horses. In life itself. Maybe someday, when they saw each other again, things would work out differently. They would meet and hungrily drink in the sight of each other. Until then, Charlie was content to imagine her arm around him. It was only a phantom, but tonight, like every night, it would have to be enough.