"I still had a few injuries," he replied with a smile as he recalled a few instances (though nothing too serious), "and I think Madam Pomfrey could fix even a broken neck."
Perhaps he was more tense. As the war grew closer and closer, Charlie could not help but get nervous about various situations. He was a very capable wizard, and he knew how to defend himself well-enough, but he had yet to face a Death Eater or see anything remotely as awful as Ron, Harry, and Hermione (and even then he did not know all the stories).
"It's a date then," he said, not really thinking about the implication. Charlie always thought Hestia and Tonks were fit, but he had always been too interested in school and Quidditch—with the exception of the couple girlfriends he tried to have—to attempt anything with either of them. Even still, he was somewhere else in his walk in life and too detached from wanting romance to think he may actually want it. If the time came, Charlie would take it, but now was not the time to try to settle down for any reason. "I told Flint it'd be brilliant to see one of his games, but we could go to one of Alex's too. I've never seen an Arrows game." He sat back, glad when their dinners arrived so he could dig into it. "I mean it, Hestia," he said, pointing his fork at her. "I'll get us tickets to the Falcons, you get tickets for the Arrows. Flint may be able to pull strings for me. He's actually a very decent bloke."
There was a pause as he thought about wanting Ron there with him, but he knew that was not feasible. Charlie convinced himself that if he had a good time without sharing that with those he thought deserved it more, like his brother, that he was not being the person he needed to be. A match would raise his spirits, he knew that well enough, but Charlie also knew it would make him feel guilty—like he should be brooding about, talking only about the war, and finding solace in nothing.