No Means to Use the Stove

Preserving Memories

Anna wrote furiously on her computer. She didn't know exactly how the Obliviate spell worked; maybe it would cause something like a light amnesia and the memories would stay buried in her mind. If that was the case, she would just need something to remind her, some strong stimulants, and she would gain all of them back. But if the spell worked more profoundly, if it really would destroy all her memories of the magical world permanently - in that case she would need exact details, on every single thing.

Only a moment ago, Anna hadn't been sure if she wanted to remember. Even at the present time, she wasn't sure if she wanted to reminisce her relationship with Charlie. But by God, did she want to make the decision herself! No one was going to steal her past.

And so she wrote, trying to capture all the essential facts: the zoo they had met for the first time, their first dinner together, the exact words Charlie had used when he had told her about the magic, her first impression of the Burrow, the reasons she had left....and then it struck her. It wasn't enough to write down the facts. She would have to describe the emotions, too. Her emotions.

Memories weren't about facts. They weren't only about what had happened and when. Memories consisted of feelings, sensations, impressions, tones, flavors. They held traces of touches, of impacts. How could she preserve those on her computer?

She couldn't, and she knew it, but still she wrote, although she could already feel inside her the empty space the soon-be-removed memories would leave behind. She felt like crying but she didn't. She wrote instead. How had it felt when he had kissed her for the first time. How she had been exhilarated and simultaneously hideously jealous, when she had first seen them fly. How she had missed her own mother when watching Molly and how she had fervently hoped that she, too, could become one of her children. How she had stood, helpless, in front of the stove.

She didn't want to analyze those feelings. They were too recent, too raw to be poked with the cruel stick of logical apprehension. They were supposed to be left alone for an appropriate time before they could be handled in any cognitive way. But she didn't have time, appropriate or any other, and so she wrote.

She didn't know why she was so sure he would Obliviate her. It was, after all, an unethical, horrid thing to do. "Risky business," he had said himself. Altering one's memory, deliberately violating one's person and personality, that wasn't like the Charlie she knew. Especially when he loved her. Or had loved her. Or had at least thought that he loved her.

Memory charms were immoral and Charles Weasley was a man of high morals. But he was also a man of great loyalty who had a strong sense of responsibility, and the most important of his obligations were the ones for his family and his Magical community.

Anna had heard stories of their war; she knew about his brothers that had been casualties in it. She could understand the tight loyalty, the need for security, the almost-paranoia it had left behind. Their community had survived a great danger that had risen from amongst them; they didn't want to deal with any dangers from outside. And she was a danger from outside. A security risk.

Even if Charlie could trust her to keep their secret, he had to be loyal to his family. The magical administration had given him permission to let her in their arcanum for the specific reason that they were to be married. When the information of their breakup would reach the bureaucrats - as it most certainly would - they would regard it a serious negligence, maybe even an offence of law, had she not been Oblivated by then. And that would cause problems not only for Charlie, but for all of his relatives, especially Arthur, Ron, and Harry who worked for the Ministry.

Therefore, it wasn't only a vague feeling that left Anna certain that he would come. It was a calculated and carefully analyzed high probability assumption.

Anna saved the files on her computer hard drive, along with the photos she had taken with her digital camera while at the Burrow. She scanned the few letters and notes Charlie had sent her and saved them as well. She didn't think the Weasleys would understand enough of the computers to search hers, but to be sure, she sent the files to both of her e-mail addresses, as well. Then she concentrated on the actual, solid proof she possessed of the existence of the wizarding world. She knew she would need them. She wasn't an easy person to convince, even if the convincing would be done by such a dependable person as herself.

She suspected the wizards would clean not only her mind but also her apartment of everything magical, so she gathered together all the magical items that had been left in her possession, spread them on the floor in front of her and tried to determine which of them she could keep without them noticing.

There was the candy wrapper. Surely they wouldn't miss it; it was only a piece of trash. She placed the wrapper on the floor beside her and continued. The Weasleys had given her several wizarding photos after they had witnessed her fascination for them. She picked up one of Charlie and herself. In the photo, Charlie grinned towards the camera and then wrapped his arms around her in a slightly possessive manner. The wind tousled his hair and the grass around their feet bent in the breeze. Every now and then, a bird would fly through the background of the picture. She alone stood motionlessly in her place.

They had been astonished about it. "How come she doesn't move? Even the birds do!" "Have you ever tried to take a picture of a Muggle before?" "She repels magic, mate!" They had laughed and wondered and she had laughed with them, secretly humiliated and disappointed and once again feeling as an outsider amongst them. Still, she wanted to keep just that photo. It would remind her, not only of Charlie and the magical world, but also of the reasons why she couldn't have carried on, why she had had to leave. She placed the picture beside the candy wrapper.

She swiftly chose also a book about magical society, its customs and history that she had bought, by Hermione's recommendation, on their visit to the magical London (she had to hope Charlie wouldn't remember the book), and a set of robes that had enchanted embroidery on their fabric. She had bought several of them in the Diagon Alley as well, trying to fit in and please Molly. Even if many of the younger and Muggle-born witches would use Muggle clothes, she had felt she couldn't. Being a Muggle, she had had to try harder, to show them all she was ready to be a part of their world, that she would cope, that she would at least look like them. She snorted sarcastically. She sure had succeeded fantastically when even their cameras could identify her as an intruder.

She hurriedly stuffed the chosen items into a plastic bag and threw the others on the top shelf of the bedroom cupboard hoping it would look natural that she kept all of them there. Then she pulled her shoes on and ran, coatless, to the street and to the nearby railway station. She placed the plastic bag into a storage locker for luggage, grabbed the key and ran back to her apartment.

She pulled off her shoes, sat down on her bed and waited. And waited. She glanced at her watch. It was nearly one o'clock and he wasn't there yet. Maybe the decision hadn't been so easy for him, after all.

It was then that the doorbell rang.