No Means to Use the Stove

Intoxication in Order

She couldn't stop trembling as she hurried away from the coffee shop. Had they suspected something? Had they noticed she had recognized them? Would they come after her? Would they tell Charlie? Would they Obliviate her again? Would she lose anew all the memories she had worked so hard to regain?

She couldn't stop trembling. Could she return to her apartment? They would probably find her wherever she went. Should she even try to run and hide from them?

She couldn't stop trembling. No, but she could, too! She forced herself to calm down. She was a logical person and getting all frustrated and distressed wasn't going to help one bit. She deliberately slowed her pace and refrained from repeatedly glancing over her shoulder to see if someone was following her. First of all, they didn't have any proof of her remembering anything. Secondly, it was no use to run, as they had magic on their side. She didn't know exactly how they would use the magic to track her down, but if the Muggle police were as good at it as they were, surely with magic one could reach much more impressive results.

She would act normal. She would return to her apartment, and if they came, she would fake total ignorance. If they didn't have a reason to suspect otherwise, surely they wouldn't use any magical means to confirm her words, would they now? That kind of conduct was probably even illegal; innocent till proven guilty and all that.

Deep down, she wasn't so certain about it. They had wiped off her memories and that had obviously been a supervised and thoroughly accepted procedure. It was hardly likely that the Magical administration would see it so much greater a felony to make her tell the truth, just in case she wasn't telling it on her own.

Still, she really couldn't see any other possible option to take. It wasn't very probable that they would come, after all. The Magical Community - Past, Present and Loopholes in Time and Place had strongly assured her there wasn't any known way to counter the Obliviate-charm. So, if it wasn't a possibility, they wouldn't even come to think of it, would they? She was overreacting again; she was being paranoid like earlier in the pub. She shook her head and forced a chuckle at her own expense. She had had too much to drink.

Or maybe too little. Sheila would be coming over and suddenly, Anna didn't look at it like it was a dreadful ordeal anymore. Sheila was coming with booze and chocolate. She certainly could get pissed, now! If there ever had been a situation where total intoxication was in order, this was it. Preferably such a state of inebriety that she wouldn't be in any condition to speak, as she had way too many secrets to get only tipsy and loose-tongued in the company of her prying younger sibling.

Feeling much better after having decided to aim at the state of self-produced forgetfulness, she headed for the nearest grocery store. Booze and comfort food it was going to be, but for Anna, chocolate didn't qualify as the latter. Besides, it was only four o'clock. Sheila wouldn't come before seven and she needed something to busy herself with. She needed...minced lamb meat, fresh thyme and basil, black olives with stones, feta-cheese, tomatoes, onions, yoghurt, lots and lots of garlic as she wasn't going to be kissing anyone anytime soon...and she could make little pesto-pies for starters...

Her mind busy with composing a recipe for a dinner worthy of drowning her sorrows with, she raided the store purposefully. She was on the familiar ground again. She stopped only for a second to pick up the basil and the thyme and to inhale the heavy scent of the fresh herbs before continuing. Pine nuts for the pesto-pies, maybe some goat's cheese as well...red wine with the food, for Sheila was certainly bringing something stronger...

An hour later, Anna was back in her familiar kitchen, cooking. She chopped, enjoying the way her knife moved so swiftly her vision of it blurred. She stirred, her hands feeling competent and trustworthy and her kitchen tools like beloved old friends. She mixed the minced meat, some yoghurt, crumbled bread and an egg with herbs and other spices, brandishing her skills at seasoning by artfully tossing it all together. She drowned her fingers deliciously into the meatball paste and savoured the sensation. She was making her own magic. She fried, she cooked, she baked, and the scents of her makings filled the apartment with their heavy enchantment.

By the time the jasmine rise was boiling and the Greece casserole simmered in the oven, she had consumed several glasses of "full-bodied, rich-flavoured and round" red wine and was starting to feel pleasantly warm and dizzy. It was almost seven already. Sheila would be coming any moment now. With food on the table, they wouldn't have to talk at all. They could just eat; Sheila would offer some nice compliments on her cooking and by the time her baby-sister would start on the subject of one Charlie Weasley, Anna would be safely beyond comprehensive conversation.

An hour later, her plan was working splendidly.

"Anna, you really are a witch with food!" Sheila exclaimed and she only giggled, startled but not hurt by the comparison, as the food and the wine had created a nice, warm cocoon around her and the bad memories couldn't touch her.

Sheila had burst in, insisting on talking about Charlie, but Anna had sidetracked her. Please, not now, she had said, let's wait until we're all plastered. The food is ready and I don't want to spoil my appetite. Sheila had obviously thought her to be "a good sport" about it, and had happily complied, relieved to be spending an evening with the strong and all-coping sister she knew instead of the sobbing and miserable one she had feared to confront.

Anna knew Sheila was now expecting some serious tongue-lashing on the subject of Charlie. Sheila had immediately assumed he had done something wrong, or at least she was ready to interpret anything that had possibly happened between her sister and her ex-fiancé as his fault. Anna didn't know if she should be grateful or disturbed by such a biased loyalty.

Maybe it was because Anna usually didn't share any of her problems with her sisters or her father. Sheila had keenly seized the opportunity to comfort her in turn, when she herself had so many times been comforted in the past. Abruptly, Anna realized it had maybe been selfish of her not to let the others help her. She had believed to have spared them, to have thought of their best, of their feelings. But an equal relationship didn't work that way; always the same party helping the other. Suddenly, Anna wished she could have poured it all out for Sheila to hear. Now she had to create some atrocious lies about Charlie's horrible behaviour in order to not let her well-meaning sister down. Ouch. Maybe after some vodka.

"It's time for booze and chocolate, don't you think?" Anna smiled conspiratorially. "I want to get totally sloshed!"

"That's the spirit, old girl!" Sheila was beaming. "Some prat of a man isn't worthy of any tears!" Like a woman with a mission, she hurried to the kitchen and Anna could hear her rummaging in the icebox and the cupboard before returning with a bottle of vodka, a jug of orange juice, two glasses with ice cubs and a triumphant smile on her face. Sheila loaded it all on the table, splashed a generous portion of vodka in both of the glasses, poured the juice in, and offered Anna her drink.

"Thanks," Anna said and gulped down half of the mixture with a single swallow, letting the alcohol warm her going down. Sheila grinned encouragingly and reached out to fill her half-empty glass, this time with pure vodka. She watched Anna sipping her now quite a strong drink and seemed to decide that the opening of the booze bottle had been an appropriate starting shot for the conversation to begin.

"So," Sheila began, in an all-but-subtle manner, "he is married then, isn't he?"

Anna had been anticipating the question, but she still didn't know how to answer. That was what she would have thought herself, had the Obliviate worked as it should have. But somehow, she really didn't want Sheila to think something so...slimy of Charlie. He was a decent bloke, after all. He had stolen her memories, but it really hadn't been all his fault. He only happened to be a wizard. Without her realizing it, the thought made a whiny little sob brake through and she didn't have to wonder what she would tell Sheila, anymore. Her sister had drawn her own conclusions.

"I knew it! That bastard! I knew it all along! That's why he never took you to his place, isn't it? That's probably where his sweet little wife and their kids are!" Sheila was shaking with rage and for the first time in three days, Anna didn't even try to stop the tears from falling. She was drunk but it didn't help like it should have. Instead of cottoning her up against all the bad memories and feelings, the intoxication she had sought only let her defences down and she didn't have the strength not to care anymore. Sobbing, she listened to Sheila ranting.

"Never trust a man with secrets! He had way too many secrets and that's never, ever a good thing! Damn it! How could he! That...that..." she couldn't find the words strong enough to fit her mental image of the man who had made her unbreakable older sister cry.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Anna started, and began to fervently wipe her face with her sleeve.

"I'll get it and send them away," Sheila stated, ready to defend her sister. "I'll say you are out."

She jumped up and left for the door. Anna sank back into the couch, grateful for not having to deal with any more people. Her relief was only temporary. though. Really. it vanished ay the exact moment they heard Sheila scream:

"You! What the fucking hell are you doing here!?!"

* * *

Hermione had been in such a hurry to get going, but once they Apparated in the Leaky Cauldron, she stopped and seemed to think hard.

"Charlie," she then said, "maybe we should wait here for a while. We should give Ron some time to talk Harry into this."

"You reckon he won't do it?" Charlie massaged his neck nervously with his large hand. "You don't think he'll give us away?"

"No, Harry would never do that. It's just that...you know how he still feels half of the war was his fault." Charlie only nodded, grimacing, and Hermione carried on. "I think Harry fears something similar will happen again, and if following some stupid - or even unfair - safety regulations is going to prevent that from taking place, he is happy to comply."

"Yeah. I guess you are right." Charlie sighed heavily and sat down at the nearest table. "I thought about it, myself, when he was so ready to Obliviate Anna."

"It's funny though," Hermione settled on her chair across the table. "He sure was keen to break the rules at Hogwarts. Maybe that's exactly why he doesn't do it anymore. He thinks he failed the first time around." There was a small pause, and they shared a look of sad wonder over the amount of guilt The-Boy-Who-Lived could imagine himself to be entitled to. "But I think he still is ready to follow his own mind instead of someone else's, given a good enough reason, that is. He didn't like Obliviating Anna, you know. And Ginny certainly didn't."

Charlie chuckled at the image of his younger sister raving at Harry, but then sobered. "Anna asked me to Obliviate her. She pushed Harry to make me do it. He asked her whether she was sure. I guess he wanted to honour her own decision when he ordered me to do it."

"Harry hasn't always had that chance. To make his own decisions, I mean." Hermione sat still, looking at her hands on the tabletop.

"Hermione...she chose not to remember me. She chose to leave. Maybe we shouldn't..." he hadn't time to finish his thought as Hermione interrupted him.

"Charles Weasley! You are not going to chicken out of this! She chose! Like she had the freedom of choice, there! Maybe she did choose to leave you, but the Obliviate? Hah! You went there to cast the spell and she knew it. She also knew of the law that made you do it. What choice did that leave her?"

"None, I guess. None but coming back to me, and she rather chose the Obliviate."

"Whining doesn't suit you, Charlie. Stop feeling sorry for yourself." Hermione got up and gestured Charlie to follow suit. "I want the determined Charlie from the Burrow back. If sitting still makes you lose your courage, we'll get going. We'll travel the Muggle way and it'll take us plenty of time to get there."

Charlie didn't ask how Hermione knew where Anna lived. Either he or Anna had probably mentioned it sometime and she remembered it like she remembered everything else worth remembering. Without a word, he took off his robe and shrank it, happy to have his Muggle clothes underneath. He slipped the mini-robe into his pocket and followed his sister-in-law to the Muggle London and to the nearest bus stop.

They changed buses several times. Charlie suspected it wouldn't have been necessary, but that Hermione did it on purpose, to keep him on the move and to give Ron and Harry more time to prepare. It was nearly eight o'clock, when they finally got off the last bus and Charlie recognized the familiar neighbourhood. He inhaled deeply, straightened his shoulders, and started to purposefully strode towards Anna's apartment. He couldn't hesitate now, or he would never be able to face her. Hermione ran at his side, her shorter feet not able to take as long strides as his. Out of nowhere, the thought of Anna walking beside him struck Charlie. She wouldn't have had to run. Her legs were as long as his.

He arrived at the yellow apartment building where Anna lived. He climbed the stairs to the third floor, taking two steps at the time; he stopped for a moment to even his breath and rang the doorbell. Hermione appeared by his side, panting from the run. Then the door started to open and Charlie steeled himself to meet either Anna who wouldn't remember him or Anna who would remember it all. He couldn't decide which would be worse.

Maybe that was why he at first didn't realize that the woman opening the door wasn't Anna at all.

"You! What the fucking hell are you doing here!?!" It took Charlie a moment to recognize the woman. She was Anna's sister...Sharon...no, Sheila. They had met a couple of times but the raving Amazon confronting him didn't even remotely resemble the smiling, pleasant young woman he remembered.

"Excuse us," Hermione tried to politely intervene. It was a mistake, as Sheila now changed her focus on the bushy-haired woman.

"And who the hell are you?!"

"I'm Hermione Weasley and..." Sheila didn't give her a chance to carry on.

"You are the wife!!! How dare you?! What are you doing here? Planning some kind of sick menage-à-trois?"

"Sheila, she isn't..." Charlie began and only began. Sheila didn't let him speak.

"Let me tell you, you sick bastard: Anna doesn't want anything to do with you! And if you think she is still pining after you, you are seriously mistaken! She has a new boyfriend, already, one that isn't married!"

Charlie heard the words and at the exact same moment his eyes caught a movement behind Sheila. It was her. Anna. Her eyes were red and swollen, and she looked disheveled and sad and scared.

Scared of him.

When she opened her mouth to speak, Charlie didn't hear a word.