No Means to Use the Stove

On Equal Terms

Why didn't he speak, already? He was the one that had wanted to talk. She didn't. Anna felt her resolve weakening second by second as the silence stretched on. That wouldn't do. They would sit down and talk about it like two reasonable adults. It was healthy and mature to discuss things. A relationship as long as theirs should not be left to end without some kind of a resolution. She should start if he wouldn't. She would say something simple but expressive, something to put them at ease, to break the ice.

"S-so?" she stuttered.

The second it escaped her mouth, she cursed herself. That sure was eloquent. One syllable. And even that she hadn't managed to utter without stutters. Anyhow, she had said the first word, she had taken the initiative; the ball was on his court now. Except that he still didn't seem too keen to play. They remained silent until hysterical giggles and loud applause from behind the closed kitchen door made both of them jump. He grimaced and finally opened his mouth:

"Umm...Anna...could I...could I cast a silencing spell on the door?"

"I guess," she smiled uncertainly. "It's probably easier to talk without listening to that." She paused, and continued, when he didn't say anything: "She has this habit of reacting like that when something...surprising happens, she did it all the time when we were kids, and -" Anna swallowed her nervous apologies for Sheila. Sheila had every reason to get hysteric and she had none to be guilty. Instead, she watched as Charlie went to gather his wand and pointed it at the door. "Does it work both ways?" she asked before he had the chance to do anything.

"Well, yes. Or I thought I'd make it. I'd rather they wouldn't listen to us, either." He looked at her as if asking her permission and she nodded. "Silencio!" he then exclaimed and the giggles stopped abruptly. He felt uneasy about using magic and maybe alerting the Ministry, but Hermione had obviously been showing Sheila some spells already, if the applause were anything to make conclusions from, and if Hermione trusted Ron and Harry to be able to cover for them, so would he. Instinctively, he slipped his wand up to his sleeve. It wasn't as easy with the Muggle clothes as with his wizarding robes, but he had been used to carrying it there and had even made Molly spell a little pocket for it in all his Muggle shirts. Then he turned back to Anna. She seemed disapproving of something. He was just about to ask her what it was, when she spoke:

"Would you mind?" Her voice was cold, and he didn't understand what she was referring to. She had said he could cast the spell, hadn't she? "I thought we were to be on equal terms here," she snapped. "I don't have a wand, if you don't recall."

"But- I wasn't going to use -"

"Wasn't going to. Exactly. I've been reading this," she showed him the little leather bound wizarding book, "and according to it, you wizards use your wands all the time without even realizing it." She opened the book, found the place she had obviously marked earlier and read aloud: "In the wizarding society of today, wand-magic is extremely widely used in the quotidian life. Apart from the mundane tasks, like washing dishes, cooking, shaving, arranging hair or applying make-up, magic has an important role in the social life, as well. Magic is practised when wooing, jesting or celebrating, and it is not a rare occurence for wands to appear when displays of more volatile emotions take place, either. A quarrel between a husband and a wife is rarely solved without at least one or two random minor spells, and in an unfortunately large number of times, more severe magic is used in the heat of the moment." She closed the book and stated calmly: "I don't have a wand and I can't reverse whatever spell you cast on me, whether accidentally or in purpose. I guess it's not so bad if the other party is a witch, but fighting with a Muggle using your wand is like...playing football with a person who has no feet."

Charlie took his wand and placed it back on the small table near the door. He knew she had a point; he had seen enough fights between his brother and Hermione, and quarrels with Fred or George were downright dangerous without a wand. Still, he wanted to disagree with her. Accusing him of something he hadn't done, something that would have been totally abusive had he done it, made him want to lash out in his own defence. The pricking knowledge that he could have done it didn't help his irritation. Being wrong and knowing he was wrong only increased his need to falsely deny that he could ever have used his magic against her. He smothered the urge to fight, though, and settled to only saying:

"I got your point. But I don't know why you assumed right away that we'll start fighting. I don't want to fight." That was true. At least it was partly true. Anna interrupted his thoughts before he could venture any further on the question why he would have wanted to fight with her:

"I'm sorry." She blushed a little. "Maybe I overreacted. It's just...I guess you showed me all kinds of nice and fun and great magic while I was at the Burrow. I even know you did and I know I thought it was exciting and fun. Only I can't remember any of that. I've just read about it. The only real encounter with magic I remember is how the Obliviate feels after it has been cast on you, and that wasn't nice or fun. So I don't feel comfortable talking to you when you have your wand ready."

Now he felt guilty again. It wasn't like he hadn't deserved the feeling, but it didn't make it any easier to bear. At least he could finally apologize.

"Listen...I'm really, really sorry for that." Great. He hadn't even said the word, damn it! But he would: "For Obliviating you." There! He'd said it. "It doesn't matter you asked me to, it was still wrong. It's humiliating and degrading and plainly disgusting and I should never have done it to you."

His strong words startled Anna. He sounded so serious, so passionate about it. Why? "It's not your fault. I know it's your law. You had to obey. It says so here..." Again she grabbed the small leather bound book and searched for the marked place, reading aloud having found it: "After the Second Modern Wizarding War, the regulations for safety and security have been found exceedingly significant. Violating these regulations is considered a severe felony - some have called such acts even a treason - and punishments are prescribed accordingly. I wouldn't have wanted you to commit a crime."

"Following laws like that is nothing but cowardice! To be human, we have to make our own decisions on right and wrong, even when they aren't in agreement with the current law." He knew he was speaking in clichés, but he meant every single oft-heard word of what he said. "I know me saying I'm sorry doesn't help it at all, but I want you to know I have really thought about it and I really see why it was wrong and I'm really, really sorry." He looked at her, his eyes full of sincere pain over his actions.

Anna shifted her gaze away. "I-I forgive you." What else could she have said? She expected him to relax now, after she had given him the absolution he had obviously come to get, but he only seemed to tense more. He was staring at her and it made her feel uncomfortable. What else was he waiting for?

He massaged his neck with his right hand; a gesture she suddenly remembered. It felt weird to recognize the familiar habit on a wrong person. "Anna, I've been a total prat." He smiled nervously. "Such a prat I wouldn't even have seen it without some advice from an expert. And I'm not talking only about the Obliviation. I practically kidnapped you to my world and expected you to leave behind yours, including your family and friends and work. Bloody hell, I was so damn condescending I...well...I guess I even thought you'd be happy to." He stopped for a moment and looked at her, but when she didn't say anything, he continued, desperately trying to get her to understand.

"I love my world. I love magic. I was so relieved and happy when I at last could show it all to you and be wholly myself, I automatically assumed you would also prefer my world to the Muggle one. I was damn stupid. I didn't see a thing. Only after you left I realized it hadn't all been so great for you, and it took a Muggle to get me see why. I'm ashamed to say I even thought you'd be happy when you wouldn't have to cook the Muggle way anymore." He grimaced and looked at Anna bashfully. "I guess you really like to cook, don't you?"

"Yes. I do. I like my work, too. And I like being competent and knowing how to do stuff." It was a challenge to fight, but he didn't take the bite.

"Yeah. Me too." Again his hand crept to massage his neck. "I hate it when I can't do something I want to do. I try and try until I get it right. It's hard to imagine having to face something you'd know you can never learn to do, no matter how much you try. It must be hell."

"Yes. It is." Anna felt drained. He did understand, after all. Or at least he tried to understand. It should have made her happy, but somehow it only increased her feel of loss. So what if he understood? It only made it harder. Harder for her and harder for him. Why couldn't he have just stayed blind and impossible? She needed all the reasons she could get to keep away from him.

"I said I've been thinking about it. About us. I found some information and I've talked with this bloke, this Muggle who's married to a witch." Anna couldn't help her heart leaping with hope when she heard him. There were others? Others that had succeeded, even? She forced the hope away. No room for frivolous optimism, now! She kept her face nonchalant when listening to Charlie. " I guess I should have done that before I botched it all. I...when I came here, I admit I hoped you could give me - us - another chance. I know it's lot to ask, after what I did," he hesitated, "and I guess there's really no point even to ask now, when you're already involved with someone else."

His voice carried a nervous pitch, subtle accusation and a weakly veiled question in it. Anna didn't get it. Who was she supposedly seeing? She had told him Sheila had been telling tales, hadn't she? Hadn't he understood? She froze. Maybe she should let him believe it. He would leave and she'd be safe. If she told him the truth, he wouldn't give up. She knew him, he never gave up when he felt he was right. If she gave him even the slightest of chances, he would make her fight hard before agreeing to leave her. A small part of her wanted to make him fight. She wanted to get proof of his affection; she wanted to hear how much he wanted her back.

Either way, lying or being honest, she was being selfish and hurting him. She looked at him, his unfamiliar face with an eerily familiar expression of anguish on it, and she knew she'd had to tell him the truth. Not to get him to try to win her back, but simply because it was the truth and after what had happened, they really should start telling each other the truth, now.

"I told you already, Sheila was lying. She was only playing this game where you hurt others for hurting you and fake you aren't hurt at all. I don't think there's any sense in playing. I loved you quite a lot and for quite a long time. That couldn't just have vanished all of a sudden. It would be ridiculous to deny I still have feelings for you." She didn't met his eyes, she didn't want to see his hope arise. "I couldn't possibly have gotten myself seriously involved with someone else in two bloody days after breaking up with you."

"Seriously involved?" his voice was suspicious now, and it irritated her. Had he the nerve to accuse her of something?

"Seriously or any other way!" she snapped.

"But then..." he started, but she interrupted.

"It doesn't mean I won't, given it some time. I really think we'd both be happier if we found someone from our own world. Someone we could be on equal terms with."

"Really?" His voice was trembling. "That's it then? Am I dismissed now?" He was angry. She didn't remember ever hearing his voice so cold. "Do you think you can just wipe out almost eight months with that excuse?"

"You actually did wipe out three weeks already!" she shouted back.

"And that was the biggest mistake of my life!" Suddenly, she was happy he had placed the silencing spell on the kitchen door. "I'm not going to do it all over again! Damn it, Anna! I fucking love you!"

It was so absurd, she almost laughed despite her own anger. I fucking love you! How utterly romantic. She was just about to retort, when he continued, in a calmer tone:

"Anna, please. I love you, I want to be with you, and you said it yourself you still have feelings for me. I made a terrible mistake, but I'm really ready to amend the best I ever can. Could you even listen to me for a while? Please?"

She contemplated silently, feeling his eyes on her. She had thought she owned him explanations, owned him a chance to speak for himself. It was really her fault they hadn't had this conversation before, back when she had left the Burrow. "Well...all right then. I'll listen. But I won't change my mind, and you'll have to listen to me, too."

"Just promise to listen, and to think about it."

She nodded once, and after looking at her shrewdly, he sat down on the sofa. She hesitated for a moment, not wanting to sit too near. The armchair was ridiculously far away, though, so she settled on sitting down on the other end of the sofa. She gathered her feet under her and turned half-way to face him expectantly. He sighed, lifted his hand to his neck and took a deep breath.

"Okay...first of all, we could not to live exclusively in the wizarding world. Or in the Muggle world," he carried on rapidly, seeing she was going to interrupt. "The people I visited, the couple with a Muggle husband and a witch wife, they live in a Muggle neighbourhood. They have electricity and light switches and normal stoves and computers and all that. And they also have an open fireplace connected to the Floo-network, some additional closet-space thanks to enlarging charms - oh yes, and a few garden gnomes in the garden that are invisible to Muggles. As I can Apparate and use the Floo, it would be only fair to choose the place we live mainly to suit your needs. It would be nice if there were some other wizards living nearby and I'd like a garden we could ward so we could play Quidditch with the kids or something, but that's not so important."

"Kids." The happy images of their red-haired children she had pictured before appeared in her mind, but she shoved them away. "How about them? How about our children? Molly told me stories about your brothers and the way they performed uncontrolled magic when they were small. I would be a lousy mother for magical children. It would be dangerous."

He shrugged. "Mostly it's only something small: clothes changing color, favorite toys repairing themselves after being broken, bullying older siblings falling into a puddle, that sort of things. There are a fair number of Muggle-born wizards and witches and their parents manage it all right. You could talk with Hermione's folks, if you liked." He could see she still wasn't convinced, so he added: "And anyhow, who is it to say that I couldn't stay at home with the kids instead of you, if it got really bad? Don't Muggle husbands do that all the time?"

Anna had an almost alarmed look on her face. She reached for the leather bound book. "Yes, but you wizards don't! It says so right here: In comparison to the western contemporary Muggle society, the wizarding one is much more conservative regarding to, for example, family values. In the modern Muggle world it is not uncustomary for husbands to cook and do the laundry or fathers to stay home and look after the children, but wizards and witches tend to share the household-work very much according to the traditional gender-roles. See? It's not done."

"If Muggles can do it, we can. And you are a Muggle, anyhow." He had patiently listened to her quote, but immediately after she stopped, he retorted. Now he looked smug, when she couldn't find a counter-argument right away. "That's settled then. I also understand you can't keep it all secret from everybody. The expert I talked to - yes, the same Muggle bloke married to a witch - he has been fooling the Ministry for years. He really made me see it was worth it to make your own decisions. We can choose those of your relatives and friends that you believe are totally trustworthy and let them in to the secret. To the others we can just explain me and my family work for...a circus! Or we can make...what are they...special effects for the movies or something."

Anna couldn't help giggling. "You'd be rich and famous if you went for the stage or the movies." Then she sobered and remembered what they were discussing. "But wouldn't that make us outlaws? What about Ron and Harry and your father? They work for the Ministry, don't they?"

"Ron and Harry are in it already. They are covering for us as we speak. We shouldn't be doing magic here, you know." Anna remembered the silencing spell and glanced at the door, frightened, but Charlie went on: "And Dad really won't be a problem. Mum might be - following rules is her cup of tea - but not Dad. Anyhow, we should change the law. I think we could rein Hermione into a legal fight for Muggles with ties to the wizarding world. We could call the organization V.O.M.I.T. - Voice Of Muggles In Tribulation." He was chuckling. Didn't he take it seriously?

"What?" her tone carried her indignation cleary through.

"Sorry. I didn't mean it was funny. Hermione just...really can't be let to choose a name for any organization."

"Oh." Momentarily, she was at loss for what to say. He appeared to think he was winning. He had that smug smile on his lips and his shoulders had relaxed. He obviously saw her irritation, as he sobered and looked at her straight into the eyes. He talked slowly and calmly, in a way that showed he had given some thought on what he had to say.

"I understand you want to continue working. That's great. I know one person isn't worth of giving everything else up. No matter how much you love them. If we sacrificed all we hold important to be together, we would probably end up hating each other for our losses. I couldn't give up my family or my magic, not even for you, 'cause I wouldn't be myself without them. But I'm ready to make other compromises. I can easily forgo living in Hogsmeade and I'm fully able to learn how to use Muggle devices. I will never use magic against you and I can even begin to do the household work the Muggle way, if you like. I think it's worth it. I think you are worth it. I'm willing to try, to really try."

He was so serious, so sincere, and what he had said wasn't a folly. Anna felt her determination creeping away like grains of sand through her fingers, and it horrified her. There was no way he was going to win! She had to say something, she had to think of something. She started to speak rapidly:

"I love my work. It's one of the most important things in my life. It makes me who I am. But what about you?" Now she was attacking and his formerly self-confident stance was shaking. "You don't love the work you do now. You only came back from Romania because of the war." He was about to say something, but she beat him: "Yes, I wrote it down. I felt it was important. The one thing you love to do is working with dragons. You turned down the possibility to play professional Quidditch for it. Now the war is over. You could go back. But for me, moving to Romania would be as big a change as living as a witch. If you, because of me, didn't take hold of your opportunity to follow your true calling, wouldn't it be the kind of sacrifice you would end up hating me for?"

For a while he was silent. Then he smiled. Gently and tenderly and she had to look away, because that smile made her long for his love. "Anna. You are right. Dragons are a passion of mine and I'm not satisfied with my current work." She turned back to him, incredulous. That was all it took to change his mind? She felt disappointed and relieved at the same time. But he wasn't finished, yet. "You are right. But know what? It took your perspicacity to make me understand that. You really know me, don't you? Anyhow, they are planning to set up a dragon reserve in Wales, for the Common Welsh Greens. I could apply for a job there. The distance isn't too bad for Apparating."

She exhaled in desperation. "You have an answer to everything!" she exclaimed. "Are you making them up as you go?"

"Partly, yes." There wasn't a slightest hint of repentance in his voice. He shrugged. "I don't know if they are going to build a dragon reserve in Wales. But they might as well be, and if they aren't, I could make a proposal for it. Some of my old friends might be interested, too. I have thought about this, you know. Solutions can be found. I'm not going to give up easily." His jaw was set despite the smile that still lingered on his face.

Not easily. Well, all right. She would have to attack with full force then. She wouldn't have wanted to, but if he insisted... She took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice steady, when she started: "What about the estimated lifespan? As a Muggle, I will most probably die before my eightieth birthday. You, on the other hand..." again her hands took hold of the small leather bound book. Charlie had started to hate that book. "The estimated lifespan of a wizard or a witch is noticeably longer than their respective counterparts' in the Muggle world. A powerful wizard, such as Albus Dumbledore, can live as long as two, even three hundred years. Not surprisingly..."

"Give me that book!" He grabbed the book from her hands and threw it to the floor. "What's your point? For the first thing, I'm not Albus-bloody-Dumbledore; I'm not going to live for two hundred years! Especially if I go back to work with the dragons like you want! Secondly, when the estimated lifespan of a serious relationship or a marriage for you Muggles is two and a half years, why in Merlin's name do we worry about something that won't be even relatively current for forty years? Thirdly, Muggle women outlive their husbands all the time, and I'm already seven years older than you! What's your problem? Since we broke up, I've tried to find a way to make it work, to correct my mistakes, to try. You, on your part, have obviously only used that bloody book of yours to make up new reasons why it'd be impossible! Why are you so insistent on being miserable?"

His words sank into her mind like small stones into a puddle of mud; slowly, but inevitably, getting immediately too covered with the muck of her own thoughts to be easily separated from them and thrown back. Why was she insistent on being miserable, indeed? Because that was true, she was. She fought with all her strength when he said anything that could have solved the situation for better. She only wanted to remember all the complications, all the problems. She clung to her misery and didn't dare to give it up. Unhappiness was predictable and uncomplicated. She wasn't ready to believe in possibilities. She hadn't the courage for it.

He had sunk back into the sofa, with his head on his hands. His shoulders were slumped and he was breathing heavily. After all his smugness and determination and anger and confidence, he now looked so...beaten. She watched his redhaired head, the perspiration forming droplets on his neck, his large hands and strong fingers, his shoulders rising and falling with his breath. Why was she so afraid? What did she fear? Getting miserable? She already was. Should she dare...?

He still didn't look wholly familiar. He was a mixture of easily recognized gestures and postures with a familiar voice, and strange features attached to an unfamiliar build. Suddenly, she got an overwhelming urge to combine the elements. Hesitantly, she crept nearer him on the sofa.

"Charlie...," she said gingerly, "you look different from what I remember. It makes it...difficult to...believe you or any of this." He only lifted his head and glanced at her, his eyes sad and resentful, as if expecting her to blame him for her incorrect memories. Slowly, she raised her hand to his face. "May I? I think my...body remembers yours, even if my memory of your appearance isn't truthful." He froze for a moment, but then nodded a tiny little nod and her fingers slowly started to caress his face.

He held his breath. Her fingers were cold. He remembered she often had cold fingers, especially when she was feeling nervous. Now they were cold, and smooth, and they hardly touched his skin. He watched her face as she closed her eyes, her concentration apparent on her expression. Her mouth partly open and her brows furrowed she followed his features with her fingertips. She leaned closer, almost touching him. The warmth of her body enchanted him. He couldn't tear his gaze away from her face. It felt like he wasn't breathing at all but it didn't matter if he never got to breath again.

She opened her eyes, looking straight at him. There was awe in her eyes, and caution and longing. He heard her rapid breathing and saw her tongue slipping out, moistening her lips. He leaned cautiously forward, not taking his eyes off hers. "Does it...do I feel familiar?" he asked softly. She only nodded, timidly. "You don't want to stay miserable, do you?" he continued, fearing and hoping and waiting for her answer.

"No," she whispered and let herself fall into his arms, her lips seeking for his. He took hold of her, encircling her into his warmth, moulding her familiar form into his own. He placed his strong, warm hands on her temples and draw her into a kiss. It should have been easy and well-practised - it was only a few days since their break up - but so much had happened, so much had changed. They found themselves hesitantly searching for the right angle and awkwardly bumping their noses together like two teenagers sharing their first kiss ever. Her other foot had folded painfully under her bum and his back was aching from the way he was leaning forward.

He was the first to let out a small chuckle and hers followed. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with mirth, and he grinned. "I guess we are out of practise," he laughed, placing himself into a better position and lifting her properly into a comfortable hug.

"My breath stinks," she muttered,"I ate garlic." She tried to turn her head away, but he didn't let her.

"Lucky for you that I'm not a vampire," he chortled."Besides, nothing stinks like the dragons, and I love them, too."

"I missed you," she murmured into his shirt, running her small hands up and down his back and arms as if wanting to make sure he was there.

"Me too." He slowly let small kisses fall on her forehead, on her temples, on her nose, on her ear, on her lips. She sighed, contented, surrendering to the kiss. It was a sweet kiss, full of love and tenderness and happiness. He broke it only to look at her, smiling at her smile.

"Will you marry me, my little stinking Muggle?" he murmured softly.

She tensed in his arms and pulled away from his embrace. Her eyes wide and startled she exclaimed: "But...no! No, Charlie, I can't."

Before his brain could even properly register her words, two loud "pops" echoed in the room. "The Ministry!" a male voice yelled harshly.