Scarred Serpents
Prologue Part 1
Waking Up
DISCLAIMER - All rights relating to Harry Potter belong to J.K Rowling. I own no part of it.
The first thing Charles felt when he woke up was a powerful feeling of regret. The next thing he noticed was his body reminding him why. He couldn't tell which was worse. The migraine which made his head feel like a cauldron caught in tightly wound vice, or his throat which appeared to be transfigured into pure sandpaper.
"Merlin's Beard" he rasped painfully.
He reached out his left hand, searching for his wand. As his fingers finally glanced against it, a cool shiver shot down his spine. Once firmly in his grip, he could almost feel the light spray of an overcast sky fall across his face and the smell of autumn leaves on windy day.
He sighed deeply.
'that's better' he thought.
He finally opened his eyes and was relieved to be able to recognize the beams of his bedroom ceiling. He took some solace at having made it back to his house, even if he'd have rather woken up on his bed instead of the cold wooden floor beside it.
Having had enough of the hard surface, he tried to get to his feet, but his body immediately rebelled at the effort. Staggering, he could see stars in his eyes as he tried his best not to throw up. With the last vestiges of sleep having left him, the young wizard began to feel the litany of aches and pains that pervaded his body. All in all, he seemed to be suffering from his first proper hangover.
Managing to sit himself down on the bed beside him the room promptly began to brighten. Wizarding homes had no need for Edison's electric light. Even the torches that lined the walls of Hogwarts were kept as an ode to tradition rather than function. In well-crafted magical households the room's magic would sense the needs of the occupant and swiftly animate the appropriate enchantments, in this case blanketing the space in an illuminating light.
As he was catching his second wind, memories of the events that led to his current state had begun to surface and despite the considerable pain he was in, he couldn't help a small smile appearing on his face.
Charles had just returned from the 421st Quidditch World Cup, a five-day trip that he could only sum up as pure madness. The final, between Scotland and Canada was, as he had put it, the brilliance of the sport made manifest. Both teams battled through rain, hail and storm, high above the mountain highlands and he and his friends loved every second of it. The victory celebrations were the greatest offender. Their final days were spent either in the air, where a hundred improvised games were played concurrently between strangers, or on the ground where fierce debates and fond stories were shared over games of old. It was a cacophony of merriment, and it was all done over copious amounts of butter beer and fire whiskey. Judging by how he felt, Charles safely assumed he had been a rigorous participant.
"Not gonna forget that one anytime soon." He said chuckling to himself.
However, as he looked up at the clock adorning his bedroom wall, he realized he had no time for reminiscing. It was half past eight, and that meant his aunt was up.
Charles had lived with his aunt Amelia for as long as he could remember. She took him and his cousin Susan in after both their parents died during the war. He loved her dearly but was unashamed to say that he was also deathly scared of her. When she agreed to let him go with his friends to the World Cup, he doubted that included an allowance for a group of underage witches and wizards to get as drunk as a troll with a keg of grog. If she saw him in this state, he would be hexed within an inch of his life. He had to get himself cleaned up and remove any and all evidence pertaining to his escapades.
He silently waved his wand in the direction of his cupboard, summoning a set of robes. His current ones were looking a little careworn with all the mud and loose leaves hanging off them. Strictly speaking, Hogwarts students weren't allowed to use magic outside of school until they completed their O. . Charles was entering his 5th year which meant he still had a year to go. However, his aunt was an Auror and Auror's had their homes rendered unplottable as a matter of protocol. This meant that as long as he was on the manor grounds the ministry couldn't trace his wand. A loophole he abused to no end.
He got undressed as a set of robes flew from the nearby cupboard and folded neatly onto his bed.
"Tergio" he incanted, moving his wand up and down his body, removing any remnants of sweat and dirt from it. He then used the Scourgify charm on his mouth to clean his teeth. With that, the new robes and a couple of household charms to tame his unruly hair, he figured he looked respectable enough as he observed himself in the mirror.
"Darling please, no amount of effort could fix the fact that the Lady Bones can read her ward like an open tome." The mirror spoke back haughtily, its surface vibrating with poorly hidden glee.
Charles sighed. There was no pleasing some people.
The young wizard made his way down to the drawing room. As he descended the final set of stairs, he took stock of himself.
"Salazar don't forsake me" he whispered to himself before entering the room.