petrichor || charlie weasley

3) discomfort and delights

Teagan had hoped that it was just another nightmare; how disappointed she was to find that it wasn't.

She absolutely hated to admit that she had been taken by surprise. She really should have expected it. Well, she had expected it, which honestly made it so much worse that she had been caught off guard. It was more that she had underestimated them. It was a mistake, a very grave one, that she would not be making again.

She was somewhat consoled though; her cousin and his friends would take care of it until she was back. What a fun time she would be missing out on.

By the time she had come out of the post-sleep haze, it seemed that she could feel every injury she currently had as well as every injury she had ever had.

Curse Kyprioth her body hurt.

She was groaning in pain before she even attempted to sit up from the bed she had been put in. Once she had actually sat up, which involved numerous groans escaping her lips, she realized that she must have been in Grimmauld Place.

The dark walls and the smell of dark magic were distinctive, and she didn't she would ever be able to forget them. While it had been quite a few years since she had last been in Grimmauld Place, if this room was anything to go by, it was almost exactly the same as it had been all those summers ago. She let her lips form a small smile of nostalgia before she gathered herself and got her barings.

She heard faint chatter coming from below her, and her internal clock told her that it was morning.

After she had gotten over the rush of pain after becoming conscious again, she found that the pain was not nearly as bad as she had thought it would be. She had certainly had worse before at any rate.

Looking down at herself, she found that she was wearing a large, knitted, burgundy jumper with a large black "C" in the middle. She briefly wondered who it belonged to, but then realized that if she were in Order headquarters, it must belong to one Charlie Weasley.

She knew that the Weasley family was in the Order; she also knew that Charlie was home in Britain through a connection of hers. Besides that, she had seen Charlie wearing this very jumper many times in her sixth year, which had been his fifth year.

Moving the quilt that she had been under, she saw that she had been put into an old pair of black joggers. She found that both the joggers and the jumper seemed to smell of campfire smoke and mint. An odd combination, but one she found that she liked. It made her feel safe, although that may have just been because instead of waking up in a random safehouse bedroom, she had woken up in Grimmauld Place. Even though many nightmarish things had occurred in this place, it still held a special place in her heart.

Once again shaking herself from the nostalgia , she slowly moved to stand from the bed. With minimal winces, she managed it. She was careful, and kept a hand on the bed to catch herself in case she turned out to not be stable enough. Thankfully, she did not fall, and she started to slowly make her way to the bathroom that she knew was connected to the room she had been placed in.

Using the bathroom had not been nearly as hard as she had thought it would be, which was a great relief. While she was washing her hands she took a couple of moments to look at her reflection in the mirror. What she found did not entirely surprise her.

Her face looked tired, as the deep bruising under her eyes told the world. There were various little cuts that had already started to scab, as well as the faint traces of other, intentional bruises. She assumed that someone had put a balm on both the bruises and the cuts so as to speed up the healing process. She found that there was also a negligible cut on her lip. One thing that did surprise her, however, was that there was an eyecatching scar that cut through her left eyebrow. While it was not causing her any pain, she was surprised to find that she rather liked how it looked. After washing her face, and more sleep, she was sure that she would look a proper badass.

While this did boost her ego a tad, she was also marginally concerned with how she would explain this to others. She knew that she need not worry about her cousin and his friends, nor did she worry about her parents. Rather, it was others within the inner party of the Sacred Twenty-Eight that she worried about. Moreso the adults than the kids.

Contrary to popular belief, the children of the Twenty-Eight were quite close. They confided in each other and bonded over the ridiculously high expectations that they were all expected to live up to. The adults were the more worrisome ones.

Some of them were understanding and acknowledged the fact that their kids were in fact human(i.e. her parents), but others were not nearly as understanding.

She knew that The Heirs, as they called themselves, would know all about how she had got the very noticeable scar on her eyebrow. The parents of The Heirs would be an entirely different story. She would have to think up a believable story before she attended the next ball or summer party.

Next, she pulled the jumper off of her body so as to inspect her injuries. She had noticed in the mirror that she had some thin, but deep slashes across her collarbones, and without the jumper obscuring her vision, she saw them in all of their glory. It looked as though someone, likely the same someone who had attended to her face, had closed the slashes with magic. Now all that was left was some slightly inflamed, and raised skin where the slashes were.

Along her torso were more cuts and mostly healed bruises. As she turned to attempt to look at her back, she felt a slight rush of pain. With it came brief flashes of memory.

That was right; Xavier had used a whip on her.

She let out a breathy laugh. Had he really thought that a whip would affect her? How naive he was; she had plenty of experience with whips. In fact, they were one of her favorite weapons. Whips fascinated her, and she was quite good with them.

Had he thought to scare her by using a whip on her? If anything, the fact that he had dared to use her weapon on her just urged her to show him how to really use a whip.

Shaking her head of thoughts of revenge, she put the jumper back on and finally made her way downstairs. She could use a nice mug of tea and a good breakfast.

Charlie was tired. The little sleep that he had gotten was some of the best sleep he ever remembered having, but it was not nearly enough.

He had very sleepily entered the kitchen just a couple of minutes after his mum had called for breakfast. He hoped that after a big breakfast and one, or five, cups of coffee, he would be awake.

It wasn't until he sat down next to Remus that he remembered the girl; Teagan.

He still wasn't quite sure what to call her. Sure, he knew her name, but they hadn't properly met. It just felt a bit weird to call her Teagan when she didn't know who he was.

Merlin, he really needed some coffee. His thoughts were making no sense.

He turned to Remus, who was reading The Prophet while sipping his tea.

"How is she, or how was she?" he asked the werewolf.

"Teagan?" Remus turned to him, "she's going to be just fine. Molly managed to stop the bleeding from the lashes on her back. They are going to scar, but they will heal just fine. Thankfully, nothing was broken. It turned out that most of the blood wasn't even hers, although the wounds on her back were bleeding profusely, as you saw. It seemed that Teagan gave the bastards a run for their money."

"Are you surprised Moony? You should know that no one gets away with biting Teagan without a couple bites in return!" Sirius exclaimed as he took the seat on Remu's other side.

"Shh Sirius! The children are coming down now! We must keep with the cover story! You mustn't give anything away!" his mother scolded the three of them in a hurried voice.

Before Charlie had a chance to ask his mother what this cover story was, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins all stumbled sleepily into the kitchen.

The kitchen was soon taken over by the banging of pots and pans and the usual clamoring for food. Soon the twins had roped him into a discussion about Quidditch, and he pushed his mothers words out of his head.

Maybe fifteen minutes had passed before someone else walked into the kitchen, and he soon regretted not asking his question.