Harry Potter and the Dovahkiin

Ben ducked and rolled to avoid another basilisk lunge. "Alright, mate, I'll get you so many chicks if you just crow once!" He threw out a Flaming Familiar, and a massive fiery wolf let out a howl before lunging at the serpent, exploding on impact.

All he got from the rooster was a cluck cluck.

Ben scowled. "Fine. Time for the stick."

He summoned another Flaming Familiar and fished his wand from storage.

"Wake up, Cluck Norris. It's crow or croak. Lumos Maxima."

Yes, he'd named the rooster Cluck Norris. When? Oh, just now, of course.

A blinding flash flooded the room. Even through the sock, the rooster saw the light.

And finally—

COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!

The effect was instant.

The Basilisk shrieked.

The chamber shook.

The massive serpent writhed, convulsing in agony.

Ben stumbled back, chest heaving, listening as the Basilisk slithered away—retreating fast into the pipes, its painful hisses echoing through the walls.

Then—silence.

Ben sagged against the ruined bathtub. It was over.

He let out a shaky breath, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth—

BOOM.

The bathroom door blasted off its hinges. Dust and splinters rained down, and Ben flinched as the force sent ripples through the wrecked room.

When the dust cleared, he blinked up at the figures standing in the doorway.

McGonagall, wand raised, lips pressed into a thin line. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood behind her, wide-eyed.

Ben's brain, still sluggish from everything that had just happened, finally caught up.

Oh. That's why they'd stopped banging on the door.

McGonagall's gaze swept across the ruined bathroom—the shattered taps, scorch marks, the ice-coated floor, and cracked walls. She took in the fallen ceiling, the wrecked marble, and then—finally—him.

Ben—bloody, filthy, drenched in sweat, and very much naked

Slumped against the wreckage of the bathtub, wand still clutched in his hand.

And between his legs, standing stiff and proud—

A cock. Wearing a sock.

A lone guardian of its master's dignity.

McGonagall opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "...Mr Brown—"

Ben sighed, letting his head fall back against the broken tub. "Professor, I think it's only proper that you knock before entering."

McGonagall exhaled sharply. "For Merlin's sake—" With a flick of her wand, Ben's discarded robes flew up and wrapped around him like a mother hen bundling up a reckless chick.

Ben gave a tired smirk. "A shame. Cluck Norris was just starting to enjoy the attention."

McGonagall's glare could have frozen the Black Lake. "Not. Another. Word."

Before Ben could test his luck, Hermione rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside him. "We were worried!" She looked him over, frowning at the cuts and bruises. "Are you alright? What happened? Why are you—"

Ben blinked. "Geez, breathe."

Ron rubbed his palms against his robes. "We ran straight to McGonagall—thought we were too late."

"You were," Ben said dryly, "but I appreciate the concern, Ron."

Harry stepped forward, gaze sharp. "What was it?"

Before Ben could answer, hurried footsteps echoed from outside. Moments later, the doorway filled with figures—Dumbledore, Snape, and Flitwick.

Dumbledore took in the sight with an unreadable expression. "Ah," he said lightly, "I see we've had an eventful evening."

"Reckless idiocy," Snape corrected sharply. His gaze landed on Ben like a blade. "What, precisely, was he doing here—alone—causing this much destruction?"

"Professor," Flitwick cut in, sharper than usual, "perhaps questioning can wait? The boy is injured."

"A few bruises and cuts are hardly an excuse to avoid interrogation," Snape replied coldly.

Ben raised a hand weakly. "If it helps, I feel like I got hit by a train."

Flitwick's frown deepened. "Are you in pain, my boy?"

"Nothing a few hours of unconsciousness won't fix," Ben muttered.

Dumbledore gave him an amused look. "Now then, Mr Brown. Would you care to explain?"

Ben exhaled through his nose. "Well, see, I was bathing—"

"Ben."

"And then I wasn't."

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose. "Properly."

"There was a very large snake," Ben admitted. "Rather rude, barged in without knocking."

There was a beat of silence.

Flitwick blinked. "A snake?"

"Big snake."

Snape's gaze flicked over the wreckage. "A snake did all this?"

"Told you it was big."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "How big, exactly?"

Ben exhaled, eyes drifting to the hole in the ceiling. "Well, judging by the way it took out half the room? I'd say… too big."

Hermione made a strangled noise. "Was it—was it the monster?"

"Unless Hogwarts has a second, entirely separate giant death serpent, yeah."

Snape's expression darkened. "And where is it now?"

Ben hesitated. "No idea."

McGonagall inhaled sharply. "What—"

"Had my eyes closed the whole time," Ben cut in quickly. "Didn't exactly get a good look."

Ron frowned. "Why close your eyes?"

Ben gave him a flat look. "Because I saw the shadow of a snake big enough to eat me in one bite. What else could it possibly be except the Slytherin's monster?"

Silence.

Harry gave him a baffled look. "You fought that thing? Without even looking at it?"

Ben shrugged. "Process of elimination. Mrs Norris was petrified. So whatever the monster was, it could petrify people."

Dumbledore's expression sharpened slightly. "Go on."

"Not many creatures can do that," Ben said, gesturing vaguely. "Gorgons, some ghosts, maybe a really talented Mediwitch with a grudge."

Hermione bit her lip. "But none of those are snakes."

Ben nodded. "Exactly. Only one thing fit—Basilisk."

There was a beat of silence.

Snape sneered. "And you just happened to know exactly how to kill a Basilisk?"

Ben exhaled. "It’s almost like I read books. Imagine that—a Ravenclaw reading."

Snape’s gaze sharpened. "And how convenient that you had exactly what you needed."

Ben snorted. "Convenient? Professor, I nearly got eaten twice trying to summon one, and the first three roosters didn’t even last five seconds before turning into bird statues." He sighed. "I would hardly call that convenient."

Hermione sucked in a breath. "Roosters—their cry is fatal to a Basilisk!"

Ron blinked. "Hang on. You fought the Basilisk… with chickens?"

Ben gestured vaguely. "Technically, roosters. But yeah. Turns out they're deadlier than they look."

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, but his tone was thoughtful. "A simple solution. The best ones often are."

Snape looked murderous. "And yet, the Basilisk escaped."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "If you'd like to have a go at it, Professor, be my guest."

Snape's eyes flashed dangerously. "You're far too flippant for someone who barely survived."

"What can I say? Perspective." Ben gestured vaguely at himself. "Still here, still breathing. Can't say the same for my bath."

Dumbledore's smile remained, but there was something sharp beneath it. "We'll discuss this further in the morning, I believe."

"Excellent," Ben muttered, slumping back again. "Now if no one minds, I think I'll just die for a bit."

Flitwick, finally having had enough, clapped his hands. "Madam Pomfrey, now!"

-To be Continued..

Ben may not actually be a Seer, but he's definitely seen enough nonsense for one night.

Supporting my P!treon won't make you a hero, but it will make you at least 12% cooler. Scientifically proven.