Harry Potter and the Dovahkiin

The rain dragged on through October, hammering the windows and turning the Quidditch pitch into something fit for a kelpie—not that Oliver Wood seemed to care. Gryffindor kept practising through the downpour like they were training for the Triwizard Tournament, not the House Cup.

Meanwhile, the Ravenclaw team practised about once a week on the pitch and spent the rest of their time in the locker room, studying tactics and plays. Owen was really trying to impress Eleanor with all the smart and complicated plays he came up with, but Eleanor seemed more focused on her nails than anything he said. To be fair, she was the Seeker—all she really had to do was catch the Snitch.

Ben usually sat at the back with Marianne Fawcett, barely paying attention. Out of the whole team, she seemed most aware of just how dysfunctional the Ravenclaw team was, and her sense of humour matched his pretty well.

"So if Edgar cuts left and Roger swings right—" Owen pointed at the chalkboard, tapping his wand against the rough outline of the pitch.

Ben leaned toward Marianne. "What are the odds Edgar actually cuts left?"

"About the same as Tobias giving someone a friendly hug," Marianne said without looking up.

Ben snorted. "So zero."

Owen shot them a sharp look. "Do you two have something to add?"

Ben smiled brightly. "Just silently admiring your tactical genius, Captain."

"Truly inspiring," Marianne added, nodding solemnly.

Owen narrowed his eyes. "Just… pay attention."

Ben and Marianne exchanged amused looks. Owen had a habit of coming up with routines that were overly complicated and clever instead of working with the team's actual strengths. It usually led to disastrous results when they tried to put them into practice on the pitch.

Edgar Cornfoot was too much of a hothead to listen to anyone; all he cared about was scoring goals, and Ben couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him pass the Quaffle. Roger Davies wasn't even bothered about scoring unless he could make it look cool—"Chicks dig it," he always said, though Ben had yet to see any proof. Still, watching Roger pull off ridiculous stunts on his broom was at least good entertainment.

Tobias had a fuse so short that Owen didn't even bother suggesting plays to him anymore. Tobias would just go after the person with the most annoying face on the field and call it strategy. And honestly? It worked more often than not. 

Marianne was a talented Chaser, but like Ben, she didn't take the game too seriously. She was very clear that she was there to have fun—and have fun she did. That's why Ben liked her.

"Pay attention, Ben," said Cho from the side, shooting him a sharp look before turning back to the strategy board.

Honestly, in the whole team, Cho Chang might have been the hardest worker—and she was only a reserve Seeker. She showed up to every boring strategy meeting even though most reserves didn't bother, and from how pale and sickly she looked, it was obvious she'd been practising in the rain. Ben briefly considered letting a few Bludgers hit Eleanor in their first match, just to give Cho a shot at showing off the results of all that hard work.

Even outside the locker room, they all sat together in the Great Hall and even in the common room. Abernathy claimed it was to help with team coordination, but he wasn't fooling anyone.

Ben actually enjoyed spending time with this dysfunctional team. It reminded him of his old football team from long ago—in another life.

At the same time, whenever Ben had free time—and thanks to Hermione doing his assignments this year, he had quite a lot—he took the opportunity to grind his [Skills] in the Forbidden Forest while thinning out the overgrown Acromantula population. Progress was decent, but the rain made the smaller groups scarce—and he wasn't about to go knocking on Aragog's door to ask if his kids were free for a light mauling.

The experience needed to level up had also spiked hard—classic mid-game slog. Still, each level made a noticeable difference; his magic wasn't glitching as much anymore, and he had a feeling that hitting Level 50 would finally sort it out. 

---

Dragonborn[Level 47]

Vitality: 570

Magicka: 581

[Alteration[Level 50(Adept)]

[Conjuration[Level 50(Adept)]

[Destruction[Level 50(Adept)]

[Illusion[Level 45(Apprentice)]

[Restoration[Level 44(Apprentice)]

[Weapons Mastery[Level 25(Apprentice)]

---

When his three skills hit Level 50, Ben unlocked new perks for each. His Destruction spells, when dual cast, could now be charged to stagger enemies, throwing them off balance if hit. His bound weapons gained the ability to banish summoned creatures—or even turn raised ones to fight at his side. But the most useful perk had to be Alteration, which now passively increased his spell resistance by up to twenty percent. That was bound to come in handy.

Now, as much as he'd have liked to grind the rest of his skills, he was out of time. He had a freaking Basilisk to find. And unlike before with the diary, he wasn't about to take any chances. His meddling might have already thrown off the timeline, and for all he knew, the Chamber could open early. Clairvoyance wasn't much help either—hard to track something when you had no clue what in Merlin's name it even looked like.

He'd tried tracking the diary too, but apparently, Clairvoyance wasn't all-powerful. It couldn't lock onto any of the Horcruxes properly—not surprising, since the whole point of a Horcrux was to hide in plain sight. He could still sense its general direction, but inside the castle, all he got was a vague somewhere nearby, which left Ben with a very ominous feeling.

So, out of convenient options, Ben was left with old-school patrolling—stationed outside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, under the Invisibility Cloak, with Karl wrapped around his neck, listening for any and all noises, serpentine or otherwise, while repeatedly casting [Muffle]. At least his Illusion skill was getting a decent workout. Small wins.

When Ben wasn't around, Karl was still on the job, curled up inside a suit of armour like the most adorable booby trap ever—listening for any hissing that wasn't coming from Peeves.

Despite the near-constant surveillance, nothing seemed to be happening. Hardly anyone ever entered Myrtle's bathroom—except Myrtle—and all Ben ever heard was her dramatic moaning echoing off the tiles. Honestly, it was like a haunted soap opera in there.

-End of Chapter-