Harry Potter and the Dovahkiin

Ben was knackered.

Quidditch practice had wrung him dry, and there was only one cure: a nice, relaxing, completely unauthorized soak in the Prefects' Bathroom.

Getting in was easy. Filch was still sulking over Mrs Norris, the corridors were dead quiet, and Ben had done this enough times to know the place would be empty.

He strolled up to the grand wooden door, tapped in the password, and slipped inside as it clicked open.

Warm air wrapped around him instantly, thick with steam and the sharp scent of lavender. The massive, pool-like bath was already filling, golden taps spilling water and bubbles like some overindulgent dream.

Ben shut the door behind him and let out a long sigh.

Now this is living.

He shrugged off his Quidditch robes, stretched out a stiff shoulder, and slid into the bath. Heat seeped into his aching muscles, melting away the soreness.

The mermaids in the stained-glass windows whispered and giggled among themselves, flicking their tails and throwing him little glances that were far too amused for his liking. Typical. Portraits and paintings at Hogwarts loved to act like they had dignity, but in reality, they were the worst kind of nosy.

He didn't pay them any mind. This was his time.

Ben tipped his head back against the marble edge, eyes drifting shut.

For a few glorious moments, everything was perfect.

Then—clang.

Somewhere in the pipes, metal groaned like it was deeply offended by its own existence.

Ben cracked an eye open. Not exactly strange. Hogwarts was old. Hogwarts made noises. Hogwarts sulked when it wasn't getting enough attention. You either got used to it or lost your mind.

Drip.

A soft plip-plip-plip from one of the golden faucets. A slow trickle of water leaked down, sending little ripples across the bath.

Then the mermaids suddenly went quiet.

Ben frowned. Now that was unusual. Very unusual.

A bad feeling crawled up his spine. It all became clear when he caught a flicker of movement behind him—a shadow stretching unnaturally long in the flickering torchlight.

Oh, for fu—

Ben squeezed his eyes shut.

He'd known this might happen after making that prophecy. But this soon?

A sharp hiss cut through the air, and the sound of scales scraping against stone sent a jolt through his gut.

Ben launched himself out of the water just as a heavy splash erupted behind him.

This was bad.

The Basilisk was definitely out for his blood. And he was naked and unarmed.

Luckily, he was the Dragonborn.

Ben threw his hands forward, summoning his magic—Ice Storm. A freezing whirlwind tore through the room, ice spreading across the floor, sharp crystals glinting under the torchlight.

Then he yelped, hopping on one foot.

"Brilliant," he muttered. "Freeze the bloody floor while you're barefoot, Ben. Genius."

Still, it should slow the snake down. The staggering effect from dual-casting would buy him a few seconds.

He cast Ironflesh next, then opened a small portal to Nirn Island, and grabbed—

A rooster.

Yes, he'd put chickens in there. They were good pest control, and the eggs were practically passive income. But right now, he needed one for its real use.

Ben held up the rooster, aiming it at the Basilisk like a divine weapon, "Alright, mate, time to crow. Do your thing."

It did—absolutely nothing.

"Come on, man, I'll get you grubs every day," Ben muttered, shaking the bird.

The rooster went stiff in his hands.

Ben's stomach dropped.

"Oh, come on—"

The rooster was either petrified or dead.

"Fuck."

A rush of air warned him just in time—he ducked, barely avoiding the Basilisk's lunging jaws.

Ben hurled a Fireball towards the massive serpent, then opened another portal, frantically trying to grab another rooster while dodging left and right. The Fireball only made the Basilisk angrier, and now it was striking even more aggressively.

Then—

A loud banging came from the door.

Ben's heart skipped a beat.

"Ben?"

It was Harry's voice. Shit.

"Ben, what's going on in there? Are you alright?"

Ben froze for a split second.

No. No, no.

The Trio had been tailing him a lot lately, trying to figure out what he knew. Normally, he ignored them.

But this? This was really bad timing.

He shouted, barely keeping his voice steady, "Go away, I'm busy!"

More scrambling on the other side.

"We heard something—what's happening?"

Ben could hear them trying every spell they knew to open the door. Luckily, without the password, they weren't getting in.

The Basilisk struck again.

Ben dodged, the rooster slipping from his grip. He swore as pain flared up his arm—he'd hit something sharp.

And Ironflesh had worn off.

The constant banging on the door was making it harder to track the Basilisk's movements.

Ben gritted his teeth, gathering magicka in his hands. "For the love of Merlin, stop banging on the door! You're making it worse! I'm literally dying in here—"

Something heavy slammed into his chest just as Ironflesh covered his body.

The impact knocked the air clean out of his lungs, sending him tumbling across the room. His back hit the wall with a sickening thud.

His ears rang loudly, and he couldn't breathe anymore.

Something was definitely broken.

Ironflesh made his skin tough as iron, but his insides? Still very squishy.

Somewhere in the haze, he registered the trio yelling.

With shaking hands, he summoned another spell—Close Wounds. Warm orange light spread over his body, and the pain eased as his ribs mended.

Ben finally coughed, the air rasping back into his lungs, his mouth tasting like iron.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, pushing himself up. His limbs trembled. He was drenched, bruised, bleeding—but alive.

"Oh, I am going to enjoy grilling you. Literally."

He rolled away just in time to dodge another strike. Months of dodging Bludgers were finally paying off.

Another Ice Storm to slow the Basilisk down.

Then—another rooster.

The first one was a lost cause. Smashed under a very large snake.

He wasn't working with an unlimited supply of them, so this one had to count or he'd have to start summoning chickens, and that would just be embarrassing.

Ben yanked a sock from his storage, shoving it over the rooster's head to block the Basilisk's gaze.

But making it crow?

Whole other problem.

-To be Continued..

No animals were harmed in the making of this chapter. Please visit p!treon/DreamyApe to know more.