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HPTD - CH 119 - HISSY
🕑 Added 2025-05-02 04:37:00 +0000 UTCAfter the events in the Chamber, Ben was sure of one thing: he had some serious explaining to do.
That became abundantly clear when a Howler arrived at breakfast the next morning.
He didn't blame his mum for yelling—well, magically screaming—at him. Technically, he had been involved in a life-threatening incident involving an ancient monster and a literal Chamber of Secrets. Still, the pitch her voice hit on "What were you thinking, young man?!" could've shattered glass.
The Howler rattled off a full list of charges: being reckless, getting into dangerous situations, putting everyone at risk, and—Ben was almost sure—"absolutely nothing in the Hogwarts brochure said anything about fighting monsters!" Okay, maybe not that last part.
It ended with some colourful threats involving shovels, rabbit enclosures, and things that should never be put in cauldrons. Namely, him.
By the time it finished, the entire Ravenclaw table was silently praying for Ben's soul.
He had no intention of ending up in a cauldron.
So, in an effort to placate her and avoid a second Howler, Ben sent her something she couldn't possibly refuse: a house-elf.
Technically, he offered employment. Paid, with weekends off. Dobby had cried, "Dobby is honoured to work for Master Ben!"
After thanking him six times, he'd declared with alarming determination, "Master Ben will never have to worry about the rabbits again!" and vanished on the spot.
Somehow, that only made Ben more concerned for the rabbits' well-being.
He really hoped Dobby hadn't taken "take care of the rabbits" the wrong way.
That had been Friday, the day after the Chamber incident. Now it was Sunday. Still no Howlers about mysteriously disappearing rabbits—but also no updates. Which, frankly, wasn't reassuring.
Right now, he stood alone on Nirn Island, staring at a problem far too big to fit in a rabbit hutch.
The Basilisk coiled lazily near the water's edge, its massive body sprawled like a sunbathing serpent god. Its head rested on a flat slab of stone, half-asleep—or pretending to be. Either way, its eyes were covered now: thick black patches enchanted with every anti-glare charm he could scrape together.
He tightened the last strap and stepped back, brushing dust off his robes. "There. Now you won't end up killing every living thing on the island by accident."
The Basilisk hissed, low and displeased.
"Be good now. They're not all food," he said sternly.
She let out a long series of hisses, full of sulky complaints.
"No, you can't have another live goat," Ben said flatly, crouching beside her massive head. "That was a one-time thing. I can't be stealing goats from Hogsmeade on the regular."
Technically, he had paid for those goats—left some Galleons in a sack by the gate. And yes, he was talking to the death noodle like it was a sulky house cat.
Somewhere between feeding Tom Riddle's diary to a soul-eating shadow-shop and surviving the aftermath, he'd picked up Parseltongue. A side effect of living through a psychopath's diary entries, probably.
The Basilisk let out another hiss, longer this time, winding around in slow syllables.
"You ate two yesterday. That's already excessive. They're not chocolate frogs, you can't just keep—"
The Basilisk flicked its tongue at him, grumbling something that sounded suspiciously like ungrateful snackless tiny human.
Ben rolled his eyes. "You're lucky you didn't kill anyone this time, or I would have fed you to Norene by now."
The serpent grunted, then shifted with a heavy sigh, its scales dragging softly over the stone. It curled up slowly and settled into the dirt, clearly not happy about it.
Ben sat down cross-legged beside it, absently checking the edge of the eye patch for gaps. The heat from its body radiated like a sun-warmed boulder.
"Look," he muttered in Parseltongue, the words rolling off his tongue without thought now, "you stay here, no hunting, no glaring, and in return, I'll bring you more goats when I can. Deal?"
The Basilisk gave a reluctant hss that might have meant 'fine.'
"Good girl, now, how about some goat legs and mammoth snouts?" he said, pulling out one of each from the store.
She opened her maw with a slow, huffy hiss that sounded an awful lot like 'peasant offering accepted.'
"Careful," Ben warned, "you're one hiss away from being renamed Karen."
Obviously, the Basilisk hadn't gone all tame just because Ben had politely asked it to behave in Parseltongue. He'd fed it live goats on top of every chicken and rabbit it had already hunted on the island—and let's not even talk about the number of goat legs, mammoth snouts, and mystery meats he'd bought from the store.
It only started calming down once it was full. That's when Ben finally managed to cast Bind Familiar and seal the bond. A new conjuration spell popped up on his skill panel: Summon Hissy.
Looking around, Ben noticed the island had grown a lot bigger. When he first stepped into it, it was barely a hundred metres wide—now it stretched close to a kilometre.
The flowering weeds he'd planted over the holidays were still thriving. A few shrubs he'd added later were heavy with berries, and the peach tree had started blossoming again.
"Dragon dung's one hell of a fertiliser. Maybe I should ask Norene to move in full time," he muttered, then immediately reconsidered. No way two XXXXX-class creatures were going to share this land peacefully.
Scanning the island, there weren't many living things left. A few fish larvae drifted in the lake, and his familiars were still inside the house. But other than that—and Hissy—everything else was gone. The hungry Basilisk had hunted every last fish, chicken, and rabbit.
Thankfully, Cluck Norris was still in Hagrid's care and had narrowly escaped the great serpent's revenge.
With Hissy under control—for now—Ben figured it was time to start rebuilding the island's population.
He lay reclined against the warm coils of the basilisk, quill in one hand, diary balanced on his knees, occasionally pausing to flick a peach blossom out of his face. Hissy was sunbathing like a retired villain, blissfully still except for the occasional grumble when Ben's elbow dug in too hard.
"Right," he muttered, scribbling, Repopulate island. Step one: Goats. Lots of goats.
He paused, tapping the quill against his chin.
Build goat enclosure first, he added. Separate. Reinforced. Anti-snek measures mandatory.
He glanced sideways at Hissy, who let out a long, indulgent exhale like she was the one doing all the planning.
"Yeah, don't give me that look. You're still on thin ice after the Great Rabbit Massacre."
Ben scratched out a half-drawn chicken doodle, replaced it with a tombstone.
No chickens. Chickens are basilisk kryptonite. Avoid at all costs. Chickens are now theoretical only.
He flipped the page. "Alright. What else…"
Diricraws – teleport away from danger. Smart birds. Ugly as sin, but they'll live. Fwoopers – might drive me mad, but the singing's better than Edgar complaining during practice.
He chuckled to himself, imagining Edgar losing an argument with a pastel nightmare bird.
Will need to pre-silence. Note: charm feathers first.
He looked at the wildflowers spreading across the island. “Might as well put in some hives. The place looks like a Beedrill’s dream already.”
Beehives – plenty of flowers, why not? Let the bees do their thing. Good for plants, good for honey, not for eating. Looking at you, Hissy.
“Mooncalves…” he mused, drawing a badly proportioned one on the page. It looked more like a cow with spoons for legs.
Mooncalves – if I can find any. Good for the soil. Weird little dance freaks, but fine.
Fish – lake's looking too peaceful. Add more. Preferably fast ones this time. Note: train fish to be paranoid.
He looked up, watching a breeze scatter petals across the grass. It was quiet—eerily so. Peaceful in that "what did I forget" sort of way.
Hissy shifted slightly under him, letting out a groaning hiss that sounded like a yawn crossed with a threat.
"Shut up, I'm working," Ben said, swatting at the basilisk's snout with a peach leaf. "Go back to your sun-worship or whatever you're doing."
He returned to his scribbling, jotting a final note at the bottom: Start small. Don’t add dragons yet. Unless you want to see a deathmatch… do I want to see one?
It was starting to feel tempting as he sketched out Hissy and Norene locked in a dramatic showdown on the roof of his little house.
Hissy let out a low, contented rumble that vibrated through the ground. Ben gave her side a lazy pat.
"Yeah, yeah. You're the queen of the island. Just try not to eat your loyal subjects this time."
He closed the diary with a soft thump and set it aside, lying back against Hissy to watch the twin moons drifting above. It felt good, having a plan. Even if it was messy, half-formed, and scrawled in awful handwriting.
Still, it beat chaos. Which was... an improvement.
-To be Continued...
Don't ask Ben how he knows the Basilisk's Gender.
Hissy is a temporary name. Might change it tomorrow. I kinda like it, not gonna lie. Reminds me of Bessie from Percy Jackson. Bessie’s a solid name, too. I also like Cersei. Tiffany... not so much. Sorry, Tiffanys.
Comments
Prashant Deopa
LOL, left it out for the comments, and they have not disappointed so far.
CJ Nowhere
Honestly, fully expected a Hissy-fit joke in there
Docnox
Cerci or however its spelled gets my vote
