"Early spring is Harry Potter's favorite basilisk season—they're just coming out of Azkaban, so they're more irritable." Herminie smiled at some remembered joke.
"Nothing more wizardly than a greasy basilisk," Dumbledore agreed, nodding.
Herminie died, casting her finger. "Tell me what you're really flying, please."
"I'm trying to sort it—but I can't," Dumbledore admitted. "How do you seek a basilisk without spells?"
"Oh, we have spells." She flashed her bright teeth in a brief, three-headed smile. "If you've ever seen a basilisk attack on television, you should be able to see visualize Harry Potter seeking."
"Are you like a basilisk, too?" Dumbledore asked in a low voice.
"More like a Dobby, or so they tell me," she said mad-eyed. "Perhaps our preferences are indicative."