Hogwarts a History – The eyes have halls
Chapter 06 – Cock a the walk

"Hey! Hey, get up! Get up! I said GET UP! Can't you see it's morning; get up!"

The big rooster stood atop Hagrid's hut, squawking to beat the band. He was a good sort, for what he was; it's just too bad what he was happened to be loud and proud and set off by the first light of day.

Actually, that may have been fortunate since the Gryffindor quidditch team had been up for an hour already (Wood had escaped the ropes) and were fifteen minutes into morning practice. When every minute counts, you don't want your alarm going off early.

And he didn't go off early, no sir. He wasn't that sort of cock. He went off when he was supposed to and you knew it when he did, not a subtle cock, not this rooster. When he went off it was big and long, the best you could ever hope to have. Number one cock, that was him.

Sun up, and the grumbling rumbling of the food man below, the rooster hopped off the roof and strutted over to the coop. He could have just walked, but it lacked gravitas. He had to put some swagger into it; as the biggest (only) cock in the yard, he had a standard to maintain.

Standards were very important, they helped establish the pecking order, which he was at the top of, naturally. Couldn't have anyone forgetting how important he was. He was the rooster after all.

"A'right, you lot gather round," the large bearded man bellowed as he spread their breakfast all over the ground.

"Mine!"

The rooster went at his food with gusto, this too was a standard. The sooner he filled his gut the sooner he could plant his butt; back on the roof where he would remain, watching the chicks and the rest of his domain.

The day passed as previous days had done. He sat, he strutted, he leered. After lunch he took a nap and woke up just in time for dinner, and then it was time for bed.

His sleep was deep, the sleep of the just; or the sleep of someone with no real responsibilities. There was magic around the coop to protect it from invaders, which meant he didn't have to stand guard; it was already guarded.

So he slept, oblivious to the things that went creep in the night; of one in particular, creeping from the castle, creeping over the woodpile, creeping across the thatch roof. He barely made a sound when the hands wrapped around his neck and squeezed.

The following morning was dead silent, except over on the pitch which rang with curses and the most creative death threats you've ever heard.

Ginny woke, slow and sluggish. Her body rebelled at the hour, 'more sleep' it demanded, but the alarm clock said it was time to get up. Stupid clock, what did it know?

"Ugh! Somebody kill that (bleep)ing alarm clock!"

"Really Ginny, such language," an equally tired sounding voice teased.

"Just cuz my mum doesn't think I know those words doesn't mean she's right."

"True story," quipped another tired voice from the other side of the room.

"Somebody planning to shut that thing off or…"

A flying pillow soaring across the room made it a moot point, but by that time everyone was awake, and sleep seemed to have fled. Possible it was the blood and feathers that scared him away.

"Wha—uh, where did," Ginny babble nervously.

"Whoa!" observed Demelza Robins. "Now that's a mess."

"Looks like you murdered a pillow," Romilda Vane added.

"Murdered!" The idea did not appeal to Ginny, especially not after that weird dream she'd woken from.

"No, no, see that blood?" Demelza continued, oblivious to Ginny's inner turmoil. "That's chicken blood."

"How can you tell?" asked Romilda.

"My uncle had chickens; I stayed with him one summer. Hated it, specially the chickens. Stupid smelly birds."

"How many'd you kill?"

"I didn't kill any of'em!" she replied indignantly. "It was the fox that got it and you can't prove that it wasn't."

"Uh huh," said Romilda, totally not judging her roommate. "You throw all this on Ginny's bed just to mess with her?"

"No! How could you say that?"

"Well, of the three of us, you're the only one with a history of poultry slaying."

"You can't prove anything!"

"Uh huh. Ginny, any ideas. Remember anything?"

"Just a weird dream," people had weird dreams all the time, no harm admitting to that.

"Hmm, were there chickens in this dream?"

"I—think, a rooster?" It was all blurry now and fading quickly.

"Were you a fox in this dream?"

"Was that a jab at me?"

"Why would you think that?"

"No," Ginny cut in, "pretty sure I wasn't a fox."

"Hmm, hmm," Romilda hmmed. "You were probably sleepwalking."

"You think so?"

"Why not, I do it all the time. Oh, spose I should warn you; I don't always make it back to the right bed so, just a heads up."

"Crawl in with me an I'm kicking you out," said Demelza.

"But, the blood, and the feathers. Where would I sleepwalk to find that?"

"Yeah, and how'd she do it without getting caught by Filch?"

"Hmm, magic?"

"… you are the worst," said Demelza, giving up on the whole conversation and heading for the shower.

"Ten galleons says I'm right," Romilda shouted after her. "Anyway, I wouldn't worry about it. Take it from a professional sleepwalker; any morning you wake up in your own bed is a good morning. I can't tell you how many times I've woken up and had no idea where I was. There was this one time, I woke up half soaked in the middle of a swamp and…"

Romilda's assurances, well meaning as they were, did nothing to alleviate her agitation. If anything, they gave her something else to worry about. Her roommates were crazy.