"Are you suggesting that you found Slytherin's secret chamber, faced Slytherin's monster, defeated Slytherin's heir, and rescued everyone—alone?" Snape said, his voice thick with disbelief.
Ben gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Yeah, pretty much."
Snape leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "And we're supposed to just take your word for it? Out of hundreds of students and a dozen professors searching every corridor, you're the only one who seems to have witnessed any of it?"
Ben scratched his neck, as if trying to recall. "Oh, there were others there—"
"How convenient," Snape cut in, his lip curling. "And yet all of them are conveniently unconscious in the Hospital Wing. Makes one wonder..."
Ben tilted his head, unfazed. "Marianne's outside. Last I checked, she was three bites into a sandwich and already sick of waiting for the pudding"
That earned him a thin-lipped sneer. "We'll speak with Miss Fawcett once we're finished with you. In the meantime, you'd better start talking—or I'll be forced to use more 'sophisticated' methods."
His voice dropped into something closer to a growl.
Before Ben could respond, McGonagall's voice cut through like a whip. "Severus, I don't think there's any need to go that far."
Ben gave Snape a slow, deliberate look. "Mmm... yeah, I'm gonna go with a firm no on that."
"No?"
"I'm pleading the fifth."
"This isn't America!"
"Doesn't stop it from being a great idea," Ben said with a casual shrug. "Until Dumbledore shows up, I'm invoking the 'don't-get-expelled-without-a-fair-trial' clause."
"You're in no position to make demands—"
"Sure feels like we're negotiating, though." Ben spread his hands innocently. "Look, either you wait for Dumbledore, or I start making things up. Your call."
McGonagall gave him a sharp look. "Mr Brown, this is not a comedy show."
Ben raised his hands in mock surrender. "Just trying to keep things lively while I'm on trial."
Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "How fortunate that Veritaserum has no patience for theatrics."
There was a beat of silence. Sprout shifted in her seat but said nothing. McGonagall stiffened slightly, and Flitwick, who had up until now been quietly thumbing through Magical Theory, Volume II, finally looked up.
His small voice was calm but firm. "Severus, you know full well Veritaserum can't be administered to a student without Ministry approval. We are still a school, not an interrogation chamber."
Snape shot him a glare but didn't argue.
Snape sneered. "It was merely a suggestion."
"Let's keep it that way," McGonagall said tightly.
"I'd strongly recommend we wait for the Headmaster," Flitwick continued, adjusting his spectacles. "He'll want to hear Mr Brown's account himself. And perhaps things will be clearer once the others regain consciousness."
Just then, the door creaked open.
"I do hope I'm not interrupting," came a familiar voice, calm and lightly amused. Dumbledore stepped in, his robes swishing gracefully, eyes sparkling with that mischievous twinkle only he could manage.
Ben sat up a little straighter. "Right on cue—just when I was about to start monologuing without supervision."
"A terrifying prospect," Dumbledore murmured.
McGonagall blinked. "Albus—how—?"
"Oh, the governors had a sudden change of heart," he said airily. "Funny how the disappearance of six students sharpens one's priorities."
He turned to Snape. "If you don't mind, Severus, I'd like a private word with Mr Brown."
Snape looked like he'd bitten into something particularly sour. "As you wish."
Ben stood and gave a lopsided nod. "Always a pleasure. Let's do this again sometime. Maybe with biscuits next time?"
"Out," McGonagall said, unimpressed.
Outside the staffroom, Ben paused—Marianne was nowhere in sight.
"Ms Fawcett was craving pudding and wandered off to the kitchens," Dumbledore said mildly, catching the look Ben shot down the corridor.
"Oh." Ben didn't ask further.
They began walking together toward the Headmaster's office. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't exactly friendly either. Ben didn't know what to make of Dumbledore anymore. Sacked in the morning, back by the afternoon—had the man even left the castle?
Ben wouldn't have been surprised if he'd found out the old man had been hiding behind a pillar in the Chamber, listening in the entire time.
Even if he hadn't, the fact Fawkes hadn't come to Ben's aid meant something, didn't it? Phoenixes only came when you were loyal to Dumbledore.
'Wait—is that even true?' Ben thought, then paused.
He was so deep in thought, he nearly walked into Dumbledore, who had stopped before the stone gargoyle guarding the spiral staircase.
"Ah, let's see..." Dumbledore tapped his chin in mock concentration. "How about… 'Sherbet lemon'?"
Nothing happened.
"No, no, that was last week," he mused. He squinted at the statue, then brightened. "Aha! 'Caramel Toad'"
The gargoyle leapt aside with a groan, revealing the moving staircase.
"My apologies," Dumbledore said, glancing back at Ben with a smile. "Time is finally beginning to catch up with me."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Headmaster," Ben replied smoothly. "You don't look a day over two hundred."
Dumbledore chuckled, eyes twinkling. "Always quick with your wit, Mr Brown. Come along."
They entered the office, the door swinging shut behind them with a soft thud. Ben took in the room—the shelves, the portraits, the warm flickering light—committing every detail to memory. Just in case.
"When I said, 'We will speak again soon,' even I didn't expect it to be this soon," Dumbledore said, lowering himself into the high-backed chair behind his desk.
"Neither did I, Headmaster," Ben said as he sat down. "But… I couldn't really help it. I feel responsible."
"Responsible?" Dumbledore echoed gently. "May I ask why?"
Ben met his eyes. "Because I saw it coming. I just didn't do enough to stop it."
And so, he began telling the same story he'd told Cho. Not because he had a sudden urge to be truthful, but because… well, maybe Dumbledore already knew. Maybe he'd nicked it from Cho's head. Maybe he'd been lurking behind a pillar in the Chamber the whole time with a bag of sweets.
Knowing Dumbledore, he probably did.
The old man didn't interrupt. Just sat there, hands folded, like he had all the time in the world. That irritatingly patient look that said, go on, I already know how this ends.
When Ben finally ran out of things to say—or at least, things he was willing to say—Dumbledore leaned back and said...
-To be Continued..
I swear, I'm about to raid the kitchen for breadcrumbs. If only someone would join my P!treon, so I could afford pudding—and maybe a second spoon. Send help, or send snacks. Preferably both.