The Chamber door opened with a groan that echoed through the tunnels. A battered group stumbled out—Ben at the front, holding Lockhart upright like a particularly useless sack of potatoes. Behind him floated the Golden Trio, and Cho, levitated in pairs, still out cold, drifting like sad balloons.
And then there was Marianne, shambling just behind—with the drained wobble of someone freshly unpossessed by a teenaged Dark Lord.
"I'm just saying, if you can summon potions and enchanted jewellery, you can summon a sandwich. Or a pie."
"Marianne."
"Or a bacon bap. Hell, at this point, I'd take toast. Burnt toast. With boot polish."
"Marianne."
"Yes, oh noble commander of nonsense?"
"Shut up and walk."
She muttered something under her breath and trudged beside him, eyes scanning the tunnel ahead.
"You ever think about how we almost died down there?"
Ben snorted. "No. You mean how you almost died."
"Same thing. I die, you die."
"That's not how that works."
"Sure it is. You'd feel bad. That's basically death."
Ben didn't argue. He wasn't sure how he'd take it if something happened to her—or any of them.
A pause settled in, just long enough to let the weight of it creep in. Then—
"...So. Sweet rolls?"
Ben sighed. "You got possessed by a teenaged Dark Lord and your takeaway is pastry?"
"Look, some people have trauma. I have cravings."
"Marianne."
"Don't 'Marianne' me," she said, eying his hat suspiciously. "You've definitely got something stashed in there, and don't pretend you don't. You've got a whole mystery cupboard vibe going on with that stupid hat—"
She suddenly reached for his hat.
Ben stepped sideways without missing a beat. "Oi! Hands off the hat."
"Just checking for crumbs," she said, chasing him a step or two.
Ben arched an eyebrow. "You think I'm hiding sweet rolls in my hat?"
"Wouldn't put it past you. If there isn't a ham and cheese toastie in there, I'll eat my wand." She said, reaching for his hat again. "Why are you dodging?"
"'Cause I'm delicious," Ben muttered. "And you're clearly food-possessed."
"I was soul-possessed," she snapped, brushing her hair back like the trauma was a mild inconvenience. "Not the same. And I've earned a bloody muffin, at minimum."
Ben rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. Then he sighed and reached into his hat. "Fine. Here's your sweet roll," he said, finally admitting defeat as he pulled the pastry out.
She blinked. "Is that warm?"
"Room temperature. Don't push it."
She snatched it anyway, already chewing. "Mm. Still counts."
"Glad to meet your high standards," he muttered.
Ben glanced back at the floating group behind them. "Lend me a hand with Potter, would you? I'm about to drop Lockhart like a sack of potatoes."
Marianne saluted with her half-eaten roll. "On it, Captain Snack."
The torch-lit entrance to the girls' bathroom felt almost sacred after the hours they'd spent underground. The moment they emerged, Filch screamed. Then McGonagall screamed louder.
"Potter?! Miss Granger?! Mr Weasley?!"
She rushed forward, wand drawn, eyes wide.
"Is that—Merlin's beard—Lockhart?! And Miss Chang—what—what is happening?"
Ben stood in the middle of the chaos, scratched, filthy, and exhausted. He took a deep breath and said, "Everyone's alive. But I think some of them would like a nap. Or food. Or both."
Behind him, Marianne raised her hand. "Food, please."
Within moments, the staff had taken over. Students were levitated off to the Hospital Wing, Lockhart was carried away on a floating stretcher with a dopey smile on his face, and Marianne was whisked off with Madam Pomfrey muttering to herself.
"Six students, missing... returned like ragdolls... no one explains a thing." She huffed, barely looking up. "Just drag 'em in here and expect me to fix it all. Do they think I'm magic?"
Only Ben remained behind. McGonagall stood before him, her face stern but pale. Professors Flitwick and Sprout flanked her. Even Snape was there, watching silently, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.
"Mr Brown," McGonagall said, her voice firm. "I believe it's time we had a very serious conversation."
Ben sighed.
Of course it was.
-
They didn't even offer him a bed.
While Cho and the others were being fussed over in the hospital wing like a flock of wounded ducklings, Ben was marched off to a stiff-backed chair in the staff room—the same one used for detentions, awkward meetings, and, apparently, interrogations.
Six teachers ringed him in a loose semi-circle, watching like he might explode—or vanish again.
Snape took centre stage, arms folded, eyes gleaming like he'd just caught the scent of something illegal."Let's begin, shall we?"
Ben tilted his head."Sure, but fair warning—I skipped breakfast, and the truth tends to wander when I'm peckish."
"This is not a game, Brown," Snape snapped. "You vanished from the hospital wing, and hours later, you reappear dragging six unconscious students from a chamber none of us have ever located."
"I know," Ben said, leaning back in his chair. "Makes you wonder why I haven't been made a prefect yet."
Sprout let out a tiny snort before coughing into her sleeve. Flitwick, as usual, pretended to be very interested in his parchment.
Snape's lip curled."Let's try this again. Where. Is. The. Entrance."
Ben feigned a thoughtful look."Um, right where you found me. Did none of you check Myrtle's bathroom? Honestly, it's no surprise you haven't found it—turns out you need a parselmouth to open it."
"A parselmouth? And you are one?" Snape's eyes narrowed.
"Me? Oh, I wish. But definitely not me," Ben said with a grin.
"Then who? Was it Potter?" Snape's voice dropped dangerously.
Ben glanced around the room with exaggerated confusion."Hmm. Feels like we're missing someone."
McGonagall raised an eyebrow."Who?"
Ben shrugged."Tall bloke. Half-moon glasses. Big fan of phoenixes. Tends to show up when things go spectacularly wrong."
Snape's glare could've melted stone."That's very convenient."
Ben sat up slightly, tapping his fingers on the table with a smirk."Ah, look at that—just dodged a question like a pro, didn't I?"
Snape stepped forward, his tone low and dangerous."This is serious, Brown. You disappeared from the hospital wing without permission, when you were already under investigation for destroying the prefects' bathroom."
"Yeah. Had to complete a side quest. You know how it is, professor. Basilisk roaming the school—someone had to do something, right?"
Snape's jaw tightened. He had been the one searching for the snake, after all.
-To be Continued..
Writing this chapter felt like dragging unconscious teenagers out of a basilisk den. If you'd like to help carry the next one—P!treon now has a stretcher fund.