The aftermath of The Incident, as it was now whispered in every corridor of Hogwarts, lingered long after the stench faded.
Classes had been canceled for the rest of the day.
The Quidditch pitch remained under heavy magical quarantine.
Madam Pomfrey distributed Pepper-Up Potions and anti-nausea elixirs like chocolate frogs at Christmas.
And most importantly — the hunt for the culprits had begun.
⸻
The Headmaster's Office — That Evening
The fire in Dumbledore's office crackled merrily, casting golden light across towering bookshelves and shelves cluttered with odd magical trinkets. Portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses dozed or whispered amongst themselves, clearly intrigued by the tension in the room.
Professor McGonagall stood near the desk, her tartan robes practically bristling with suppressed outrage.
Beside her, Professor Snape paced like a furious storm cloud, black robes flaring behind him at each sharp turn.
Dumbledore, of course, sipped tea as if the world were not in mild chaos.
"I warned you," McGonagall said tightly, voice barely leashed. "This was not a harmless prank. Students fainted. Madam Hooch collapsed. And Severus hasn't stopped sneezing since."
Snape stopped mid-pace to sneeze violently into a dark silk handkerchief. "It was biological warfare, Albus," he rasped. "The pitch still reeks of troll armpit… and something unholy. Something worse."
McGonagall's lips tightened. "It's the worst stench I've encountered since that time Peeves fermented gillyweed in the dungeons."
"And what about the Freys?" Snape snapped. "Last time one of their boys got hit with a stink hex, it took a week to calm their parents. They're still demanding justice for this one."
Dumbledore, maddeningly serene, placed his teacup down with a gentle clink.
"Well," he said, "I must admit—the skunk essence was particularly… inventive."
"You sound impressed," McGonagall said flatly.
"I'm always impressed by youthful creativity," Dumbledore replied with a twinkle in his eye. "Though, I'll admit, my sinuses would prefer a less odorous expression of it."
"And have we identified the perpetrators?" Snape demanded.
"I believe so," Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers. "The portraits were most helpful. I'm fairly certain I know exactly who's behind it."
"Then why aren't they here yet?" Snape snapped. "The longer we delay, the more these delinquents grow bolder. They must be punished severely. I suggest suspension—no, expulsion."
"They are children, Severus," Dumbledore said gently.
"Children who weaponized excrement," Snape snarled.
Before Dumbledore could reply—
BANG.
The door to the office swung open with dramatic force. Cassandra Vole strode in, her golden curls whipping behind her, green eyes flashing like cursed emeralds. A rather harassed-looking Slytherin prefect trailed behind her.
"Headmaster," the prefect began, "this student claims she knows who's responsible. I brought her directly—"
"I can speak for myself, thank you," Cassandra cut in sharply, stepping forward.
Dumbledore inclined his head. "Miss Vole. You seem…determined."
"I am," Cassandra replied, voice steady. "I overheard them near the Trophy Room last night. Whispering. Laughing. Planning. Gryffindors."
McGonagall groaned softly under her breath. "Oh, Merlin's knickers, I knew it, why did you made the Head of this house ."
Somewhere, in a distant Fairyland, Merlin sighed over his teacup.
"I didn't assign you to the Gryffindor house , Minerva," he muttered while eating Grapes from the hands of his fairy lover. "Your first crime was being a Gryffindor yourself. And second, don't act innocent—you were worse in your school days. Kicked every boy who tried to confess in the jewels(Balls)."
Snape's smirk curved slowly, maliciously.
"Names, Miss Vole," he purred.
Cassandra didn't hesitate. "Fred and George Weasley. Lee Jordan. And…" Her gaze flicked briefly toward Dumbledore. "Cael Vale."
A silence heavier than a Mountain Troll's nap settled over the room.
Dumbledore sighed and reached once more for his tea. "Ah. So the inevitable has arrived."
⸻
Gryffindor Common Room — Ten Minutes Later
Fred was in the middle of reenacting Madam Hooch's dramatic faint — complete with flailing limbs — when the portrait hole creaked open.
Professor McGonagall stood at the entrance, expression carved from stone.
"Mr. Weasley. Both of you. Mr. Jordan. Mr. Vale," she said, voice clipped. "With me. Now."
The room fell silent.
Lee Jordan slowly set down a chocolate frog. "…Well, it was nice knowing all of you."
Cael Vale stood without protest, calmly adjusting the sleeves of his robe. Fred and George exchanged synchronized, devil-may-care grins.
The System pinged cheerfully in Cael's mind.
"This is the part I was waiting for. Interrogation room drama. Finally."
Cael sighed inwardly. "We knew we'd get caught eventually. Let's not panic."
"Good. But prepare for punishment. Possibly from every House in retaliation."
George leaned over and whispered, "We might survive the professors. But the Slytherins and Ravenclaws? They'll want blood."
⸻
The Headmaster's Office — Interrogation
The four boys stood before the staff, like mischievous knights awaiting sentencing from a very cranky round table.
Dumbledore looked over them, hands clasped in front of his mouth, expression unreadable behind his spectacles.
"Ah," he said at last. "Our culinary artists of chaos."
Snape snorted. "They weaponized feces, Albus."
Fred tried a smile. "But with flair?"
McGonagall's hand twitched, as if restraining the urge to hex something.
"Gentlemen," Dumbledore said softly. "Why?"
Fred shrugged. "Moral obligation."
"Educational demonstration," George added.
"Community service through scent-based awareness," Lee offered.
Cael, deadpan: "We take full responsibility."
Snape inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. "Detention for a decade wouldn't be enough. I say expulsion."
McGonagall crossed her arms. "Ten points from Gryffindor. Each."
Snape's mouth opened in protest. "That's it?"
Fred clutched his chest theatrically. "A dagger. A true wound."
"And," McGonagall continued, "you'll be patrolling the Forbidden Forest. Every night. For the next two weeks."
"With Hagrid," Dumbledore added cheerfully.
Snape smiled for the first time that evening. "Perhaps the Acromantulas will appreciate your sense of humor."
Lee groaned. "From stink bombs to spider chow. Brilliant."
Fred grinned. "At least you like bugs. These ones are just… giant and slightly conversational."
The boys tried not to laugh. It didn't work.
Dumbledore clapped his hands softly. "I trust this will be a valuable learning experience."
Cael met the headmaster's gaze and nodded. "Are we done here professor ?"
"Out," McGonagall said crisply. "Forest duty begins tonight."
As they turned to leave, Cael's eyes landed on Cassandra still standing smugly to the side.
He whispered mentally, "What is she still doing here?"
System:
"She told on you."
"How did she know?"
"Last night. You lot were whispering near the Trophy Room. Loudly. She followed you."
"…And you didn't warn me?"
System:
"...Oops."
As they passed through the doorway, Fred leaned toward Cael.
"Still worth it."
Cael allowed himself a small smile.
"Art always has a price."
Behind them, Snape grumbled, "If the spiders don't get them, I will."
Dumbledore sipped his tea once more, eyes twinkling.
"To be young," he murmured, "and catastrophically inventive."