The next week at Hogwarts unfolded with a peculiar rhythm for Echo, marked by a series of unexpected, creature-induced encounters that ranged from mildly chaotic to outright bizarre. His hair, a reliable barometer of his inner state, flickered through a kaleidoscope of colors as he navigated the whimsical disruptions to his carefully ordered existence. His first brush with the creature-induced chaos came early on Monday morning, a cool, misty dawn casting a pale glow over the Hogwarts grounds. Echo, having snuck out for some solitary contemplation near the Black Lake, found his peace abruptly disturbed. He lay flat on his back in the dewy grass, hands clasped behind his head, staring up at the still-dark sky, when a soft, thudding weight landed squarely on his chest. He opened his eyes to find a large, fluffy Kneazle, its intelligent, tufted ears twitching, purring contentedly as it settled onto his sternum. Its amber eyes, usually so sharp, were half-closed in feline bliss. Echo, despite his initial surprise, felt a strange calm descend upon him. He knew better than to argue with a Kneazle in a state of supreme comfort.
It was in this rather undignified position that Severus Snape, on his way to an early Potions class, discovered him. Severus, his robes billowing dramatically, stopped dead in his tracks, his black eyes widening almost imperceptibly at the sight. He stood for a long moment, a sneer slowly forming on his lips, before finally speaking.
"Echo," Severus drawled, his voice laced with his customary disdain, though there was a hint of genuine bewilderment in his tone. "What in Merlin's name are you doing, sprawling across the lawn like a particularly flattened Niffler, with a glorified cat attempting to suffocate you?"
Echo merely sighed, his black hair flickering with a resigned grey. He didn't even bother to open his eyes fully. "I've resigned myself to my fate, Severus," he murmured, his voice muffled by the purring Kneazle. "This creature has claimed me. Resistance is futile. Join me, if you wish. There's plenty of lawn to go around."
Severus stared, his sneer faltering. He looked from Echo to the purring Kneazle, then back again. For a moment, Echo expected a scathing retort, a lecture on decorum, or perhaps even a hex. But to his utter surprise, Severus's expression softened almost imperceptibly. He cast a quick glance around, as if to ensure no one else was witnessing this absurd tableau, then, with another sigh of what sounded suspiciously like exasperation, he slowly lowered himself to the grass a few feet away from Echo.
No sooner had Severus settled than a second Kneazle, even fluffier than the first, materialized seemingly out of thin air. With a graceful leap, it landed on Severus's stomach, promptly curling into a tight, purring ball. Severus stiffened, his eyes wide with shock, but the Kneazle merely kneaded its paws on his robes, its purr rumbling through him. Echo, watching with one eye open, saw a flicker of something akin to reluctant acceptance in Severus's usually unyielding gaze. His black hair pulsed with a brief, amused blue.
It was at this moment that Lily Evans, on her way to the greenhouses, came across the scene. She paused, her green eyes widening in disbelief as she took in the sight of Echo and Severus, both prone on the grass, each with a contented Kneazle sprawled across their chests.
"Echo? Severus?" Lily asked, her voice tinged with a mixture of confusion and suppressed laughter. "What are you two doing? Are you… napping?"
Echo, now thoroughly enjoying the absurdity, grinned. "We've been adopted, Lily," he said, the Kneazle on his chest giving a soft chitter of agreement. "By the Kneazle collective. Join us. There's always room for one more."
Severus merely grunted, still trying to dislodge the Kneazle from his stomach with a subtle, yet ineffectual, nudge. Lily hesitated for only a moment, then, with a shake of her head and a genuine smile, she sat down on the grass next to Severus. Almost instantly, a third Kneazle, a sleek, black one with startling green eyes, emerged from the bushes. It gracefully leaped onto Lily's lap, purring loudly as it made itself comfortable. Lily laughed, a bright, clear sound that carried on the morning air, gently stroking the creature's soft fur.
Echo's black hair pulsed with a contented yellow. Three unlikely companions, three unexpected Kneazles, and a morning that had begun with chaos had settled into a strange, peaceful tableau. It was going to be a long week.
The next day dawned cold and crisp, a clear sign that winter was indeed on its way. Echo, despite the lingering oddity of his morning with the Kneazles, was determined to focus on his studies. He had a particularly complex Arithmancy essay due, and the quiet solitude of the Slytherin common room seemed the ideal place to tackle it. He settled into a plush armchair by the roaring fireplace, his black hair reflecting the warm glow. Shimmer was curled on his lap, a silver ball of contented fur, while Sniffles was, for once, sound asleep in the pocket of his robes.
Echo uncapped his ink bottle, dipped his quill, and began to write, his indigo hair pulsing with concentration. But his peace was short-lived. A few feet away, a first-year Slytherin boy, no older than eleven, was perched on the edge of a sofa, a textbook open before him, sniffling. Not just a quiet sniffle, but a loud, almost honking sniffle, every few seconds, punctuated by a series of desperate gulps.
Echo tried to ignore it. He truly did. He wrote a paragraph, then another, his quill scratching rhythmically across the parchment. But the constant, wet, utterly infuriating sniffling was relentless. His indigo hair began to twitch, shifting to a frustrated purple. He tapped his quill against the parchment, hoping the hint would be taken. It wasn't. The sniffling continued, louder now, almost a desperate plea for attention.
Finally, Echo slammed his quill down. The sound echoed in the quiet common room, startling Shimmer, who blinked up at him with wide, intelligent eyes. The first-year boy, however, merely sniffled again, completely oblivious.
"Alright, that's it!" Echo exclaimed, his voice sharp, his purple hair flaring with exasperation. He turned to the sniffling boy, his dark violet eyes narrowing. "What in Merlin's beard is wrong with you, boy? It's nearly winter. Hay fever season is long gone. Why are you constantly sniffling like a particularly congested Niffler?"
The first-year jumped, startled by Echo's sudden outburst. He looked up, his small face red and miserable, his nose shining with an unfortunate sheen. "I… I have allergies, sir," he mumbled, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, producing another loud sniffle. "They get really bad this time of year."
Echo stared at him, his purple hair shifting to a thoughtful blue. Allergies. He hadn't considered that. He'd seen plenty of magical ailments in his time, but common Muggle allergies were something he rarely encountered. A faint, almost mischievous glint entered his eyes.
"Allergies, you say?" Echo mused, his blue hair darkening to a calculating indigo. He paused, then gestured with his head. "Follow me."
The first year, bewildered but accustomed to the strange requests of older students, especially one as notoriously odd as Echo, slowly stood up and followed him out of the common room. Echo led him through a maze of deserted corridors, his steps purposeful, until they arrived at a seldom-used storage closet deep within the dungeons. With a flick of his wand, the rusty lock sprang open, and he pushed the heavy door inward, revealing a surprisingly tidy space filled with various arcane objects and forgotten equipment.
In the center of the room stood a peculiar, heavy-looking contraption made of dark, polished wood and gleaming brass. It resembled a modified barber's chair, complete with thick leather straps and, most alarmingly, a metal vice designed to hold a head perfectly still.
The first-year stared at it, his eyes wide with apprehension. "Wh-what is this, sir?" he stammered, his voice trembling.
Echo merely offered a faint, unsettling smile. His indigo hair pulsed with a focused, almost intense blue. "This, my dear first-year, is a device I found and have repurposed for… precision work. Now," he added, his voice firm, "place your head in here." He gestured to the vice.
The boy hesitated, a fresh wave of panic washing over his face. "My head? But… why?"
"So you don't try to squirm around too much," Echo replied, his voice calm and almost soothing. And hopefully, so you don't scream too loud."
The first-year's eyes widened further, and a strangled sound of terror escaped him. He began to back away, his small hands fumbling for the door. "No! I don't want to! I… I'm fine with my allergies, thank you!"
"Oh, calm down, boy," Echo said, his voice laced with a hint of impatience. He stepped forward, his movements swift and unyielding. "I'm going to help you. We're going to get rid of those allergies, once and for all…hopefully."
Before the boy could protest further, Echo gently but firmly guided him to the contraption. With surprising strength, he secured the first-year's head in the padded vice, ensuring it was held immobile. The boy let out a whimper, his eyes darting frantically.
"Now, hold still," Echo commanded, his blue hair glowing with a vibrant, energetic intensity. With a graceful flick of his wand, two plump, fluffy Puffskeins, their pink tongues lolling, materialized with a soft pop. They looked around with cheerful curiosity, their large, innocent eyes fixed on Echo.
"Good boys," Echo murmured, stroking one of them.
He then, with a completely straight face, positioned one Puffskein by each of the boy's nostrils. The Puffskeins, eager to please and instinctively sensing their task, immediately began to lick, their soft, warm tongues methodically working their way into the boy's nostrils, vacuuming up every last bit of mucus with an almost disturbing efficiency. The first-year's eyes bugged out. He tried to squirm, to protest, but the vice held him fast, and the Puffskeins were surprisingly effective. He gagged, then snorted, a strange mix of revulsion and relief washing over his face as his nasal passages, for the first time in what felt like forever, began to clear.
A few minutes later, the Puffskeins pulled back, their task complete, their furry faces looking remarkably pleased with themselves. They let out a contented squeak, their tongues now surprisingly clean. Echo, his blue hair softening to a calm, satisfied black, reached forward and released the vice. The first-year boy stumbled back, rubbing his nose, then taking a deep, clear breath. He inhaled again, then again, his eyes widening in disbelief.
"My… my nose!" he exclaimed, his voice clear and devoid of any sniffle or congestion. "It's… It's clear! My allergies are gone!" He looked at Echo and then at the two cheerfully puffing Puffskeins, a mixture of awe and residual horror on his face. "Thank you, sir! Thank you!"
Echo merely nodded, his black hair settling into a calm, almost dismissive grey. He banished the Puffskeins with a wave of his hand. "You're welcome, boy. Now," he added, his voice firm, "you can go back to the common room and stay quiet while I work."
In the first year, still marveling at his newfound ability to breathe, he nodded vigorously and then scurried out of the closet, leaving Echo in the quiet, undisturbed company of his thoughts and his Arithmancy essay. Echo smiled faintly. One less distraction. Now, if only he could apply such drastic, yet effective, measures to his other problems.
The next morning dawned with a brisk chill, the kind that promised an early winter. Echo found himself at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a serene smile on his face as a flock of vibrant, plump Diricawl pecked happily at the breadcrumbs he scattered. Their chicks, miniature versions of their iridescent parents, chirped and flitted around his feet, their bright eyes trusting. His black hair was a peaceful canvas, reflecting the quiet joy he found in this solitary ritual.
"Echo?"
He looked up, startled, to see Remus Lupin approaching, a small, weary smile on his face. Remus's presence was a familiar comfort now, a testament to the fragile trust that had begun to form between them.
"Remus," Echo greeted, his voice soft, careful not to startle the birds. "Just feeding my feathered friends." He gestured to the contented Diricawl, whose plumage shimmered with every movement.
Remus chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "I can see that. Do you know what time it is, by any chance?"
Echo's eyes widened, his black hair flaring with a sudden, panicked crimson. He glanced at the sky, then back at Remus. "Bloody hell! Is it that late already? Thanks for the heads-up, Remus! I'm going to be late!" He quickly stood, brushing crumbs from his robes. "Alright, you lot," he said to the Diricawl, his voice a hasty whisper, "I'll bring more breadcrumbs later today. Don't cause any trouble, alright?"
With a final wave to the chirping flock, Echo took off, a blur of black robes across the dewy grass, heading towards the castle. Unknown to him, however, as he sprinted towards his first class, the entire flock of Diricawl, including their fluffy chicks, began to waddle and hop after him, their soft cooing and chirping surprisingly loud as they followed their breadcrumb benefactor.
Echo burst into his Transfiguration classroom just as Professor McGonagall was beginning her lecture on inanimate object transformation. He slid into his seat with a triumphant, if slightly winded, look, his crimson hair fading to a sheepish black. He was on time, against all odds.
"Mr. Echo," Professor McGonagall said, her spectacles glinting, "just in the nick of time. Perhaps you've finally learned the importance of punctuality."
Echo offered a weak smile, but before he could respond, a series of soft, distinctive "coo-coo-coos" filled the air. The classroom door, which he had inadvertently left ajar, swung open, and the entire flock of Diricawl, followed by their adorable chicks, waddled in. They fanned out across the classroom, their iridescent feathers a riot of color against the stone floor, some even hopping onto desks, happily pecking at quills and parchment. At the same time, the chicks chased after stray ink splatters, all while they popped around through their natural apparition. Chaos erupted. Students shrieked and giggled, some trying to shoo the birds away, others simply staring in open-mouthed disbelief. Professor McGonagall, her mouth agape, stared at the feathery invasion, her lips a thin, white line.
"Mr. Echo!" she finally shrieked, her voice echoing with utter exasperation. Her eyes, usually so sharp, were wide with a rare brand of bewildered fury. "Your… your friends! Get them out of here this instant! Before they transform someone's textbook into a nest!"
Echo groaned, burying his face in his hands, his black hair flaring with a furious, embarrassed red. "Yes, Professor," he mumbled, already feeling the glares of his classmates. "Right away."He spent the next ten minutes, a vivid blur of red hair and flailing arms, herding the squawking, chirping, and surprisingly nimble Diricawl out of the Transfiguration classroom, much to the amusement of some students and the continued exasperation of Professor McGonagall. Once the last chick had been shooed through the door, Echo stood panting, his hair slowly receding to a weary black, leaning against the doorframe, facing a stone-faced McGonagall.
"Mr. Echo," she said, her voice dangerously quiet, "I believe you have an afternoon of detention with me. You may consider yourself banned from the Forbidden Forest in the foreseeable future. Unless, of course, you wish to experience what it feels like to be transformed into a particularly uncooperative garden gnome."
Echo merely sighed. "Understood, Professor."
The next morning brought with it a renewed sense of purpose for Echo, despite the lingering exhaustion from his Diricawl escapade. He was up before dawn, keen to observe the local fauna before the castle fully awoke. Perched precariously on a low branch of a gnarled oak tree near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a quill and parchment in hand, he meticulously jotted down notes. His black hair was a canvas of calm concentration, occasionally flickering with a thoughtful blue as he identified different bird calls. He was particularly interested in the melodious, yet slightly unsettling, trills emanating from a cluster of vibrant, tropical-looking birds in a nearby tree – Fwoopers, he noted, their calls a complex tapestry of sound.
He filled several pages with observations, completely absorbed in his task. He made a mental note to research the Fwooper's more unusual characteristics later, specifically a faint, almost hypnotic quality he detected in their song. Satisfied with his morning's work, Echo slid down from the branch, tucking his notes and quill into his robes. He stretched, a faint yawn escaping him, and set off towards the castle, his mind already drifting to his first class – Ancient Runes.
Unbeknownst to him, however, as he walked, a single, particularly bold Fwooper, with brilliant orange and pink plumage, had quietly detached itself from its flock. Drawn by the warmth radiating from Echo's head, or perhaps simply by a mischievous inclination, it gracefully landed on his dark hair, settling down as if it were a perfectly comfortable nest. Its long, plumed tail feathers brushed against his ear, but Echo, lost in thought, didn't notice a thing.
He arrived at his Ancient Runes class just as Professor Bathsheda Babbling, a stern but fair woman with an impressive collection of runic tattoos, was drawing the day's first symbol on the blackboard. Echo slid into his seat, nodding a polite greeting to his classmates, his black hair still adorned with its feathered passenger.
Professor Babbling paused, her chalk hovering over the board. Her gaze, usually fixed on ancient script, drifted to Echo, then narrowed. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips.
"Mr. Echo," she said, her voice dry, "it appears you've brought a rather enthusiastic study buddy with you this morning."
Echo blinked, confused. "I beg your pardon, Professor?" he asked, glancing around. He noticed several students stifling giggles, their eyes fixed on him.
Professor Babbling raised an eyebrow, then pointed a piece of chalk directly at his head. "On your head, Mr. Echo. Unless, of course, you've decided to invest in a rather flamboyant, live fascinator."
Echo's hand shot up to his head. His fingers brushed against soft, warm feathers. He gasped, his black hair flaring with a surprised red as the Fwooper chirped indignantly at being disturbed. It fluttered its wings, dislodging itself and perching on his shoulder instead.
"A Fwooper, Mr. Echo," Professor Babbling continued, a hint of amusement in her voice. "A rather rare sight in the classroom, I must say. Though, given its unique properties, perhaps a less-than-ideal companion for a lecture." She paused, her expression turning more serious. "I trust you are aware of the Fwooper's call, Mr. Echo?"
Echo, still staring at the colorful bird on his shoulder, shook his head. "No, Professor. I was just observing them this morning. Their calls are quite… melodic." His red hair softened to a curious blue.
Professor Babbling sighed, a long-suffering sound. "Melodic, indeed, Mr. Echo. And profoundly maddening. A Fwooper's call, if heard long enough without interruption, can drive the listener to insanity. They are, for that very reason, under strict supervision by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and require a silencing charm on them at all times." She fixed him with a stern gaze. "I suggest you gently, and I emphasize gently, escort your feathered friend back outside before it decides to serenade us all into a state of blissful lunacy."
Echo nodded, his blue hair flickering with alarm. He carefully reached for the Fwooper, intending to cup it in his hands. But just as his fingers closed around its warm body, the Fwooper, sensing its impending removal, puffed out its chest. It opened its beak, a tiny, high-pitched warble beginning to emanate from its throat. Oh, no, you don't, Echo thought, his blue hair flaring with a sudden, determined purple. With a lightning-fast movement, he pinched the Fwooper's beak shut, cutting off the nascent, maddening call. The bird blinked at him, surprised.
Holding the now-silent Fwooper firmly but gently in one hand, Echo stood up. "Apologies, Professor," he mumbled, his voice a little strained as the Fwooper struggled half-heartedly in his grip. "I'll be right back."
He quickly exited the classroom, carrying the Fwooper, its colorful plumage a stark contrast to his agitated purple hair, and headed outside, determined to return the creature to its rightful, and far less sanity-threatening, habitat.
The next day, Friday, boredom and an insatiable curiosity got the better of Echo. He slipped out of the study time in the library, making his way stealthily through the corridors, Shimmer a silent, shimmering presence on his shoulder. He was just contemplating a detour to the kitchens for a late-afternoon snack when he was suddenly beset.
"Echo! There you are!" Amos Diggory, his newest friend, grabbed one of Echo's arms, his face pale with alarm. "Something horrible has happened in the common room! It's chaos!"
Before Echo could even process Amos's words, a Ravenclaw, looking utterly disheveled, seized his other arm. "Echo! My common room! Something is tearing it apart and raiding anything valuable! It's a disaster!"
And then, a Gryffindor, looking equally frantic, joined the fray, tugging at Echo's robes. "And me! Something keeps attacking us in the greenhouses! It's terrifying!"
Echo, feeling like a wishbone being pulled in three directions, finally snapped. "Stop! All of you! Stop yelling and stop yanking on my arms!"
The three students, startled by his sudden outburst, immediately released him, their eyes wide.
Echo took a deep breath, his black hair pulsing with a weary, exasperated purple. "Alright, alright. One at a time. Amos, you sound the most distressed right now, so I'll deal with you first. Take me to the Hufflepuff common room."
Amos, visibly relieved, nodded vigorously and practically dragged Echo towards the Hufflepuff common room. As they approached, a cacophony of high-pitched squeaks and frantic flapping sounds grew louder. When Amos finally pushed open the barrel entrance, Echo stared in disbelief. Dozens of Doxies, their tiny, iridescent wings buzzing furiously, were flying around the common room, causing absolute panic. They zipped through the air, nipping at students, overturning furniture, and generally wreaking havoc.
"What the hell is going on here?" Echo demanded, his purple hair flaring with a shocked green.
Amos wrung his hands. "I have no idea, Echo! The Doxies just showed up out of nowhere! One minute we were having a quiet afternoon, the next… this!"
Echo surveyed the scene, his green hair flickering with a brief, analytical blue. "I need a birdcage, NOW!"
Amos, still bewildered, managed to conjure a sturdy, empty birdcage with a shaky wand movement. Echo snatched it, his blue hair settling into a determined black. With a swift, precise flick of his wand, he cast a spell, and a faint, shimmering, sweet-smelling mist emanated from the cage. The Doxies, drawn by the alluring scent, immediately began to swarm towards it, their tiny bodies jostling to get inside. Within moments, the entire swarm was safely contained within the cage, their frantic buzzing now muffled.
Amos stared, wide-eyed, at the now-contained swarm of Doxies. "Echo, that was incredible! How did you do that? They were everywhere!" he exclaimed, a look of profound relief on his face.
Echo merely shrugged, his black hair settling into a calm, knowing grey. "Doxies are much like me, Amos. They have a weakness for sweets. I simply made the cage smell utterly irresistible to them." He closed the cage door securely. "I'll figure out who or what put them here later. Right now, we have other matters to attend to."
He turned to the disheveled Ravenclaw girl, who was still looking at him with a mixture of awe and impatience. "Alright, you," Echo said, his voice firm. "Take me to your common room. Let's see what menace has graced you with its presence."
The Ravenclaw, a third-year named Penelope, nodded eagerly and led him at a brisk pace through the winding corridors. As they approached the Ravenclaw common room, the usual scholarly quiet was replaced by faint, rustling sounds and the distinct clinking of small objects. Penelope pushed open the door, and Echo stepped inside, his grey hair immediately flaring with an analytical blue.
The common room was, as Penelope had described, a disaster. Books were strewn from shelves, cushions were ripped, and small, glinting objects were conspicuously absent. Tiny, precise holes dotted the tapestries and even some of the wooden furniture. Anything shiny or reflective – quills, inkwells, spectacles, even the silver buckles on a few students' shoes – was gone.
Echo surveyed the scene, his blue hair pulsing with concentration. He knelt, examining a particularly ragged tear in a velvet cushion. "Ah, yes," he murmured, a faint, almost mischievous smile touching his lips. "I know what this is."
He reached into his robes and pulled out a handful of shiny Galleons, their gold gleaming in the dim light. Sniffles, who had finally woken up, poked his head out of Echo's pocket, squeaking indignantly and trying to bat at the coins. Echo swatted his hand away gently. "Not for you, Sniffles. Not yet."
With a casual flick of his wrist, Echo dropped the coins onto the polished floor. They clattered, rolling and glinting enticingly. Almost instantly, a small, furry creature, with a long snout and a perpetually eager expression, darted out from under a nearby armchair. It was a Niffler, its pouch already bulging, its tiny paws expertly scooping up the fallen coins with astonishing speed.
Echo, with a swift movement almost imperceptible, snatched the Niffler by the scruff of its neck and held it aloft. "And here," he announced, displaying the struggling creature, "is your problem."
Just then, a first-year boy, his face red with panic, burst into the common room. "Scoots!" he cried, rushing forward. "Give me back Scoots! You can't just grab him like that!" He tried to reach for the Niffler, but Echo easily kept it out of his grasp.
Echo raised an eyebrow, his blue hair darkening to an exasperated purple. "Scoots, is it? And why, pray tell, did you bring a Niffler into the Ravenclaw common room? They are not, to my knowledge, considered suitable indoor pets. Especially not for common rooms with so many shiny things."
The boy deflated, looking at his feet. "But… but you have one, sir! Sniffles!"
Echo let out a long, weary sigh, his purple hair flickering with a brief, almost embarrassed red. "Ah, so my first secret is out. Very well. But, my dear boy, Sniffles is… an anomaly. He has all his commodities given to him, so he doesn't tear everything apart. And besides," Echo added, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "Sniffles is just weird for a Niffler. Most of them aren't nearly so… particular." He gave the Niffler, Scoots, a gentle shake. Its pouch jingled loudly. "Now, take your Scoots outside. And make sure to empty his pouch first. I'm sure Madam Pince would not appreciate an accidental robbery of the library's more 'portable' treasures."
The first year, looking chastened, nodded vigorously. He carefully took Scoots from Echo's hand and, after a quick, apologetic bow, hurried out of the common room. Echo watched him go, his red hair settling into a calm, satisfied black.
He then turned to Penelope, who was staring at him with a mixture of awe and residual confusion. "Now," Echo said, a faint, almost mischievous glint in his hollow eyes, "if you'll excuse me, I believe a certain greenhouse is in need of my unique brand of pest control."
Echo turned to the frantic Gryffindor, a second-year boy with a mop of unruly brown hair and several fresh, red scratches across his cheek and forehead. "Right, you," Echo said, his black hair flickering with a focused blue. "Show me what's been 'attacking' you in the greenhouses."
The boy, whose name was Seamus Finnigan, nodded eagerly, still rubbing a particularly nasty scratch on his chin. "This way, Echo! It's been a right menace!" He led Echo through the castle and into the warmth and humidity of Greenhouse Three. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and exotic plants. Seamus pointed to a small, unassuming tree, its bark a rich, dark brown, standing alone in a corner. It was younger than the other plants, yet it exuded a vibrant, healthy energy. "That one! We've been growing it for a class project – a rare specimen, Professor Bloom said. But every time we try to prune it or even just water it, something tries to scratch our eyes out!"
Echo walked slowly around the tree, his blue hair darkening to a thoughtful indigo. He examined the bark, the leaves, and the soil at its base. He noticed faint, almost imperceptible scratch marks on the trunk. With a subtle flick of his wand, he whistled a low, melodious tune at the tip. The sound was soft, almost a whisper, but it resonated with the natural hum of the greenhouse. From a knot in the tree, a tiny, twig-like creature with large, brown eyes and long, slender fingers cautiously emerged. It was a Bowtruckle, its small body perfectly camouflaged against the bark. It whistled a reply, a delicate, high-pitched trill.
Echo offered his open hand, and the Bowtruckle, after a moment's hesitation, scurried onto his palm, its tiny claws tickling his skin. Echo held it out towards Seamus, his indigo hair settling into a calm, knowing black. "This," he announced, "is your attacker."
Seamus stared at the tiny creature in Echo's hand, his mouth agape. "A… a Bowtruckle? That's what's been scratching us?" He looked from the creature to the tree, then back at Echo. "Blimey, Echo! We thought it was some kind of invisible, territorial pixie or something! And to think, we've been trying to prune it! No wonder it was so angry! But… but how did a Bowtruckle even get into the greenhouse? And how did you know it was there?"
Echo shrugged, gently stroking the Bowtruckle's head with a finger. "Bowtruckles are guardians of their trees, Seamus. Highly protective, especially if they believe their home is threatened. And as for how it got here… probably the same person who released the Doxies in the Hufflepuff common room."
Seamus, now holding the Bowtruckle in his own hands, its tiny fingers clinging to his thumb, looked up at Echo, a new determination in his scratched face. "So, who is that, then? How are you going to find out?"
Echo's black hair pulsed with a faint, confident green. A small, knowing smile touched his lips. "Oh, I have something of an idea, Seamus. A very good idea indeed."
Echo, his green hair blazing with furious determination, burst through the heavy oak doors of the Great Hall. The evening meal was in full swing, and the hall buzzed with the usual cacophony of cheerful chatter, clattering cutlery, and the distant calls of ghosts. But Echo's entrance, unannounced and utterly unhinged, brought it all to a sudden, jarring halt.
He strode purposefully into the center of the hall, his eyes burning with an almost manic intensity, sweeping across the stunned faces of students and professors alike. Shimmer, a faint silver ripple on his shoulder, chittered nervously, while Sniffles poked his head out of Echo's robes, squeaking in alarm.
"Who did it?" Echo roared, his voice echoing through the sudden, horrified silence. His green hair flared, momentarily shifting to an enraged crimson. "Who in Merlin's name thought it would be amusing to put Doxies in the Hufflepuff common room and a Bowtruckle in the greenhouses? Come on! Own up! I know one of you dunderheads is responsible, and I want to know why!"
A profound, absolute silence descended upon the Great Hall. Every single eye, from the wide, terrified gazes of first-years to the narrowed, scrutinizing stares of the professors, was fixed on Echo. No one moved, no one spoke. Even the ghosts seemed to hold their breath.
From the Ravenclaw table, a familiar voice, tinged with a blend of disbelief and exasperation, broke the stillness. "Echo?" Penelope Clearwater, the third-year Ravenclaw he had helped with the Niffler, asked, her eyebrows drawn together. "Was this… was this your 'very good idea' to find out who was responsible?"
Echo turned his gaze to her, his crimson hair softening slightly to a more controlled, yet still intensely determined, black. He gave a sharp, almost defiant nod. "Indeed, Penelope. It was." He swept his gaze back over the silent hall. "There's a reason, despite what some might think, that I was sorted into Slytherin and not Ravenclaw. While you lot are busy with your books and your logic, I prefer to think a little… outside the box."
He pointed to the Doxy cage in his hand, its tiny, iridescent wings now a frantic blur as the creatures buzzed within. "Alright, you dunderheads," Echo snarled, his black hair flaring with renewed crimson, "we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way."
Still, no one moved. The silence in the Great Hall was absolute, thick with apprehension.
Echo's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Fine," he hissed, his voice like sandpaper. "Hard way it is, then."
With a chillingly deliberate motion, he unlatched the cage. As the tiny door swung open, a collective gasp rippled through the hall, followed by a surge of panicked shouts as the Doxies, eager for freedom, streamed out into the Great Hall, their buzzing a furious symphony of impending chaos. Without another word, Echo then slammed the cage door shut, effectively trapping the students and professors inside with the enraged swarm.
Amos, his face pale, finally found his voice. "Echo!" he squeaked, his eyes wide with terror as a Doxy whizzed past his ear. "Is that such a good idea? The professors are in here, too!"
Echo, standing just outside the threshold, a wild glint in his crimson eyes, merely shrugged. "It's fine, Amos," he yelled back over the mounting panic and furious buzzing. "I'm not going to let them go crazy forever. Just for a few seconds. Enough to make a point."
He waited, counting silently to five. The chaos inside was reaching a crescendo, with screams and the clatter of overturned benches. Then, with a decisive movement, Echo flung the heavy oak doors of the Great Hall wide open. The panicked students and professors surged forward, desperate to escape the Doxy swarm, only to be met by Echo, who calmly re-entered the hall. His crimson hair had softened to a determined black, and a faint, almost chilling smile played on his lips.
With practiced ease, he grabbed the now-empty Doxy cage. A flick of his wand, and the sweet-smelling mist once again emanated from the bars. The Doxies, disoriented and drawn by the irresistible scent, immediately began to swarm back into the cage, their frantic buzzing quickly replaced by muffled squeaks. Within moments, the entire swarm was safely contained, the latch clicking shut with a finality that echoed in the now-receding panic.
Echo held up the cage, its contents buzzing harmlessly. He swept his gaze across the Great Hall, which was now a scene of disarray – overturned tables, scattered food, and a sea of disheveled, wide-eyed faces.
"Alright, you dunderheads," Echo announced, his voice calm but undeniably menacing, his black hair pulsing with a cold, clear blue. "Would anyone like to speak now?" He paused, letting his gaze sweep over them. "Let me make something clear. This isn't a game. Those Doxy may be small, and their venom might only irritate, but like bees, enough of them can kill a person."
A timid, high-pitched voice, trembling with fear, finally broke the silence. "I… I did it, sir. I put the Doxies in the Hufflepuff common room."
All eyes turned to a small, first-year Slytherin boy, looking utterly terrified, his face pale and tear-stained. It was the same boy Echo had helped with his allergies.
Echo's gaze sharpened, his blue hair darkening to a thoughtful indigo. "Why?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.
The boy swallowed hard, wringing his hands. "I… I thought it would be funny, sir. A bit of a laugh." His voice lacked any conviction, his eyes darting nervously around the room.
Echo stared at him, his indigo hair pulsing, a flicker of something akin to pity in his deep eyes. "No, you didn't," he stated, his voice flat. "That's not why you did it. Tell me the real reason, boy. Now."
The first-year's bravado completely crumbled. His lips began to tremble, and fresh tears welled in his eyes. He choked back a sob, then another, his small frame shaking. "Lucius… Lucius Malfoy… he made me… he said if I didn't… he'd…" The boy dissolved into hysterical sobs, unable to finish his sentence, his words lost in a torrent of fear and anguish.
A booming, indignant voice immediately cut through the room. "He lies!" Lucius Malfoy, who had been sitting at the Slytherin table, rose slowly, his elegant robes rustling. His face was a mask of cold fury, his eyes blazing with a dangerous glint. "The boy is clearly overwrought and making false accusations! This is all a ploy, a ridiculous spectacle engineered by you, Echo! We all know your strange connection to creatures! You yourself demonstrated it earlier in the week with those Kneazles, and that… that beast in the dungeons! You set this up, didn't you? To frame an innocent student and cause chaos!"
A ripple of murmurs went through the Great Hall. Heads nodded. Several students began to mutter in agreement, their gazes shifting from the sobbing first-year to Echo, suspicion creeping into their eyes. Professor McGonagall and the other professors exchanged uneasy glances, clearly swayed by Lucius's impassioned, albeit baseless, accusation.
Echo's black hair flared with a cold, terrifying rage, his eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. "If it was me, Malfoy," he snarled, his voice low and venomous, cutting through the rising tide of agreement, "why in Merlin's name would I have helped fix the problems? Why would I have trapped the Doxies and found the Niffler and the Bowtruckle? Why would I have risked detention, or worse, to clean up a mess I supposedly created?"
"You did it for attention, Echo!" Lucius sneered, his voice dripping with disdain, now adopting a mocking, theatrical tone. "It takes you months to do what first-years learn and master in days! You can't ride a broom without killing yourself or someone else! All your potions end up exploding or becoming biohazards! All you can do is talk to Fwoopers without having them scream! You're an anomaly, a mistake, an outsider, a loner who makes friends with mindless creatures! And the magic you perform isn't even your own – it's something else, and I've seen it, and it's not pretty!"
The murmurs and whispers began to make their rounds, growing louder now, fueled by Lucius's venomous words. Students shifted uncomfortably, some nodding in agreement, others casting wary glances at Echo. Some of the professors even exchanged concerned looks.
Echo, his crimson hair blazing with an inner fury, leaned in close to Lucius, his voice a low, dangerous whisper that only the two of them could hear amidst the rising din. "So that's your game," he hissed, his eyes narrowed to slits. That's your angle. A bold move, Malfoy. It almost impresses me."
Lucius's smirk widened, a flicker of triumph in his icy gaze as he whispered back, "So you figured out what I've been doing."
Echo's own smile was chilling, devoid of any warmth. His black hair settled into a calm, calculating black. "I've known for a while, Malfoy. I just didn't know the reason. But now I've figured out a good deal from this scene you set up. And for that, I thank you for being so dumb."
Lucius's hand instinctively twitched towards his wand, his eyes blazing with a potent mix of fury and surprise.
"Don't even think about it, Malfoy," Echo whispered, his voice dangerously low, a stark contrast to the chaos that still simmered in the hall. His black hair pulsed with a cold, almost predatory indigo. "If you resort to the Unforgivables here, you lose. The game ends. And your precious master wouldn't want that, would he?"
A muscle twitched in Lucius's jaw. His hand paused, hovering over his wand. A slow, calculating smirk spread across his face, replacing the fury. He took a step back, straightening his robes, and his voice, when he spoke, was clear and cutting, carrying effortlessly across the now-tense silence of the Great Hall.
"Prove it, Echo," Lucius announced, his eyes sweeping over the bewildered students and professors. "Prove that I, Lucius Malfoy, had anything to do with this pathetic display. Prove it."
Echo's smile widened, a glint of genuine amusement in his hollow eyes. His indigo hair brightened to a vibrant, almost wicked blue. "Oh, I'd be delighted, Malfoy. You see, the Doxies? Easy enough for a first-year to catch or buy, I'll grant you that. A Niffler? Well, that was a happy accident, courtesy of a boy who simply wanted to emulate his idol." Echo gestured vaguely in the direction the first-year had fled. "But the Bowtruckle, Malfoy. That's where you truly slipped up."
Echo turned to the assembled students and professors, his voice rising, confident and clear. "Bowtruckles, as anyone who pays attention in Care of Magical Creatures knows, are intensely loyal guardians of their trees. They protect their homes with fierce determination, and they are incredibly difficult to remove without their cooperation, or at least, without significant effort and a few painful scratches." He paused, his gaze returning to Lucius.
"Get to the point, Echo!" Lucius sneered, his patience clearly wearing thin.
"The point, Malfoy," Echo continued, his blue hair darkening to a resolute black, "is that a first-year, even with magic, cannot simply walk up to a Bowtruckle and acquire it without a fight. Even an experienced wizard would struggle to do so without sustaining injuries, which means, Lucius," Echo said, his voice dropping to a low, chilling tone, "that you acquired it yourself. And you didn't do so without a struggle."
Lucius merely scoffed, crossing his arms. "My face, as you can plainly see, remains entirely unmarred, Echo. Your accusations are baseless."
Echo's smile didn't falter, but his black hair pulsed with a cold, triumphant emerald. "Indeed, Malfoy. Your face is perfectly unmarred. But tell me," he said, his voice a soft, insidious whisper that carried across the unnervingly silent hall, "why are you wearing gloves, Lucius? You've never worn them before."
Every eye in the Great Hall, which had been fixed on Lucius's face, now dropped to his hands. Indeed. He was wearing elegant, dragonhide gloves, their dark material a stark contrast to the white cuffs of his robes. Gloves, he had not been wearing during breakfast, nor during any other meal Echo had seen him partake in since the start of the year. Lucius's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of genuine shock and dawning horror in their depths. His jaw tightened, and he instinctively tried to hide his hands behind his back, but it was too late. The damage was done. The seed of doubt, which his own arrogance had allowed Echo to plant, had now taken root. A wave of murmurs, this time distinctly accusatory, swept through the hall. Students whispered, pointing at Lucius's gloved hands. Professor McGonagall, her face grim, stepped forward, her gaze piercing.
"Mr. Malfoy," she said, her voice sharp and authoritative, "remove your gloves. Now."
Lucius's eyes darted frantically, first to Echo, then to the unyielding expression on Professor McGonagall's face. He knew he was trapped. With a barely perceptible tremble, he slowly, reluctantly, began to peel off his right glove. As the dark leather slid away, a collective gasp swept through the hall. His hand, usually pristine, was covered in an array of angry, red scratches, some still slightly bleeding, others already starting to fester. They were precisely the kind of small, deep wounds a Bowtruckle's sharp, twig-like fingers would inflict in defense of its tree.
"I… I was merely… gardening, Professor," Lucius stammered, his voice thin, attempting a pathetic excuse. "A thorny rose bush. Yes. That's it."
Echo merely chuckled, a cold, humorless sound. His black hair pulsed with a triumphant, malicious emerald. "A thorny rose bush that precisely mimics the claw marks of a territorial Bowtruckle? How remarkably coincidental, Malfoy. And how convenient that your 'gardening' happened just before a Bowtruckle mysteriously appeared in the greenhouses. And how very convenient that you decided to wear gloves to dinner for the first time in your life."
Professor McGonagall's lips were a thin, white line. She looked from Lucius's mangled hand to Echo's calm, triumphant face, then back again. "Mr. Malfoy," she announced, her voice resonating with a rare, chilling fury, "you will accompany me to my office immediately. And you, Mr. Echo, will also come. The rest of you," she commanded, sweeping her gaze over the still-stunned students, "return to your meals. And not another word about this until I say so."
The Great Hall, though still buzzing with suppressed excitement and shock, slowly began to return to a semblance of order. Echo, with a final, satisfied smirk at the now-defeated Lucius, turned and followed Professor McGonagall out of the hall, Shimmer a silent, approving ripple on his shoulder, and Sniffles letting out a triumphant squeak from his pocket. As they walked towards Professor McGonagall's office, the silence was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic swish of her robes and the faint, nervous chittering of Shimmer. Lucius walked ahead, his head bowed, his single gloved hand still clutched at his injured one. Echo, meanwhile, felt a strange mix of exhilaration and grim satisfaction. He had exposed Malfoy, at least for this petty act of sabotage. But the true game, the larger threat, still loomed.
Once inside Professor McGonagall's office, a cozy but orderly room filled with towering stacks of books, a roaring fire, and a surprisingly comfortable armchair, the atmosphere became even more tense. McGonagall gestured for them to sit, her gaze fixed on Lucius.
"Mr. Malfoy," she began, her voice calm but firm. You have some explaining to do. Not only for the disruption you caused but also for attempting to frame a fellow student and for endangering the well-being of others by releasing potentially harmful creatures within the school."
Lucius, finally looking up, his face still pale but regaining a sliver of his usual arrogance, sneered. "I told you, Professor, it was a rose bush. And the boy is lying. Echo is merely trying to deflect attention from himself. He's the one with the strange affinity for creatures. He's the one who was seen with Kneazles and a Fwooper. He's the one who makes friends with the poltergeist. He's clearly responsible for all of this chaos, not me."
Echo let out a low, dangerous laugh, his black hair flaring with a cold, analytical blue. "Oh, please, Malfoy. You're pathetic. Do you truly believe that will work? I admit my methods are unorthodox, but my motivations are clear. I protect my friends. You, on the other hand, resort to petty, vindictive schemes engineered by someone else."
Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed, shifting between the two boys. "What is he talking about, Mr. Malfoy? Is there someone else involved in this?"
Lucius's face became a mask of stone. He said nothing, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the floor.
Echo leaned forward, his blue hair darkening to an intense indigo. "He won't tell you, Professor, because he's a coward. And because the person pulling his strings is far more dangerous than he is." He looked at Lucius, his voice dropping to a low, menacing whisper. "Isn't that right, Malfoy? The one who told you to plant the Doxies and the Bowtruckle. The one who told you to put the notes under the plates in the Great Hall. The one who truly wants to expose Remus and get to me."
Lucius flinched, a barely perceptible tremor running through him. But he remained silent.
Professor McGonagall sighed, a weary but determined sound. "Very well. If you will not cooperate, Mr. Malfoy, then I will have to take this to Headmaster Dumbledore. And I assure you, he has ways of discovering the truth." She stood, her gaze unwavering. "As for your punishment, you will be serving a month of detention, assisting Mr. Filch with the most unpleasant cleaning duties he can find. And a hundred points will be deducted from Slytherin for your egregious behavior."
Lucius gasped, his eyes wide with outrage. "A month? A hundred points? That's… that's outrageous, Professor! My father will hear about this!"
"Your father will hear about it when I write to him myself, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall replied, her voice icy. "And I will ensure he understands the full extent of your misdeeds. Now, if you'll excuse us, Mr. Echo and I have more pressing matters to discuss." She gestured towards the door. "You may leave, Mr. Malfoy. Your detention begins this evening."
Lucius, defeated and fuming, rose slowly. He shot a venomous glare at Echo, then, with a final, indignant huff, stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind him with a resounding thud.
Professor McGonagall merely sighed, then turned her attention back to Echo. Her expression softened slightly, a hint of concern entering her eyes. "Now, Mr. Echo. What was all that about, truly? Who is this person pulling Mr. Malfoy's strings? And what does it have to do with Mr. Lupin?"
Echo met her gaze, his indigo hair settling into a resolute black. "It's about power, Professor. And control. Someone is trying to destabilize the school and single me out. And they're using Remus as a pawn, and me as a target." He paused, then continued, his voice lowering. "And it all started when I showed something to Lucius, something I didn't even fully comprehend at the time. A creature of darkness, Professor. A beast that shouldn't exist."
Professor McGonagall's eyes widened, a flicker of understanding—and alarm—in their depths. She stared at him for a long moment, then slowly nodded a grim nod. "I see. And you believe this… beast… is connected to this plot?"
Echo nodded, his black hair unwavering. "I do. It's too coincidental either; it's my magic. And I believe the person behind this isn't just after me. I think they're after the beast itself. After all, only I know how to maintain and use it."
A heavy silence descended upon the office, filled with the unspoken weight of the dark implications. Professor McGonagall leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on Echo, a thoughtful, worried frown creasing her brow. "This is a very serious accusation, Mr. Echo," she said, her voice quiet. "Do you have any proof of all you've said?"
Echo merely shook his head. "Not yet, Professor. But I will. And when I do, I'll need your help. And Headmaster Dumbledore's."
Professor McGonagall stared at him for a long moment, then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she reached for a quill and a fresh piece of parchment. "Very well, Mr. Echo," she said, her voice firm. "Tell me everything. From the beginning."
Echo's narrative, punctuated by the occasional worried chitter from Shimmer and a soft, indignant squeak from Sniffles, who remained hidden in his robes, stretched long into the evening. He detailed the unsettling intelligence of the Dark Beast, its predatory instincts, and the chilling realization that it was now, it wasn't just inextricably linked to his own volatile magic, it was his magic, his own magic given form and breath, a silent, ravenous entity lurking within him. He spoke of the void left by the Dementor's Kiss, a vacuum the beast seemed eager to fill, feeding on his burgeoning power and twisting his emotions into something colder, more calculating every time Echo dipped himself into that void.
Professor McGonagall's usually stoic expression grew increasingly troubled. She rarely interrupted, her gaze fixed on Echo, her hand occasionally rising to her throat as if to ease a sudden constriction. When he finally finished, the office was plunged into a heavy, resonant silence. The fire in the grate crackled, casting dancing shadows that seemed to lengthen and twist, mirroring the dark tale he had just spun.
"A… a Dark Beast," Professor McGonagall murmured, her voice barely a whisper, as if speaking the words too loudly would give them more power. Her eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of horror and profound disbelief. "And it resides within you, Mr. Echo? And you… You deliberately sought it out?"
Echo nodded grimly, his black hair unwavering. "It wasn't a deliberate seeking out, Professor. Not at first. It was a consequence of trying to control my uncontrolled magic. But once I understood its nature, once I realized what it was, I… I saw an opportunity. A way to harness it. To use it."
Professor McGonagall closed her eyes for a moment, pressing her fingers to her temples. "An opportunity, Mr. Echo? To use a creature of such… malevolence? Do you comprehend the danger you speak of? The sheer audacity of such an endeavor?"
"I comprehend the danger of being powerless, Professor. And being unable to control something within you," Echo retorted, his voice low but firm. "I comprehend the danger of being a target. And I comprehend that this 'malevolence,' as you call it, is a part of me now. It feeds on my experiences, my feats, my knowledge, and my emotions. It is… a symbiotic relationship, of sorts. That's why I can't use spells the normal way or cast them to do the thing they're normally supposed to do. The beast requires grand gestures, and when that is met, the spells act like darker versions of what they're supposed to be." His black hair flickered with a brief, chilling indigo. "And someone, Professor, someone is very aware of this beast, of its connection to me. Someone who wants to control it. Or worse, unleash it."
Professor McGonagall opened her eyes, her gaze now sharp and piercing. "And you believe this individual, this 'master' of Lucius Malfoy, is after this creature? After your creature?"
"Yes," Echo said, his indigo hair darkening to a resolute emerald. "Malfoy's actions, the timing of the notes, the attacks on Remus… It's all connected. They're testing me, pushing me, trying to gauge my limits, and how much I'm willing to risk for others. And they want to see the beast in action, Professor. They want to see what it can do."
The Head of Gryffindor sat in silence, her mind clearly racing, processing the incredible and terrifying information Echo had just laid before her. Finally, she let out a long, shuddering breath.
"This is beyond anything I have encountered, Mr. Echo," she admitted, her voice strained. "A magical creature, residing within a student, of such a… unique and dark nature. And a plot to harness it, or unleash it, within these very walls." She ran a hand through her neatly pulled-back hair. "Headmaster Dumbledore must be informed immediately. This is a matter of the gravest concern."
Echo nodded, a flicker of something almost defiant in his hollow eyes. "Dumbledore has been made well aware of this for some time, Professor. He knows of the beast, and he knows of the attempts to control it. He simply… chooses to observe, for now."
Professor McGonagall gave a faint, grim smile. "Indeed. But I assure you, Mr. Echo, when I present the Headmaster with the full scope of your… unique situation, and the very real dangers it poses, he will listen. He will understand." She stood, her usual formidable demeanor slowly returning, laced now with a fierce protectiveness. "Now, Mr. Echo, I suggest you return to the Hospital Wing. You have been through a great deal today, and you are still, officially, a patient. I will speak with Headmaster Dumbledore first thing in the morning."
Echo rose, a profound sense of exhaustion settling over him now that the adrenaline had worn off. "Thank you, Professor," he said, his voice quiet. "Thank you for listening."
"Do not thank me yet, Mr. Echo," she replied, her gaze firm. "We have a long and difficult path ahead of us. But know this: you will not face it alone. We will get to the bottom of this. And we will protect you. And we will protect this school."
As Echo left her office, the weight of his confession still hung heavy in the air. The faint whispers of Shimmer on his shoulder, usually so comforting, now seemed to echo the unsettling presence of the Dark Beast within him. The game had truly begun, and he had finally shown his hand to one of the most formidable players at Hogwarts.