Echo was absolutely exhausted, lying sprawled on the newly sealed earth. His vision was blurry, his chest rising and falling in shallow, desperate gasps, and his body trembled violently, a physical reaction to having utterly drained his magical core and will. He had exhausted all he could, and he was about to go down. The deafening silence was only temporary, he knew. He had used the Exspecto Daemonem spell, an unholy cataclysm that had literally carved a massive trench through the Forbidden Forest, a wound that would be visible for miles. No doubt, such a display would grab the attention of anyone and everyone who saw it from a distance.
Echo did not doubt in his mind that even if he did explain and prove the fact that he had killed the Dark Lord, he would not be forgiven for his other indiscretions—the creature that had burst from him, the uncounted uses of raw, unsanctioned dark magic. Azkaban was his only fate.
He was about to fully succumb to his fate, his eyelids already drooping, when a noise, a quiet rustling of leaves and the soft tread of paws and talons, caught his ear. He forced his head up, his blurry vision catching many different, large silhouettes approaching him from all sides in the forest. He thought his mind might have been playing tricks on him, a cool, dark joke before he was taken away.
Then, a deep resonant voice cut through the quiet. "Echo."
With a sheer, agonizing act of will, Echo forced himself to focus on the voice. His vision cleared in a single, painful jolt, and he saw a very familiar face. It was Sekhmet, the great Sphinx, that he had rescued from the maze during the last trial of the Triwizard Tournament. She was actually there, a majestic, tawny silhouette, no doubt taking refuge in the forest after her escape from the maze. She was not alone. Sekhmet was at the center of a whole host of magical creatures surrounding him, forming a protective semicircle.
Echo, his voice a raw, dry croak, managed a single question. "Sekhmet? Is that you?"
The Sphinx inclined her powerful head, her golden eyes fixed on his prone form. She replied, the sound a low, comforting rumble. "In the fur, little one."
Echo looked around, recognizing each of the creatures, a wave of impossible relief washing over him. They were all his magical creatures—the ones that he either befriended that lived in the Forbidden Forest or the ones that he had kept in the vivariums within the Room of Requirement. There was Rowena the Thunderbird, wings slightly tucked and sparking with nervous electricity; Helga the Graphorn, her enormous, grey hide a silent fortress; Godric the Griffin, ruffling his massive plumage; Shrink the Occamy, coiling and uncoiling his shimmering body; Nugget the Cockatrice; the massive Runespoor, its three heads weaving silently; the Flying Snakes; the Swooping Evil, wings folded and still, and many, many more.
He had just enough energy to ask the question, a desperate plea for understanding. "What... what are you doing here?"
Sekhmet, speaking on behalf of the other magical creatures, stepped slightly forward. "We are here to see you. To protect you."
"Protect me?" Echo asked, a fresh wave of despair hitting him. "Why? Didn't you see what I did during the duel? The thing I used?"
"We did," the Sphinx rumbled, her voice unwavering. "But we all knew that a darkness resided within you, Echo. We know that darkness isn't the true you; it is simply a part of you. Something that you yearned to keep in check and only use in the most desperate of hours. And today… Today was one of those."
Echo gave a dry, rattling laugh, which turned into a short, painful cough. "I appreciate it, Sekhmet, but it's not going to matter much now. You saw what I did. Pretty soon, the Ministry will be in the forest, and they'll find me. They'll put me away in Azkaban for life. I can't run. I can't fight back. I can't do anything."
Sekhmet's voice grew firm, a command in its tone. "Then we will protect you. Just like how you protected and cared for and helped us."
A chorus of clicks, growls, and soft cries of agreement rose from the surrounding magical creatures. They were a wall of muscle, magic, and loyalty. Echo gave a tired smile, and a single teardrop traced a path through the grime on his cheek. He thanked them, the word barely audible. He only wished he could take them to where he was going now—a place where they could all start over, be protected, and out of sight.
Just then, a flock of Diricawl waddled up to Echo and stood around him in a tightly knit circle, looking at him expectantly. At first, he assumed they were looking for food, but that was quickly debunked in his mind. Echo didn't have to use his beast magic to try to understand what they were saying. They wanted him to connect to them, to use their combined, innate ability to teleport away.
"You birds have a very good idea," Echo conceded, shaking his head slightly. "But it may not be enough. I'm not strong enough. I've nearly drained myself dry. I couldn't even operate myself two inches if I tried."
Sekhmet lowered her head to his level. "Then let all of us help you."
Sekhmet and a few other creatures with strong, sharp claws and hooves—the Graphorn, the Griffin, the Occamy, and a few others—began to carve something in the dirt around Echo with a practiced, focused rhythm. It was a massive, intricate magical rune circle, and even though Echo had very little knowledge of runic magic, he understood it enough to realize that it was meant to pour out magic from one individual into another. Echo realized that the magical creatures were going to pour what little magical power they had in themselves into him for one last, desperate Apparition—the teleport away. Seeing all this, a fresh wave of emotion and gratitude washed over him. He thanked them, his voice thick.
When the runic circle was activated, a shimmering, soft blue light pulsed from the ground. Echocould feel the unfamiliar magic flowing into him, connecting to the dozens of Diricawl. He grasped their innate ability to teleport, took the torrent of magical power they were feeding him, and with a soft, final pop, Echo and all the magical creatures vanished from sight. The silence of the Forbidden Forest returned, leaving only the massive, scarred trench as a sign of the terror that had just occurred.
With a final, barely controlled burst of Diricawl-aided magic, Echo and the host of creatures reappeared in a confused, sprawling pile. They materialized in the small, open patch of overgrown grass beside the shabby, familiar tool shed in the remote Hamlet of Mizen Head. The sudden cessation of magical force and the physical toll of the journey were too much. Echo's already broken body gave out, and he collapsed onto the dewy earth, his wand slipping from his numb fingers. The crash of dozens of magical creatures—some large, some small—in the small clearing was deafening.
The sudden invasion of this newly claimed territory instantly drew a furious, rattling snort. Wick, who had been napping curled around the shed, woke up with a start. Her immense yellow eyes snapped open, and she reared back, her terrifying roar splitting the night air with smoke and fury. She was ready to incinerate the mob of strange creatures that had suddenly materialized.
But as her gaze swept over the chaotic group, her roar choked in her throat. She saw the familiar, majestic silhouette of Sekhmet, the proud, scarred bulk of Helga the Graphorn, and finally, her eyes landed on the small, utterly still figure lying face down in the dirt, surrounded by the other creatures.
Her Ada.
Wick's roar instantly dissolved into a low, concerned whimper. She scrambled forward, her massive, clawed wings clumsy with urgency, nudging all creatures out of the way to get closer to the boy. At the same moment, the weathered wooden door of the tool shed was pulled inward with a grating thunk. A voice, gruff and gravelly, demanded to know what was happening.
"What's all this bobber about? Can a man not get a moment's bloody peace around here?"
Ragnok stepped out. He took one look at the sheer wall of magical creatures—a Sphinx, a Thunderbird sparking with nervous energy, a massive Griffin, a Griffin, a Runespoor, and dozens of other creatures in varying shapes and sizes—and his jaw dropped.
"What the bloody hell is going on out here?!" he bellowed, his voice filled with pure shock.
Then, his eyes fell on the slight figure of the boy kneeling on his hands and knees in the ground. Ragnok's fury vanished, replaced by a deep, gut-wrenching dread.
"Echo?" he said, his voice a confused whisper, dropping the hammer with a dull thud.
A final, faint flicker of consciousness returned to Echo. He lifted his head just enough to see Ragnok, the shabby shed, and the immense, worried face of Sekhmet looming over him. A wave of profound, absolute relief washed over him—he was home. His lips curled into a fleeting, happy smile. He knew he had to explain; he had to tell Ragnok what he had just done. But before he could even manage a single word, the final threads of his will snapped. The world went dark, and he passed out completely.
The next sensation Echo registered was warmth, a low, comforting vibration, and the distinct smell of oil, sweat, sawdust, and animal musk. He blinked, his eyes sticky and slow to focus. He was lying down on a pile of soft, surprisingly clean straw in the corner of the small shed, a place that was usually reserved for storing rags. Slowly, his vision cleared.
Above him, a quartet of faces was looking down with various degrees of worry. There was Ragnok, his severe brow furrowed with concern; Pip and Shimmer, their massive, tennis-ball eyes brimming with unshed tears; and just slightly behind them, the majestic, tawny head of Sekhmet the Sphinx. Upon seeing her, the full, horrifying reality of the last night—the duel, the Dark Beast, the chasm in the earth—flooded back to him.
Echo managed a raw, painful croak. "So… it wasn't a dream. It was all real."
The Sphinx lowered her head slightly, her golden eyes steady and unwavering. "Indeed, it was," she rumbled softly.
Ragnok leaned closer, his voice low and chastising, but heavy with relief. "You had us worried, lad. Vanished for hours on end, then you show up out of nowhere with a whole bloody menagerie of magical creatures. Sekhmet had to herd most of them into the open plain so that we could get you inside."
Echo tried to sit up, but a fresh wave of blinding exhaustion hit him, making his limbs feel like lead. He realized why he felt so warm. His head was resting on something wonderfully soft—he looked down and saw the familiar, thick plumage of a Hippogriff's body, which was tucked carefully into the corner with him. The rest of his body was covered by a patchwork of smaller, warmer magical creatures: the Swooping Evil was draped across his legs like a black, silken blanket, and a few Flying Snakes were curled gently around his shoulders, lending their body heat for comfort.
Weakly, Echo tried to tell Ragnok everything—the duel, the death of the Dark Lord, the sheer terror of it all.
But Ragnok gently raised a pale, thin hand, cutting him off. "Hold on there, lad. Save your breath. There's no need for explanations." The Goblin turned his gaze to the Sphinx. "Sekhmet gave us the rundown on everything."
"Oh," Echo managed, his voice a dry, raw croak. He swallowed, then managed a weak, exhausted smile. "I'm… sorry for worrying you all. I don't even know how I got to Hogwarts. One minute, I was walking along with my mind absolutely blank, and the next I was at the edge of the Forbidden Forest staring at the very Castle I had to flee from."
Ragnok snorted, crossing his arms over his patched shirt. "Don't care about that. The logistics of your travel are the last of my concerns, lad. What I care about is the fact that you did it. You killed him. You killed none other than the Dark Lord himself."
Echo looked away, his eyes falling to the locket's burn mark on his chest, which a Flying Snake was gently pressed against. "Barely," he mumbled.
Ragnok waved his hand dismissively, his severe brow furrowed. "Barely or not, you still managed to kill him. Pulverized the ground he stood on, Sekhmet says. The wizarding world owes you a great debt of gratitude, boy."
Echo shook his head slowly, his gaze drifting to a knot in the wooden ceiling. "I don't think so."
Sekhmet's immense head lowered, her golden eyes fixed on him. "What do you mean, little one? It is finished. He is gone."
Echo slowly pushed himself up, leaning against the sturdy, feathered body of the hippogriff. His violet eyes held a cold, absolute certainty that belied his current weakness. "I don't know how. I don't know why. But I can tell you he's not dead. Not yet, anyway. I can feel it in my bones."
Ragnok, Sekhmet, Pip, and Shimmer all stared at the boy. The small, fragile figure, leaning against the Hippogriff and covered in a strange menagerie of comforting magical creatures, spoke with the terrifying confidence of a conqueror, contradicting the very evidence of his exhaustion.
"Not dead?" Ragnok repeated, his severe brow furrowed deeper, his voice a low, skeptical rumble. "Lad, you tore a chasm in the earth and watched him get swallowed. Sekhmet saw the whole thing, and sphinxes are not ones to tell tall tales. Are you absolutely certain?"
Echo met the Goblin's gaze, his own violet eyes clear and unblinking. He managed a slow, single nod, his smile fading into a look of cold resolve. "I am. But even if I am wrong, Ragnok, even if I finally succeed in killing him… it changes nothing, not really. Voldemort wasn't just a person. He was an idea, a brand, a whole cult of personality. He has followers, acolytes, and extremists who would uphold his desires even after his death—if they even believed he could die, which I'm sure they don't. They won't stop. They'll just fracture and become harder to fight. They'll come looking for me."
A long, oppressive silence descended upon the small, stuffy shed. The air was thick with the weight of that truth, and the magical creatures stirred restlessly around Echo, sensing the despair. Pip, the house elf, nervously wrung his dishcloth and scurried over, holding out a chipped, steaming mug.
"Mister Echo must be drinking this. It is a calming draught for Mister Echo's nerves," Pip whispered, his massive eyes filled with worry. Echo took the mug with a shaking hand and sipped the contents—a thick, warm liquid that tasted faintly of ginger and moonseed. Once he had pulled the mug away, the house elf's question, asked in a nervous, almost terrified little voice, cut through the silence. "So, Mister Echo, what… what are we going to do now?"
Ragnok, who had been muttering darkly to himself, exploded in a sudden, sharp burst of frustration. "Oh, for the love of piss, Pip! You already asked that five times already, and the answer is the same as the other four!" he grouched, throwing his hands up in defeat. "We don't know! We don't know what we're going to do or where we're going from here! We just escaped, and we're now hiding out, and on top of that, Echo almost killed himself, again! Let a man think, dammit!"
But while the Goblin was fuming and pacing the small floor, Echo was thinking. His gaze, distant and cold, moved from the ceiling to the floor, tracking some private, internal calculation. The calming draught was doing its work, settling the trembling in his limbs and pulling the raw edge off his exhaustion. The question, What are we going to do now? echoed in his mind, and an answer, sudden and sharp, crystallized.
He set the mug down gently on the straw beside him, his eyes refocusing, a dangerous light of clarity returning to their depths. He said something, a few quiet words that stopped all the chatter, all the low growls, and all the pacing, bringing every eye in the small shed back to him once more.
"I think I know what we'll do."
Pip's huge eyes widened with excitement and hope. "You do?"
Echo nodded, then thought for a moment, and a slow, almost terrifying smile grew on his face. He felt the cold, hard certainty of his choice settle over him like a cloak. He said a bit more excited, "Yes, I know exactly what we're going to do."
As Echo said this, he began to get up. The exhaustion was still a crushing weight, and he was shaking, but the Hippogriff didn't move, offering its feathered body as a sturdy, steady support. Using the massive, strong form as an anchor, Echo rose shakily and unsteadily to his legs.
Ragnok watched the boy stand, a flicker of renewed, exasperated fear in his eyes. "Well, don't go killing yourself again, tell us what you've got in mind."
Echo's unsteady rise was interrupted by a jolt of renewed, manic energy. His violet eyes were alight with an idea so wild it bordered on genius, a terrifying mixture of pragmatism and pure, anarchic desire for justice.
"A team," Echo repeated, his voice gaining strength and ringing with fervent belief. He pushed off the Hippogriff, standing unsteadily but firmly on his own two feet. "We are going to make a team, Ragnok. A proper, honest-to-Merlin team."
Ragnok, his face a mask of incredulous confusion, crossed his arms more tightly over his patched shirt. "A team of what, precisely? Freaks, creeps, and monsters, I'd reckon, judging by the crowd you brought with you." He then fixed Sekhmet with a teasing glare. "No offense to the monster in the room, of course."
Sekhmet's immense head lowered a fraction, and a low, guttural vibration that was not quite a purr and not quite a growl rumbled in her chest. "Do not push it, morsal. I may consider a change in diet to include angry little goblins."
Echo, oblivious to the exchange, slapped his thigh with a genuine, happy smile. "Exactly! That's exactly what we're going to do. We're going to take all the rejects, the downtrodden, and those despised by wizarding society—from witches and wizards to the mutants and the magical creatures—and bring them all together under one banner. We'll make a home for the homeless. We'll make a fortress for those who have nowhere to go. And we'll—"
He stopped abruptly, his eyes narrowing. His gaze had landed on Shimmer, the Demiguise, who was sitting on the straw pile, trying with increasingly frantic subtlety to conceal something flat and square beneath his large, bushy posterior. The silver-furred monkey, whose eyes were perpetually sad, pretended to be casually scratching his ear, but the bulge beneath him was undeniable.
"Shimmer," Echo demanded, pointing a shaking finger. "What is that? Get your butt off it."
Shimmer squealed, a sound of feigned innocence, and tried to act casual, pushing the object further under his fur with a swift, defensive flick of his prehensile tail.
Echo, with a surge of renewed will, pushed the monkey away. Shimmer screeched in outrage and scrambled up the Hippogriff's feathered neck to sulk. Echo reached down and pulled the hidden item free.
It was a copy of the Daily Prophet, still damp from the printing press. The headline, a massive, bolded slab of ink, screamed across the front page: THE DARK BEAST WIZARD: IS HE WORSE THAN HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED?
The accompanying sketch was a horrifying, stylized caricature of the Dark Beast, half-formed and demonic, looming behind a small figure with wildly tangled hair and burning violet eyes. The article did not refer to him by his name, Echo, but instead as Echo the Dark Beast Wizard.
Echo stared at the paper, his expression shocked, but not with injury or sadness—it was almost a look of morbid vindication, as if this were the final, expected conclusion to his entire wretched life.
Ragnok rubbed his head with a groan. "Yeah, well, we didn't want to tell you yet. That news article just came out today. Surprised the news travels all the way out here. But… yeah, lad. Your name is well known, and not in a good way. They're calling you a new Dark Wizard."
Instead of flinching or getting upset, a slow, predatory smile spread across Echo's face, a look that was genuinely terrifying on his pale, exhausted features.
"Then that's perfect," he said, his voice quiet with absolute conviction.
Everyone in the shed looked at him strangely.
"Perfect?" Pip squeaked, his huge eyes brimming with worry. "But Mister Echo, that's… that's bad."
Echo turned to his house-elf, his smile still in place. "If they think that I'm a Dark Wizard, then so be it. That's what we'll be. We'll be Dark Wizards."
Ragnok, his severe brow furrowed and his body tensed, took a careful step back. "Now hold on, lad. You can't be serious. That title is poison."
"Hear me out," Echo insisted, his voice dropping to a low, persuasive cadence that held the same cold, absolute certainty he'd used to summon the Dark Beast. "There's logic to my insanity. We'll be Dark Wizards in name alone."
"What does that even mean?" Ragnok demanded.
Echo folded the Daily Prophet, his eyes blazing with a dangerous light. "It means we'll be the best worst Dark Wizards known today. We'll do what the Ministry does, but better, and without all the paperwork, bureaucracy, and corruption. We'll hunt down other Dark Wizards and poachers. We'll steal from the Rich and give it to the needy. We'll rescue magical creatures and set up breeding programs and reserves. We'll grant rights to those considered second-class. We'll topple the pure-bloods one by one, expunging their prideful corruption from the inside out and reducing the Sacred Twenty-Eight to the Unsacred Eight." He jabbed the newspaper with his wand. "We'll expose those who worked for Voldemort and destroy them. And we'll hunt down Voldemort and his followers until the mere thought of him is seen as nothing more than a bedtime story. We will be the darkness that consumes shadows and makes them flee. That's who we'll be."
Everyone stared at Echo, the silence thick and oppressive as he struggled to catch his breath, his eyes alight with a feverish, almost unholy clarity.
Ragnok was the first to break the spell. He shook his head slowly, his severe brow still furrowed, but a wild, reluctant amusement had replaced the fury in his eyes. "You sound fucking insane, lad," he grunted, the ghost of a smile touching his thin lips. He ran a hand over his spiky hair and shrugged. "But what the hell. My life's been uprooted, and the sound of sticking it to the Ministry and giving those lousy pure-bloods what's coming to them sounds like music to my ears. Real anarchy type shit you're saying. What the hell, I'm in."
Sekhmet lowered her head, her golden eyes gleaming. "I am a long way from Greece, and I still owe you a debt," she rumbled, her voice a deep, steady bass. "A Sphinx never forgets a debt or a friend. You may rely on my allegiance, little one."
Pip wrung his dishcloth nervously, his huge eyes sparkling with newfound purpose. "If we's going to be the best of the worst as Dark Wizards," he declared, puffing out his tiny chest, "then Pip will have to make the best Dark Wizards' meals, with extra butter for strength!"
Shimmer chittered in agreement, scrambling up Echo's shoulder and clinging to his neck. From outside the shed, a deep, excited roar, full of smoke and triumph, answered the consensus. Wick, the massive dragon, was in support.
Echo, a tired, genuine smile returning to his face, nodded once. "Then it's settled. We're going to be Dark Wizards."
Ragnok crossed his arms, his newfound enthusiasm tempered by pragmatism. "That's all well and good, but we do have two small problems, Echo. First, we need a leader."
Pip immediately bounced on the straw. "Pip thinks Mister Echo should be the leader! He's the one with the best ideas!"
Ragnok nodded, giving Echo a scrutinizing look. "I agree, but I didn't want to presume."
Echo felt the weight of their combined gaze and, though it was heavy, it felt right. "Since I am massively a part of why we're in this current predicament, I may as well take responsibility and lead us through this." He met Ragnok's gaze. "What's the other problem?"
Ragnok threw his hands out, indicating the cramped, overstuffed shed. "People. Don't get me wrong, your menagerie of magical creatures is all well and good if you wanted to do a full-scale invasion or hostile takeover with an army, but for other things, it's much harder. And one wizard, a goblin, a Demiguise, one house elf, and a Sphinx aren't enough."
"Then we'll start small," Echo said, his mind already churning through the logistics. "We'll find those who have nothing left to lose or are looking to take down Moldy-butt and his gang." He thought for a moment. "Ragnok, do you have connections in the goblin community?"
Ragnok scoffed, a dry, dismissive sound. "What goblin doesn't? I'll send out my feelers and see who might be willing to join a crazy, idealistic war against the pure-bloods and the Dark Lord."
Echo nodded, his violet eyes distant, recalling a memory. "I may know some people who will join. A few months back, a circus came to town, and in addition to releasing a whole host of tortured magical creatures, I also helped release a whole bunch of people who were part of the freak show. They're probably still out there somewhere. I have to find them and ask them."
Sekhmet's immense head tilted slightly. "It sounds like you have it all figured out, but where are we to establish our roots?"
"Where else?" Echo said, gesturing to the rickety shed and the surrounding Hamlet. "We'll place our main base of operations right here in this Hamlet. And we'll fix it up, too. We'll make this a proper settlement for these people. We'll pay them back tenfold for the kindness they showed us."
"I thought so," Sekhmet rumbled. "But the next issue is a practical place tactually to live. Even with just us in this old shed, we need far more space."
Echo looked down at the locket of Slytherin around his neck, holding the now-cooled pieces of metal in his hand. A reckless, magical idea sparked in his exhausted mind as he looked around the cramped, tiny shed. He smiled, that cold, terrifying smile, and said, "No need to worry, I have a solution to that."
Taking out his wand and tapping into the ancient magic of the locket, Echo cast a complex, non-verbal spell. It was no ordinary spell; it was a special, powerful extension charm that made the space in a room far bigger on the inside than the outside. And with the aid of the locket's ancient magic, the small shed's interior suddenly increased, violently, to the size of a double-hanger airplane bay. The walls stretched impossibly, the ceiling soared, and the small corner they occupied was now just a tiny spot in a cavernous, empty space.
Everyone looked around the new, larger, and completely empty space in awe. The house-elf gaped, the goblin stared, and the Sphinx's eyes widened. Echo gasped a bit for air, collapsing back against the Hippogriff. "I apologize," he croaked, wiping a bead of cold sweat from his temple. "Making it bigger was the best I could do. Maybe when I'm a bit more rested, I can make actual rooms and floors."
The sudden, colossal expansion of space was met with a chorus of excited sounds. The Flying Snakes, no longer confined to Echo's shoulders, shot into the vast, cavernous interior, their iridescent bodies weaving and looping through the air in joyful abandon. Shrink the Occamy, its shimmering coils now a dizzying, spiraling tower, unraveled itself with a happy chitter, its plumage catching the faint light filtering from the original shed door. The small magical creatures—the Diricawl, a scattering of Nifflers, and a few Bowtruckles—began running and bouncing across the newly revealed dirt floor with sheer, unrestrained glee.
Ragnok, who had been speechless for a beat, finally broke the silence, his voice a low, gravelly blend of shock and begrudging admiration. "Fuck me, kid," he grunted, shaking his head. "Who cares about rooms and floors? I'm impressed you managed to do this much, and while you're still half dead."
Pip, his tiny chest puffed out with excitement, clapped his small hands together. "It's wonderful, Mister Echo! A big place for a bigger kitchen and bigger meals, even Wick could fit in here!"
As if on cue, a massive, snorting sound of frustration erupted from the original tool shed entrance. Wick, who had been peering curiously into the sudden void, had decided to follow her, Ada, inside. She had already managed to force her immense, snarling head and thick, armored forelegs through the original door—a door that was now merely a tiny, mundane entryway into the massive space. The rest of her colossal body, however, was stubbornly refusing to yield to the magic, creating a hilarious and terrifying logjam of scales, teeth, and furious dragon.
"Wick, you great idiot!" Ragnok bellowed, the sound echoing in the massive new space. He scrambled forward, his small goblin hands reaching up to grab the dragon by one of her ram-like horns, an action that was either supremely brave or utterly insane. "Get out before you break the magic with us inside of it! OUT!"
Echo stared at Wick as she tried to push her head out of the door of the shed, occasionally knocking the wooden frame. Ragnok, standing next to the door, was trying to push her head out. Echo, getting an idea, said Wick's name, and she immediately looked up at her Ada. Echo told her, "Go to the mountain where you took the dragon I rescued from the first event of the Triwizard Tournament and bring them here." Wick seemed to understand, pulled her head out, and flew off into the sky.
Ragnok stared at the empty sky. "Dragons? You mean all of them? They had one of every dragon species in the Tournament, except for the heberdirain black. Are you sure that's a good idea?"
Echo crossed his arms. "Since we're going to be dark wizards, we have to legitimize ourselves as a threat to other groups, so no one tries to attack us while we're still forming."
Ragnok nodded slowly. "That makes sense, but how are we going to care for twelve dragons?"
Echo replied with a mysterious smile. "I have a way to subvert that issue. After all, how do you think I cared for Wick all this time without her raiding a town and eating all the people?"
Ragnok scratched his chin. "I did wonder that, but hell, we're already doing something crazy. May as well crank it up to eleven."
Echo, leaning heavily against the Hippogriff, watched the chaos with a tired, genuine smile that finally reached his eyes. He looked from Ragnok, accepting the chaos, to Pip bouncing excitedly about his future kitchen, to the Sphinx watching on with amused patience, and to the creatures flying and scampering in the immense space. He may have lost his home, his reputation, and nearly his life, but he still had them. He had his new group, his new friends, his new family. He had something, and that was better than nothing. And now it was time to get started.