One blustery afternoon, while attempting (and failing) to charm a particularly stubborn quill in Charms class, Echo overheard a hushed conversation between Professor Flitwick and Professor Bloom.
"Poor Argus," Professor Bloom sighed, her voice low. "Another birthday, and not a single well-wish, I daresay. It's truly a shame, isn't it? After all these years, you'd think someone would remember."
Professor Flitwick tutted, his tiny frame radiating sympathy. "Indeed, Molly. A thankless job, being a caretaker. And to be so… overlooked on one's own special day. It's quite disheartening."
Echo's blue hair, which had been flickering with the frustration of his uncharmed quill, slowly settled into a thoughtful black. Filch. The bane of every student's existence, the perpetually sour-faced caretaker who seemed to derive perverse joy from handing out detentions. Echo knew next to nothing about the man, beyond his unwavering devotion to Mrs. Norris and his profound dislike for anything that resembled fun. Yet, the idea of someone's birthday passing entirely unacknowledged, uncelebrated, struck a surprisingly raw nerve within Echo. He remembered his own first "birthday," the unexpected warmth of his friends' efforts, the sheer novelty of being acknowledged. It was a feeling he wouldn't wish anyone to miss.
A plan, audacious and entirely in character, began to form in his mind. He would get Filch a gift.
The next few days, Echo disappeared into various deserted classrooms and even a rarely used corner of the library, his blue hair flickering with intense concentration. His friends, accustomed to his sudden, secretive projects, merely exchanged knowing glances.
"He's up to something," Lily observed one evening, watching Echo meticulously carve a piece of wood with a stolen carving knife. "But what?"
Severus, who had been attempting to read a particularly dense tome on advanced potion-making, merely grunted. "Undoubtedly something that will result in a detention for all of us."
Echo, however, was focused. He had decided on a fake wand, something that would allow Filch, a Squib, to experience a touch of magic. It was a challenging endeavor. He wanted it to perform simple, useful spells, but without the need for a true magical core or complex incantations. He spent hours enchanting the wooden replica, muttering under his breath, his hair flaring with frustration as each attempt either fizzled into nothing or, on one memorable occasion, caused a small, contained explosion that singed his eyebrows.
"Nine tries," he mumbled to himself, examining his bandaged fingers one evening. "Nine tries before it didn't explode in my face."
But finally, he had it. A simple, unassuming wooden wand, perfectly weighted. It could perform a faint Lumos with a gentle tap, a quiet Revelio with a twist, and even the locking and unlocking charms with a firm press. He'd even, with a mischievous glint in his violet eyes, carved a small, hidden compartment at the base for Mrs. Norris's favorite cat treats, and a tiny, unscrewable cap at the very bottom that concealed a feather on a string—a built-in cat toy.
The night of Filch's birthday arrived, a cold and moonless evening. Echo, the enchanted wand tucked securely into his robes, decided a dramatic entrance was in order. He crept out of his dormitory, making just enough noise to be heard, and began to wander the corridors, humming a slightly off-key tune. It wasn't long before he heard the telltale creak of Filch's shoes.
"Echo!" Filch's voice, raspy and triumphant, echoed down the deserted corridor. "Out of bed, are we? That's another detention for you, you little menace!"
Echo spun around, feigning surprise, his blue hair flaring with mock alarm. "Filch! Oh, no! You caught me!"
Filch, his face a mask of grim satisfaction, advanced, Mrs. Norris slinking at his heels, her glowing red eyes fixed on Echo. "Indeed, I have, you troublesome boy! Now, what mischief are you up to this time?"
Echo reached into his robes, pulling out the wrapped gift. "Mischief? Me? Never! Actually, I was just… looking for you." He held out the small package. "Happy Birthday, Filch."
Filch stopped dead in his tracks, his triumphant expression replaced by one of utter bewilderment. His mouth opened and closed, no sound emerging. Mrs. Norris, equally confused, let out a soft, questioning meow.
"My… my birthday?" Filch stammered, his eyes wide, fixed on the gift. "Is this… is this really for me?"
Echo nodded, his blue hair softening to a warm, genuine yellow. "It is. I heard it was your birthday, and… well, I thought you deserved something."
Hesitantly, Filch took the package, his gnarled fingers fumbling with the wrapping paper. He tore it open to reveal the wooden wand. He stared at it, then at Echo, a flicker of something akin to awe in his usually cold eyes.
"What… what is it?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"It's a wand," Echo explained, his voice gentle. "A fake one, but it does some simple spells. See?" He took the wand, tapped it, and a faint glow emanated from the tip. "Lumos. For when it's dark. So you don't have to lug around that heavy, noisy, and smelly out-of-date lantern. And this," he twisted it, and a faint shimmer appeared, "is Revelio, to find things and not rely on Miss Norris's keen senses 24/7. And if you tap it here," he pressed a spot near the handle, "it'll lock and unlock things so you don't have to carry all those rusty keys all the time." He then demonstrated the locking charm on a nearby broom cupboard, and then the unlocking charm.
Filch watched, mesmerized, his eyes darting from the wand to Echo's face. "But… how?"
"It took me nine tries before it didn't explode in my face," Echo admitted, a small, self-deprecating grin on his face. "But I finally got it. And there's a little compartment here," he showed Filch the hidden treat stash, "for Mrs. Norris's treats. And if you unscrew the bottom," he revealed the cat toy, "it's a toy for her too."
Filch was speechless, his gaze fixed on the wand, then on Mrs. Norris, who was now sniffing curiously at the feather toy.
"Filch," Echo continued, his voice losing its playful edge, settling into a quiet sincerity. "You don't get a lot of respect around here. Everyone, all the students, they… they treat you like dirt. And I know firsthand how hard it is to be ignored, or even despised, by everyone in this godforsaken castle. So, I just thought… at least one person should give you a modicum of kindness. Happy Birthday."
Filch stared at the wand in his hand, then at Echo, his usually stern features softened by a mixture of shock and a profound, unfamiliar emotion. Mrs. Norris, purring contentedly, rubbed against his leg. For a long moment, the only sound was the gentle hum of the enchanted wand in Filch's hand, a small, quiet beacon of unexpected warmth in the cold, dark corridors of Hogwarts.
Filch, still holding the wand, slowly looked up at Echo. His eyes, usually narrowed in suspicion, were wide and glistening. He cleared his throat, a rough, unaccustomed sound. "No one… no one has ever given me a birthday gift before," he rasped, his voice thick with emotion. Mrs. Norris, sensing the shift in her master's demeanor, rubbed her head against his leg, purring loudly.
Echo, feeling a strange warmth spread through him, offered a small, genuine smile. "Well, there's a first time for everything, I guess. And you deserve it, Filch. Everyone deserves a bit of kindness."
Filch simply nodded, unable to speak, his gaze fixed on the wand. He clutched it tightly, as if it were the most precious object he had ever received. The faint glow of the Lumos charm pulsed gently in his hand, a small, steady light in the otherwise dim corridor.
From that night on, a subtle change could be observed in the Hogwarts caretaker. The scowl on his face, though still present, seemed a fraction less severe. His eyes, when they fell upon a student, held a flicker of something new—perhaps not warmth, but certainly less outright hostility. He was still Argus Filch, still obsessed with rules and order. Still, now, sometimes, just sometimes, a student would catch him in a deserted corridor, a faint glow emanating from his pocket, and a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips as Mrs. Norris batted playfully at a feather on a string.