The aroma of Earl Grey, usually a comforting scent, did little to soothe Echo's frayed nerves. He sat slumped at a circular table in the Divination classroom, the crystal ball before him reflecting his dull, grey hair back with unsettling accuracy. The events of the previous day still clung to him like a shroud, the memory of his grades burning to ash, a persistent ache in his chest. Even the calming kelp tea he'd brewed that morning with some leftover merfolk leaves had barely touched the edges of his desolation. He absently swirled the dregs of his tea, watching the dark leaves clump at the bottom of his cup. Professor Starlit, a man whose flowing robes seemed to be woven from starlight and whose eyes perpetually twinkled, floated gracefully between the tables. His voice, a soft, ethereal whisper, drifted through the room as he moved from student to student, interpreting the swirling patterns of their tea leaves.
"Ah, Miss Perkins," he murmured, peering into a student's cup. "I see a long journey, filled with unexpected turns… and a surprising encounter with a rather vocal badger." The student gasped, clutching her cup.
He drifted to the next table. "Mr. Finnigan, your leaves foretell… a series of small, delightful explosions. Perhaps you should reconsider your approach to Transfiguration." Seamus Finnigan promptly choked on his tea.
Echo watched him approach, a fresh wave of dread washing over him. He knew his future wouldn't be filled with badgers or explosions; his future was likely a never-ending cycle of chaos and disappointment. He tried to push his cup further away subtly, but Professor Starlit's gaze, luminous and piercing, was already upon it.
"And now, Mr. Echo," Professor Starlit announced, his voice a little louder, a note of theatrical anticipation in his tone. He bent over Echo's cup, his starry eyes scrutinizing the tea leaves. A long moment of silence stretched, broken only by the gentle clinking of teacups.
Then, Professor Starlit gasped dramatically, his eyes widening. He pulled back, a look of profound bewilderment on his face. "Oh, my! Mr. Echo, your future… it is quite… unconventional." He paused, looking directly at Echo with an expression of bewildered awe. "I see… I see you, Mr. Echo, flinging… flinging a considerable amount of… of fecal matter at unsuspecting individuals, in a state of extreme confusion!"
Echo blinked, his dull grey hair flaring a mortified pink. "What?!" he exclaimed, utterly aghast. "Flinging… poo? Professor, that's impossible! I would never…!" He stared at the cup, then back at the Professor. "Oh, wait, that's not my cup. That's Shimmer's. He drank from it when I wasn't looking."
Indeed, Shimmer, who had been quietly grooming his fur on Echo's shoulder, let out a small, indignant chitter and pointed a tiny, accusatory finger at the teacup.
Professor Starlit blinked, then chuckled, adjusting his star-spangled robes. "Ah, my apologies, Mr. Echo! A slight misinterpretation. It seems the tea leaves were reflecting… the mischievous spirit of your familiar. An understandable confusion, given the… unique nature of your companions." He smiled, a faint, knowing glint in his eye. "No matter. Let us try another. Which one is yours, then?"
Echo, still scarlet-faced, pointed to another cup near his elbow. "That one, Professor."
Professor Starlit leaned over the second cup, his gaze once again intense. Another long moment passed, and then he gasped again, a different kind of surprise this time. "Mr. Echo, your future here foretells… a remarkable talent for acquisition! I see you acquiring… many valuable and glittering objects, often from places where they are… rather securely fastened. A life of… high-stakes procurement, perhaps?"
Echo groaned, his pink hair dimming to a resigned blue. "Oh, no, Professor. That's Sniffles' cup. He was thirsty, and I wasn't paying attention."
Sniffles, who had been attempting to abscond with a stray button he'd found on the floor, jangled a soft, affirmative chime, patting the teacup proudly with a tiny hand.
Professor Starlit let out a melodic laugh. "Goodness, Mr. Echo, your companions certainly have vibrant destinies! My apologies once more. It seems their energies are quite potent." He finally turned to the last cup on the table, a plain, unassuming porcelain mug. "This, then, must be yours."
He peered into the mug, his twinkling eyes focusing on the murky depths. His smile slowly faded. The light in his eyes seemed to dim, and his ethereal glow flickered. A profound, unsettling silence descended upon the classroom. The air grew heavy; the usual cheerful buzz gave way to an almost palpable tension. Echo, his heart beginning to thump an anxious rhythm, watched the Professor's face, which was now a mask of utter shock and growing horror. The tea leaves in the cup seemed to swirl and churn with an unnatural agitation.
"Professor? What is it?" Echo asked, his voice barely above a whisper, dread coiling in his stomach. He instantly regretted asking. He truly, deeply regretted asking.
Professor Starlit slowly lifted his head, his face pale, his eyes wide and filled with a sorrowful, almost pitying, expression. He looked at Echo, and his voice, when it came, was no longer a melodic whisper, but a strained, gravitas-laden pronouncement that seemed to resonate through Echo's very bones.
"Mr. Echo," Professor Starlit whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "Your tea leaves… they tell a tale of such immense… sacrifice. Of a heart torn between worlds, constantly giving, constantly fighting, until there is… nothing left but echoes of what once was. I see… a path paved with unending trials, with betrayals and losses that will leave scars deeper than any magic can heal. I see… that your greatest triumphs will often come at the cost of your own joy, your own peace. And ultimately… I see a decision. A final, harrowing choice that will define everything you are, and everything you will become. A choice… that will demand everything of you." He paused, his gaze fixed on Echo's hollow eyes, now wide with a terrible understanding. "The leaves also say, Mr. Echo… that you will know no true rest. Not in this life. Your destiny is not one of peace, but of perpetual, demanding purpose. And that, I fear… is a far greater burden than any physical injury."
Echo stared at the Professor, his grey hair flickering with a horrified, almost sickened purple. "You… you got all that from some soggy tea leaves at the bottom of a cup?" he whispered, his voice trembling.
Professor Starlit nodded slowly, his face still etched with sorrow. "Indeed, Mr. Echo. The signs are… remarkably clear."
Echo swallowed, his throat dry. "Couldn't it be something… less painful? Like, I don't know… death?"
Professor Starlit's eyes, though still filled with pity, held a strange, almost resolute glint. "Your cup also says, Mr. Echo," he murmured, his voice a low, resonant thrum, "that death will try many times to claim you. It will pursue you relentlessly, through various forms and guises. But it will, on each occasion, ultimately fail."
Echo stared blankly for another long moment, processing the grim pronouncement. Then, with a strangled groan, he slammed his face onto the table, the thud echoing dully in the now-silent classroom. His purple hair instantly dulled to a defeated, lifeless grey, mirroring the utter despair that now consumed him.