Andromeda moved with practiced grace through the bustling corridors, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within her. Her usually serene expression was subtly marred by a frown, a faint line etched between her elegant eyebrows. She had just left the infirmary, where she had spent the last hour tending to Narcissa and Lucius. Narcissa, though outwardly composed, had been shaken by Echo's venomous words, and Lucius, his aristocratic pride wounded, had been seething with a cold, impotent fury. Andromeda had applied soothing balms to Narcissa's flushed cheeks and offered a calming draught to Lucius, all while listening to their indignant recounting of the Great Hall incident.
As she walked, her thoughts drifted back to the scene. Echo's words, crude and cutting, still echoed in her mind. "Three of the ugliest bitches I have ever had the misfortune of meeting." The insult had stung, a sharp, unexpected jab at her carefully cultivated composure. Yet, beneath the anger, a flicker of something else remained – a grudging acknowledgment of his brutal honesty. He had been rude, undeniably so, but he had also been truthful, in his own twisted way. He hadn't minced words, hadn't played the political games so common in their world. He had simply stated his truth, however offensive.
And then there was the Runespoor. A three-headed serpent, emerging from his robes as if it were a common house pet. The sheer audacity of it, the raw, untamed magic. It had been terrifying, exhilarating, and utterly, undeniably powerful. Even Bellatrix, with all her madness and dark power, had recoiled. Andromeda found a strange, almost perverse respect for the boy who could command such a creature, who could stand against her terrifying sister and Lucius Malfoy with such defiant ease.
She also thought of Sirius. Her cousin, the black sheep of the family, seemed to hold a strange fondness for Echo. Sirius, for all his recklessness, was perhaps the most level-headed of the Black siblings, which, she mused with a wry internal chuckle, wasn't saying much. If Sirius saw something in Echo, perhaps there was more to the boy than met the eye.
Her path led her deeper into the castle, away from the main thoroughfares, towards a less-frequented wing. As she rounded a corner, a small, hunched figure came into view. A house elf, its large, mournful eyes fixed on the stone floor it was diligently scrubbing. A familiar tingle, a cold, almost instinctual sensation, prickled at Andromeda's skin. It was the ingrained superiority, the inherent disdain for "lower creatures" that had been drilled into her since birth, a fundamental tenet of the Black family and pure-blood ideology.
She knew she wasn't being followed, wasn't being watched. Back at home, even when alone, she had always felt the invisible eyes of her ancestors, the weight of expectation, demanding she uphold the family's rigid standards. Here, in the quiet solitude of the deserted corridor, she could, for a fleeting moment, be free. But the habit was too deeply ingrained. The conditioning is too strong. A Black never showed weakness, never apologized, never acknowledged the existence of those beneath them unless it was to command.
Without breaking her stride, Andromeda swung her foot out, a swift, deliberate kick to the house elf's side. The elf yelped, a small, pained sound, and tumbled to the side, its scrubbing brush clattering against the stone.
"Get out of my way," Andromeda said, her voice cool and devoid of emotion, her gaze fixed straight ahead.
The house elf scrambled to its feet, bowing repeatedly, its large ears almost touching the ground. "Pippy is so very sorry, Miss Andromeda! Pippy will move! Pippy will not be in Miss Andromeda's way again!"
Andromeda continued to walk, the elf's frantic apologies fading behind her. She felt a brief, almost imperceptible surge of satisfaction. It was a small, insignificant act, but it reaffirmed her place, her identity, her Blackness.
"Andromeda Black!"
A voice, sharp and laced with fury, cut through the silence of the corridor. Andromeda didn't stop. She didn't even turn her head. A Black never apologized, never showed weakness. She quickened her pace, the sound of her heels echoing on the stone.
"Andromeda! Stop!"
The voice was closer now, more insistent. She ignored it, her jaw tightening. She would not be commanded. She would not acknowledge.
Then, several weak, but undeniably present, stunning spells connected with her backside. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Andromeda gasped, stumbling forward, her elegant stride broken. She spun around, her eyes blazing with indignation, to see Echo's very furious face. He stood a few feet away, his black hair a violent, indignant red, his crooked, dark wand held firmly in one hand. In his other arm, he cradled the whimpering house elf she had just kicked.
"Apologize," Echo stated, his voice low and dangerous, his eyes, usually hollow, now burning with an intense, unwavering fury.
Andromeda stared at him, utterly incredulous. Apologize? To a filthy house elf? The very idea was preposterous, an affront to everything she had ever been taught. Her pure-blood pride, wounded and enraged, surged to the forefront.
"I will do no such thing," she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. "No wizard, especially not a Black, would ever plead before a filthy elf."
Echo's eyes narrowed, and a chillingly calm expression settled on his face. Without another word, he flicked his wand. "Confringo!"
A jet of intense, orange flame erupted from his wand, striking the stone floor directly at Andromeda's feet. She yelped, leaping backward, her dress singed at the fringes. She frantically patted the smoldering fabric, her eyes wide with shock and a dawning, unwelcome fear.
She looked up at Echo, who stood there, unmoving, his red hair blazing like a dangerous fire. His Violet eyes, fixed on her, held no mercy, no hesitation.
"That," he said, his voice a low, resonant growl that vibrated through her very bones, "was not a request." he adjusted the grip on his wand as he said, "Apologize to Pippy, Rye," Echo reiterated, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, his grip on the house elf still gentle and protective.
Andromeda scoffed, a tight, humorless sound. "You cannot be serious. And why did you call me 'Rye'?"
Echo's red hair blazed. "I assure you, Rye, I am deadly serious. And if you don't apologize to this elf, I will make you regret it in a way that makes Lucius's broken nose seem like a pleasant massage. And this time, you won't have the good fortune of an accidental crowd to witness it and rat me out."
Andromeda's sneer faltered. She saw the intent in his eyes, a cold, unwavering fury that belied his young age. Looking at him, it wasn't just a boy in front of her, but a dragon, ready to breathe fire. Her breath hitched. "You… you're joking," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
"Do I look like I'm joking?" Echo retorted, his gaze unblinking.
Andromeda took a hesitant step back, her eyes darting between Echo's furious face and the cowering house elf in his arms. "Wait, wait," she stammered, trying to regain some semblance of control. "Why… why Rye? What are you talking about?"
Echo's fury didn't diminish, but a chillingly calm, almost playful, smirk touched his lips. "Ah, yes, the nicknames. Well, since all you pure-blood families are so fond of your… pure bloodlines," he said, a heavy emphasis on the word 'pure', "and you're all so utterly inbred, I've decided to nickname all the Black sisters, and Lucius, after different types of bread." He paused, letting that sink in. "You, Rye, because your hair is brown. Narcissa is Pumpernickel because of her two-toned hair."
Andromeda blinked, processing the outrageous insult. "And Lucius?" she asked, almost against her will. "He's… white bread, then?"
Echo nodded slowly. "Precisely."
"And Bellatrix?" Andromeda whispered, a morbid curiosity overcoming her shock.
Echo's smirk widened, a dangerous glint in his eye. "Sourdough."
Andromeda found she couldn't argue with that. Bellatrix certainly had a sour disposition. She looked at Echo, then at the house elf.
"Pippy does not need an apology, Master Echo," the house elf whimpered, its large eyes filled with concern as it looked at Echo. "Pippy is just a house elf. They are not worth Master Echo's trouble."
Echo's face softened instantly, his red hair flickering with gentle reassurance. He stroked the elf's head. "No, Pippy," he said, his voice warm and firm. "You are completely worth it. Every single apology. Don't you ever think otherwise?"
Andromeda watched the exchange, utterly bewildered. "Why are you being so kind to that… thing?" she asked, her voice tinged with genuine disbelief.
Echo's head snapped back to her, his red hair blazing anew. "Kindness?" he scoffed, his voice sharp and laced with disdain. "Is that truly such a foreign concept to you, Andromeda Black?"
He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low, menacing tone. "You and your sisters, and Lucius, you all think you're so superior, don't you? So much better than everyone else, simply because of who your ancestors were, or how much money you hoard." He gestured to Pippy. "But this 'thing,' as you call her, has more kindness, more resilience, more genuine worth in her little finger than your entire inbred family combined."
Andromeda flinched, stung by his words. Her face, usually so composed, betrayed a flicker of anger, then confusion. "You… you don't understand," she stammered. "It's how we're raised. It's expected. We are the House of Black, a noble and ancient lineage. We have standards."
"Standards?" Echo barked, a humorless laugh escaping him. "Your standards involve casual cruelty, petty vengeance, and blind adherence to a dying ideology. Your standards led you to treat a living, breathing creature like dirt under your shoe. Is that what nobility means to you, Rye? Because to me, it looks like nothing but pathetic, insecure bullying."
He paused, letting his words hang in the air, then continued, his voice softer, but no less potent. "I've seen true nobility. I've seen it in people who have nothing, who still offer help and kindness. I've seen it in people who fight for what's right, even when it's hard, even when they're alone. And I can tell you, Andromeda Black, you and your family fall far, far short."
Andromeda's eyes dropped, her gaze fixed on the stone floor. She looked at Pippy, then back at Echo's unwavering, furious face. The sheer conviction in his eyes, the raw emotion in his voice, slowly chipped away at her carefully constructed defenses. She saw, for the first time, not a half-blood brat, but a boy who genuinely cared, who felt things deeply, who refused to let injustice stand.
A profound, unsettling realization washed over her. All her life, she had been taught that purity of blood equated to purity of character, that power justified cruelty, that disdain for those beneath them was a mark of superiority. But Echo, this chaotic, unpredictable boy, was challenging every single one of those ingrained beliefs. He was kind to a house elf, furious at an act of casual malice, and utterly fearless in the face of her family's power.
She took a deep, shaky breath. The ingrained habit, the decades of conditioning, fought against the burgeoning awareness within her. But Echo's eyes, still burning with righteous anger, held her gaze, demanding an answer.
"I… I can't," Andromeda whispered, her voice barely audible. The words felt alien on her tongue, a confession of weakness she had never before allowed herself.
Echo's grip on Pippy tightened, his face a storm of frustration. "Why not?" he demanded, his voice dangerously low. "Why can't you simply apologize for being cruel?"
Andromeda's shoulders sagged. "It's… It's what I was taught, Echo. It's what's expected. We are Blacks. We don't apologize to… to inferiors. It's a disgrace." Her eyes, filled with a warring mix of pride and a dawning shame, met his. "I… I want to. I truly do. But if I do this… if I show such weakness, such… compassion to an elf… I'll be an outcast. Just like Sirius."
Echo rolled his eyes with an exasperated huff, his red hair flickering to an almost dismissive orange. "Is that all?" he scoffed, utterly unimpressed.
Andromeda stared, genuinely confused. "All? Echo, it's everything! My family, my lineage, my place… It's all tied to these expectations!"
"Exactly," Echo retorted, his voice sharp. "If your 'family' and everything about it keeps you from being the person you want to be – a person who isn't casually cruel, a person who can show basic decency – then maybe you should ditch them. Follow your own truth. Like Sirius."
Before Andromeda could formulate a response, Echo continued, his voice softening slightly, though still laced with a weary impatience. "Look, I get that family ties and blood relationships are all powerful and well and good, and they mean a whole lot, and blah, blah, blah." He waved a dismissive hand. "But if they're causing this much issue to you, if they're making you act in ways you clearly don't agree with, then you need to stop thinking of them as such. Family isn't the blood you share – and you pure-bloods sure share a lot of blood, to your detriment, I might add. Family is about the people you love. And if that means having a chosen family that looks nothing like the one you were born into, then so be it. I, for one, have the furthest thing from a traditional family with all the people I love."
Andromeda stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. The words, so casually delivered, yet so profoundly resonant, struck a chord deep within her. Family isn't the blood you share… Family is about the people you love. It was a revolutionary thought, a complete inversion of everything she had ever known. She thought of Bellatrix's fanaticism, Narcissa's icy adherence to tradition, and Lucius's suffocating pride. And then she thought of Sirius, shunned and disowned, yet seemingly freer, happier, surrounded by friends who truly saw him.
A slow, almost imperceptible shift occurred within Andromeda. The rigid walls of her upbringing, the layers of ingrained prejudice, began to crack. She looked at Echo, truly looked at him, cradling the house elf with such genuine affection, and for the first time, she understood.
She took another shaky breath, and this time, the words came, hesitant at first, then gaining a fragile strength. She turned to the house elf, who still cowered slightly in Echo's arms.
"Pippy," Andromeda said, her voice soft, almost a whisper, yet clear in the silent corridor. She knelt down, her elegant robes pooling around her on the dusty floor, bringing herself to the elf's eye level. "Pippy, I… I am so very sorry. For kicking you. For treating you with such… such disrespect. It was wrong of me. And I apologize."
Pippy's large, mournful eyes widened in disbelief. She looked from Andromeda to Echo, then back again, as if trying to ascertain if this was some cruel trick. But Echo's face was earnest, and Andromeda's was etched with a raw, unfamiliar sincerity.
"Pippy… Pippy forgives Miss Andromeda," the elf squeaked, a tiny tear rolling down its cheek. "Pippy thanks Miss Andromeda."
Andromeda offered a small, hesitant smile, a genuine expression that transformed her usually severe features. She stood up, her gaze meeting Echo's. His red hair, which had been blazing with indignation, now flickered with a warm, approving orange.
"No one heard that, right?" Andromeda asked, her voice tight with a sudden, renewed panic, her eyes darting frantically around the empty corridor. "Please, tell me no one heard that. If anyone, especially my family, ever found out… I'd be a dead woman walking."
Echo, his orange hair flickering with understanding, gently put Poppy down. "Relax, Rye," he said, his voice surprisingly calm. "If someone did hear, then you just tell them I, Imperius, cursed you. Tell them I forced you to apologize."
Andromeda stared at him, her brow furrowing. "But… wouldn't that get you into trouble? Using an Unforgivable Curse, especially for something so… petty?"
Echo scoffed, making a cute, almost dopey face, his orange hair softening to a gentle, innocent yellow. "Who's going to believe them? With a face like this?" He gestured to himself, a picture of wide-eyed innocence. "Besides," he added, a mischievous glint entering his eyes, "your parents probably use the Dark Arts for breakfast. Do you really think anyone would believe them if they reported me for using an Unforgivable? Especially when I look like this?"
Andromeda snorted, a genuine, unladylike sound that escaped her lips. A small smile touched her face. "You've got a point," she conceded, a hint of reluctant amusement in her voice. "No one would believe that face."
"But just to be safe," Echo said, his yellow hair suddenly blazing with a mischievous spark, "let's double-check." With a subtle flex of his Beast Magic, a shimmering flock of Jobberknowls materialized from seemingly nowhere, their iridescent wings fluttering as they zipped around the corridor, their beaks making soft clicking sounds as they diligently searched the area.
After a moment, all the Jobberknowls suddenly converged on a single spot further down the corridor, their clicks turning into agitated squawks. From behind a pillar, Narcissa Black shrieked, scrambling out from her hiding spot, her hair disheveled as the tiny birds pecked at her indignantly. She let out another terrified scream and bolted, running away as fast as her legs could carry her, the Jobberknowls still nipping at her heels.
Echo chuckled, his yellow hair dancing with satisfaction. "Well, it seems we did have a listener," he said, turning back to Andromeda, a smug smirk on his face. "But that's just the younger sister. No one will believe her."
Andromeda watched her sister flee, her face a mixture of exasperation and something akin to awe. Her yellow hair, usually so prim, was now slightly askew, a tangible sign of the upheaval Echo had caused in her meticulously ordered world.
"Pumpernickel," Andromeda muttered, a faint smile playing on her lips. "She won't live that down."
Echo, his yellow hair still glowing with mischievous triumph, merely shrugged. "That's her problem, not ours. Now," he said, turning fully to Andromeda, his expression growing more serious, "you have a choice to make, Rye. You can go back to your family, go back to pretending that casual cruelty is acceptable, and live a life of ingrained prejudice. Or, you can choose to be… different. To be your own person. To choose a family, not just inherit one." He gestured vaguely down the corridor. "Sirius, for all his faults, made his choice. And look at him – he's free."
Andromeda looked down the empty corridor where Narcissa had vanished, then back at Echo, who stood there, a strange mixture of childish innocence and profound wisdom in his eyes. The weight of his words settled upon her, heavy and undeniable. He was right. Sirius was free. Free from the suffocating expectations, the insidious hatred, the endless pretense. And for the first time in her life, Andromeda felt a yearning for that freedom, a fierce, desperate longing to shed the skin of her birthright and find her own truth.
A slow, profound realization dawned on her, chilling yet exhilarating. She had been trapped, not by chains, but by invisible threads of expectation and fear. Echo, the strange, chaotic, kind boy with the three-headed snake and the ability to shatter social conventions with a single, perfectly aimed insult, had inadvertently offered her a key.
She took a deep breath, her gaze meeting Echo's. Her blue eyes, usually calm and composed, now shimmered with a nascent defiance. "You're right," she said, her voice stronger, more resolute than she thought possible. "He is free. And… and I want to be, too."
Echo's yellow hair softened to a warm, gentle orange, a silent acknowledgment of her choice. He offered her a small, genuine smile, free of mockery or mischief.
"So," Andromeda began, breaking the comfortable silence, her eyes sparkling with a renewed curiosity, "how exactly do you control all those… Jobberknowls? And the Nifflers, and your other creatures? They seem to do exactly what you want."
Echo's black hair flickered with a hint of a pleased yellow. He leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "That, Rye, is a secret. A very powerful, very useful secret." He straightened up, a smug smile on his face. "Let's just say that they, along with all the other magical beasts I'm friends with, act as my eyes and ears throughout Hogwarts. In a way, I see all, hear all, and know all."
Andromeda's eyes widened, then a mischievous glint appeared in them. "Oh, really?" she purred, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Does that… 'see all, hear all, know all'… also include the girls' bathroom?"
Echo gasped, his yellow hair flaring a horrified red. He immediately started whacking her arm with his wand, though it was a light, ineffective tapping that did absolutely nothing to her. "Andromeda Black!" he exclaimed, his voice scandalized. "How dare you even suggest such a dirty thing! I would never! That's just… that's just gross!"
Andromeda merely laughed, a clear, uninhibited sound that was strangely liberating. "Oh, come now, Echo. With all your 'seeing all,' it was a natural question."
"Well, it's a dirty, filthy question, and the answer is absolutely not!" Echo retorted, still feigning outrage. "Besides," he added, his expression suddenly shifting to one of mischievous cunning, his red hair flickering with a triumphant orange, "if I were to listen in on such things, I'd probably be more interested in a juicy piece of gossip I heard just this morning, from a certain bird…"
As if on cue, a shimmering Jobberknowl landed softly on Echo's shoulder, letting out a knowing series of clicks and whistles.
"This one," Echo declared, pointing to the bird with a dramatic flourish. "And it tells me that a certain Andromeda Black has been cavorting with a muggle-born wizard. Naughty, naughty, Rye!" He wagged a playful finger at her.
Andromeda gasped, her face flushing a deep crimson. "How—! That's none of your business!"
Echo merely chuckled, his orange hair dancing with amusement. "Perhaps not. But I have to admit, you certainly have good taste in men, Rye. Bow chica bow wow!"
"Pippy heard nothing, Master Echo!" the house elf squeaked, her large eyes wide with genuine shock at the revelation. "Pippy promises to keep Miss Andromeda's secret! Pippy will not tell a soul!"
Andromeda, her face still flushed, turned to Echo, her expression a mix of relief and renewed anxiety. Her blue eyes, usually so composed, now held a desperate plea. "Echo," she whispered, her voice tight, "you know now, don't you? You know the crux of my struggles. What should I do? Really, what do I do?"
Echo's orange hair flickered with a casual shrug. "It's obvious, isn't it?" he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Be like Sirius."
Andromeda blinked. "Be an annoyingly loud, oversexed git?" she asked, a hint of genuine confusion in her tone.
Echo snorted, his orange hair shifting to a dismissive yellow. "No, not that, Rye," he corrected, rolling his eyes. "The other thing he's known for. Being true to himself. If being with your family means you can't be happy or that you have to be cruel, then you should break those ties. Don't be afraid." He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "And while you're at it, you should probably try to mend fences with him."
Andromeda looked thoughtful. "He… he may be…" She trailed off, searching for the right words.
"A bit of a self-righteous pain in the arse who always tries to stick up for what he believes in, even when it's inconvenient and causes him endless grief?" Echo supplied, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
Andromeda chuckled, a genuine, warm sound. "Precisely," she agreed, nodding. "But you're right. If I'm going to be a so-called blood traitor anyway, I may as well reestablish contact with the other traitor, right?"
"That's the spirit, Rye!" Echo said, his voice echoing with genuine encouragement. "Go for it! Find your people, the ones who stand in your corner. Find out who your true friends and family are, because it's not always about blood. And above all, love the man you have. Love him with your whole heart and soul. Love him till one of you dies! Straddle your legs around him and ride off into the sunset!"
Andromeda, startled by the intensity of his words, looked at him, then burst out laughing. "Oh, god, Echo! You spend way too much time with Sirius. You're starting to talk just like him!"
Echo's orange hair flickered with a dismissive yellow. "Not willingly," he mumbled, rolling his eyes. "The git's practically a limpet. And before you ask, yes, he has tried to flirt with me. He's even asked for a kiss once, the pervert." He shuddered dramatically. "Usually, I just shove a Chupacabra down his pants, and that gets him to stop. Though," he added, a thoughtful, slightly disgusted look on his face, "he did ask for my hand in marriage after my display in the Great Hall."
Andromeda shook her head, a familiar exasperation on her face. "Of course, he did," she muttered. "And what did you say to that?"
Echo smirked, his yellow hair blazing with a mischievous triumph. "I told him he'd have to fight my girlfriend first. And if you're wondering why he didn't take that challenge, well, let's just say I hope that if you ever meet her, she's not in a bad mood. Those teeth aren't just for smiling."
"Honestly, Echo," Andromeda said, shaking her head, a small, genuine smile on her lips. "Talking with you is a rollercoaster of emotions. First, you're making death threats, then you're cracking jokes about inbred families, and now you're giving me life advice and acting… buddy-buddy."
Echo chuckled, his yellow hair settling into a calm, almost sheepish black. "Yeah, well, that's pretty normal when you interact with me, Rye. I may not be chaotic by nature, but chaos does tend to follow me around like a lost Niffler." He then raised his crooked wand and flicked it once, and with a soft *swoosh, Andromeda's singed dress was magically repaired, looking as good as new. "Now, scram," he added, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Before your other, even crazier sister shows up and ruins everything. And trust me, if that happens, I'll be forced to summon a Graphorn to flatten her. I really don't want to go through the paperwork for that."
Andromeda laughed, a rich, melodic sound. "You really are one of a kind, Echo. No wonder the mermaid princess of the Black Lake had her heart stolen."
Echo's black hair softened to a faint, embarrassed pink. "Actually," he admitted, a small, almost shy smile touching his lips, "it was she who stole mine first."
Andromeda's smile widened, her eyes warm. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. "Thank you, Echo," she whispered, her voice sincere. "For everything." With a final, knowing glance, she turned and walked away, disappearing around the corner.
Echo watched her go, his pink hair slowly fading back to black. A wistful sigh escaped him. "She's a good woman," he murmured to himself, a rare, genuine softness in his voice.