The Great Hall buzzed with the usual evening chatter, the clatter of cutlery against plates a comforting rhythm. At a separate table in the back, away from the main throng, Echo sat hunched over a generous plate of roast beef, his black hair a calm, focused blue. Opposite him, Frank, Amos, Lily, and Severus were deep in conversation, their own meals largely forgotten as they debated the merits of a recent Quidditch match. Shimmer, a faint silver ripple, perched on Echo's shoulder, occasionally nudging his ear with a soft chitter, while Sniffles, ever the opportunist, was making furtive attempts to snatch a stray Yorkshire pudding from Echo's plate.
Suddenly, the massive oak doors of the Great Hall burst open with a resounding *CRASH!* A seventh-year Hufflepuff Head Boy, his usually cheerful face pale with alarm, stumbled in, his robes disheveled. "The House Cup!" he shrieked, his voice cracking with disbelief. "It's gone! From the trophy display!"
A stunned silence fell over the Great Hall, quickly followed by a cacophony of gasps, accusations, and bewildered whispers. Students pointed fingers, their voices rising in a frantic clamor. Dumbledore, who had been observing the scene with a calm, if slightly concerned, expression, rose from his seat at the High Table. With a gentle but firm wave of his wand, a shower of golden sparks erupted, silencing the hall instantly.
"Calm yourselves, students," Dumbledore's voice, though soft, resonated through the vast hall. "We will figure out where the House Cup has gone, and who might have taken it."
Before Dumbledore could continue, a thick, guttural voice cut through the lingering silence. Crabbe, a sneer plastered across his face, pushed himself to his feet at the Slytherin table. "I could definitely take a gander as to who took it!" he announced, his eyes fixed on Echo's table. "It was Echo's niffler!"
Echo, who had been blissfully blacked out into his roast beef, jolted upright, his blue hair flickering with confusion. He looked around, his hollow eyes wide as he took in the entire school staring at him. "What happened?" he mumbled, a piece of roast beef still clinging to his cheek.
Severus, pinching the bridge of his nose, let out a long-suffering sigh. "Suspicion has been raised around Sniffles, potentially stealing the House Cup."
"That's ridiculous!" Echo exclaimed, his black hair flaring an indignant red.
"Is it, though?" a Ravenclaw student piped up, her voice laced with a knowing tone. "Sniffles is a niffler. Taking a shiny House Cup wouldn't be unheard of."
"And he's a natural kleptomaniac!" another student added. "He's probably stolen from everyone in the school!"
"I always return the things Sniffles takes!" Echo retorted, his voice rising in defense. "If I know who they belong to!"
But his defense was drowned out by a fresh wave of complaints and accusations. "Echo stole the House Cup for Slytherin!" someone yelled. "Magical beasts should be banned from school!" another cried, and the Great Hall once again descended into chaos.
Dumbledore silenced the hall with another gentle wave of his wand. "Students," he said, his voice firm, "we will not be throwing around baseless accusations."
"But Professor Dumbledore," the Ravenclaw student from before spoke again, "knowing Echo's character, it wouldn't be above him to do something like this. I even bet he uses that Demiguise to help him cheat on tests!"
"What part of those rumors are not true didn't get through your thick head?!" Lily shouted, her green eyes flashing with anger. "And Echo would never use Shimmer to cheat on any test! He suffers just like the rest of us!"
Echo, however, blinked, his red hair flickering to a thoughtful blue. "You know," he mused, "that could have been an option all this time..."
"No, stop thinking like that, you're not helping your case!" Severus hissed, nudging Echo sharply under the table.
Dumbledore's gaze, though calm, held a piercing quality as he looked at Echo. "Mr. Echo," he said, his voice gentle but clear, "is it true that Sniffles really did steal the House Cup? If he did, we would like it returned right now, as Hufflepuff did win it fair and square last year."
Echo's blue hair settled into a determined black. "I would be more than happy to!" he declared, then looked around, his brow furrowing. "Now, where did Sniffles go?"
Suddenly, a small, furry blur darted from beneath Echo's robes, attempting to scurry away. "Sniffles! Get back here!" Echo yelled, but the niffler was surprisingly fast. Luckily, Shimmer, with a graceful leap from Echo's shoulder, intercepted the fleeing niffler, grabbing him gently but firmly and bringing him back to Echo.
"Thanks, Shimmer," Echo said, taking the squirming niffler. He then turned to Sniffles, his black hair flickering with exasperation. "Stop being a baby and let me check your pouch." With a swift motion, Echo turned Sniffles upside down, and a cascade of glittering objects spilled onto the floor. Several students gasped, recognizing various trinkets and coins. But no House Cup.
Echo, holding the empty and irate Sniffles at losing his loot, looked up. "Well, if he really did take it, he didn't keep it in his pouch," he said, a thoughtful glint in his hollow eyes. "He must have put it in his nest."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Then, Mr. Echo," he said, a faint smile touching his lips, "let's go to the Slytherin common room."
"I suppose this is where the little creature keeps his treasures," Dumbledore mused, his eyes twinkling as he surveyed the scene in Echo's dormitory.
Echo was currently under his bed, his legs and lower half visible. He was wiggling his butt back and forth as he reached deeper into the shadows beneath. His black hair, a determined blue, was plastered to his forehead with effort. A faint clinking sound could be heard from within the depths of the bed frame.
"Almost got it," Echo grunted, his voice muffled. "Just a little more… there!"
Minerva McGonagall, standing beside Dumbledore with Professors Flitwick and Hooch, watched the spectacle with a growing look of discomfort. She cleared her throat. "Mr. Echo," she began, her voice a shade drier than usual, "are you quite finished with… whatever it is you are doing? It has been two minutes now, and watching you shake your posterior like that is becoming rather uncomfortable."
Echo's head, still under the bed, popped out for a moment, his blue hair flickering with a sheepish red. "Oh, sorry, Professor. I'm just trying to gather everything from Sniffles' nest. It seems a lot more has been added since I last checked." He ducked back under, and another muffled grumble escaped him. "And Sniffles isn't helping! He keeps trying to pull my arm away!"
Indeed, a small, furry paw could be seen swatting playfully at Echo's hand from the depths of the bed.
Minerva shook her head, a long-suffering sigh escaping her. "Right. This is taking far too long." She turned to Professor Flitwick. "Filius, if you please?"
Flitwick, his tiny eyes gleaming with an almost childlike mischievousness, merely nodded. With a flick of his wand and a clear, concise "Wingardium Leviosa!" the entire bed, with Echo still half underneath it, rose smoothly off the ground.
Echo, no longer supported by the floor, let out a surprised yelp and tumbled out from under the now-floating bed, landing in a rather ungraceful heap on the dormitory floor. He scrambled to his feet, his red hair fading back to a thoughtful blue as he looked at the hovering bed. "Oh! Right! Sorry about that, Professors. I completely forgot you could just… do that." He offered a small, apologetic smile. "Didn't even cross my mind."
Now fully exposed, the nest was a chaotic, glittering pile of stolen treasures. Gold Galleons, silver Sickles, bronze Knuts, sparkling jewels, various bits of polished metal, and even a few of the students' lost fountain pens gleamed under the soft light of the dormitory.
Minerva surveyed the hoard, her expression unreadable. She then turned her gaze to Dumbledore. "Albus, if I may ask, how much do you provide Mr. Echo with in his weekly allowance?"
Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling as he looked at the mound of shiny objects, replied smoothly, "No more than five Galleons a week, Minerva. A perfectly reasonable sum, I believe."
Echo, his blue hair now a faint, confused green, chimed in, "I gave my allowance to Sniffles! I thought if he had enough shiny things, he wouldn't try to steal other people's stuff." He gestured helplessly at the overflowing nest.
Madam Hooch, who had been peering at the pile with an amused expression, snorted. "Well, Mr. Echo, it seems your strategy hasn't quite worked. If anything, it appears Sniffles has been working overtime to find loose change."
"I don't really spend money on anything, anyway," Echo added with a shrug. "The castle provides everything I need."
Professor Flitwick, ever practical, tutted softly. "While that may be true, my boy, you should at least consider getting yourself some new robes. You can't keep mending the same ones with Reparo every time they rip. Besides, you'll outgrow them eventually."
Echo merely shrugged again, his green hair flickering with nonchalance.
The professors, with a collective sigh, began to carefully sort through the glittering chaos, searching for the missing House Cup. Sniffles, now fully recovered from his earlier apprehension, was making frantic chirping noises, swatting at their hands and pulling his treasures back into a disorganized pile. But despite their thorough search and Sniffles' spirited defense, the gleaming House Cup was nowhere to be found among the Niffler's vast collection.
"There's no sign of the House Cup here," Minerva declared, her voice tinged with exasperation, as she sifted through a pile of silver lockets. Sniffles, seizing the opportunity, immediately began trying to drag a handful of glittering coins back into what remained of his nest.
Echo, his blue hair flaring with annoyance, scooped up the frantic Niffler. "Sniffles, where is it?" he demanded, holding the creature eye-level. His voice dropped to a stern whisper. "If you don't tell me, I swear, I will let Professor McGonagall take you away from me for good."
Sniffles let out a series of frantic chirps, squeaks, and chitters, batting at Echo's hand with tiny paws.
Echo listened intently, his expression shifting. He then turned to the professors, his blue hair settling into a thoughtful black. "He says he doesn't have the House Cup. In fact, he says he doesn't even know what it looks like." Echo shrugged. "And neither do I, for that matter. I haven't seen it all year."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a renewed curiosity. "Fascinating, Mr. Echo. Can you truly understand the creature's words?"
Echo shook his head. "Not exactly, Professor. It's more like… I can sense his emotions and his intent. It's the same way I communicate with all my beasts. I just… know what they mean." His black hair flickered with a faint, almost imperceptible shift of purple.
"Quite fascinating indeed," Dumbledore murmured, stroking his long beard. "The bond you share with these magical creatures is truly remarkable, Mr. Echo. A rare gift."
"That's all well and good, Albus," Minerva interjected, her voice sharp, "but the House Cup is still missing. Are you quite certain, Mr. Echo, that Sniffles didn't perhaps create a second nest somewhere else? Somewhere less… accessible?"
Echo shook his head again, his black hair unwavering. "No, Professor. Sniffles only has one nest, right here under my bed. And besides, he can't get into the Hufflepuff common room. You all said the House Cup was in the Hufflepuff common room, right?"
Professor Flitwick, ever the meticulous one, peered at the glittering pile from the levitated bed. "Ah, yes," he chirped, his eyes narrowing slightly. "And it appears several students have reported missing fountain pens. I daresay these belong to them." He gestured with his wand towards a collection of elegant, jewel-encrusted pens amidst the chaos. "I'll be confiscating these, Mr. Echo, to return to their rightful owners."
Echo, his black hair flickering with a casual yellow, merely shrugged. "That's fine, Professor. They're not mine, anyway."
Sniffles, still clutched in Echo's hand, let out a desperate, high-pitched wail, thrashing wildly and attempting to snatch one of the pens with a tiny paw.
"Sniffles!" Echo admonished, holding the Niffler firmly. "Stop being a big baby. I'll give you a shiny button later if you behave."
Sniffles instantly quieted, his desperate cries subsiding into a series of soft, hopeful chirps. The professors exchanged troubled glances, their earlier confidence in Sniffles as the culprit beginning to wane. A heavy silence fell over the dormitory as they tried to think of another lead.
"I'm sure Mrs. Norris could have seen something," Filch suddenly rasped, stepping forward, his eyes gleaming with a hopeful glint. "She can go where I can't, and see what others can't."
Before Minerva could dismiss the caretaker's suggestion, Echo's head snapped up, his black hair flaring with a sudden, excited red. "He's right, Professor! Mrs. Norris is a Kneazle crossbreed, isn't she? Surely she'd know something!"
He darted out of the dormitory and returned a moment later, carefully holding Mrs. Norris aloft. The cat, usually aloof and suspicious, seemed surprisingly docile in Echo's grip, her red eyes blinking slowly.
"Mrs. Norris," Echo said softly, holding the cat up to his face, his red hair flickering with an earnest intensity. "Did you perhaps… see anything suspicious last night? Anyone moving the House Cup?"
Mrs. Norris let out a low, drawn-out meow, then nudged her head against Echo's hand.
Echo's eyes widened, and a grin spread across his face, his red hair blazing with triumph. "She says she knows exactly where it went! And she knows who took it! Alright, Mrs. Norris, lead the way!"
Mrs. Norris, with an air of profound importance, immediately turned and began to slink out of the dormitory, her tail held high. Echo, still beaming with triumph, quickly followed Mrs. Norris, leading him down the familiar, winding corridors of the castle. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Hooch exchanged glances, a mixture of skepticism and curiosity on their faces, before hurrying after them. Filch, however, practically skipped, his face alight with unholy glee.
Mrs. Norris led them through a labyrinth of dusty passages and dimly lit staircases, eventually stopping with a haughty flick of her tail outside a heavy, unassuming door that Minerva instantly recognized.
"Argus," Minerva said, her voice dry as she looked at the door. "Is this your office?"
Filch, still radiating smug satisfaction, beamed. "Indeed it is, Professor! Right where Mrs. Norris led us!" He fumbled with a collection of rusty keys, finally selecting one and inserting it into the lock with a flourish. The door creaked open, revealing a cramped, cluttered space filled with an astonishing array of confiscated magical items, dusty quills, and various dubious-looking instruments of punishment.
The professors entered, their eyes sweeping around the chaotic room, searching for the gleaming trophy. Echo, still holding Sniffles, who was now chittering nervously at the sheer volume of lost shiny objects, looked around too. There was no sign of the House Cup.
Mrs. Norris, however, seemed undeterred. She padded purposefully into a corner of the office, stopping in front of a small, heavily bound wooden chest that looked like it hadn't been opened in decades. She then began to paw insistently at its lid, letting out a series of urgent meows.
Filch frowned, a puzzled expression creasing his face. "That's strange," he muttered, walking over to the chest. "I never use that chest. Keep it locked, regardless, I do. And Mrs. Norris has never shown an interest in it before." He pulled out his intricately carved wooden wand – the one Echo had gifted him – and pointed it at the chest. With a soft click, the old lock sprang open.
With bated breath, they watched as Filch slowly lifted the lid. And there, nestled amongst a pile of cobwebs and a few forgotten Quidditch rulebooks, gleaming dully in the dim light, was the Hufflepuff House Cup. A collective gasp went around the room.
Minerva's eyes narrowed dangerously as she turned to Filch, her voice a low, perilous rumble. "Argus, why is the House Cup in your office?"
Filch stammered, his earlier glee evaporating into a look of genuine bewilderment. "I… I don't know, Professor! I truly don't! I did take it out, you see, only to polish it. It was looking a bit grimy. But I put it right back in its display case in the Hufflepuff common room when I was done! I swear on my life, I did!"
Echo, however, had already reached into the chest and carefully lifted the House Cup out. His black hair, which had been a thoughtful blue, flared to a disgusted red. He held the cup up for everyone to see. "He definitely didn't take it," Echo declared, his voice firm, "because if he did clean it, then why does it have all these… blood smears all over it?"
All the professors gasped again, their eyes widening in horror as they stared at the dark, reddish-brown stains marring the gleaming gold surface of the House Cup. It was unmistakably blood. Filch, his face now ashen, took a step back, his eyes fixed on the cup with a mixture of terror and revulsion.
Echo then narrowed his eyes, his red hair flickering to a thoughtful blue. "And look here," he added, his voice low, "there are fingerprints all over it too." He looked at Mr. Filch. "May I see your finger, Mr. Filch? Just your pointer finger."
Mr. Filch, looking utterly bewildered, slowly extended a gnarled, bony finger. Echo carefully compared it to a faint smudge on the cup. "No," Echo declared, shaking his head, his blue hair darkening to a firm black. "These aren't your fingerprints, Mr. Filch. They're… far too meaty."
Dumbledore, his eyes gleaming with renewed interest, stepped forward. "Indeed, Mr. Echo, there are ways of discerning such things." With a flick of his wand, he cast a strange, shimmering Revelio spell over the cup. Tiny, luminous lines, like faint energy signatures, pulsed around the fingerprints. Dumbledore peered closely, then looked at Mr. Filch. "As Mr. Echo surmised, the prints on the cup are not yours, Mr. Filch."
Professor Flitwick, ever the pragmatist, chirped, "Then whose are they, and why would they put it in your office, Mr. Filch?"
Echo, his black hair settling into a thoughtful purple, looked at the chest, then at the other professors. "Perhaps they were trying to kill two birds with one stone," he mused aloud. "Get rid of Sniffles, framing him for the crime. And when the cup was finally found in Mr. Filch's office, he would be fired. But it would be too late to get Sniffles back by then. Mr. Filch did say he never opens that chest and keeps it locked. It could have been months before they found it again."
Madam Hooch nodded slowly. "That's a good theory, Mr. Echo, but we still need to know who did it. And our only lead is the cat, and it's not like she can tell us."
Echo's eyes lit up, his purple hair flaring a brilliant red. "Oh, but she can," he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. He gently placed the House Cup back in the chest, then carefully lifted Mrs. Norris onto a nearby, dusty table. "Mrs. Norris," he said, his voice calm and steady, "I need you to remain absolutely still. Don't move a muscle, not even a whisker, or I might accidentally fry my own mind."
Minerva McGonagall, despite knowing Echo's unique ability to connect with the minds of magical beasts and perceive what they see, hear, and smell, and even access their memories, still looked apprehensive. "Mr. Echo, what exactly are you doing?"
"I'm going to look into Mrs. Norris's memories," Echo explained, his red hair blazing with fierce concentration. "And even though I wish Severus were here to keep me grounded, I've had a lot of practice, so I should be fine."
All the professors immediately protested, rushing forward. "Mr. Echo, wait!" Minerva exclaimed, her hand outstretched. "This is highly dangerous! You could permanently damage your own mind, or Mrs. Norris's!"
Dumbledore, though his eyes held a flicker of concern, remained remarkably calm. "Perhaps it would be best to reconsider, Mr. Echo. There are other methods we can employ—"
But Echo was already deep in concentration. His red hair blazed fiercely, a halo of vibrant energy around his head. His eyes, usually hollow, now seemed to glow with an intense, otherworldly light, fixed unblinkingly on Mrs. Norris. The cat, in turn, remained perfectly still, her own red eyes wide and unblinking, locked with Echo's. A faint, almost imperceptible hum filled the cramped office, as if the very air was vibrating with unspoken magic.
The scene shifted around Echo, not physically, but within his mind. The dusty office melted away, replaced by the hushed, empty corridors of the castle at night. He was seeing through Mrs. Norris's eyes, a world of muted colors and heightened senses. The scent of dust and old parchment was overwhelming, the faint scuttling of mice a symphony in the quiet. He saw a figure, cloaked and shadowy, moving with a strange, almost furtive grace. The figure slipped silently into the Hufflepuff common room – a flash of badger colors, a glint of gold – and then emerged, the House Cup clutched tightly in its hands.
The cloaked figure then took a shortcut, weaving through the dimly lit greenhouses, the damp earth and pungent scent of magical plants filling the air. As they neared Filch's office, a sudden, swift movement in the shadows. Something invisible, something fast, struck the cloaked figure. A muffled yelp, a frantic struggle, and a clang as the cup hit the stone floor. The figure, clearly disoriented, quickly fumbled with the chest, practically throwing the cup inside. With a hurried click, the lock engaged. Then, almost as an afterthought, the cloak was yanked off and flung onto a hook near the door, and the figure fled, locking the office door behind them. With a sudden, violent jolt, Echo was back in the cluttered office, the hum fading. His eyes, wide and unfocused, stared blankly for a moment before snapping shut. He gasped, a ragged, desperate sound, as if he had been holding his breath for an eternity. His body swayed precariously, threatening to collapse.
Madam Hooch, reacting swiftly, caught him just as his knees buckled, her strong hands steadying him. "Echo! Are you alright?" she asked, her voice laced with genuine concern.
Echo blinked, his black hair slowly fading back to its calm, thoughtful blue. He took a few shaky breaths. "Yeah," he rasped, pushing himself upright, a faint tremor still in his limbs. "Yeah, I'm okay. That wasn't half as bad as I thought it would be." He rubbed his temples.
Minerva, her face pale, looked at him with alarm. "You were completely still for a full minute, Mr. Echo! We thought you'd given yourself a stroke!"
Dumbledore, his expression serious, stepped forward. "Did you see anything, Mr. Echo? Anything at all?"
Echo nodded slowly, his blue hair flickering with the last remnants of the intense vision. "I did through Mrs. Norris's memories. I saw someone in a cloak enter the Hufflepuff common room and take the cup. They used a shortcut through the greenhouses and made it to the office, where… something attacked them. Something invisible, maybe. They threw the cup into the chest, locked it up, and threw the cloak on that hook over there before leaving, everything locked back up like it was." Echo's eyes drifted to a hook on the back of the office door, where a dark, heavy rain cloak hung limply. "It was that cloak."
Filch, who had been listening with increasing bewilderment, sputtered. "That's my rain cloak, Mr. Echo! I've had it for years!"
Echo walked over to the cloak, his hollow eyes narrowing. With a careful hand, he lifted the hood. "Then why," he said, his voice low, as his fingers traced the fabric inside the hood, "are there more blood smears, right here, around the inside of the hood?"
Minerva gasped, stepping forward to examine the cloak herself. The dark stains were undeniable, stark against the fabric. She turned to Echo, her voice sharp with renewed urgency. "Who was it, Mr. Echo? Who was in the cloak?"
Echo shook his head, his blue hair darkening to a firm, knowing black. "It wasn't Mr. Filch. If it were, Mrs. Norris would have been at his heels, not watching silently from a distance. And the figure was shorter, stockier, and had better posture than Mr. Filch." He paused, then added, with a small, apologetic shrug, "No offense, Mr. Filch."
Filch merely grumbled, still looking utterly bewildered by the turn of events.
Dumbledore, however, stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Shorter, stockier, better posture… and prone to leaving bloody fingerprints. That narrows it down considerably."
"Then there's the mystery attacker," Filch rasped, still trying to process the unfolding events.
Echo's eyes, however, fell back on the House Cup. He leaned closer, a flicker of curiosity in his black hair. "Hello, little friend," he murmured, his voice soft. "What are you doing here?" He held out a finger, and a tiny, twig-like creature, perfectly camouflaged against the dark wood of the chest, unpeeled itself from the cup. It was a Bowtruckle, its delicate, stick-like fingers covered in dry, reddish-brown blood.
Minerva gasped. "That explains the invisible attacker! The Bowtruckle must have been in the greenhouse, but why attack?"
"Like Nifflers, Minerva," Dumbledore explained, a knowing glint in his eyes, "Bowtruckles are drawn to shiny things. It was likely protecting its newly acquired treasure."
Madam Hooch nodded slowly. "While that helps, we still need to find the person in the cloak. And it's not like we can ask the Bowtruckle."
Echo got that same intense, focused look in his eyes, but before he could say anything, all the professors chorused, "No!"
Echo sighed, his red hair fading to a resigned black. "Fine," he conceded. "I won't look through the Bowtruckle's memories. But I do have a way to sniff out the person. I'll go get them."
Without waiting for a response, Echo left the office. Out in the hallway, he pulled out his wand, took a deep breath, and muttered, "I hope this works." He pointed his wand down the corridor and, with a clear, firm voice, called out, "Accio Sirius Black!"
A whooshing sound, followed by a surprised yelp, echoed through the corridor. With a sudden jerk, Sirius Black shot down the hallway, as if pulled by an invisible string, coming to an abrupt halt directly in front of Echo, who was beaming with unbridled delight.
"It worked!" Echo cheered, his black hair blazing with a triumphant yellow. "I knew it would!"
Sirius, a bit dazed from his unexpected flight, blinked rapidly. He looked down at himself, then back at Echo, a bewildered expression on his face. "Echo? What in Merlin's name are you doing?! I was busy!"
Echo merely scoffed, his yellow hair dancing with amusement. "Busy? Please. You're still wearing all your clothes, and you don't even smell like Remus. I highly doubt you were doing anything important."
"Hey!" Sirius protested, though a faint blush rose on his cheeks. "What do you want?"
Echo's smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "I need your Animagus form. We need to sniff out the culprit of the stolen House Cup. We have enough of their scent; all you have to do is follow it."
Sirius raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And what's in it for me?"
Echo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What do you want?"
Sirius leaned in, a wide, suggestive grin spreading across his face, and whispered something into Echo's ear.
Echo's eyes widened, his face flushing a furious red. He gasped, then slapped Sirius hard across the arm. "You can go to hell before I ever do something like that, Sirius Black!"
Sirius rubbed his arm, a sheepish grin replacing his earlier mischievous one. "Alright, alright! Sorry! Fine, I won't ask for that." He paused, then his eyes lit up with a new idea. "Instead, you have to take me flying on Wick's back!"
Echo let out a long, put-upon sigh, his red hair slowly fading back to black. "You're lucky Wick likes men more than women."
With a confident grin, Sirius transformed with a soft POP into a large, shaggy black dog. Echo nodded, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips, and then, holding the House Cup once more, he led the dog-Sirius back into Filch's office.
The professors, who had been waiting patiently, looked up in surprise as Echo entered, a large, black dog trotting obediently at his heels.
"Mr. Echo," Minerva began, her brow furrowing, "where did you get that dog?"
Echo shrugged, a wide, innocent smile on his face. "Oh, him? He's just a stray. I call him Mangy." He shot a quick, amused glance at the dog, who glared back at him, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
"Mangy," Echo continued, ignoring the growl, "go sniff."
Dog-Sirius, still grumbling, nevertheless obeyed. He padded over to the chest, sniffing deeply at the House Cup. He then moved to the rain cloak, his nose working intently, before finally, and with a visible shudder, sniffing the Bowtruckle's blood-covered fingers. He looked back at Echo, a distinct expression of disgust on his canine face. Then, with a playful growl, he pretended to snap at the Bowtruckle, making it recoil in alarm.
"Mangy!" Echo warned, his voice sharp. "If you eat the Bowtruckle, I swear, I will shave your everything."
Dog-Sirius immediately froze, a look of profound horror on his face. The thought of being a hairless dog, and the terrifying possibility that it might carry over into his human form, was enough to deter him. He let out a whimper, then, with renewed purpose, lowered his nose to the ground, sniffing around the office. After a few moments, he trotted purposefully towards the door, his tail giving a single, decisive wag. He then led them out of the office and into the dimly lit castle corridors.
Dog-Sirius trotted with a determined gait, his nose to the ground, occasionally letting out a low sniff. Echo followed closely, the House Cup still in his hand, a small, triumphant smile playing on his lips. Behind them, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Hooch, and a gleefully anticipating Filch hurried to keep pace.
The ten minutes stretched on, marked by Sirius's rhythmic padding of paws and Professor Flitwick's growing exasperation. They navigated a maze of familiar corridors past suits of armor and tapestries depicting ancient battles.
"Mr. Echo," Flitwick chirped, finally breaking the silence, a hint of weariness in his voice. "Are you certain this… Mangy… truly knows where he is going? We have been following him for over ten minutes, and I could swear we have passed that portrait of the grumpy-looking knight three times now."
As if on cue, the grumpy-looking knight in the painting cleared his throat. "Indeed you have, young sir," he grumbled, his painted eyes narrowing at the passing procession. "Three times, I tell you. And you still haven't brought me a decent cup of mead."
Echo merely chuckled, his black hair flickering with amusement. "Don't worry, Professor Flitwick," he said, reassuringly. "If there's anyone who can sniff out an asshole, it's Mangy. Besides," he added, a mischievous glint in his eye, "maybe our thief knows we're onto them and is trying to run away."
Suddenly, a series of frantic screams echoed through the stone corridors, followed by a furious bark from Sirius. Dog-Sirius, his tail now wagging frantically, his head snapping up, finally caught a strong scent. With a burst of speed, he tore down the corridor in the direction of the screams, leaving the professors and Echo scrambling to keep up. They rounded a corner to find a scene of utter pandemonium. Vincent Crabbe, his usually bullish frame cowering, was backed against a wall, his eyes wide with terror. Cornering him were two sleek, wild-looking Kneazles, their fur bristling and their eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. And right alongside them, with a look of feline triumph, was Mrs. Norris, her tail lashing furiously.
"Jack! Jenny!" Echo exclaimed, recognizing the Kneazles. He immediately ran forward, dog-Sirius barking excitedly at Crabbe's heels. Echo scooped up the two Kneazles, one under each arm, their growls subsiding into contented purrs as they nudged their heads against his chest.
"Professor Dumbledore!" Crabbe whined, practically trembling. "These… these wild beasts attacked me out of nowhere! They should be chased off school grounds, with all other magical creatures!"
Echo, still holding the purring Kneazles, merely scoffed. His black hair, which had been a thoughtful blue, flared with a confident yellow. "Wild beasts? More like Mrs. Norris figured out who the real thief was and went to get some backup." He nodded towards Mrs. Norris, who was still standing proudly beside dog-Sirius, her red eyes fixed on Crabbe.
Filch, his face beaming with pride, immediately bent down and began petting Mrs. Norris with an almost reverent hand. "Good girl, Mrs. Norris! A very good girl!"
Crabbe, still looking terrified and indignant, stammered, "Me? You think I took the cup? That's… that's crazy talk! Why would I take the House Cup?"
"Because you're the one who immediately pointed your finger at Sniffles, weren't you?" Echo retorted, his yellow hair darkening to a firm black. "You were so quick to blame him, even before we knew anything for sure."
"It was the most likely outcome!" Crabbe argued, his voice rising in desperation. "Everyone knows nifflers steal shiny things!"
Echo merely raised an eyebrow, gesturing to dog-Sirius. "Then why," he challenged, his voice low and pointed, "did Mangy follow the scent directly to you?"
Crabbe's eyes darted nervously to the large black dog, who let out a low, menacing growl. "He… he was probably just drawn to the Kneazles!" he insisted, trying to sound convincing. "They're wild, powerful creatures, of course, a dog would be interested!"
Minerva McGonagall, who had been observing the entire exchange with a keen, unblinking gaze, finally spoke, her voice sharp and uncompromising. "That, Mr. Crabbe, is not the case." Her eyes, though still fixed on Crabbe, held a brief, almost imperceptible flicker of amusement as she glanced at dog-Sirius. "Mangy is far too intelligent to be simply 'drawn' to other magical creatures without a purpose."
The Bowtruckle, having made its way onto Echo's face, now frantically tried to climb off, its tiny, twig-like fingers scrabbling towards Crabbe. Its delicate, blood-stained digits seemed intensely drawn to the cowering boy.
"He certainly seems very interested in you, Crabbe," Echo observed, a sly smile playing on his lips, his black hair flickering with amusement.
Before Crabbe could stammer out another denial, Dog-Sirius, with a sudden, swift movement, lunged forward. His nose had twitched, catching a new scent, and he'd spotted something glinting in Crabbe's back pocket. With a triumphant growl, he snatched a small bottle from it, just as Crabbe made a desperate attempt to swipe it back. Dog-Sirius then trotted proudly to Minerva, dropping the bottle at her feet.
Minerva, her eyes narrowing, picked up the small, glass vial. It was filled with a swirling, emerald-green liquid. "Mr. Crabbe," she said, her voice sharp, "what is this?"
Echo, without a moment's hesitation, reached out and plucked the bottle from Minerva's hand. Before anyone could react, he uncorked it and took a large swig.
Minerva gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Echo! What in Merlin's name—"
Echo swallowed, a thoughtful expression on his face. He waited a moment, then shrugged, his black hair settling into a nonchalant yellow. "It's not poison."
"That is hardly the point, Mr. Echo!" Minerva scolded, her eyes blazing. "You could have seriously harmed yourself!"
"Relax, Professor," Echo countered, waving a dismissive hand. "You're all here, aren't you? If I dropped dead, you'd have been able to revive me. Besides," he added, looking at the bottle again, "this is a healing potion. And it's half-empty." He turned his gaze to Crabbe, his yellow hair darkening to a probing black. "Got an injury recently, Crabbe?"
Crabbe, still visibly shaken, stammered, "No! It's… It's an old potion. I twisted my ankle last week. Used it then."
Dumbledore, ever the observant one, stepped forward and took the bottle from Echo. He sniffed the contents. "It smells quite fresh, Mr. Crabbe," he said, his voice soft but firm, "for a potion that was made weeks ago."
Crabbe's face flushed. He clenched his fists, his eyes darting around. "Even if… even if I did take the cup, and I'm not saying I did," he spat, his voice laced with defiance, "there's no way you could make me talk."
Echo's smile returned, cold and calm. His black hair, however, flared a chilling, mischievous purple. He turned his head slightly towards his shoulder and, in a voice that was barely above a whisper, said, "Shimmer, cut off his dick."
Shimmer materialized on Echo's shoulder, subtle. A tiny, gleaming knife clutched in its delicate fingers, its intelligent eyes fixed on Crabbe.
Crabbe let out a strangled yelp, his hands immediately flying to cover his crotch. "Fine! Fine! I did it! Just… just keep that… that monkey away from me!" he shrieked, his voice laced with pure terror.
Minerva, her expression stern, turned to Crabbe. "Mr. Crabbe, whatever your reasons for this transgression, we will discuss them thoroughly in the Headmaster's office." Dumbledore nodded gravely in agreement. "Furthermore, you will serve detention for the remainder of the school year, and twenty points will be deducted from Slytherin." She then turned to Echo, her gaze softening slightly. "Mr. Echo, thirty points will be awarded to Slytherin for your timely and effective assistance in resolving this little mystery."
As the professors began to disperse, Filch practically vibrated with excitement at the thought of overseeing Crabbe's punishment, a gleam in his eyes. Dumbledore, with a firm hand on Crabbe's shoulder, led the bewildered student away towards his office. Minerva, meanwhile, leaned down to Sirius, who had transformed back into his human form. "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Black," she said, a faint smile touching her lips. "Ten points to Gryffindor for your contribution."
Sirius beamed, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "Anything for you, Professor!" He then turned to Echo, a triumphant grin on his face. "Wick ride, remember? You promised!"
Echo rolled his eyes, but a small smile touched his lips. "Yeah, yeah, I remember, 'Mangy'." He handed the House Cup to Professor McGonagall, who accepted it with a relieved sigh.
"Echo," she said, a hint of genuine gratitude in her voice, "you continue to surprise me. Your methods may be… unconventional, but they are undeniably effective."
Echo merely shrugged, his black hair flickering with a casual yellow. "Just doing my job, Professor. And keeping things interesting." He then looked at the two Kneazles still cradled in his arms, who were purring loudly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go make sure Jack and Jenny don't accidentally murder Peter in his sleep for calling them wild beasts."
McGonagall actually chuckled, a rare and unexpected sound. "Very well, Mr. Echo. Just… try to keep the collateral damage to a minimum."
As Echo walked away, the two Kneazles still purring contentedly, Professor McGonagall watched him go, a thoughtful expression on her face. Dumbledore, who had rejoined her after leading Crabbe away, merely smiled.
"A remarkable young man, wouldn't you agree, Minerva?" Dumbledore mused, his eyes twinkling.
McGonagall sighed, but a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. "Remarkable, Albus. And utterly exhausting."
Cont "So, Echo," Sirius began, falling into step beside him as they walked through the bustling corridors, the two Kneazles still cradled in Echo's arms, purring contentedly. "Aren't you a bit worried about Crabbe trying something else? Or Goyle? Or even Lucius, for that matter? They don't usually take kindly to being publicly humiliated, especially when Slytherin loses points."
Echo merely shrugged, his black hair flickering with a dismissive yellow. "Nah. This is just another little tidbit for their ever-growing pile, isn't it? Besides," he added, a sly grin playing on his lips. He gestured with his chin towards the two Kneazles in his arms, whose eyes flashed a deep, intelligent violet as they looked at Echo. " Little brother is always watching."
Sirius blinked, a confused expression on his face. "Little brother? Whose little brother?"
Echo rolled his eyes, a familiar exasperation touching his voice. "I'm talking about myself, obviously. And I can't exactly call myself 'Big Brother,' now can I? You know, like the government? It just wouldn't be right, me being so young and small and all."
Sirius chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, you are still a little guy, Echo. Despite being thirteen, you're not exactly towering over any of us, are you?"
Echo's yellow hair flared a warning red. "Don't patronize me, Sirius."
Sirius, however, ignored the warning. "Oh, but you are a little guy! Such a little, little guy!" He then, with a dramatic grunt, attempted to lift Echo under his arms, intending to hoist him into the air. But Echo, despite his apparent small stature, barely budged. Sirius grunted again, straining, his face reddening with effort, before he finally gave up with a huff. "Wow," he breathed, shaking his head. "You may be small, Echo, but you are definitely not little. You're quite hefty, actually. You really need to lay off the chocolate."
Echo let out a long, put-upon sigh, his red hair fading to a resigned black. "Yeah," he mumbled, looking down at the two purring Kneazles in his arms, "I think this is definitely my wake-up call."
Later that night, under a sky studded with glittering stars, Wick soared through the cool night air, her massive wings beating a slow, powerful rhythm. Echo sat comfortably on her neck, his black hair a calm, focused blue as he guided the dragon with gentle nudges and soft commands. Behind him, however, chaos reigned. Sirius, high on exhilaration, stood precariously on Wick's broad back, his arms outstretched like a madman, yelling joyous, incoherent shouts that were quickly snatched away by the wind. The luminous pink speedo, still his attire from the beach, glowed faintly in the moonlight.
"Sirius, sit down, you maniac!" Echo yelled over the rush of the wind, his voice laced with a familiar exasperation. "This isn't a boat ride over water! This is a several-hundred-foot drop onto solid ground!"
Sirius merely threw his head back, a wild laugh escaping him. "I'm fine, Echo! Never better!"
"No, you're not!" Echo retorted, bracing himself as Wick banked slightly.
"I bet I could surf on Wick's tail!" Sirius shouted back, his voice full of audacious challenge.
"Don't you dare—" Echo began, but Sirius was already attempting to shift his weight. Echo let out a long, put-upon sigh, his black hair flickering with a resigned red. He really was starting to regret this.
Just then, Shimmer, who had been perched silently on Echo's shoulder, poked him gently. Echo looked at the Demiguise, whose intelligent eyes were wide and fixed on something below. Echo followed Shimmer's gaze, his eyes widening.
Far below, a pink streak plummeted through the darkness.
Echo, in a voice that was eerily calm, merely stated, "Oh. He fell off. Well, I told him." He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Maybe we should just let him fall."
Wick, however, let out a soft, rumbling sound, a gentle remonstrance.
"Yeah, you're right," Echo conceded with another sigh. "We should probably catch him."
With a powerful dip of her wings, Wick dove. The wind shrieked past them as they plummeted, a controlled descent that drew them ever closer to the rapidly approaching ground. With surprising grace, Wick extended a claw, snagging Sirius by the back of his ridiculous swimwear just before he hit a particularly thorny-looking bush.
Wick landed softly in a clearing, gently depositing a sputtering, disoriented Sirius into a patch of soft grass. Sirius scrambled to his feet, brushing off leaves, a triumphant grin already spreading across his face. "Again! Let's do it again!" he cheered, completely oblivious to the near-death experience he'd just had.
Echo, still on Wick's back, merely pinched the bridge of his nose, his black hair settling into a resigned grey. "Not again," he muttered, shaking his head. "Not ever again."