The Great Hall buzzed with the excited chatter of students, a familiar hum that usually brought a sense of lightness and anticipation. But for Echo, it felt heavy. He sat, as he often did these days, at a small, separate table nestled in the back of the hall, slightly apart from the main house tables. Beside him were the familiar, comforting presences of Lily, Severus, Amos, and Frank. His hair, a subdued black, mirrored the quiet turmoil within him. The end-of-year feast was supposed to be a celebration, but a knot of unease tightened in his stomach.
Dumbledore, resplendent in his crimson robes, rose from the head table, his eyes twinkling as he surveyed the gathered students. The buzz in the hall slowly died down to a respectful hush. "Another year, almost over!" he boomed, his voice resonating through the enchanted ceiling. "And with it, the time has come to announce the winner of the House Cup!"
A ripple of excitement went through the hall. One by one, the Heads of House rose, each adding a last-minute flourish of points for their respective houses. Professor Bloom awarded Hufflepuff twenty points for outstanding dedication to Herbology. Professor McGonagall, with a stern but proud look, granted Gryffindor fifty points for their exceptional performance in a recent Transfiguration practical. Even Professor Cleen, looking a little green around the gills, managed to eke out fifteen points for Ravenclaw for a particularly impressive essay on advanced potion-making.
Finally, Professor Flitwick, small and sprightly, stood up, clearing his throat. His voice, usually a cheerful squeak, held a surprising gravity. "And now, for a truly extraordinary accomplishment, one that even I feel is deserving of far more recognition than our system allows... I would like to award House Slytherin a grand total of eighty house points!"
A collective gasp swept through the Great Hall. "Eighty points?" someone whispered loudly. "For Slytherin?" Murmuring erupted, a mix of shock and disbelief. Every head in the hall leaned in, eager to hear what unprecedented achievement could have possibly garnered such a massive point allocation for the usually maligned house.
Flitwick, basking in the sudden, undivided attention, beamed. "Indeed, eighty points! And even that, I believe, is too low for the sheer brilliance and innovation displayed by one remarkable student. A young second-year, mind you, who has taken a very underappreciated and undervalued core class of magic study and, through sheer ingenuity and tireless effort, has not only mastered it but transformed it entirely, turning it into its own distinct and powerful class of magic!"
The hall was silent, hanging on his every word.
"I speak, of course," Flitwick declared, his voice ringing with pride, "of the creation of the burgeoning field of Beast Magic! Designed, developed, and demonstrated by none other than... Mr. Echo!"
Loud "What?!"s and gasps tore through the Great Hall. The murmuring that followed was deafening, a chaotic symphony of shock, confusion, and outrage. Echo, who had been idly stirring his mashed potatoes, nearly choked, spitting his food back onto his plate. Beside him, Lily gasped, dropping her fork with a clatter. Severus, in a rare display of clumsiness, nearly knocked over his goblet of pumpkin juice. Amos stared blankly, a half-eaten chicken leg frozen halfway to his mouth, and Frank simply stared, eyes wide with astonishment.
Dumbledore, after allowing the stunned silence to settle once more, smiled warmly. "With Professor Flitwick's generous and entirely deserved, last-minute points, the tally is in! And this year's winner of the Hogwarts House Cup is... House Slytherin!"
A moment of stunned silence, then the Slytherin table, or rather, the first-years at the Slytherin table, erupted in a cacophony of cheers and triumphant applause. They jumped up and down, hooting and clapping, genuinely thrilled by their unexpected victory. The older Slytherins, however, along with almost every other student from every other house, were a different story. Glare after glare, seething with a potent mix of hatred, anger, and jealousy, was cast directly at Echo. The polite, sparse applause that followed was clearly out of obligation, not kindness.
Echo's eyes slowly drifted towards the Slytherin table, seeing only the first-years celebrating, not for him, but simply because they had won. The older students, the ones who usually led the house, stared at him as if he had just personally soiled the Slytherin name. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to disappear, to vanish from the Great Hall and all those condemning eyes. Sure, he had wanted to reveal his created magic to the world eventually, but now was far too early, and with his reputation already in tatters, it clearly had the opposite effect he had hoped for.
Oh well, he thought, a familiar defiance hardening his gaze. He still had his friends. As long as he had Lily, Severus, Amos, and Frank, he didn't care if the entire school hated him.
Echo blinked, his blue hair flickering with a slow, confused uncertainty. He looked up from his plate of chicken, expecting to see Frank, Amos still deep in their Quidditch debate, Lily eating her roast beef, and Severus nose deep in another book. But the chairs around him were empty. His friends were gone. A cold, unsettling feeling began to spread through his stomach. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Had he been connecting to too many magical creature minds, blurring the lines of reality? He looked again, more intently this time. No, they truly weren't there. They had simply risen and returned to their respective tables. They...they left him.
A knot tightened in his chest. Was it something he did? Did he say something, do something? Was it because he never fully explained why he could summon creatures out of thin air? Was it because he won the House Cup? Surely Severus wouldn't think that; he won the House Cup, that means something...right? So why? They were his friends, they had his back, just like how he had theirs. So why were they leaving him? Why didn't they say anything to him? Did they hate him? Were they jealous of him as well? No, no, they couldn't...right?
But then he looked toward his friends and saw them all talking at their tables. While looking back at him, a cold feeling sat in his stomach. They did abandon him. They left him. He was...alone. All alone once again. He tried not to think of it, to ignore the stares and whispers, but that didn't work. As Dumbledore told the students to begin the feast, Echo couldn't hear him over the whispers flooding his ears and the eyes staring at him from all sides. He began to panic. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't be here. He couldn't be anywhere. He didn't belong anywhere! He was no one, and he was alone, all alone once again.
Before Echo panicked, he connected to Shimmer and used Shimmer's invisibility to vanish. From there, he jumped from his seat and ran out—ran out of the hall. Anyone who saw him vanish soon saw the Great Hall doors fly open by an invisible force.
He ran, blindly at first, his feet pounding against the stone corridors. The whispers, the stares, the suffocating sense of abandonment—it all echoed in his mind, chasing him. He didn't know where he was going, only that he had to get away, far away from the judgmental eyes and the crushing weight of his loneliness. He fled through familiar passages, past silent portraits and empty classrooms, until he finally burst out into the cool night air.
The Astronomy Tower was his destination. He scrambled up the winding staircase, his breath coming in ragged gasps, until he reached the very top. The crisp night wind whipped around him, pulling at his invisible form. Shimmer made himself visible, its large, worried eyes fixed on him. Sniffles, too, appeared, chittering softly as it nudged his hand. Echo, still invisible, slumped against the cold stone railing, the magical chill doing little to numb the ache in his chest. His hair, a chaotic storm of red and blue, slowly settled into a bruised, almost defeated black. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to demand an explanation from his friends, but no sound escaped him. Only a single, hot tear rolled down his cheek, visible for a fleeting moment before the wind snatched it away. He was alone. Truly, utterly alone.
As if summoned by his silent despair, a familiar, comforting presence joined him. Wick, her massive form descending from the sky with a soft whoosh, he body clung to the tower as her massive head poked inside and settled beside him, her warm scales radiating a gentle heat that cut through the night's chill. She nudged him with her snout, a low, rumbling purr vibrating through his invisible body. Echo leaned into her, burying his face in her scales, the raw pain in his chest finally breaking free in silent, shuddering sobs.
"They left me, Wick," he whispered, his voice choked. "They all left me. Again."
Wick merely rumbled, a deep, knowing sound, and gently wrapped her tail around him, a silent embrace. Shimmer chittered sadly, patting his arm with a tiny, concerned hand. Sniffles, with an unusual solemnity, curled up on his knee.
The night wore on, punctuated only by the soft cries of nocturnal creatures and the gentle murmur of the wind. Echo eventually cried himself out, the raw edge of his pain dulling to a weary ache. He felt numb, empty, yet oddly clear.
"I can't trust anyone, can I?" he murmured, looking out at the glittering expanse of stars. "Not really. Is this what Professor Starlit meant by I'd be betrayed?"
Wick nudged him again, a soft huff of warm air escaping her nostrils.
"I know," he sighed, patting her scales. "I have you. And Shimmer. And Sniffles. But it's not the same."
But even the comfort of his creatures couldn't fully mend the gaping wound in his heart. A few moments later, a soft tap-tap-tap echoed from the winding stairs. Echo didn't stir, still draped forlornly over Wick's face like a sad Disney princess, his invisible form shaking with silent sobs. His hair remained a desolate grey, mirroring the bleak landscape of his emotions. Professor Flitwick, small and sprightly as ever, appeared at the top of the stairs, his brow furrowed with concern. He had been wondering where Echo had gone off to. He had fully expected the boy to enjoy the feast, revel in the congratulations, and be surrounded by his friends. Why, then, had he run off? He had won the House Cup, a truly momentous achievement for Slytherin!
As Flitwick took a step closer, Echo's invisible form disappeared, and he turned visible again. The grey hair on his head abruptly flared a furious red, and he visibly materialized, jumping off Wick's head. His eyes, though still red-rimmed, blazed with a raw, indignant anger as he glared at the Charms Master.
"It's all your fault!" Echo screamed, his voice hoarse and trembling, the words ripping from his throat with visceral pain.
Flitwick, taken aback, blinked. "My… my fault, Mr. Echo? Whatever do you mean by that, my boy?"
"Because of you!" Echo shrieked, tears still streaming down his face, now mingled with furious indignation. "Because of you, I no longer have any friends! I went from a small group of friends I could trust to no one at all! Now I have no one, and the whole school hates me even more because you blabbed and gave house points for my Beast Magic!"
Flitwick raised his hands, trying to placate the distraught boy. "Echo, please, listen to me. I just wanted you to get some credit for all your hard work, and I thought—"
"I don't care for the reasons!" Echo cut him off, his voice cracking with a fresh wave of despair. "I don't care about your intentions, Professor! The end result is me losing everyone in the span of a few sentences! I hate you!" With a final, broken sob, Echo turned and launched himself over the railing of the Astronomy Tower and grabbed onto WWick's back.
"Echo! Wait!" Flitwick cried, rushing to the railing, but the boy was already gone. Wick, with a mournful rumble, detached herself from the tower and, with a powerful beat of her massive wings, soared into the dark sky, disappearing into the Forbidden Forest with her heartbroken rider on her back.
Flitwick stood alone, staring out at the empty expanse, his small frame trembling with a mixture of shock and profound guilt. He had only wanted to help.
A few moments later, Minerva McGonagall arrived, her usually stern features etched with concern. "Filius? What in Merlin's name was that commotion? I heard the tail end of… an argument, it seemed."
Flitwick turned, his face pale. "Minerva," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "It was Echo. He… he said it was my fault. That he'd lost all his friends."
Minerva's eyebrows furrowed. "Lost his friends? But why? And why would it be your fault?"
"I… I just wanted him to be given some credit for all his hard work," Flitwick explained, wringing his hands. "And maybe finally be accepted in House Slytherin, or even by the wider school body. I know how unpopular he is. I thought I was helping." He paused, a confused frown creasing his brow. "I didn't even want to bring up Echo and his Beast Magic at first, not until I received your letter."
Minerva looked utterly bewildered. "My letter, Filius? What letter?"
Flitwick looked equally confused. "The letter you sent to me, Minerva. The one saying Echo and his accomplishment should be brought up at the feast and be given proper house points for it." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tightly folded piece of parchment, handing it to her.
Minerva took the letter, her gaze immediately scanning the familiar script.
Dear Filius,
I trust this letter finds you well amidst the end-of-year rush. I am writing to you today regarding Mr. Echo's remarkable achievement in developing what he has so aptly termed "Beast Magic." While we initially discussed waiting until his fifth year for a formal presentation, I have had a change of heart.
Given the sheer ingenuity and transformative nature of his work, it would be highly beneficial, not only for Mr. Echo but for the entire school, to acknowledge his accomplishment at the end-of-year feast. It is an extraordinary feat, and I feel he must receive the recognition he truly deserves.
Therefore, I urge you to bring up Mr. Echo's creation of Beast Magic during the House Cup announcement. Furthermore, I believe it is entirely appropriate, and indeed necessary, to award House Slytherin a significant number of house points for this groundbreaking contribution to magical study. I suggest a substantial allocation, one that truly reflects the monumental impact of his work.
I understand this is a last-minute request, but I believe the benefits of publicly acknowledging Mr. Echo's brilliance now outweigh any logistical challenges.
Thank you for your understanding and cooperation
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Head of Gryffindor
Deputy Headmistress
Her eyes narrowed. "This… this may be my penmanship and signature, Filius," she said slowly, her voice laced with a growing suspicion. But I never sent or wrote this."
"Are you sure?" Flitwick asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Perhaps you forgot in all the last-minute grades you had to do?"
Minerva shook her head vehemently. "Absolutely not, Filius. I am quite certain. Furthermore, I intended to wait for Echo to fully develop and refine his magic in his fifth year at the earliest. We discussed this, Filius, remember?"
A cold dread settled over Flitwick as the realization dawned on him. He had been tricked. Manipulated. And now… Echo was alone. A profound, overwhelming sense of guilt washed over him, leaving him feeling hollow and sick.
Flitwick clutched his chest, his breath catching in his throat. "Oh, Merlin's beard, Minerva! I've ruined him! I've utterly ruined Echo! His social life… gone! All because of me!" His small frame trembled, his face a mask of profound distress.
Minerva placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Filius, stop that at once. It is not your fault. You were tricked, purely and simply. Someone deliberately fabricated that letter to manipulate you."
"But I should have known better!" Flitwick wailed, tears welling in his eyes. "I should have confirmed with you! We could have avoided all of this! Echo wouldn't be… wouldn't be a martyr now, ostracized by his friends and the entire school!"
"I understand your regret, Filius," Minerva said, her voice softening, though her expression remained grim. "But what's done is done. We cannot undo it now."
"I have to fix this, Minerva!" Flitwick insisted, pushing away from her, a desperate energy coursing through him. "I have to make it right!"
"Filius, listen to me," Minerva said, her voice firm, stopping him mid-stride. "It's the final day of the school year. The students leave for their homes tomorrow morning. There is no way to fix this tonight, not before they disperse for the summer. The only thing we can do is devise a plan over the holidays and put it into effect when the new school year begins."
Flitwick let out a long, shuddering sigh, his shoulders slumping in resignation. "You're right, Minerva. You're right, of course." He ran a hand over his face. "But I just wish I could fix it now. I don't want Echo to hate me. Despite his… unconventional magical prowess, he truly is one of my favorite students."
Minerva nodded, a sympathetic look on her face. "I know, Filius. He's a difficult student, certainly, but undeniably gifted. We will find a way to help him, I promise you. For now, let's just ensure he is safe and that this 'letter' is properly investigated." She held up the forged letter, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "This smacks of someone with a very clear agenda. Someone who wanted to isolate Echo, perhaps. Or perhaps someone who wanted to sow discord." She sighed, a rare display of weariness. "This is not over, Filius. Not by a long shot."