The week after the school year ended settled into a quiet, almost monastic routine for Echo. Hogwarts, stripped of its students, offered a serene, albeit melancholic, backdrop to his renewed quest for understanding. He spent most of his days in the Room of Requirement, which he had willed into a comfortable, sprawling study filled with plush armchairs and towering shelves overflowing with ancient tomes.
His primary focus was the Hogwarts founders, especially Salazar Slytherin. Echo devoured every book he could find from the library, seeking to peel back the layers of legend and prejudice that had accumulated over centuries. He read about the initial camaraderie between the four founders and their shared dream of a school where magical children could learn in safety. But then the narratives diverged, often painting Salazar as the dissenting voice, the one obsessed with blood purity, the one who eventually betrayed his friends.
"Evil is never born, it's created," Echo murmured to himself one afternoon, flipping through a particularly biased history of Hogwarts. His black hair, a thoughtful blue, flickered with a determined light. He refused to accept the simplistic narrative of a purely malevolent Slytherin. Something had to have happened, some event or series of events that warped his vision and hardened his heart. He sought to understand the man, to delve into the mentality of his age, to find the cracks in the widely accepted story. He wanted to comprehend the fear that might have driven such an intelligent wizard to such extreme measures.
Amidst his research on the founders, Echo stumbled upon a chapter detailing various magical beasts, and his eyes landed on a particularly chilling entry: Basilisks. He read, with growing horror, about their deadly gaze, the power to kill with a single glance. A cold sweat broke out on his brow as he remembered his first encounter with Pretty, how he had stared directly into her dinner-plate-sized emerald eyes, mesmerized, and yet, he had lived. Panic, sharp and visceral, flared through him, his blue hair momentarily turning a startled red. How was that possible?
He could only assume it was his unique magic, or perhaps the Dark Beast within him, that had protected him. The thought had barely solidified when a low, rumbling growl vibrated deep within him, a clear sign of the Beast's aggravation. It felt like a warning, a primal protest against the strain his actions had put on its own power. Echo, however, merely gritted his teeth. "You'll work for your keep," he muttered under his breath, his red hair flaring with stubborn defiance. "No more just being fed."
Throughout the week, Echo made regular trips to the Hogwarts kitchens. The house-elves, initially startled by his solitary presence, quickly grew accustomed to his requests. He would politely ask for any beef or other meats that were on the verge of spoiling, knowing that Pretty, with her massive appetite, wouldn't mind. Each time, he left Shimmer and Sniffles at the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, a necessary precaution to prevent Pretty from accidentally harming them or, even worse, attempting to make a meal of his smaller companions.
Down in the Chamber, a different kind of learning unfolded. He spent hours with Pretty, sitting on her massive coils, stroking her smooth scales, and speaking to her in Parseltongue. He asked her questions about the castle's past, about Salazar Slytherin, about the world outside her ancient prison. Her knowledge, however, was sparse, fragmented by centuries of isolation. She remembered vague details of her master, the coldness of his touch, his absolute command, and the purpose for which she was left. But the nuances of human ambition and the political machinations of a bygone era were largely lost to her. She was a weapon, not a scholar. Yet in their quiet conversations, a bond deepened, a silent understanding passing between the ancient serpent and the boy who carried the echoes of her master's blood and forged his own path.
One afternoon, as Echo delved deeper into a particularly dense text on ancient magical lineages, a cold shiver ran down his spine. The hairs on his neck stood on end, and an inexplicable sense of being watched prickled at his senses. He spun around, his wand, which he'd been using as a bookmark, leaping into his hand, his black hair flaring a startled red.
Standing silently behind him, her arms crossed and a concerned frown on her lips, was Minerva McGonagall. She wore her usual emerald green robes, but without the usual hustle and bustle of students, her presence was unnervingly quiet.
"Professor McGonagall!" Echo exclaimed, lowering his wand with a sheepish flush. His red hair quickly softened to a confused blue. "You… you startled me."
Minerva offered a faint, apologetic smile. "My apologies, Mr. Echo. I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I merely… I hadn't seen hide nor hair all week. After the unfortunate events at the feast, I didn't wish to disturb you, but you've been like a ghost." Her gaze then drifted to the piles of books scattered around him, her eyes widening slightly as she took in their titles and the open pages. "But what, precisely, have you been doing with yourself, Mr. Echo?"
Echo quickly tried to gather the books, his movements clumsy. Shimmer, sensing his distress, shimmered into visibility and nudged at his hands, trying to use its tiny body to cover the incriminating texts. Sniffles, too, darted out from his satchel, tugging at the edges of the parchments, trying to pull them away from Minerva's view.
"Is there… something you needed, Professor?" Echo asked, trying to sound casual, despite his flickering blue hair.
Minerva's gaze, however, remained fixed on the books, a knowing glint in her eyes. She then sighed, a soft, weary sound. "Come with me, Mr. Echo."
Without another word, she turned and walked out of the Room of Requirement. Echo, after a moment of gathering his frantic creatures and giving them a reassuring pat, quickly followed, a knot of apprehension tightening in his stomach. Their walk was silent, the deserted corridors amplifying the soft tap of their footsteps. They stopped outside her Transfiguration classroom, and Minerva pushed the door open, gesturing for Echo to enter.
Once inside, Minerva turned to him, her expression serious. "Mr. Echo," she began, "the events of the past year, from the feast to… well, to your general reputation, have been quite troubling. It is clear that you have faced a great deal of animosity, much of it undeserved." She paused, her eyes searching his face. "I have been thinking, and I believe I may have a way to, at least in theory, help you re-establish the intrigue of your peers rather than their ire."
Echo frowned, his black hair shifting to a questioning blue. "Intrigue? What do you mean, Professor?"
Minerva's lips curved into a faint, almost mischievous smile. "I propose to help you become an Animagus."
Echo blinked. "Anima-goose?" he repeated, mispronouncing the word. His blue hair flickered with confusion.
Minerva chuckled softly. "Animagus, Mr. Echo. An-i-ma-gus."
"Oh," Echo said, the correct pronunciation finally clicking. "Is that… is that what Peter, Sirius, and James are?" He clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide with horror as he realized his slip. "I… I mean… uh…"
Minerva's smile widened. "It's quite all right, Mr. Echo. I already knew. In fact," she added, her eyes twinkling, "I was the first to discover their little secret."
Echo let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, his hand dropping from his mouth. His blue hair settled into a calmer shade. "Oh, thank Merlin," he mumbled. He then looked at her, a fresh wave of questions bubbling up. "But Professor, why me? And why this, of all things? I've heard it's one of the hardest transfiguration processes out there."
Minerva's smile softened, losing its mischievous edge. "It's a powerful form of magic, Mr. Echo, and yes, it is exceedingly difficult. But I believe you possess a unique magical aptitude and a certain… versatility that makes you a suitable candidate. As for why now… well, becoming an Animagus helped me quite a bit in my own youth, when I was struggling with similar issues of perception and isolation."
Echo's blue hair shifted to a puzzled black. "It… helped you? How, Professor?"
Minerva merely inclined her head, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Watch closely, Mr. Echo."
With a swift, almost imperceptible motion, Minerva's form shimmered. Her emerald robes seemed to melt, her features sharpened, and in a blink, where the austere Professor had stood, there was now a sleek, silver tabby cat. It sat on its haunches, its green eyes, identical to Minerva's, fixed on Echo with an intelligent, almost impish gaze.
Echo stared, his jaw slack, his black hair flaring a violent, horrified red. His eyes, wide with a dawning, terrible realization, fixed on the elegant feline. "No," he whispered, a strangled sound of utter disbelief. "No, no, no, no, no…" He took a step back, then another, his hands coming up to cover his mouth, as if to stifle a scream. "Professor… two weeks ago… when I was upset… I… I kissed a silver tabby cat… all over its face… and I rubbed my face… on its belly…"
The silver tabby cat's ears twitched, and its green eyes widened slightly, a flicker of genuine alarm crossing its features. With another shimmer, Minerva McGonagall stood before him again, her face pale, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Mr. Echo!" she exclaimed, her voice sharp with shock. "I can assure you that was most certainly not me!"
Echo let out a long, shuddering sigh, his legs giving out beneath him. He sank to his knees, burying his face in his hands, a wave of profound relief washing over him so potent it almost made him laugh hysterically. His red hair slowly faded back to a confused blue. "Oh, thank Merlin," he mumbled into his palms. "Thank, thank, thank Merlin."
He slowly looked up at her, still on his knees. "But… why didn't I know this before, Professor?"
Minerva adjusted her spectacles, a faint flush still on her cheeks. "It's not something I often showcase, Mr. Echo. Nor do I use it for… for jokes, as some of your predecessors might have." Her gaze hardened slightly at the implied reference to James Potter and his friends. "It is a skill to be respected, and used responsibly."
Echo, now fully recovered from his momentary panic, nodded slowly. "That's fair, Professor. Completely fair." He then pushed himself to his feet, a new spark of interest in his eyes. "So, how exactly does one become an 'Animagus'?"
Minerva straightened, regaining her professorial demeanor. "The process is incredibly complex, involving a precise series of potions, incantations, and a deep understanding of one's inner self." She paused, then offered a small, reassuring smile. "Normally, you would need to gather specific ingredients and prepare several elaborate potions, as well as file extensive paperwork with the Ministry of Magic. However, given your… unique circumstances, and my belief in your potential, I have taken the liberty of acquiring all necessary components and completing the preliminary registration forms. All you will need to do, once the process is complete, is attend a final registration with me as your sponsor."
Echo stared at her, overwhelmed. "You… you did all that for me, Professor?"
"Indeed, Mr. Echo," she replied, a hint of warmth in her eyes. "Now, about that Mandrake leaf. You are to place it in your mouth, under your tongue, and it must remain there, without being removed, for the duration of one full month, from full moon to full moon. You must not swallow it, nor chew it. If you do, the entire process will fail, and you will have to begin again." She held out a small, intricately folded silk pouch. "The next full moon is in two days. Be ready, Mr. Echo. This journey will be arduous, but I have every confidence in you."
Echo clutched the silk pouch, his blue hair flickering with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. "Okay, Professor, I can do that. Mandrake leaf for a month, no swallowing, no chewing. Got it." He took a deep breath. "Then what? What comes after the leaf?"
Minerva's expression grew more serious. "After the month is complete, you will remove the leaf at the exact moment of the full moon. It must then be placed in a small crystal vial, which you will then fill with dew, fresh from the morning, before sunrise, in a place that has no sunlight or has not been walked by human feet for seven days, and a strand of your hair. To this, you will add a silver teaspoon of mercury and the chrysalis of a Death's Head Hawk Moth."
Echo's eyes widened. "Mercury? And a moth chrysalis with my hair? This sounds more like a complex potion than a Transfiguration, Professor."
Minerva nodded. "Indeed, Mr. Echo. But all magic is connected, in one form or another. After all, your Beast Magic has elements of Transfiguration, Apparition, Charms, and Legilimency to a certain degree. The line between disciplines, especially in ancient and powerful magic such as becoming an Animagus, often blurs."
Echo considered this, then nodded slowly. "That's fair, Professor. Completely fair."
Minerva continued, "Once all these ingredients are combined, you must store the vial in a dark, undisturbed place until a lightning storm occurs, where it will turn dark red. At each sunrise and sunset, set you will touch your wand to your heart and recite these words: Amoto Animo Animato Animagus. Soon, you will feel a second heartbeat, and the ritual will be working. You will then, under the full fury of the storm, drink the potion." She paused, a faint shudder passing through her. "And I must warn you, Mr. Echo. When that potion is complete, and you drink it… It will taste awful. In fact, 'awful' isn't even the best word for it. I still remember its taste to this day. And the first time you transform will also be extremely painful. After that, anytime you transform, it will be completely painless."
Echo grimaced, his blue hair twitching with distaste. "Awful taste and extreme pain? Sounds like a delightful combination, Professor," he mumbled, trying to inject some humor into his voice, though a shiver of dread still ran down his spine. "But... a second heartbeat? What does that mean?"
Minerva's expression softened. "It is the core of your Animagus form, Mr. Echo. A literal manifestation of the creature within. It signifies that your magic has truly begun to integrate with its chosen animal counterpart. It is a sign of success, even before the final transformation." She paused, her gaze thoughtful. "And it is a profound connection, Mr. Echo. A bond that will stay with you for the rest of your life. Your Animagus form will be a reflection of your innermost self, your deepest nature."
Echo's blue hair flickered to a thoughtful black. "My innermost self, huh?" He considered this, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. "I wonder what that will be. Hopefully, it will be something cool and with wings. I hope it's not something dumb like a rabbit, as much as Peter has grown on me, I don't want to pall around with him on the ground where I could be stepped on or eaten." He thought of the Basilisk, of the majestic creatures he commanded with his Beast Magic, of the darkness and light that warred within him. Whatever his form, he knew it would be as complex as he was.
"One final thing, Mr. Echo," Minerva said, bringing him back to the present. "Once you have transformed for the first time, you must report to me immediately. The Ministry requires strict registration of all Animagi, and as your sponsor, I will ensure all the proper paperwork is completed." She then offered him a small, encouraging smile. "This is not an easy path, but I truly believe you are capable of it. Good luck, Mr. Echo. And remember, be patient. Magic often requires a slow hand and a steady heart."
Echo, his grey hair still dull but with a spark of renewed determination in his eyes, looked at Minerva. "Professor," he began, his voice a little hoarse from his earlier outburst. I… I think I might know a way to perform the first task perfectly without issue."
Minerva's stern features softened with genuine intrigue. "Oh? And how do you propose to do that, Mr. Echo? The first task is designed to be exceptionally challenging."
Echo took a deep breath. "With this," he said, and with a focused flick of his wrist, his black hair flared a vibrant green. A shimmering lizard, about the size of a bearded dragon, materialized on the desk. It chittered softly, looking around with an intelligent, if slightly unnerving, curiosity. "This is Nibbles, a Chupacabra."
Minerva stared at the creature, her eyebrows rising. "A Chupacabra? Mr. Echo, while fascinating, I fail to see how a creature known for… well, for draining livestock, will aid you in the first task."
"That's just it, Professor," Echo explained, his green hair settling into a thoughtful black. "A Chupacabra has an incredible ability to slow its metabolism to an almost undetectable level. They can go weeks, even months, without a full meal. More importantly, they can turn off certain sections of their brain to rest without truly sleeping. It's how they conserve energy in harsh environments." He looked at Nibbles, who scittered over the table to nudge his hand affectionately. "I can transfer those aspects to myself. I can go without food or sleep for the duration of the task, perfectly alert and focused, without any of the usual drawbacks."
Minerva considered this, a flicker of admiration in her eyes. "That is… genuinely ingenious, Mr. Echo. A truly novel approach to circumventing the hardship of the first task. But what will you do in the meantime, while the task is underway?"
Echo's gaze hardened with resolve. "I'll spend my time studying, Professor. Reading every book I can get my hands on. And," he admitted, a touch of sheepishness entering his voice, "I'll continue to write down my Beast Magic. To the point where it can actually be useful and taught, not just something only I know. I've been slacking on that."
Minerva nodded, a rare, almost imperceptible smile touching her lips. "Then go spend your time wisely, Mr. Echo. And try not to hurt yourself. And do be careful not to transfer the aspects of the Chupacabra once too many; otherwise, you might find yourself with scales,ngs, or even a taste for blood."
Echo nodded, his green hair flickering with determination. "I will, Professor. And thank you. For everything." He then dismissed Nibbles back into his shadow and, with a final, grateful nod, turned and left the classroom, leaving Minerva McGonagall alone in the quiet of her Transfiguration classroom. She watched him go, a thoughtful expression on her face, before turning back to her desk, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. "Indeed, Mr. Echo," she murmured to herself. "Indeed."
The next two days passed in a blur of focused preparation. Echo returned to the Room of Requirement, now reconfigured into a quiet, comfortable study with a small, insulated alcove for the vial. He reread Minerva's instructions multiple times, committing each step to memory. He carefully gathered the necessary items: a small crystal vial, a strand of his own black hair, a silver teaspoon of mercury which he acquired from a forgotten cupboard in the Potions classroom (carefully avoiding any interaction with the lingering presence of Severus Snape's meticulous organization), and the chrysalis of a Death's-head Hawk Moth, which Shimmer had, surprisingly, managed to procure from a forgotten corner of the castle's extensive herbology greenhouses, presenting it to Echo with a triumphant chitter.
The day of the full moon arrived, a luminous pearl in the velvet sky. As the moon reached its zenith, bathing the Forbidden Forest in a ghostly silver light, Echo, following Minerva's precise instructions, carefully placed the Mandrake leaf under his tongue. He positioned himself in the deepest, darkest part of the Room of Requirement, far from any light, and began his silent vigil.
The next month was a test of endurance and discipline. The Mandrake leaf, while not actively painful, was a constant, irritating presence under his tongue. Eating was a slow, careful affair, and sleeping was light and restless, always with the fear of accidentally swallowing it. But Echo persevered. He spent his days in dedicated study, delving into advanced Transfiguration and, as promised, meticulously documenting his Beast Magic. He filled several journals with detailed descriptions, incantations, and even rudimentary diagrams of his unique abilities, attempting to codify the instinctive into the teachable.
He made daily trips to the Chamber of Secrets, bringing Pretty not just the requested beef, but also offering her detailed descriptions of the outside world, of the sun he promised she would one day feel on her scales, and of the various creatures that roamed the Forbidden Forest. He even, cautiously, tried to explain the concept of Quidditch, much to Pretty's confusion. Their bond deepened with each visit, a silent understanding of shared solitude and growing anticipation for the day he could truly introduce her to the world.
And every sunrise and sunset, without fail, Echo performed the incantation. He would touch his wand to his chest, feeling the familiar thrum of his own magic, and recite the Latin words, "Amoto Animo Animato Animagus." For weeks, nothing happened. Then, one evening, as the last rays of sun dipped below the horizon, a faint, rhythmic thumping began deep within his chest, distinct from his own heartbeat. A second beat. It was faint at first, barely a flutter, but undeniably there. The ritual was working.
A thrill of excitement, mixed with a growing sense of awe, surged through him. He continued the incantation twice daily, and with each passing day, the second heartbeat grew stronger, more pronounced, a steady, rhythmic thrumming that echoed his own. It was a strange, profound sensation, as if another life, intimately connected to his own, was awakening within him.
Finally, the next full moon arrived, a silver orb hanging high above the castle. Echo, feeling the powerful, rhythmic beat of his second heart, was ready. At the exact moment of the full moon's zenith, he carefully removed the Mandrake leaf from beneath his tongue. He rushed to the designated spot, a secluded corner of the Hogwarts grounds that had remained untouched for centuries, collecting the fresh, pre-sunrise dew.
Back in the Room of Requirement, he meticulously combined the ingredients: the Mandrake leaf, the dew, his strand of hair, the mercury, and the Death's-head Hawk Moth chrysalis. The mixture, initially a dull grey, slowly began to churn, a faint, almost sickly green light emanating from within the vial. He placed it in the dark alcove, as instructed, and waited.
Days turned into weeks, then two. The vial remained a glowing, unsettling green. Echo continued his studies, documentation of Beast Magic, and visits to Pretty, but an underlying tension, a nervous anticipation, gnawed at him. He checked the sky daily, yearning for the storm Minerva had spoken of.
Then, one night, as Echo lay dozing on a plush bed in the Room of Requirement, utterly exhausted from his month of vigilance, a sudden, sharp rap on the magically conjured door jolted him awake. He sat bolt upright, his black hair flaring a startled red, blinking the sleep from his eyes.
"Echo! Are you there?"
It was Minerva McGonagall's voice, laced with an unusual excitement. He stumbled from the armchair, running to the door and pulling it open. Minerva stood there, her emerald robes slightly disheveled, her eyes bright with a suppressed eagerness.
"Professor? What's wrong? Is everything alright?" Echo asked, his red hair flickering with alarm.
Minerva's smile was wide, almost triumphant. "It's time, Mr. Echo! The storm! It's here!"
Echo gasped, his eyes flying open in sudden realization. He bolted past her, his heart hammering with a mixture of terror and exhilaration, and sprinted towards the insulated alcove where he had hidden the vial. Shimmer, who had been perched on a nearby bookshelf, chittered excitedly, a silver blur streaking after him. Sniffles, too, darted from his discarded robes, letting out a series of high-pitched squeaks. He skidded to a halt before the alcove. Inside, the crystal vial glowed with an ominous, pulsating dark red, a stark contrast to the sickly green it had held before. It vibrated faintly, almost humming with contained power.
"It's… It's red!" Echo breathed, his voice filled with awe. His black hair blazed with a vibrant, anticipating green.
"Indeed it is, Mr. Echo! Just as described!" Minerva exclaimed, coming up behind him, her gaze fixed on the vial. "Now, for the storm."
Echo, his eyes still wide, turned back to the room. "Room, give me a window!" he commanded, his voice ringing with urgency.
With a soft WHOOSH, a large, ornate window materialized in the wall, revealing a tempestuous sky outside. Jagged bolts of lightning tore through the dark clouds, illuminating the thrashing trees of the Forbidden Forest. Followed by booming peals of thunder that rattled the very foundations of the castle, rain lashed against the glass, a furious torrent.
"It's perfect!" Echo cried, his green hair flaring brighter with excitement. He snatched the vial, his hands trembling slightly. With a deep breath, he uncorked it, the air filling with a sharp, metallic odor. "Bottoms up," he mumbled, bringing the vial to his lips. He tilted his head back and swallowed the entire concoction in one swift gulp.
A grimace contorted his features. The taste was truly horrendous, a putrid blend of bitter herbs, metallic tang, and something indescribably foul that seemed to coat his tongue and burn his throat. He gagged, his body shuddering.
"Ugh! Professor, you weren't kidding!" he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "That was... that was absolutely revolting!"
Minerva, Shimmer, and Sniffles watched him with eager, expectant eyes. Shimmer chittered, its tiny head cocked, and Sniffles whimpered softly, as if asking what was happening.
"But I… I feel something!" Echo continued, clutching his stomach. His green hair flickered erratically, cycling through yellow, red, and blue. "It's… It's like my insides are twisting! Oh, that's… that's an awful feeling! It's like a hundred Cruciatus Curses at once!" He doubled over, groaning, his knees buckling. "Oh, the pain! It's horrible! I think… I think I'm going to—"
He suddenly relaxed, a loud, wet FART echoing through the otherwise silent room.
Echo slowly straightened, a look of profound shock and mortification spreading across his face. The pain was gone, replaced by a strange, unsettling warmth in his lower regions. His hair, which had been a riot of color, settled into a dull, embarrassed grey. Minerva, Shimmer, and Sniffles stared at him, a silence so profound it was almost deafening filling the room.
"Professor," Echo said, his voice a low, horrified whisper, "I just… I just entirely shit my pajamas. And not the solid kind."
Minerva blinked, her expression a mixture of bewilderment and faint disgust. Then, with a flick of her wand, a jet of sparkling, clean water shot forth, followed by a blast of warm air, instantly cleaning Echo and his soiled pajamas.
"There, Mr. Echo," she said, her voice surprisingly steady, though a faint flush crept up her neck.
Echo looked down at his now-clean pajamas, then back at himself. He was… unchanged. Still human. His grey hair flickered with confusion.
"But… Professor," he began, looking at her, a profound sense of disappointment and confusion clouding his features. "Something else was supposed to happen, right? I'm… I'm not transforming. Am I?"
Minerva frowned, her brow furrowing with deep concern. She looked from Echo to the empty vial, then back at him, her eyes searching his face. "I… I don't understand, Mr. Echo. You followed every instruction to the letter. The vial turned red, you drank it during the storm, and you felt the second heartbeat for weeks. The transformation should have worked. It should have… it should have happened." She trailed off, her voice filled with an uncharacteristic bewilderment. "But it's not working."
Echo stood there, utterly deflated, the initial shock of the fart giving way to a profound sense of failure. His grey hair, reflecting his mood, seemed duller than ever. He had followed every single step, endured the Mandrake leaf, the endless studying, the agonizing taste of the potion, and the subsequent… humiliation. Yet, here he was, still just Echo, still unable to do what others could. The triumphant glow of the vial, the growing thrum of the second heartbeat—it had all been for nothing. Shimmer, sensing his deep despair, chittered softly and gently nudged his hand with its tiny head, its silver fur shimmering with concern. Sniffles, too, whimpered, attempting to climb up his leg, its small paws patting his knee in a comforting gesture.
Minerva, recovering her composure, knelt before him, her expression softening with genuine sympathy. "Mr. Echo," she said, her voice gentle, "I know this is incredibly disappointing. And I am truly sorry for… well, for the unexpected outcome." She paused, then offered a reassuring smile. "However, you must understand, what happened was not a typical failure. Usually, when the Animagus potion fails, there are… repercussions. Partial transformations, unpleasant side effects, permanent half-animal forms. You, Mr. Echo, experienced none of that. This indicates that your magical core is incredibly resilient and that the process itself was nearly successful. You have the entire summer ahead of you. It's more than possible for us to try again."
Echo slowly shook his head, his grey hair a sorrowful blur. "No, Professor," he whispered, his voice hoarse, thick with unshed tears. "I can't. I just… I can't. I'm done. Done with failing, done with being different. Done with not being able to do what others can. I just… I just want to be normal!"
With that, a choked sob escaped him, and he turned, blindly stumbling past a startled Minerva, ignoring the frantic chittering and whimpering of his creatures. He burst out of the Room of Requirement, running through the deserted corridors of Hogwarts, a blur of grey hair and despair, out of the castle, and into the cool, dark embrace of the Forbidden Forest. He ran until his lungs burned, until his legs ached, until the trees seemed to swallow him whole. He sank to the damp earth, burying his face in his hands, and wept. He cried until his throat was raw, until his eyes were swollen and stinging, until every last drop of his sorrow felt wrung out of him. When the tears finally stopped, replaced by a hollow ache, he looked up at the vast, clear night sky, a single, defiant scream tearing from his chest.
"What horrible thing have I done to deserve this life?!" he shrieked, his voice raw and ragged, echoing through the silent forest. "What force did I piss off? Give me an answer, damn you!" He waited, his chest heaving, for a response, for a sign, for anything. The stars glittered coldly above him, indifferent. He blinked, a new thought piercing through his haze of grief. "Wait," he mumbled, looking up again at the clear expanse of sky. "Wasn't it… Wasn't it thundering just a minute ago?"
As if in response, a sudden, blinding flash of lightning tore through the sky, followed by an immediate, deafening peal of thunder that made him jump. Rain lashed down, thick and cold, soaking him instantly. Then, just as suddenly, it stopped. The sky cleared, the stars reappeared, and the forest fell silent once more. Echo stared, bewildered. He blinked, and another flash of lightning, another peal of thunder, another torrential downpour, and then, silence. It happened again, and again, the storm flickering on and off like a faulty light switch. This wasn't normal. This wasn't natural.
A fresh surge of frustration, mixed with a flicker of his natural curiosity, propelled him forward. He pushed himself to his feet, wiping the rain from his face, and began to move towards the epicenter of the erratic storm, a place where the air felt charged, almost electric. He crashed through the undergrowth, following the intermittent flashes of light, until he burst into a small, rocky clearing he had never seen before. At its center, secured by thick, magically reinforced chains to the jagged rock face, was a massive, majestic bird. Its feathers, usually a vibrant, iridescent white and gold, were ruffled and matted with blood, and one of its powerful wings was bent at an unnatural angle. Its eyes, normally glowing with the raw power of a storm, were dim, filled with pain and exhaustion. It was a Thunderbird, and it was heavily injured, its immense body trembling with effort as it struggled against its magical restraints.
Echo stared, his initial awe quickly dissolving into a fresh wave of fury. He instantly realized the source of the flickering storm. It wasn't natural at all. It was a magical storm, created by this powerful, caged beast. And that meant…
"You!" Echo shrieked, his voice raw with renewed anger, his grey hair flaring a violent, accusing red. "You ruined it! You're why it didn't work! That's why the potion failed!"
His words, amplified by his anger and despair, rang through the clearing. The Thunderbird, startled by his sudden outburst, ceased its struggling. Its dim eyes, filled with a primal terror, fixed on Echo, and the erratic thunderstorm, which had been flickering on and off, suddenly ceased entirely, leaving the clearing in an unnerving silence.
"I lost my chance!" Echo screamed, tears streaming down his face again, hot and angry. "My chance to be… to be normal! To fit in! To have friends! You ruined everything! My chance at reshaping my future, at regaining the acceptance of my peers!"
He fumbled at his pajama pants, pulling out his wand, which he had carelessly shoved there. His hand trembled as he raised it, pointing the smooth, dark wood directly at the injured Thunderbird. "I'll kill you!" he snarled, his voice cracking with venom. "I'll kill you for ruining my chance!"
The Thunderbird, its mighty head drooping, watched the furious, crying boy. Its eyes, filled with an ancient weariness, slowly closed, waiting for the inevitable. Echo's wand trembled. He saw the Thunderbird's closed eyes, its resignation, and a flicker of something, a tiny spark of light, pierced through his blinding rage. He hesitated. Kill it? He thought of the Beast within him, the power he wielded, the control he so desperately clung to. He thought of Lucius Malfoy, of the Dementor, of the fine line between justice and vengeance, between right and wrong.
What am I doing? he asked himself, his voice a ragged whisper in the sudden silence of the forest. He looked at his wand, pointing menacingly at the helpless creature, at the green light that had almost erupted from its tip. What am I doing? I was almost about to cast the Killing Curse...
His hand, still trembling, dropped the wand to the forest floor with a soft clatter. He brought both hands to his face, raking his fingers through his dull, grey hair. "I'm losing my mind," he mumbled, the words choked with a fresh wave of horror and self-disgust. "I'm completely losing my mind." He dropped to his knees before the Thunderbird, his voice choked with sobs. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, tears flowing freely down his face, mixing with the lingering rain on his cheeks. His grey hair flickered with remorse. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean it. I… I was just so angry, so upset. I didn't mean to threaten you. I know it's not your fault. I just… I just want things to be different."
He sniffled, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, then looked at the majestic, injured creature. "You're hurt," he murmured, his voice softening with a wave of empathy. He picked up his wand from the ground, his hand still trembling slightly, but now with a different kind of resolve. "I'm going to help you."
With a flick of his wrist, Echo aimed his wand at the thick, magically reinforced chains. "Finite Incantatem Maxima!" he chanted, a powerful burst of shimmering blue light erupting from his wand. The ancient chains groaned, then snapped and dissolved into wisps of smoke, freeing the Thunderbird from its cruel confinement.
The Thunderbird stretched its neck, testing its newfound freedom, but its injured wing still drooped at an unnatural angle. Echo knelt closer, his green hair flaring with focused determination. He placed his hand gently on the bird's injured wing, feeling the broken bones beneath its beautiful feathers. "Bestia Sanitatem!" he whispered, the Beast Healing spell flowing from his core, a warm, golden energy that seeped into the Thunderbird's body.
The Thunderbird gasped, a soft, trilling sound, as the bones in its wing audibly clicked back into place. Its feathers smoothed, the matted blood vanishing, and the vibrant white and gold of its plumage returned, shining with renewed health. It stretched its wing tentatively, then, with a powerful beat, extended it fully, testing its strength. A low, rumbling cry of pure joy erupted from its chest, and the air around them shimmered with nascent, controlled lightning.
Echo watched, a faint, genuine smile gracing his tear-stained face. "Go on," he whispered, his voice soft. "Go. You're free now. Fly."
The Thunderbird paused, its brilliant eyes, now fully restored and filled with ancient wisdom, fixed on Echo. It took a slow, deliberate step closer, its immense head bowing slightly, as if in gratitude.
"No!" Echo cried out, his voice sharp with a sudden, desperate pain, making the majestic bird flinch. His green hair flickered wildly with his internal turmoil. "Go! Fly! Be free! Unlike me!" He looked up at the vast, clear sky, tears streaming down his face again. "You deserve to be free, to soar! Please, just… just go! Leave me!"
But the Thunderbird remained, its luminous eyes still fixed on Echo, a profound, unwavering presence in the desolate clearing. It refused to leave.
"Why?!" Echo sobbed, his voice cracking with despair. "Why won't you leave me?! You can fly! You're free! So fly! Fly away, away from me!"
He dropped to his knees, then slumped into a sitting position on the damp earth, his shoulders shaking with renewed grief. The Thunderbird, in response, took another slow, deliberate step forward, then another, until its immense body was right beside him. With a gentle, surprisingly tender movement, it lowered its head and, with several of its powerful wings, carefully enveloped Echo, a soft embrace of ancient feathers and warm, living power.
Echo, enveloped in the soft, iridescent feathers, sniffled. "Why are you…Why are you being so nice?" he whispered, his voice muffled against its warm plumage. "I just… I just tried to kill you. You were trapped, and I threatened you, and now you're… you're comforting me? Why not just fly away? I don'tt…I don't get it."
The Thunderbird settled its massive body around Echo, its powerful wings forming a living cocoon. The soft, iridescent feathers, still humming faintly with residual magic, cradled him gently. Echo, utterly bewildered by this unexpected tenderness, buried his face deeper into the warm plumage, and a fresh wave of tears, hot and stinging, began to fall. These were not tears of anger or despair, but of profound, aching gratitude. He clutched at the Thunderbird's feathers, clinging to the immense creature as he sobbed, the raw emotion tearing through him.
The Thunderbird remained perfectly still, its great head lowered, its ancient eyes watching him with a gentle patience. It offered no judgment, no demands, only a quiet, unwavering presence. The soft rumble of its chest beneath his ear was a strange, comforting melody, a counterpoint to the storm of emotion raging within him. Echo cried until the well of his sorrow felt utterly dry, until his body was limp with exhaustion, held securely in the embrace of the majestic beast he had, moments ago, threatened to destroy. His grey hair, slowly, imperceptibly, began to shift, a faint, soft blue returning to its dull strands, a tiny spark of peace igniting within the desolate void.
He cried until the well of his sorrow felt utterly dry, until his body was limp with exhaustion, held securely in the embrace of the majestic beast he had, moments ago, threatened to destroy. Slowly, imperceptibly, his grey hair began to shift, a faint, soft blue returning to its dull strands, a tiny spark of peace igniting within the desolate void. Exhaustion finally claimed him, and he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, nestled within the powerful, protective wings of the Thunderbird.
He awoke to the gentle warmth of the morning sun filtering through the leaves and the soft rustle of feathers around him. For a moment, he forgot where he was, the sense of peace so profound. Then, a familiar voice, sharp with concern, cut through the quiet of the forest.
"Echo! Mr. Echo, where are you?" Minerva McGonagall's voice echoed through the clearing.
Echo's eyes flew open, his blue hair flaring with a sudden, panicked red. He was still curled up in the Thunderbird's wings, its massive head resting near his. He scrambled to sit upright, his heart pounding.
"Professor!" he called out, his voice still thick with sleep, as he tried to disentangle himself from the Thunderbird's embrace.
Minerva burst into the clearing a moment later, her emerald robes slightly askew, her face etched with worry. Her eyes, however, widened considerably when they landed on the sight before her: Echo, looking disheveled but otherwise unharmed, nestled comfortably within the vast, iridescent wings of a full-grown Thunderbird. The majestic creature, in turn, regarded Minerva with a calm, intelligent gaze. Minerva paused, her mouth opening to speak, then closing again. She stared at the scene—the boy, the enormous, previously injured beast, the peculiar intimacy of their interaction—and a long, weary sigh escaped her. She considered asking for an explanation, for details, for any semblance of logic. But then, she looked at Echo's still-sleepy, slightly embarrassed face, and the Thunderbird's serene expression, and decided against it. This was, after all, just another typical Echo deal.
"Good morning, Mr. Echo," she said, her voice remarkably even, though a faint twitch at the corner of her lip betrayed her amusement. "I trust you had a… restful night?"
"Restful is one word for it, Professor," Echo chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. His blue hair flickered with a hint of red, a blush creeping up his cheeks. "Though I probably should apologize for… well, for yelling at you yesterday, and running off like that. I was just so… so overwhelmed, you know? And then everything just fell through, and I couldn't handle it."
Minerva's expression softened. "Apology accepted, Mr. Echo. And indeed, your emotional state does explain last night's rather… erratic weather patterns." She glanced at the Thunderbird, which rumbled softly, as if in agreement. "But now that you've had a night to recover, perhaps you'd like to try the Animagus ritual again? I'm sure we can account for any… external interference this time."
Echo shook his head. "No, Professor, I don't think so. Knowing my luck, something else would just go wrong. Or, trying to take the potion twice might have consequences currently unknown to the wizarding world, and I really don't want to become a case study or a statistic." His blue hair remained a steady, thoughtful shade.
Minerva nodded slowly. "A wise decision, Mr. Echo. Very well. Then, if you are no longer attempting to become an Animagus… what do you intend to do with your new friend?" She gestured to the Thunderbird, a flicker of apprehension in her eyes.
Echo thought for a moment, then a determined glint appeared in his blue eyes. "I'll keep her in the vivariums in the Room of Requirement, Professor, just until she's up to full health. Last night, I only did a rudimentary healing spell, so there could be other factors I missed. I want to make sure she's completely well before she goes back into the wild."
Minerva's lips thinned, a faint line of stress appearing between her eyebrows. A full-grown Thunderbird, even a friendly one, housed within the walls of Hogwarts? The thought was enough to give any Headmistress-in-waiting an early onset of grey hair. "Mr. Echo," she began, her voice carefully controlled, "a creature of that magnitude requires… considerable care and caution within the castle."
"I'll handle her, Professor," Echo said, his voice firm, his blue hair flaring with conviction. "I promise. She'll be safe, and so will everyone else."
Minerva merely sighed, a long, drawn-out sound. "I certainly hope so, Mr. Echo. I just hope magical thunderstorms won't become a common occurrence within the castle walls." She cast one last, weary glance at the magnificent Thunderbird. "By the way, Mr. Echo," Minerva continued, her voice drawing him back, "have you given your new friend a name, or are we to refer to her simply as 'the bird' for the foreseeable future?"
Echo blinked, his blue hair flickering with a fresh wave of mild embarrassment. "Oh, right," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I wasn't really in the right state of mind to think of that last night, with everything that happened." He paused, then his eyes brightened. "How about Rowena? Like Rowena Ravenclaw, one of the founders. Thunderbirds are kind of like eagles, after all, and Ravenclaw's symbol is an eagle."
Minerva let out a small, surprising chuckle. "Rowena," she repeated, a fond smile touching her lips. "If only Rowena were alive today, I'm sure she would have loved to have her name immortalized on a Thunderbird. But," she warned, her eyes twinkling mischievously, "I advise you not to tell the Grey Lady that. Otherwise, she'll cry for the next century, and I certainly don't want to listen to that when I finally run Hogwarts."
Echo frowned. "Don't you already do that, Professor?"
"In all but name, I do," Minerva conceded with a sigh. "But I'm not Headmistress yet, Mr. Echo."
Echo chuckled. "Fair enough." He then looked at the Thunderbird, who seemed to be regarding him with an almost amused expression. "So, Rowena it is."
Minerva raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement still in her voice. "Tell me, Mr. Echo, are you planning to collect four creatures and name them after the four founders?"
Echo's eyes widened slightly. "I hadn't thought of it like that," he admitted, his blue hair shifting to a thoughtful black. "But I do have Godric, who's a Griffin, and now a Rowena. All I need is a Salazar and a Helga." He paused, a faint smile touching his lips. "Though I was thinking of naming my Graphorn, Helga."
Minerva blinked, momentarily trying to envision the sweet and loving Helga Hufflepuff as a mighty, strong Graphorn that could break down castle walls with ease. A small chuckle escaped her. "Yes, Mr. Echo," she said, her eyes gleaming with mirth. "I can certainly see that."
"Now," Minerva continued, "do you have a snake you can name Salazar?"
Echo considered this, his black hair flickering as he mentally cataloged his serpentine companions. "I do have a Runespoor, a Horned Serpent, an Occamy, and a couple of Ashwinders," he mused. "But none of them seem to deserve such a name. Maybe I'll find another snake who does. Besides," he added, a genuine smile spreading across his face, "all my current snakes have really cute names."
Minerva arched an eyebrow. "Cute names, Mr. Echo? Pray tell."
Echo's smile widened. "Well, there's Noodle and Pipsqueak, my Ashwinders. And then my Runespoor is named Slinky. My Occamy is named Shrink. And my Horned Serpent is named Sparky. They're all very good snakes, Professor."
Minerva shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her. "Indeed, Mr. Echo. Indeed. Now, I believe you have a Thunderbird to settle into the Room of Requirement. I have a rather large stack of paperwork concerning a certain missing potion ingredient and a rather vigorous, albeit short-lived, thunderstorm to address with Albus."
Echo nodded, a fresh wave of determination settling over him. "Right. Thank you again, Professor. For everything." He turned to Rowena, who still watched him with her intelligent, ancient eyes. "Come on, girl," he said, his voice gentle. "Let's get you settled."
With a powerful beat of her massive wings, Rowena rose gracefully into the air, circling once above Echo before gently alighting beside him. Together, the boy and the Thunderbird, followed by a still-chittering Shimmer and a whimpering Sniffles, made their way out of the Forbidden Forest and back towards the silent, echoing halls of Hogwarts, ready to face the quiet complexities of the summer and the new, unexpected alliances it had brought forth.