A week later, fully rested and revitalized, Echo found himself back in the bustling heart of Diagon Alley, the familiar clamor a welcome change from the hospital wing's hushed quiet. He had taken the goblins up on their offer for drinks, and true to their word, they had delivered. The Leaky Cauldron, usually reserved for wizards, had been taken over by a boisterous contingent of Gringotts' finest, their raucous laughter and clinking tankards filling the air.
Ragnok, a surprisingly good host once he shed his professional demeanor, had arranged a private, magically expanded room for their revelries. Echo, still a little wary, had initially stuck to a modest butterbeer, but the goblins, once past their initial gruffness, proved to be quite personable. They toasted to his "spectacular loss," lauded his cunning, and recounted their newfound wealth with gleeful shouts. One particularly jovial goblin, Gnashfang, had even clapped Echo on the back with enough force to send a normal wizard sprawling.
"You're one of us, lad!" Gnashfang had boomed, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. "All but species, I tell you! A true master of the unexpected outcome!"
Echo, flushed with the unaccustomed warmth of camaraderie and several butterbeers, found himself genuinely laughing. He had probably consumed more butterbeer in that single evening than he would in his entire life; the sweet, frothy liquid left him pleasantly tipsy and in an excellent mood.
He bid the boisterous goblins farewell, promising to join them again soon, and apparated back to the familiar grounds of Hogwarts. The castle was quiet, the midnight air crisp and cool. He walked with a light, almost springy step, a wide, unbidden grin on his face. He was actually happy, a feeling so foreign and exhilarating that it almost made him float. He weaved through the deserted corridors, a faint, off-key hum escaping his lips, utterly convinced he was a master of stealth. He was almost back to the Slytherin dungeons when he heard it – a soft, wheezing cough.
"Aha! Mr. Echo! And what, pray tell, are you doing out of bed at this ungodly hour?"
Argus Filch, the caretaker, emerged from the shadows, his eyes gleaming with the familiar, malevolent triumph of a cat spotting a mouse. But as he drew closer, his expression softened. In his gnarled hand, he clutched a rather lopsided, crudely carved wooden stick – the fake wand Echo had given him for his birthday last year.
"Oh, it's you, lad," Filch grumbled, though the usual venom was absent from his voice. "Had a good night, did we?"
Miss Norris, sensing the unusual warmth in her master's tone, rubbed herself against Echo's leg, a low, contented purr rumbling in her chest. Echo, still a little fuzzy from the butterbeer, instinctively reached down and scratched the cat gently behind the ears.
"Just... out for a stroll, Mr. Filch," Echo mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant.
Filch merely huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "Well, don't let it happen again, Mr. Echo. Now, off to bed with you." He even gave Echo a surprisingly gentle shove in the direction of the dungeons.
Echo, utterly bewildered but immensely relieved, continued his journey, the faint, happy hum returning to his lips. He was almost at the portrait of the Fat Lady, his mind already drifting to the comforting darkness of his bed, when a figure suddenly materialized from the shadows, blocking his path.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the valiant Mr. Echo," a silken voice drawled.
Echo blinked, rubbing his eyes. Karkaroff, the headmaster of Durmstrang, stood before him, a predatory glint in his eyes. Echo stared, utterly convinced the butterbeer had finally caused him to hallucinate. A drunken hallucination of the odious Karkaroff? Merlin, this night had taken a bizarre turn.
"Don't worry, Mr. Echo," Karkaroff said, a cruel smirk touching his lips, as if reading Echo's very thoughts. "You're not hallucinating. I assure you, I am quite real."
"What do you want, Headmaster Beardy?" Echo croaked, his voice still a little hoarse but with a surprising edge of defiance. Shimmer, sensing the tension, uncurled from his shoulder and landed softly on the ground. Its silver fur bristled, and its large black eyes fixed on Karkaroff with an intense, unblinking stare.
Karkaroff huffed, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. "Still that sharp tongue, Mr. Echo. Always downplaying authority." He paused, his gaze sweeping over Echo, a strange mix of irritation and something almost like admiration in his eyes. "Once, I would have been infuriated by such disrespect. But now... now I almost admire it."
Echo looked confused, a hesitant, "Thank you?" escaping his lips. His eyes narrowed. "What do you really want, Karkaroff?" Shimmer let out a low hiss, its silver fur shimmering, its eyes now glowing faintly with the telltale sign of future sight.
Karkaroff's smile vanished, replaced by a look of slight annoyance. "Lower your guard, boy. I mean you no harm. And tell your Demiguise to deactivate its... precognitive abilities. If I wanted to do something, I assure you, I would have done it already."
"That's big talk for someone who just tried to give me a heart attack in a deserted corridor," Echo retorted, though he gently patted Shimmer, who reluctantly lowered its gaze, the glow fading from its eyes.
Karkaroff chuckled, a low, grating sound. "A fair point, Mr. Echo. A fair point. However, I assure you, my intentions are now entirely professional. I am here to make you an offer. An offer that could change your entire future, should you choose to accept it." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Come with me, Mr. Echo. Come to Durmstrang. I can offer you power beyond your wildest dreams. Knowledge of ancient magic, of dark arts that even Dumbledore fears to acknowledge. A place where your… unique talents will not only be tolerated, but actively cultivated and celebrated."
"Let me ponder this for a brief moment," Echo began, his voice still raspy, but before he even finished the sentence, he immediately said, "No."
Karkaroff's cruel smirk faltered. "No hesitation, eh," he stated, a note of disbelief in his voice.
"No offense," Echo continued, a tired, sarcastic glint in his eyes, "but even if Durmstrang were the last wizarding school on earth, I wouldn't go there."
"That sounds like nothing but offense, Mr. Echo," Karkaroff retorted, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
"Yeah, that's why it's called sarcasm, Headmaster Beardy," Echo snapped back, a flicker of his usual fire returning.
Karkaroff's eyes narrowed. "I am trying to help you, boy. To give you something you need."
"I don't need or want your help, and I certainly don't need anything from you," Echo said, his voice flat. "I may not know much about Durmstrang, but I know more than enough to know it's bad news. Plus, one of your alumni was Dumbledore's ex, Gellert Grindelwald, before he was kicked out. Whatever he did to get kicked out of barely there shows that Durmstrang's restraint is vastly lacking. As much as I admit to it, I need structure to keep me on the straight and narrow and not fall to something much worse."
Karkaroff scoffed. "But I can help you magnify and perfect what you currently know and are connected to. From the moment I touched your wand and saw your use of curses, I knew you had a natural connection to the Dark Arts. If you come to Durmstrang, you will have much more freedom, and I will give you much leniency."
"Dumbledore already does that," Echo said, a dry, humorless chuckle escaping his lips. "Do you really think it's legal for someone like me to legally keep the creatures I command, and those that you don't know about?"
Karkaroff was a bit shocked. What else could Echo be hiding? What creatures could he be in control of?
Echo, seeing the momentary loss for words, simply said, "I thought so."
"Besides," Echo continued, a cynical edge to his voice, "Dumbledore's probably insuring this important information goes in his little notebook, using it as either knowledge or blackmail, whatever the old man decides."
Karkaroff looked at him, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. "You are smart, Mr. Echo. Much smarter than all else who know Dumbledore. Some see him as a god, others as a genius, and still others as trustworthy. Some keep up their guard and try, but fail, to see through him fully. And then there's you, Echo, who knows what Dumbledore really is."
Echo scoffed, a humorless sound. "I used to be one of those people, too, but it took getting slapped in the face with reality for it to sink in finally. Plus, he used to 'wand fight' with Gellert Grindelwald. If his taste in men is anything to go by, then he really shouldn't be seen with such high praise despite fighting against and taking him down in the past."
Karkaroff, despite himself, let out a short, sharp laugh. "A rather… unique perspective, Mr. Echo. And one I confess I had not considered. Your assessment of Dumbledore's… romantic history is certainly an interesting addition to your profile." He paused, his gaze lingering on Echo's still-pale face. "But I digress. You refuse my offer, then? Even with the promise of unbridled power and leniency?"
Echo merely shook his head, a weary sigh escaping his lips. "I'm a third-year, Headmaster Beardy. I barely scraped by the last duel, and I'm still feeling like a Mandrake after a repotting. I need sleep, not 'unbridled power.' And as for leniency, I already have a Headmaster who turns a blind eye to half the things I do, so you'd be hard-pressed to beat that." He gestured vaguely at Shimmer, who had settled back onto his shoulder, its large eyes still fixed on Karkaroff. "Besides, I have responsibilities here. And a healthy fear of whatever 'dark arts' Durmstrang is peddling."
"As for what you said earlier, refining and perfecting my craft…" Echo's voice dropped, and his hair, with an unsettling swiftness, shifted to the same sickly shade of dark green that his eyes took on just before he wielded one of the Unforgivable Curses. His eyes, now glowing with that chilling emerald hue, fixed on Karkaroff with an intense, unblinking stare that promised swift, brutal retribution should he be crossed. "I don't need refinement. I'm a natural."
Karkaroff's eyes narrowed once more, a flicker of something dangerous in their depths. "You will regret this, Mr. Echo. You are squandering a rare opportunity. The Dark Arts are not to be feared, but mastered. They are tools, potent tools, for those brave enough to wield them."
"And I'm quite content with my current toolkit. Thank you very much," Echo retorted, stifling a yawn as his hair was a normal shade of bored white. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed. And if you try to offer me another 'opportunity' while I'm still within these castle walls, I'll tell Dumbledore you tried to kidnap me."
Karkaroff's face contorted into a sneer. "You wouldn't dare."
"Oh, I absolutely would," Echo said, his voice flat, his exhaustion giving way to a dangerous edge. "Try me. He might be a praddling old fool with a secret agenda bigger than any textbook in the library, but he's useful, and I intend to use that. You know as well as I do that he follows the rules of law, even if he bends them from time to time."
"I'll admit, my connection to the Dark Arts is something I'm still figuring out," Echo continued, a thoughtful frown on his face. "But even without Durmstrang's curriculum, there are two reasons I'd never attend your school."
Karkaroff scoffed, crossing his arms. "And what could those possibly be, Mr. Echo? The winters? They are not so bad, not nearly as harsh as those in the Russian magic schools."
Echo merely shrugged, a weary sigh escaping his lips. "Okay, three reasons then. First, the winters. I can barely survive the ones here on my best days. I'd probably just scream into the wind all day in frustration at Durmstrang. Second, Durmstrang has a… rather unfortunate history. You've pushed to near extinction an entire species of magical beast, the Sugar Plum Fairies, and actively hunt Merrow in the oceans near your school for sport."
Karkaroff's eyes gleamed with a predatory pride. "And what, pray tell, is so bad about that, Mr. Echo? Survival of the fittest, wouldn't you agree? We have merely taken advantage of nature's bounty."
Echo's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. "What's so bad about that? I'm dating a mermaid, Karkaroff. She may not be a Merrow, but it's still wrong. And the third reason?" Echo paused, his gaze sweeping over Karkaroff with an expression of profound disdain. "It's you. You're the current headmaster."
Karkaroff blinked, a flicker of genuine bewilderment in his eyes. "Myself? What, pray tell, is so bad about me, Mr. Echo?"
Echo snorted, a tired, humorless sound. "Don't be coy, Karkaroff. You know exactly what's so bad about you." He began to circle the headmaster, his movements slow and deliberate, like a snake slithering around a caught mouse. "You said it best yourself. I'm young, but I'm smart. And I know things." As he passed, Echo's hand brushed lightly against Karkaroff's elaborate coat, and with an almost imperceptible movement, one of his flying snakes, previously hidden, slithered silently onto the man's shoulder, its delicate wings folded flat against his collar, completely unnoticed.
Karkaroff frowned, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. "What do you think you know, Mr. Echo?"
Echo leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. "Was it fun being a Death Eater for the Dark Lord?"
Karkaroff stiffened, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly, all pretense of nonchalance vanishing. Echo's smirk widened, twisting into something genuinely unsettling. "Ah, a sensitive subject, I see. Funny, that knowledge is more common than you think. The Dark Lord has been after me, after my magic, my... let's call it, unique state." As Echo spoke, his shadow on the wall behind him began to stretch and warp, morphing into its own monstrous visage, a dark, horned silhouette with glowing red eyes. Karkaroff's eyes, momentarily fixed on the spectral image, widened in genuine horror.
Echo continued to circle him, his voice unwavering. "If you were once in league with the person who is currently trying, and largely succeeding, at destroying my life, then that puts you in question. Add on the fact that you and Dumbledore are 'old friends' – that really makes not only my Headmaster, but you, too. So, it's mostly about trust, and I don't trust you one bit." He stopped directly in front of Karkaroff, his voice hardening. "But I do trust you to behave, so long as you and the rest of your school are guests at Hogwarts. You're no longer on Durmstrang soil. Your laws don't matter. The British Ministry is, and their rules are rigid, if admittedly ridiculous and outdated."
The flying snake, still perched unseen on Karkaroff's shoulder, suddenly flickered its forked tongue, brushing against his ear with a barely audible hiss. Karkaroff flinched, his hand flying to his shoulder, but the snake was already gone, a silent, almost ethereal threat. He looked at Echo, his face a mask of cold fury, but a flicker of genuine fear was visible deep in his eyes.
"You threaten me, boy?" Karkaroff snarled, his voice low and dangerous.
"Oh, don't be silly, Headmaster Beardy," Echo drawled, a dark, unsettling glint in his eyes. "That wasn't a threat. This," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper, "is a threat." He took a slow, deliberate step closer to Karkaroff, his gaze unwavering. "To you, I am a snake you've underestimated. You don't know how truly dangerous I am… not until I strike."
Suddenly, the flying snake, previously unseen, darted from its hidden perch on Karkroff's shoulder. It reared up, its delicate wings spread, and unleashed a guttural hiss directly in Karkaroff's face. Karkaroff, startled, let out a sharp cry and swatted at the creature, grabbing it and flinging it away with a choked sound of disgust. The snake, opening its bird-like wings, circled once, a shimmering rust-brown blur in the dim light, before elegantly returning to Echo and wrapping itself around his outstretched arm.
The snake, now comfortably coiled, reared its head again, hissing aggressively at Karkaroff. This was the second type of flying snake Echo had discovered, its rust-brown scales and two-foot length a stark contrast to the first. Its bird wings, iridescent and shimmering, flickered in the faint light.
"Ssstop it, Hisssalith," Echo hissed in Parseltongue, his voice a low, soothing sound. The snake, still agitated, slowly relaxed, its forked tongue flicking once more before settling into Echo's hand. Echo gently stroked its head with his fingers, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. "Consider it a friendly reminder, Headmaster Beardy. Now, if you excuse me, I am really going to bed. And if I find out you've tried anything with any student from Hogwarts, or if you even look at my friends funny, then Dumbledore will be the least of your worries." He turned, Shimmer still nestled on his shoulder, and began to walk away, his steps slow but resolute.
Karkaroff watched him go, his jaw tight, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that Echo was not making idle threats. The boy was a force of nature, a dangerous, unpredictable entity who had casually revealed depths of knowledge and power that were utterly terrifying. As Echo disappeared around the corner, Karkaroff let out a long, slow breath, a shiver running down his spine. The butterbeer-fueled encounter had been far more unsettling than he could have ever anticipated. He had come to offer power, and instead, he had been subtly and effectively threatened. And he knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that the threat was entirely credible.
Just as Echo, feeling a strange mix of residual butterbeer warmth and weary triumph, rounded the final corner towards the Slytherin common room entrance, a towering figure materialized from the shadows, blocking his path.
"Mr. Echo."
Echo yelped, a high-pitched, undignified sound, and stumbled backward, nearly tripping over Shimmer, who had been dozing contentedly on his shoulder. His heart hammered against his ribs. "Merlin's beard, Madame Maxime! Don't do that! I'm going to have a heart attack before I even make it to bed!"
Madame Maxime, looking regal even in the dimly lit corridor, offered a rare, apologetic smile. "My sincerest apologies, Mr. Echo. I did not mean to startle you."
Echo rubbed his chest, trying to calm the racing pulse in his chest. "Is this going to be a recurring thing tonight? Is there just a conga line of headmasters wanting to talk to me?" He glanced pointedly down the corridor he had just come from, then back in the direction Madame Maxime had appeared.
Madame Maxime followed his gaze, a slight frown creasing her brow. "Have you… encountered someone else tonight, Mr. Echo?"
Echo waved a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it, Madame Maxime. Must be the butterbeer messing with me at this point." He then adopted a more cordial, if still weary, tone. "Was there something you needed my help with?"
Madame Maxime got straight to the point, her gaze serious. "Indeed, Mr. Echo. I have an offer for you. For you to take a place at Beauxbaton Academy of Magic."
Echo groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, for the love of… I'm getting déjà vu again." He sighed, wondering aloud, "How is this one night getting so crazy?"
Madame Maxime looked down at him, her large eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and concern. "What do you mean, Mr. Echo?"
Echo finally relented, letting his hands fall. "Karkaroff. He just offered me something similar. Said I should come to Durmstrang."
Madame Maxime's face hardened, a flicker of distaste crossing her features. "And what was your answer to him?"
Echo merely shrugged, a tired smirk playing on his lips. "My answer to him was no, even after he kept prodding me several times."
Madame Maxime rolled her eyes, a soft huff escaping her lips. "That does sound like Igor," she murmured, a hint of disdain in her voice. Her gaze returned to Echo, softening slightly. "And what, then, is your answer to my offer, Mr. Echo?"
Echo let out a large, dramatic sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Madame Maxime, I'm going to give it to you straight," he began, his voice weary but firm. "Despite the fact that I like you far more than Karkaroff, and I find you significantly more trustworthy than Dumbledore, the answer is still no. And I have several reasons why."
Madame Maxime raised an elegant eyebrow. "Does it, perhaps, have something to do with our uniforms, Mr. Echo? I assure you, the powder-blue silk would look quite splendid on you."
Echo paused, imagining himself in the refined male Beauxbatons uniform. He envisioned the flowing robes and the soft colors. He had to admit he would look rather good. "While I appreciate the thought, and I concede I would probably look good, even though green is more my color, that's not one of the reasons, Madame Maxime," he replied, shaking his head.
"Firstly," Echo continued, counting off on his fingers, "Beauxbatons is an all-girls school. I am, last I checked, a boy. I'm fairly certain that would cause some significant logistical issues, not to mention a good deal of confusion."
Madame Maxime let out a soft, melodious laugh, a sound like wind chimes. "Ah, Mr. Echo, that is a common misconception. While we are predominantly a school for witches, we do, on rare occasions, accept exceptional young wizards. It is not an 'all-girls' school, merely a highly selective one for young ladies."
Echo blinked, genuinely surprised. "Well, that's… that's good to know, I suppose. But it still leads to my second reason. I'm a third-year. I have established my life here, despite its chaos. My friends are here, my creatures are here, and even my enemies are here for me to keep an eye on them. I'm comfortable in my discomfort, if that makes sense."
Madame Maxime nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face. "It does, Mr. Echo. The bonds formed in youth are indeed powerful. And your… unique relationship with your magical creatures is something I have observed with great interest. They are clearly devoted to you."
"They are my family," Echo said, his voice softening as Shimmer nudged his cheek affectionately. "And speaking of family, that brings me to my third reason. My girlfriend, Skate, is a Merperson. She lives in the Black Lake. Even if she could leave the water for extended periods, I doubt she'd be too keen on moving to France, and I certainly wouldn't ask her to. Plus," he added, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "I think Beauxbatons would have a heart attack if I showed up with a griffin, a Runespoor, a few flying snakes, and a Niffler, not to mention all the others that Dumbledore probably doesn't even know about."
Madame Maxime chuckled softly, a genuine smile gracing her lips. "I confess, Mr. Echo, that image is quite amusing. And I understand your loyalty to your… unconventional companions. However, we at Beauxbatons take pride in our understanding of all magical beings. We have many students with unique familiars, though perhaps none quite as… diverse as yours." She paused, her gaze lingering on Shimmer, then rising to meet Echo's eyes. "But what of your education, Mr. Echo? Do you truly believe Hogwarts is the best place for you to cultivate your… talents?"
Echo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's complicated, Madame Maxime. Dumbledore may be a calculating old man, but he's also… flexible. He bends the rules for me a lot. He lets me keep my creatures, he looks the other way when I use… unconventional magic in duels, and he even lets me talk back to him without instantly giving me detention. I have a sense of freedom here, even if it's a very specific, Dumbledore-approved kind of freedom." He shrugged.
"Besides, I like the challenge. It keeps me on my toes. And I learn a lot, even if it's usually by accident or by having to fix something I broke."
"Fourthly," Echo continued, a slight grimace on his face, "apart from the Veela, who seem to have a… very specific type, I'm not exactly sure how well I'd fit in with an academy of predominantly witches. I don't think the other girls like me all that much, Madame Maxime." He shrugged, a hint of genuine insecurity in his voice. "I tend to be a bit… much, for most people."
Madame Maxime's lips twitched again. "Mr. Echo, I assure you, our students are taught to be discerning, not dismissive. And I do not doubt that your… unique charm would eventually be appreciated, even by those initially predisposed to judgment."
Echo snorted. "Right. My fifth reason is that I'm not exactly known for my elegance or control. I'm a walking disaster, Madame Maxime. I trip over air, I accidentally set things on fire, and I have a bad habit of attracting trouble like a magnet. I'd cause absolute chaos in Beauxbatons, either by accident or, let's be honest, probably on purpose, just to alleviate the boredom."
Madame Maxime let out another melodious laugh. "A refreshing honesty, Mr. Echo. And while our students are indeed known for their grace and refinement, I daresay a touch of… unconventionality might prove stimulating. We are not entirely without a sense of humor, you know."
"And my sixth reason," Echo said, holding up a sixth finger, his expression utterly serious, "is that I can't speak French. At all. Let alone read it. I'd be completely lost."
Madame Maxime's elegant eyebrow rose, a look of genuine surprise on her face. "You… you cannot speak French, Mr. Echo? But you command creatures with such… complex forms of communication. You converse with Merpeople in Mermish, do you not? And I recall hearing whispers of your ability to decipher ancient Centaur script for Professor Firenze. How can you manage such intricacies, yet find our beautiful French tongue so… insurmountable?"
Echo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's different, Madame Maxime. With Mermish and even Centaur script, it was something I wanted to learn. It was a challenge I actively sought out, something that genuinely interested me. There's a huge difference between wanting to do something hard and being forced to do something hard. If I were forced to learn French, I'd probably just sit in a corner and cry." Madame Maxine simply curtly nods.
"And my final reason, Madame Maxime," Echo said, his voice dropping to a serious tone, "is simple. While I appreciate your offer, and I genuinely believe you mean well, I cannot fully trust any Headmaster who is complicit in the Triwizard Tournament. It's dangerous, reckless, and it nearly killed me. Twice. I want no part in a system that puts its champions in such peril, especially when it's all for the sake of 'international wizarding cooperation' and a few measly gold coins."
Madame Maxime's smile faded, replaced by a somber expression. "I understand your feelings, Mr. Echo. The Tournament is indeed… taxing. But it is a tradition, and a binding contract once one's name is chosen."
"And that's precisely the problem," Echo countered, his eyes hardening. "A tradition that values spectacle over student safety. A binding contract that forces unwilling participants into potentially lethal situations. I don't want to be a part of that. I want to be somewhere where my safety, and the safety of those I care about, is prioritized above all else."
He looked at Madame Maxime, a weariness settling into his bones once more. "So, thank you for the offer, Madame Maxime. Truly. But my answer is still no. I'm staying here. For better or worse, Hogwarts is my home, for now."
Madame Maxime regarded him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, she nodded. "I respect your decision, Mr. Echo. Your loyalty is admirable, even if I believe it is misplaced in this instance. I wish you well in your… chaotic comfort." She gave a slight bow, a gesture of respect, before turning and gliding silently down the corridor, her large frame disappearing into the shadows.
Echo watched her go, then let out another long, dramatic sigh. He leaned against the cold stone wall, rubbing his temples. "Well, Shimmer," he muttered to the Demiguise, who was now fully awake and looking at him with wide, intelligent eyes, "that was certainly a night. Two Headmasters, two offers, and two very firm 'no's.' I think I've used up all my social energy for the next decade."
Shimmer chittered softly, patting his cheek with a tiny, silver paw, as if offering comfort. Echo managed a weak smile, then pushed himself off the wall. "Alright, little guy. Let's get to bed before Dumbledore decides he wants to offer me a spot in some 'Advanced Dark Arts' program."
As he finally reached the Slytherin common room entrance, he whispered the password, and the stone wall slid open. The common room was dark and quiet, and the only sound was the gentle lapping of water against the windows of the Black Lake. He made his way to his dormitory, Shimmer still nestled on his shoulder, and collapsed onto his bed. He closed his eyes, the residual warmth of the butterbeer and the sheer exhaustion of the day finally pulling him under. He had survived the duel, earned the admiration of goblins, subtly threatened a Headmaster, and politely declined another. It had been a long, strange, and utterly Echo-esque day. And now, finally, he could rest.