The crisp autumn air carried the scent of change as the Hogwarts Express chugged its way through the Scottish Highlands. Carriages rattled, trunks clattered, and the excited chatter of hundreds of young witches and wizards filled the compartments. It was September 1st, and the halls of Hogwarts were once again ready to burst with life. Echo, now a second-year, sat by a window in Hogwarts that could see the Hogwarts Express from a distance, watching the green hills and ancient trees turn different shades of red, orange, and gold as the train dropped off its newcomers and returners. Sniffles was curled up on his lap, occasionally peeking out with bright, curious eyes. The Dementor's attack had left him irrevocably changed, both inside and out. His once vibrant honey-brown hair was now a startling midnight black, and his bright blue eyes had dulled to a deep, almost indigo hue, often appearing distant and unreadable. The internal void had lessened, thanks to Dumbledore and his friends, but it was a long, arduous process to relearn and re-experience emotions. He still felt them, but they were muted, like distant echoes. He knew he had to appear normal, or at least try.
Meanwhile, at the train station, Lily Evans bounced excitedly, her bright red hair almost vibrating with anticipation. She was now a fifth-year, and the thought of returning to Hogwarts, to her friends, and to the magical challenges that awaited them, filled her with boundless energy.
"Come on, Sev! Don't dawdle!" she urged, tugging at Severus Snape's sleeve as she and he finally managed to escape the crowd and began to make their way to the school on foot. Severus, too, was a fifth-year, though his expression was, as usual, a mixture of disdain and grudging acceptance of Lily's enthusiasm. His black robes seemed to absorb the light, and his hooked nose was buried in a book on advanced potion-making.
"Lily, must you be quite so... effervescent?" Severus muttered, adjusting his grip on his book. "We'll be there soon enough. And I fail to see the necessity of rushing to greet a first-year student. He's probably still clinging to his parents' skirts."
Lily rolled her eyes. "He's a second-year now, Sev! And he's not just a first-year.' He's Echo! Remember how he stood up for you last year? And the weird gargoyle thing at the hall that everyone was whispering about? He's interesting and nice, if a bit weird and honest! And I haven't seen him all summer. I want to see if he's grown and what he's learned after living at the school with no one else. He must have learned to pick up something." She pulled him with surprising strength, forcing him to close his book and follow her down the road.
Severus sighed, but a faint, almost imperceptible curiosity flickered in his dark eyes. He wouldn't admit it, but Echo had indeed left an impression. The boy's strange, defiant magic was something Severus had never encountered before, and he often found his thoughts returning to their brief, unsettling encounters.
"I still can't believe you wanted to walk all the way, Lily," Severus grumbled, adjusting the strap of his bag as they finally reached the imposing oak doors of Hogwarts. The air here was cooler, imbued with the familiar scent of ancient magic and damp stone.
Lily, however, was practically buzzing. "It's tradition, Sev! And besides, it's nice to stretch our legs after that cramped train. Imagine, a whole summer without having to listen to James Potter's insufferable boasting!" She grinned, pushing open one of the massive doors.
The Entrance Hall was a hive of activity, with students milling about and excitedly greeting friends and professors. First-years stared up at the enchanted ceiling, wide-eyed, while older students navigated the crowd with practiced ease. Lily's eyes immediately began to scan the familiar faces, searching for one in particular.
"Do you really think he'd be here already?" Severus muttered, pulling his robes tighter around him, clearly disliking the bustling crowd. "He's always seemed to keep to himself."
"That's exactly why he would be!" Lily declared, her eyes still darting. "He wouldn't want to deal with the crowds. He'd probably find some quiet spot to read, or… or just exist. Remember how he was always wandering off?...mostly to the forbidden forest now that I think of it. Oh, Merlin, I hope he's not there again."
They made their way through the throng, past the Gryffindor table, already half-filled with boisterous students, and skirted the edges of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw groups. Lily pulled Severus towards the less populated areas, towards the quieter corners of the hall.
"He's not in the common room," Severus mused after a quick check when he met back up with Lilly.
"Or the library, probably not with this many people. Maybe… the Great Hall? He always seemed to gravitate there for some reason." Lily shrugged.
Severus gave an exasperated sigh, but followed. The doors to the Great Hall were partially ajar, and a faint, peculiar hum emanated from within. As they approached, the hum intensified, and Lily exchanged a curious glance with Severus.
"That's… not normal," Severus said, his voice dropping to a low murmur.
Lily pushed the doors open fully, and her eyes widened. The Great Hall was indeed occupied, but not by a chattering crowd. Instead, perched on the head table was a small Niffler, attempting to pry a silver goblet from a golden platter. And by a nearby window, seemingly lost in thought, sat Echo.
"Echo!" she called out, her voice bright with genuine pleasure. She casually left the room, practically dragging Severus inside. "Look who it is! We found you!"
Echo turned his head slowly, his dark and flat eyes fixing on them. He recognized them, of course, but the usual warmth of recognition was absent from his gaze. His face, once lightly tanned from the summer sun, was now pale, almost translucent, and his black hair framed it starkly. He had grown taller, but his frame seemed thinner, almost fragile.
Lily's cheerful expression faltered, a slow dawning of concern spreading across her features. Severus, who had prepared a cutting remark about Echo's likely childishness, found his words caught in his throat. He stared, a rare flicker of genuine shock in his eyes.
"Echo?" Lily repeated, her voice softer, laced with confusion. "Your hair... and your eyes..." She hesitated, sensing the profound shift in him. The vibrant energy that had surrounded him, even in moments of quiet defiance, was gone, replaced by an unsettling stillness.
"Hello, Lily. Severus," Echo said, his voice flat, devoid of its usual inflection. It was polite, but utterly devoid of warmth. He offered a faint, almost imperceptible movement that might have been a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You're... well."
Severus finally managed to speak, his voice unusually quiet. "What in Merlin's name happened to you, Echo?" He usually thrived on observing weakness, but this was different. This wasn't a weakness; it was an absence. A void.
Echo merely looked at them, his dark eyes unfathomable. "Nothing. Just... summer." He didn't offer any further explanation, his gaze drifting back to the window, the distant hills reflected in his unnervingly still eyes.
Lily and Severus exchanged a stunned glance. The cheerful reunion Lily had envisioned was shattered, replaced by an unsettling silence. Echo was there, physically present, but the boy they remembered —the defiant, mysterious, subtly powerful second-year —seemed to be just a shadow, a mere echo of himself. The summer, it seemed, had changed him in ways they couldn't have imagined, and the vibrant life that had once filled him had been brutally, undeniably dimmed. They remained silent for a long moment, the sounds of the bustling Entrance Hall a distant counterpoint to the quiet desolation emanating from Echo. Lily felt a pang of something akin to fear. This wasn't the Echo she knew. This was… a ghost of him.
"Echo," Lily tried again, her voice gentle, coaxing. "Are you sure you're alright? You don't…you don't seem like yourself. You're so… quiet."
Echo finally looked at her fully, and for a fleeting second, a flicker of something, perhaps genuine confusion, crossed his flat eyes. "Quiet? I'm always quiet, Lily. I don't see what's changed." He shrugged, a small, listless gesture. "I'm just... tired."
Severus, usually quick to dismiss, felt a knot of unease tighten in his gut. He knew something was deeply wrong. He had seen the effects of Dementor exposure, though never so profound or lasting. This wasn't just sadness; it was a profound emptiness that defied explanation.
"Echo," Severus said, his voice surprisingly soft, "what happened over the summer? We heard… rumors. About a Dementor."
Echo's eyes, already dark, seemed to dim further. He turned his gaze back to the window, avoiding their eyes. "It's nothing. Just a… minor incident. It's over now." He said it with such finality, such utter lack of emotion, that it was chilling.
Lily exchanged another worried glance with Severus. This wasn't a wall of defiance; it was a wall of absence. How could they break through it when there was nothing to break against?
"Well," Lily said, trying to inject some false cheer into her voice, "at least we're back at Hogwarts. It won't be so quiet now that everyone's here." She looked around the vast, empty hallway, then back at Echo. Perhaps… perhaps we should go to the Great Hall? Dumbledore should be there soon for the feast."
Echo didn't respond, merely continued to gaze out the window. Sniffles, who had finally managed to dislodge the decorative goblet from the platter on its display case, chirped triumphantly, then, sensing the tension, quickly buried himself back into Echo's robe.
Lily sighed, frustrated but unwilling to give up. "Come on, Sev," she murmured, taking a tentative step towards Echo. "Let's… let's just sit with him. Until the feast starts."
Severus hesitated for a moment, then, with a curt nod, followed Lily. They led Echo back to the Great Hall, where they took a seat at the back, near the benches. They all settled one beside Echo, leaving a respectful distance. The silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Lily tried to think of something, anything, to say that might pierce through the strange shell Echo had erected around himself. Severus merely watched him, his mind working furiously, trying to reconcile the boy before him with the defiant, mysterious force he had glimpsed last year.
The Great Hall slowly began to fill with the sounds of arriving students and professors, the distant clatter of plates and cutlery being set. The hum intensified, growing into a vibrant roar. But for Echo, sitting in the back on a bench, away from his usual table at Slytherin with the only two people who seemed to care, the world still felt unnervingly, profoundly quiet, surrounded by the muted echoes of his own hollowed-out self. In the first years, led by Professor McGonagall, students streamed into the Great Hall, their nervous excitement palpable. The sorting began, and the familiar cheers and applause filled the air. Echo watched it all as if through a thick pane of glass. He registered the sights and sounds, but they held no resonance for him. The feeling of belonging, the thrill of new beginnings—they were distant concepts, obscured by the pervasive grayness that had settled in his soul.
Lily, trying to engage him, nudged him gently. "Look, Echo! Another Gryffindor!" she whispered, pointing towards the cheering table.
Echo simply nodded, a faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his head. "Yes. Gryffindor."
The feast began, and plates laden with food magically appeared on the tables. The rich aromas of roast chicken, baked potatoes, and treacle tart filled the air. Lily eagerly piled her plate with Severus and brought back a plate for Echo, who didnt get up. Echo merely picked at his food, taking small, deliberate bites, as if eating were a chore.
"You should eat more, Echo," Lily encouraged, her brow furrowed with concern. "You're so thin."
"I'm fine," Echo replied, his voice still flat. "I'm not hungry."
Severus watched him, a grim expression on his face. He knew the Dementor's Kiss was said to leave victims as empty shells, and in the worst cases, soulless, but he had never believed it to be so literal, so absolute. He wondered what Dumbledore, the supposed master of these wards, would say. Finally, Dumbledore rose, his eyes twinkling, though Echo noted a subtle gravity beneath the usual mirth. He gave his usual welcoming speech, listing the few new rules and restrictions, including a warning about the Forbidden Forest. Then, his gaze lingered for a moment on Echo, a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of concern crossing his features.
"And finally," Dumbledore said, his voice resonating through the hall, "I must regretfully inform you all of a recent… incident. While Hogwarts remains the safest place in the world for young witches and wizards, a minor breach in our usual magical security occurred over the summer. While the situation has been rectified, and the wards are stronger than ever, I urge you all to remain vigilant. If you observe anything, no matter how small, that seems out of place or causes you unease, please report it immediately to a professor."
He did not mention the Dementor. He did not mention Lucius Malfoy, of whom there was still no evidence besides word of mouth from one eyewitness. He did not mention Echo's name. But Echo knew. He knew Dumbledore was speaking of him, speaking for him, without exposing him. It was a subtle acknowledgment, a silent promise of protection. Yet, even that knowledge brought no comfort, no warmth. It was just information, processed and filed away in the empty chambers of his mind.
Dumbledore then smiled, his eyes sweeping over the assembled students. "Now, enough of such somber matters! Let the feast continue!"
The hall erupted in renewed chatter and laughter. Lily leaned closer to Echo. "See? It'll be better now. You'll have friends, classes, and things to do. You won't be alone."
Echo looked at her, and for the first time, a shadow of something, perhaps a faint echo of longing, crossed his eyes. "I hope so, Lily," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the din. "I really do."
But as the laughter and cheer filled the Great Hall, Echo still felt the pervasive coldness within him, a stark reminder of the summer's brutal lesson. The world had returned to its vibrant, chaotic self, but a part of Echo —the part that felt, loved, and rejoiced —remained stubbornly, unnervingly silent. He had survived, yes. But the cost had been immense. And the battle to reclaim himself, to bring back the lost colors of his soul, had only just begun.
The following days were a blur of lessons and observations for Echo. He moved through Hogwarts like a ghost, his presence noted but rarely truly felt. He answered questions in class with a sharp, detached intelligence that surprised some professors, but his interactions remained minimal. He ate in the Great Hall, attended his lessons, and spent his free time in quiet corners, always with Sniffles curled somewhere on his person. Lily and Severus continued their attempts to draw him out, but his blank responses and distant gaze often left them frustrated.
Potions, surprisingly, were no longer the torment they once were. With his new wand-stirring technique, Echo found a strange rhythm in the brewing process. He could feel the ingredients reacting, the subtle shifts in magical energy, and he could influence them with a precision Cleen openly praised. Cleen, however, still maintained his stern demeanor, though Echo noticed the subtle glances of concern that would occasionally flit across his face when he thought Echo wasn't looking. The professor still lectured him, but there was a faint, almost imperceptible softening in his tone, a grudging respect that was a vast improvement from his previous contempt.
Defense Against the Dark Arts, taught by a, well…Professor Cleen, again. This class proved to be another area where Echo's unique abilities shone, or rather, where his recent ordeal gave him an unnerving edge. At the same time, other students struggled to visualize Patronuses, Echo could, with immense effort, conjure that thin, silvery wisp —a silent testament to the struggle against despair. Cleen once again seemed to fixate on Echo, his gaze unsettlingly perceptive. He often pushed Echo harder, giving him advanced exercises that seemed to test the very limits of his magical endurance, always with a gruff demand for "constant vigilance."
Charms, Transfiguration, and Herbology – all passed in a monotone. Echo learned, absorbed, and executed, but the spark of joy, the thrill of discovery, was absent. It was as if he were merely going through the motions, a meticulously programmed automaton.
The Marauders, of course, were another matter. James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew had returned with their usual boisterous energy. James, true to form, was particularly keen on tormenting Echo. He would trip him in the corridors, "accidentally" spill ink on his essays, and generally make a nuisance of himself, always with a smirk that dared Echo to react.
But Echo didn't react. Not truly. The Dementor had stripped him of the raw, visceral emotional responses that James craved. The taunts, the petty torments, simply bounced off the empty shell of his emotions. He would simply clean his robes, right himself, or calmly pick up his scattered books, his dark eyes blank, his face devoid of any expression. This unnerved James more than any angry outburst ever could. He found himself increasingly frustrated, his pranks losing their satisfaction when his target offered no response, no flicker of fear or anger.
One afternoon, James cornered Echo in an empty corridor, his usual entourage hovering behind him. "What's wrong with you, Echo?" James sneered, pushing him against the cold stone wall. "Lost your voice? Lost your little spark? You used to be so fun to rile up! Now you're just… boring."
Echo simply stared at him, his expression unreadable. "I am here, James. I am not lost." His voice was flat, devoid of emotion.
James narrowed his eyes, a flicker of genuine unease in their depths. "You're not Echo. You're… something else. Did you hit your head? Lose your marbles?" He reached out, almost instinctively, to poke Echo's forehead.
Before his finger could connect, Sniffles, who had been quietly resting in Echo's pocket, let out a furious, guttural hiss. He launched himself out, a blur of fur and claws, and bit James's outstretched finger with surprising force.
"Ow!" James yelped, snatching his hand back, blood welling up from two small puncture marks. "Bloody Niffler! What was that for?!" James swore if that little creature didn't already have sharp shovels for fingertips, that little dickens would be waving a knife at him.
Echo merely looked at Sniffles, who had retreated into his pocket, a tiny, defiant chirping sound emanating from within. "He is protective," Echo stated, still without emotion. "He does not like it when people touch me without permission."
James stared, his face a mixture of pain, confusion, and a strange, nascent fear. This wasn't how their interactions usually went. Echo wasn't reacting; his pet was. It was unsettling.
"Let's go, James," Sirius muttered, a rare note of caution in his voice. "He's clearly off his rocker."
James hesitated, then, with a final, baffled glare at Echo, turned and stalked away, his friends following, muttering amongst themselves.
Echo watched them go, then turned his gaze back to the empty corridor. He felt nothing from the encounter, not anger, not satisfaction, not even relief—only a vague sense of continuation. James would report the incident to McGonagall; however, even that would be met with unusual understanding, as she had already noticed Echo's profound change.
The school year progressed, and the mystery of the Dementor's breach remained unsolved, at least to the student body. Echo continued his training with Cleen, his mastery of potions growing exponentially, much to Cleen's grudging pride. He continued to visit Wick in the Forbidden Forest, their bond deepening as they soared through the sky, Echo feeling a faint, almost imperceptible echo of true freedom during those flights. The unicorns, too, seemed to gravitate towards him, their serene presence a quiet comfort that slowly, incrementally, seemed to chip away at the edges of his emotional void. He would spend hours with them, simply sitting amongst the foals, feeling the gentle pulse of their magic.
One chilly October evening, a few weeks into term, Echo found himself in the common room, ostensibly doing homework, but mostly just watching the flickering flames in the fireplace. The chatter of his housemates, usually a background hum, felt particularly distant tonight. He still kept mostly to himself, and his reputation as "the quiet, weird one who got attacked by something over the summer" kept most students at a polite distance.
Suddenly, a chilling thought struck him, a cold, hard fact that resonated with the lingering emptiness within him: the Dementor, Lucius Malfoy, the Cruciatus Curse, and Dumbledore's vague assurances of "rectified situations." Echo felt a flicker, a tiny spark of something that might have been suspicion, or perhaps, a nascent fear. It was a cold, logical thought, devoid of emotional panic, but potent nonetheless. He remembered Malfoy's words: "The Dementor should have finished you." And Dumbledore's explanation: "A minor breach."
It didn't add up. A Dementor was not a "minor breach." And Malfoy was a powerful wizard, connected to some of the most dangerous people. Dumbledore had been so quick to dismiss the Dementor, so certain of the wards. But Echo had felt it. He had felt his soul being drained. And he had felt Lucius Malfoy's intent. The pieces, cold and sharp, began to fall into place in his mind. The Dementor had appeared inside the castle. It hadn't entered through a door or window. It had simply… materialized. Just like Peeves had said. And Dumbledore had also agreed.
This points to a highly skilled breach of magical security, Severus. Or… something far more ancient and insidious.
Dumbledore's words. He hadn't been worried about a simple breach. He had been worried about something deeper, something deliberately orchestrated. And then, another memory surfaced, a flash from the chaotic battle in the Great Hall: Lucius Malfoy's sneer, his confident assertion that the Dementor should have finished him. A terrible, chilling realization began to form in Echo's mind. The Dementor wasn't just a random incident. It wasn't just a minor breach. It was a deliberate act. An assassination attempt.
And Lucius Malfoy was directly involved. And worst of all, that smug hair model was still attending Hogwarts. It still was his last year here, and since then, there has been no substantial evidence. Even if there was, no doubt Malfoy and his money could make it vanish in a day. And now he walked around school with that same smug smile. Always pointing it at him, and as he walked with a swagger in his step, Echo was unable to do a thing.
But how? How could a Dementor, creatures so feared that they were rarely even mentioned, be brought into Hogwarts? Who had that kind of power? Who had that kind of influence? Unless… unless it wasn't Lucius working alone. Unless he was part of something larger. Something darker.
Echo felt a distant tremor, a faint, internal shudder that was not quite fear, but a cold, intellectual dread. He had faced down his own inner beast, survived the touch of a Dementor, and even gained a strange control over dark magic. But this… this was different. This wasn't just about his own power anymore. This was about a threat far larger than himself, a threat lurking within the very walls of Hogwarts. The silence of the common room, once a comfort, now felt oppressive, filled with unspoken questions. Echo knew, with chilling certainty, that the Dementor attack hadn't been an isolated event. It was a warning, a message, and a declaration of war.
He was no longer just a student struggling to survive. He was a target. And the game, he realized, had just begun.