The weight of the satchel in Echo's hands was a tangible presence, grounding him even as his thoughts swirled. He had the Room, the tools, the purpose. But a crucial element was missing: knowledge. The Room of Requirement was a workshop, but it couldn't simply download arcane secrets directly into his mind. He needed information, a comprehensive understanding of the dark magic that now coursed through his veins, the magic that allowed him to bend a Dementor to his will and shatter a broom in a fit of cold fury.
He thought of Cleen's lessons, the grudging praise, the subtle push towards advanced, almost dangerous spells. But even Cleen's instruction was limited, constrained by school rules and the perceived fragility of Echo's emotional state. Echo had learned what he was allowed to learn, what was deemed safe for a Hogwarts student. But he knew, with a chilling certainty, that there was more. Far more. There were deeper, darker currents of magic, forbidden knowledge that held the key to understanding his own terrifying transformation.
His mind immediately went to the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library. It was the only place in the castle where such knowledge might reside – tomes on ancient curses, rituals of blood magic, the true nature of soul-altering enchantments, perhaps even ways to manipulate the very fabric of despair. He had seen glimpses of these titles, their spines whispering of forgotten power, during his previous, supervised forays. Madam Pince, the librarian, guarded that section with a ferocity usually reserved for dragons. Getting a book out required a signed note from a professor, and even then, she scrutinized every request with suspicion. Echo knew, with a certainty that chilled him, that no professor would ever grant him access to the books he truly needed. They would see his emotional numbness, his unsettling control over dark magic, and deny him outright.
He traced the runes on the satchel, a flicker of an idea forming. He had always relied on direct action, on brute force, or on the unwitting aid of others. However, this required cunning, a subtle form of misdirection. He needed to get in, and he needed to get out, without a trace. And the only being in Hogwarts capable of such audacious, chaotic, and undetectable infiltration was… Peeves.
The thought brought a faint, almost imperceptible twitch to Echo's lips. Peeves, the poltergeist, the bane of every professor's existence, a creature of pure anarchy and mischief. He was loud, irritating, and utterly unpredictable. But he was also boundless, intangible, and capable of moving through the castle with an impunity no human could match. He reveled in chaos, delighted in defying authority. And Echo needed exactly that kind of chaos to create the diversion he required.
He needed to find Peeves. This was easier said than done. Peeves rarely stayed in one place for long, preferring to flit from corridor to corridor, cackling maniacally and dropping suits of armor down staircases. Echo needed to predict chaos, to anticipate the poltergeist's next grand theatrical disruption.
He began his search in the Trophy Room, a frequent target for Peeves's antics. Silence. Then the Great Hall, then the dungeons. Nothing. Frustration, a cold, dry sensation, began to prickle. He needed a more direct approach. He stopped in an empty corridor, took a deep breath, and shouted, his voice surprisingly clear and amplified by the quiet of the castle:
"PEEVES! I NEED YOUR ASSISTANCE!"
A beat of silence. Then, a faint, high-pitched cackle echoed from above. A moment later, Peeves, a grotesque, bulbous figure in a jester's hat, materialized upside down from the ceiling, his wide, mischievous eyes gleaming with unholy delight.
"Well, well, well! If it isn't little Echo!" Peeves chortled, twirling in mid-air. "Back from the land of the glum and the silent, are we? Peeves thought you'd joined the ghosts! What a fright! Want to have some fun? Peeves has some excellent plans for Professor Filch's underwear drawer!"
Echo looked at him, his expression unchanging. "Peeves, I require your services for a task of… significant importance."
Peeves stopped twirling; his head cocked to one side. "Ooh, 'significant importance'! Peeves likes the sound of that! Is it important enough to make Professor McGonagall's hair fall out? Or maybe turn all the House points into pickled onions?"
"It involves the library," Echo stated, cutting to the chase. "The Restricted Section, specifically."
Peeves's eyes widened, then narrowed in a parody of seriousness. "The Restricted Section, eh? Naughty, naughty, little Echo! That's where the bad books are! Madam Pince would skin Peeves alive if she thought he helped! And Peeves is already skinned, more or less! Dumbledore wouldn't be pleased, oh no!" He hovered closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Peeves might even have to tell on you, just for being so… daring!"
Echo felt a flicker of impatience, but he knew how to play Peeves. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of particularly shiny brass buttons he had acquired from a discarded uniform in the dungeons. He tossed them into the air, and Peeves, with a delighted squeal, snatched them all mid-fall.
"Now, Peeves," Echo said, his voice flat but with a subtle hint of promise, "imagine the chaos. The sheer, unadulterated bedlam if Madam Pince were… distracted. Very, very distracted. Enough for you to truly outdo yourself." He paused, letting the implication hang in the air. "And once I have what I need, you may even… join me in a place where no one will find us, where you can watch as I learn things from these 'bad' books. And perhaps… I will even read some of the more interesting parts to you. Just for fun."
Peeves froze, his eyes gleaming. The concept of unadulterated chaos, combined with forbidden knowledge and a private audience? It was irresistible. He let out a shriek of pure glee.
"Peeves is in! Oh, this is going to be delicious!" He zipped around Echo's head, performing an ecstatic, ear-splitting jig. "The Restricted Section! A library riot! Oh, Echo, Peeves thinks he's going to like the new you!"
Echo merely nodded, a faint, almost imperceptible curl of his lip that might have been a ghost of a smile. "Excellent. Let us begin."
Madam Pince was a woman of formidable reputation, a librarian whose love for her books bordered on obsession. She was thin, with a sharp nose and hair pulled back so tightly it seemed to threaten her scalp. Her eyes, magnified by thick spectacles, missed nothing. The Restricted Section, behind a heavy, chained rope, was her personal vault, and she guarded it with the zealousness of a dragon protecting its hoard. Echo and Peeves arrived at the library doors after midnight, the castle hushed and dark. Madam Pince, predictably, was nowhere to be seen. She usually retired to her private quarters above the library, but Echo knew she had magical alarms that would detect any unauthorized entry into the Restricted Section.
"Right, Peeves," Echo whispered, his voice flat in the echoing silence. "The plan is simple. You create the most spectacular diversion possible. The goal is to draw Madam Pince out, away from the Restricted Section, and keep her occupied for as long as possible."
Peeves giggled, a high-pitched sound that sent shivers down Echo's spine. "Peeves understands! A grand spectacle! Something to make the old bat's spectacles fog up with fury!"
"Indeed," Echo said, his eyes scanning the library. "No damage to the books, however. Just… chaos."
"No damage to the books," Peeves repeated, a slight pout on his face. "Peeves likes smashing things."
"Then imagine the satisfaction of smashing her sanity," Echo offered, a faint, cold amusement in his tone.
Peeves's eyes widened, and he let out a delighted shriek. "Oh, Echo, you're brilliant! A true master of mischief! Madam Pince's sanity, you say? Consider it gone!"
With that, Peeves zoomed off, a blur of purple and gold, disappearing into the main stacks. Echo waited, his senses acutely tuned, listening.
A few moments later, a low, ominous groaning sound started, growing louder and louder, as if the very shelves of books were protesting their existence. Then came a series of loud, clattering crashes, followed by a high-pitched, outraged shriek that could only belong to Madam Pince.
"PEEVES! YOU MENACE! WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY ARE YOU DOING?!"
Echo heard the thud of heavy footsteps, Madam Pince's furious shouts fading as she evidently pursued the poltergeist deeper into the labyrinthine shelves. He wasted no time. He moved to the chained rope guarding the Restricted Section. He didn't try to unfasten it or break it. Instead, he channeled his unique magic, the subtle, dark force that responded to intent. He thought not of a spell, but of a concept: unbound. He projected that need, that desire for unhindered access, into the magical ward.
The chains shimmered, then, with a faint, almost imperceptible hum, they simply… parted, falling silently to the floor. The rope unwound itself, slithering away like a startled snake. The air beyond felt heavier, colder, permeated by the dusty scent of ancient parchment and forbidden knowledge.
Echo stepped into the Restricted Section. The shelves here were taller, the books older, their leather bindings cracked and faded, their titles often obscured by strange symbols or simply unreadable. The silence was profound, broken only by the faint, muffled sounds of Peeves's ongoing rampage in the main library.
He began to search, moving systematically through the rows. He wasn't looking for specific titles yet, but rather for categories, for the aura of the magic they contained. He ran his fingers along the spines, feeling the faint, residual hum of dark enchantments, the whisper of ancient secrets. He found books on soul magic, obscure branches of necromancy, forgotten curses, and the very nature of despair. His core thrummed with a cold, intellectual excitement.
He pulled out a heavy, leather-bound tome, its cover unadorned save for a single, stylized snake etched into the material. The title, in a strange, angular script, seemed to shift before his eyes. He opened it, the pages rustling with a dry, papery whisper. The text was dense, written in a language he didn't immediately recognize, but his mind, sharpened by the Dementor's touch, began to translate it with chilling ease. It was a book on the manipulation of sentient magical creatures, particularly those of a dark persuasion. He felt a faint, almost imperceptible pull towards a section on Dementors.
As he read, absorbing the complex theories and forbidden rituals, he felt a strange sense of… rightness. This was the knowledge he needed. This was the pathway to understanding himself and mastering the power that had emerged from his trauma. The pages, filled with chilling information, seemed to resonate with the emptiness within him, not filling it but acknowledging it, giving it context.
He continued to gather books, selecting those that felt most potent, most relevant to his unique situation. He chose a slim volume on emotional dampening charms and their reversal, a massive tome on ancient warding schemes, and a smaller, unassuming pamphlet titled "The Soul's Echo: Resonances of Trauma." He knew that if these books were discovered, he would face immediate expulsion, possibly worse. But he felt no fear. Only a cold, unwavering determination.
He heard Madam Pince's voice, closer now, her shouts laced with genuine exhaustion and fury. Peeves was still going strong, but the diversion wouldn't last forever. Echo knew he had minutes at best. He gathered the chosen books, holding them tight to his chest, and moved silently towards the entrance. He paused at the now-open barrier, glancing back at the rows of forbidden knowledge. A profound thought struck him: the Room of Requirement would have given him these if he had specified the need. But the Room answered his needs, based on his knowledge. He had needed to come here, to find these for himself, to seek them out truly. It was a subtle, yet crucial, difference.
He slipped out of the Restricted Section just as Madam Pince's enraged roar echoed from the main corridor, indicating she was finally returning to her post, Peeves undoubtedly zipping away to find a new target. The chains on the Restricted Section barrier swung back into place as if no one had touched them. Echo melted into the shadows of the castle, the forbidden books clutched tightly against him. He felt no triumph, no elation. Only a quiet, cold satisfaction. He had what he needed. And the learning, the painful, solitary journey back to himself, could finally begin in the sanctuary of the Room of Requirement.