The first faint hints of dawn barely painted the sky outside the Room of Requirement, but for Echo, it felt like a lifetime had passed. He had watched, vigilant and unblinking, as the last of the injured creatures in the vivariums finally succumbed to deep, restorative sleep. The unicorn's gored flank was now a smooth, unblemished white, the hippogriff's wings fully regenerated and magnificent, and the young dragons snored softly, their scales gleaming in the soft light of the healing crystals. He had done it. They were healed, safe, and thriving.
A profound exhaustion, cold and absolute, finally settled over him. It wasn't the bone-deep weariness of physical exertion, but the draining aftermath of prolonged, intense magical focus and the subtle, persistent emotional resonance of saving so many lives. His hollow core, though still empty, hummed with a quiet satisfaction that was almost like a faint, pleasant ache. He had given them a second chance, and in doing so, had deepened his understanding of his own unique magic, his 'Beast Magic.' He rose from the obsidian chair, moving with a stiff, almost mechanical grace. The remaining hot chocolate was cold, forgotten. He glanced at the apothecary table, still laden with vials and texts, then at the comfortable cot in the alcove. Sleep. A true, dreamless oblivion. It was all he desired.
He walked to the large wooden door, which shimmered into existence as he approached. He pushed it open, and the Room of Requirement, having served its purpose, winked out of existence behind him, leaving him in the deserted, silent corridor of the seventh floor. The castle was still hushed, save for the faint, creaking whispers of ancient stone. He made his way through the familiar passages, his steps quiet and deliberate, a ghost in the pre-dawn stillness. The thought of his bed, of the cold, impersonal comfort of the Slytherin dorm, was a beacon. He longed for the complete absence of thought, the temporary surrender of his will.
As he descended the final flight of stairs into the dungeon corridor, his relief was palpable, almost a physical tremor. The Slytherin common room was just ahead. He pushed open the heavy, iron-studded door, expecting silence, anticipating the welcome chill of his private space.
But he was wrong.
A figure detached itself from the shadows near the roaring fireplace, materializing with an unsettling abruptness. Severus Snape stood there; his arms crossed, his usually sallow face made even paler by the dim, pre-dawn light filtering through the Black Lake windows. His dark eyes, sharp and accusatory, fixed immediately on Echo.
"Well, well, Echo," Severus drawled, his voice a low, cutting whisper that nonetheless grated on Echo's exhausted nerves. "Back from your… nocturnal adventures, are we? It's almost dawn. You've been gone all night."
Echo stopped, his hand still on the common room door. He felt no surprise, no fear, only a profound, cold irritation. He wanted to sleep. Severus was an obstacle.
"Good morning, Severus," Echo replied, his voice flat, devoid of any genuine greeting. He didn't attempt to deny it, didn't try to feign innocence. There was no point.
Severus's left eyebrow arched, a classic Snape gesture of disbelief and thinly veiled contempt. "Good morning, indeed. Or perhaps, good morning, considering you've missed an entire night's rest. Where, pray tell, have you been? And don't tell me you were taking another 'stroll' through the dungeons. Not for ten hours, at least."
Echo looked at him, his dark eyes blank, yet a faint, cold amusement stirred within him. Severus was always so predictable in his suspicions. He needed a plausible, if uninteresting, lie. Something that would satisfy Severus's need for an answer, yet reveal absolutely nothing.
"I was… in the library," Echo stated, his voice even. "The main section. I discovered a rather intriguing section on advanced spell matrices that required… extensive focus." He paused, letting the implication of deep, intellectual study hang in the air. "It was quite absorbing. Time slipped away."
Severus stared at him, his eyes narrowed, searching for a tell. He looked at Echo's slightly disheveled robes, the faint, lingering scent of damp earth, and something vaguely herbal that clung to him. The lie was flimsy, yet there was an unyielding conviction in Echo's blank stare that made it difficult to penetrate. A night spent poring over dusty tomes was characteristic of Echo's unsettling dedication.
"Advanced spell matrices," Severus repeated slowly, a hint of skepticism in his tone. "Indeed. For ten hours. Fascinating." He paused, his gaze sweeping over Echo, lingering on the faint smudges on his cheek that looked suspiciously like… dust. Or perhaps dried mud. He sighed, a sound of profound exasperation. "Very well, Echo. I shall pretend to believe you. For now."
He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low, warning rumble. "But understand this: Hogwarts has rules for a reason. Wandering the castle all night is a dangerous habit, even for someone as… self-sufficient as yourself. You are not invincible. And I do not appreciate being lied to, even if the lie is as transparent as a poorly brewed Veritaserum solution."
Echo remained silent, his expression unreadable. He felt no need to defend himself.
Severus sighed again, running a hand over his face. "Go," he said, his voice finally devoid of accusation, replaced by a weary command. "Go and wash. And change your robes. Breakfast will be in two hours, and you look as though you've spent the night wrestling a particularly stubborn Grindylow. Try not to attract any more unnecessary attention to yourself. Or to me, by association."
Echo merely inclined his head, a silent acknowledgment. He turned, pushed open the common room door, and stepped inside, leaving Severus standing alone in the dim, pre-dawn corridor, still radiating an aura of profound irritation and grudging concern. Echo, bone-weary but resolute, made his way to the Slytherin dormitories, the scent of damp earth and exhaustion clinging to him. He bypassed his bed, the thought of its comfort a distant, unattainable luxury, and headed straight for the communal baths. The cool water was a welcome shock, washing away the grime and the lingering magical residue of the night. He scrubbed at his skin, trying to erase the memory of despair, the touch of the Dementor, the frantic energy of healing. When he emerged, wrapped in a fresh, dark robe, his hair still damp, he felt a fleeting sense of cleanliness, a temporary reprieve from the internal void.
He exited the baths and stepped back into the Slytherin common room. The pre-dawn gloom had lifted, replaced by the pale, watery light filtering through the Black Lake windows. Students were beginning to stir; some gathered near the fireplace, others made their way to breakfast. Lucius Malfoy, already impeccably dressed, stood with Crabbe and Goyle, discussing something in hushed, arrogant tones. As Echo stepped fully into the room, a collective gasp ripped through the common room. Conversations ceased abruptly. Heads snapped towards him. Whispers erupted, quickly escalating into a cacophony of shocked murmurs. Every eye was fixed on him, wide with a mixture of disbelief, horror, and a dawning understanding. Even Lucius Malfoy, usually so composed, stumbled back a step, his sneer replaced by a look of profound, unadulterated shock.
Severus Snape, who had evidently lingered, stood by the common room entrance, his arms still crossed, his face a mask of irritation. But as his gaze fell upon Echo, his eyes, usually sharp and accusatory, widened. His jaw tightened, and the books he was still clutching slipped from his grasp, clattering unheeded to the stone floor. He stared at Echo, his expression utterly, terrifyingly blank. Echo paused, feeling the sudden, overwhelming silence and the raw, visceral reactions of his housemates. He felt a cold prickle of annoyance. He had merely bathed and changed. What was the cause of such an uproar?
"What?" Echo asked, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, yet carrying an edge of cold impatience. "What is everyone staring at?"
Severus Snape, still pale and unmoving, slowly reached into the pocket of his robes. His hand, trembling almost imperceptibly, pulled out a small, silver-backed mirror. He held it out to Echo, silently, his eyes fixed on the boy's face, a terrible, unspoken dread in their depths. Echo took the mirror; his brows furrowed in a faint, cold frown. He raised it, his dark eyes meeting his own reflection.
He looked into it and screamed, "JAMES POTTER!"
He threw the mirror to the ground, the silver frame clattering against the stone, the glass shattering. His face, usually a mask of chilling impassivity, contorted into a terrifying snarl. His hair, a mass of vibrant, impossible colors—fiery red, electric blue, vivid green, shocking yellow—seemed to crackle with an unnatural energy. It was a rainbow. A mocking, audacious, utterly deliberate rainbow. And he knew exactly who was responsible. A cold, incandescent fury, unlike anything he had ever felt, surged through him. It was a pure, unadulterated rage, untainted by the usual numbness, raw and burning. This wasn't about trauma; it was about violation. About a humiliating, deliberate act of defiance. The very air around him seemed to crackle with his burgeoning power.
He stalked out of the common room, leaving behind a terrified, whispering assembly of Slytherins and a pale, stunned Severus Snape. His steps were long, purposeful strides, each one thudding with a barely contained fury. He didn't care about the castle's occupants, the rules, or the potential consequences. All he cared about was finding them.
He ascended the stairs, not bothering with stealth, his dark eyes, now flickering with that chilling emerald glint, scanning every shadow, every corner. He bypassed the Great Hall, ignoring the growing chatter of students heading to breakfast, and moved with relentless speed towards the seventh floor. He knew their haunts. He knew their arrogance. He burst onto the seventh floor, near the Fat Lady's portrait, his robes billowing behind him like a storm cloud. The corridor was relatively empty, only a few early risers heading to the Great Hall, who immediately recoiled at the sight of his rainbow hair and the palpable aura of wrath radiating from him. He stopped directly before the Fat Lady, who gaped at him, her painted face a picture of shock.
"POTTER! BLACK! LUPIN! PETTIGREW!" Echo bellowed, his voice amplified by his rage, echoing through the usually quiet corridor like a peal of thunder. "GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!"
He pointed a shaking, accusing finger at his hair, a vibrant, multicolored accusation against the backdrop of his enraged face. "LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE! YOU COWARDS! YOU MISERABLE, PATHETIC COWARDS!"
From a hidden alcove just around the corner, where they had been waiting, expecting to see a bewildered, perhaps slightly annoyed Echo, James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew froze. Their grins, initially wide with anticipation of a hilarious prank's success, slowly slipped. They had thought the shampoo they'd switched out in the Slytherin baths would be a harmless, if embarrassing, joke. They had not anticipated this. The raw, unfiltered fury in Echo's voice, the sheer, unbridled rage emanating from him like a physical force, was terrifying. They had never seen him like this.
Sirius, ever the bravest and most foolhardy, started to step out, a mocking retort forming on his lips. "What's the matter, Snakey? Can't handle a little…"
"WHEN I FIND YOU, IT'S ON SIGHT!" Echo roared, cutting him off, his voice cracking with the intensity of his emotion. He spun, his black wand whipping out from his robes. He didn't aim it at the Fat Lady or at the empty corridor. Instead, he slammed the tip of his wand into the stone floor, a sharp, resounding crack echoing through the air.
A blinding flash of dark energy erupted from the floor, followed by a guttural, furious shriek that ripped through the very fabric of the castle. The stone beneath Echo's wand groaned, then shattered, erupting outward. From the swirling void of dark magic, a colossal, magnificent griffin materialized, its golden eyes blazing with an anger that perfectly mirrored Echo's own. Its sharp beak was open, revealing rows of predatory teeth, and its powerful talons flexed, carving deep gouges into the stone floor. It unfurled its immense, feathered wings, the span of them almost touching the ceiling, sending a gale of wind sweeping down the corridor, rattling tapestries and slamming doors. The griffin let out another ear-splitting shriek, a primal roar of challenge and fury that seemed to shake the very foundations of Hogwarts.
The four Marauders, who had previously been concealed, saw the griffin. Its eyes locked onto the general direction of their hiding place, and its rage was a palpable, terrifying presence. The mocking grins vanished entirely, replaced by faces of utter, unadulterated terror. Sirius, halfway out of the alcove, yelped and scrambled back, colliding with James, who let out a strangled cry. Remus, usually calm, stared with wide, horrified eyes, and Peter whimpered, shrinking against the wall.
This wasn't a prank. This was a declaration of war. Echo had just brought a creature of pure, unbridled fury to the battle. The griffin, sensing the Marauders' fear, let out another deafening shriek. Its head snapped towards the alcove, its talons scraping menacingly on the stone.
Echo turned his furious gaze from the alcove, the griffin's growls rumbling in his chest, and scanned the corridor. His emerald eyes, still alight with rage, swept over the few Gryffindor students who had been unfortunate enough to be present. They cowered, their faces pale, clearly terrified by the display of power.
"You," Echo snarled, pointing his wand at a terrified third-year. "Where are they? Potter, Black, Lupin, Pettigrew. Where are they hiding?"
The student stammered, unable to form a coherent reply, shaking his head frantically. Echo moved on, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Anyone? Has anyone seen them? Speak now, or suffer the consequences of their cowardice."
Silence. The Gryffindors shook their heads, their eyes wide with fear, some even backing away slowly. They were loyal to their own, even under duress. Echo felt a cold, sharp spike of contempt. He turned, his gaze settling on the Fat Lady's portrait. Her painted face, usually cheerful, was now a mask of pure terror. She knew. She had seen them.
"You," Echo stated, his voice flat and chilling. "You know where they are. They are inside. Let me in. Now!"
The Fat Lady's painted lips trembled. "Never!" she shrieked, her voice high-pitched and terrified. "I will never betray my students! I am sworn to protect them!"
Echo's eyes narrowed, the emerald glow intensifying. "You protect them? From me?" He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that somehow carried over the griffin's low growls. "You do not know what I am capable of. And you do not know the depth of my current… irritation."
He paused, then projected his will, his cold, unyielding intent, towards the griffin. The magnificent beast let out a guttural roar, its golden eyes fixed on the Fat Lady's portrait. With terrifying precision, it raised one massive, clawed talon, its razor-sharp points carving three deep, ragged grooves into the stone wall directly beside the portrait's frame, a stark, brutal demonstration of what would happen if the Fat Lady continued to defy him. Dust and small chips of stone rained down, settling on the terrified Gryffindors.
Inside the hidden alcove, the Marauders froze. They heard the growls, the terrifying shriek of the griffin, and then the sickening scrape of its talons against stone. A shiver of genuine fear ran through them. This wasn't just a prank gone wrong; this was a monster unleashed.
"He's serious," Peter whimpered, pressing himself further into the corner.
James, his face pale, nodded slowly. "We have to get out of here. He's going to tear the castle apart."
Sirius, for once, had no witty retort. His eyes darted around the alcove, searching for an escape. Remus, ever practical, pointed to a small, rarely used tapestry-covered door at the very back of the alcove, leading to a disused broom cupboard. "There! We can try the fifth-floor shortcut from there!"
They began to move silently and desperately, inching towards the door, hoping to escape before Echo's rage consumed them.
The Fat Lady shrieked again, her painted face crumbling with terror as the griffin let out another guttural snarl, its talons still scraping the stone. "Alright! Alright, you monstrous brute! They're in the common room! Go through the portrait!" she wailed, her voice cracking.
Echo ignored her, his attention already elsewhere. He knew the Marauders. They were cunning, but predictable. They would try to flee, not confront. His emerald eyes, still blazing with cold fury, flickered to the griffin. "Find them," he commanded, his voice a low growl that resonated with the beast. "They'll be trying to run."
The Griffin didn't hesitate. With another ear-splitting shriek, it launched itself forward, its immense wings beating once or twice. Then it was gone, a blur of golden feathers and razor talons, soaring directly through the wall where the Gryffindor common room entrance usually was. The Fat Lady screamed, a sound of pure, unadulterated horror, as the magical barrier simply dissolved to allow the creature passage, reforming instantly behind it.
Echo moved, a shadow in the corridor, following the echoes of the griffin's rage. He didn't need the portrait. He didn't need the stairs. He merely focused on the cold concept of where they were going, the desperate energy of their flight. He reached out with his Beast Magic, a subtle, chilling tendril of intent. The Marauders, scrambling through the dusty, cramped broom cupboard, burst through the small, tapestry-covered door at the other end, gasping for breath. They found themselves in a deserted, dimly lit corridor on the fifth floor, far from the Gryffindor tower.
"We made it!" Peter whimpered, relief flooding his face.
"Not yet," Remus said, his voice tight, his eyes darting around. "He'll know. He'll find us."
Just as he spoke, a chilling, familiar snarl echoed from down the corridor. And then, the massive form of the griffin materialized out of thin air, directly in front of them, its golden eyes blazing, its powerful head lowered in a predatory stance. It had bypassed corridors, floors, and every protective enchantment.
"Bloody hell!" James shrieked, tripping over his own feet.
Before they could react, a figure solidified beside the griffin. Echo. His rainbow-colored hair seemed to glow in the dim light, and his dark eyes, still emerald-tinged with fury, fixed on them. He held his black wand loosely at his side, with an almost casual confidence in his posture.
The four Marauders stumbled backward, collapsing in a heap, their faces white with terror. They stared up at him, a monster of their own making, looming over them with a creature of myth at his side. The griffin let out a low, guttural growl, its hot breath washing over them.
Echo's lips curled into that terrifying, bloodless smile. "Really?" he purred, his voice flat, yet each word dripped with cold, quiet menace. "Did you truly believe you could escape something that can see, hear, and smell a mile away? Something that travels by sheer, unyielding will? From me?" He gestured vaguely at the griffin, then to himself. "Did you think this was merely a 'prank gone wrong,' Potter?"
James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter stared up at him, utterly speechless, paralyzed by fear. The griffin lowered its head further, its sharp beak only inches from Peter's trembling face.
"P-please, Echo!" Peter finally stammered, tears welling in his eyes. "We—we didn't mean it! It was just a joke!"
"A joke?" Echo's voice was a chilling whisper. "You constantly invaded my privacy. You constantly humiliated me. And you call that a joke?" His eyes flickered to Sirius. "Black. You revel in chaos. You delight in torment. Do you find this amusing now?"
Sirius swallowed hard, his usual arrogance completely stripped away. "No! Echo, please! We're sorry! We'll do anything! Just… just don't…" He glanced at the griffin, his voice catching. "Don't feed us to it! Please! We beg you! Forgive us!"
"We'll tell everyone it was us!" James blurted, desperation in his voice. "We'll admit we were wrong! We'll never prank you again!"
Echo looked down at them, his rainbow hair a grotesque halo around his impassive face. The cold satisfaction that had thrummed in his core since he began this chase intensified. He had them. Utterly. And the griffin, sensing his intent, remained perfectly still, its golden eyes fixed on the terrified boys, awaiting his command.
"Forgive you?" Echo's voice was a chilling whisper, carrying over the griffin's low growl. You think a simple 'sorry' can mend what you have broken?" He paused, his gaze sweeping over their terrified faces. "They say a Dementor's Kiss leaves you hollow—an empty shell, devoid of all emotion, all memory. They lie."
His voice dropped, becoming a low, venomous hum. "The Kiss takes the good, the joy, the hope. It steals the warmth, the light, the very essence of what makes life worth living. But it leaves behind the darkness. It leaves the bitter taste of every betrayal, every slight, every moment of despair. It leaves irritation, anger, and hatred. It leaves all the negative, raw emotions, amplified and sharp, even when my core feels nothing but emptiness."
He gestured vaguely at his rainbow hair, his eyes blazing with a cold, terrifying intensity. "Do you think I haven't felt every single one of your pathetic, childish 'pranks'? Every humiliation, every invasion of my privacy? Even when I showed no response, the irritation festered, a cold ember in the void. This... this is merely the culmination of that. The inevitable outcome of pushing a hollow vessel too far."
The Marauders stared at him, their terror now mixed with a profound, dawning horror. James, his face ashen, finally managed to stammer, "The… the rumor? Is it true? About you… The Dementor on the castle grounds?"
The griffin, sensing Echo's continued fury, let out another guttural snarl, its massive head lowering further, its golden eyes fixing on the trembling boys. The sound was a harsh, undeniable silence, cutting off any further questions, any further pleas. "P-please, Echo!" Peter stammered, tears streaming down his face. "Don't… don't kill us! You can't! It wouldn't… it wouldn't look good for you! You're better than this! You are!"
James, regaining a sliver of his usual composure, albeit laced with terror, added, "Yeah, Echo! Think of Dumbledore! Think of your image! You don't want to be known as a… a murderer!"
Sirius, surprisingly, was the most direct. "He's right, Echo! Killing us… It's messy. It's not worth it. You're too clever for that."
Echo stared at them, his eyes unblinking. The griffin, still poised to strike, let out a low, questioning rumble. A beat of silence stretched, thick with dread. Then, to the Marauders' utter confusion, the furious emerald glint in Echo's eyes faded, replaced by a cold, analytical blankness. He let out a faint, almost imperceptible sigh.
"You're right," Echo said, his voice flat, startlingly calm. "It wouldn't be worth it. Not for me."
He raised his black wand, not towards them, but at the griffin. "Return," he commanded, his voice devoid of any emotion.
With a final, confused huff, the colossal griffin shimmered, its massive form dissolving into thin air with a soft whoosh of displaced air. The sudden absence of its terrifying presence left the corridor feeling eerily quiet, the air no longer crackling with malevolent energy.
The Marauders, still sprawled on the floor, blinked in stunned disbelief. Relief, pure and unadulterated, washed over them, making them weak with its intensity.
"So… so we're good?" James ventured, his voice still shaky. "You're not going to…"
"Oh, I'm not going to kill you," Echo interrupted, his voice still unnervingly calm, but with a new, chilling undertone that made the hair on the back of their necks stand up. "I'm just going to do this a different way."
The Marauders exchanged bewildered glances. "A different way?" Remus asked, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean, a different way?"
Echo's lips curled into that unsettling, bloodless smile. He looked at his black wand for a moment, then, with a casual flick of his wrist, tossed it aside. It clattered against the stone wall, rolling to a stop. Then, with deliberate slowness, he began to crack his knuckles, the sharp snaps echoing in the sudden silence of the corridor.
"It means," Echo said, his voice a low, dangerous purr, his eyes fixed on them with a chilling, predatory gleam, "I'm throwing hands. With all four of you."
The Marauders stared. For a moment, they thought he was joking. This was Echo, the silent, emotionless, magic-wielding enigma. Not a brawler. James, despite himself, let out a nervous chuckle. "You're… you're going to fight us? With your bare hands? All of us?"
Echo didn't answer. He lunged.
His movements were fluid, precise, and shockingly fast. He didn't rely on brute force, but on a cold, calculated efficiency that left the Marauders utterly unprepared. He moved like a shadow, slipping past James's clumsy attempt at a block, his fist connecting with a sickening crunch to James's jaw. James reeled back, staggering into Sirius, who let out a surprised grunt.
Before Sirius could recover, Echo was on him, a blur of motion. A sharp elbow to the gut doubled Sirius over, and a swift knee to the chin sent him sprawling. Remus, reacting instinctively, tried to tackle Echo, but Echo sidestepped, grabbed Remus's arm, twisted, and with a sickening pop, Remus cried out as he was flung against the wall, landing in a heap.
Peter, seeing his friends crumble, let out a terrified squeal and tried to scramble away. But Echo was faster. He moved with a cold, almost detached grace, grabbing Peter by the collar, slamming him against the stone, and delivering a series of sharp, stinging blows to Peter's face.
The corridor was filled with grunts, pained yelps, and the rhythmic thud of fists connecting with flesh. Echo fought with a chilling precision, each punch and kick delivered with just enough force to inflict pain without causing serious injury, a methodical, brutal ballet of retribution. He didn't waste a single movement, didn't show an ounce of emotion. He was simply an instrument of vengeance, laying the beat down on all four boys, systematically and utterly. He was a whirlwind of controlled violence, a silent, furious blur against the stone. James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter, caught entirely off guard by his raw, unadorned physicality, were a flailing, disorganized mess. James stumbled, clutching his jaw, his glasses askew. Sirius, groaning, tried to push himself up, only to be met with a well-aimed kick to the ribs that sent him sliding back down. Remus, holding his twisted arm, watched with a dawning horror as Peter squealed, curled into a ball, desperately trying to shield himself from Echo's relentless, precise strikes.
The commotion, however, was not contained. The shouts, the thuds, the muffled cries—they carried through the quiet pre-dawn castle. Soon, heads began to peer cautiously around corners, then openly, as more Gryffindor students, drawn by the unusual sounds, gathered down the corridor. Their faces were a mixture of sleepy confusion, turning to wide-eyed astonishment.
A hush fell over them as they processed the scene: a slender, rainbow-haired second-year, moving with impossible speed and brutal efficiency, systematically dismantling four older, larger boys who were known bullies. Then, a few nervous titters started, followed by gasps, and then, slowly, a few excited cheers.
"Go on, Echo!" a voice yelled, surprisingly from a seventh-year. "Get 'em!"
"Yeah! Take 'em down!" another chimed in, a chorus of encouragement building amongst the onlookers. Some students, however, watched in open-mouthed intrigue, their expressions a mix of fear and fascination at the raw, cold power on display.
Sirius, battered and disoriented, finally managed to gasp, "You're… you're losing to a twelve-year-old! This is humiliating!"
The words were barely out of his mouth when Echo, without breaking stride, delivered a sharp, precisely aimed kick to Sirius's groin. Sirius let out a choked, high-pitched yelp, doubling over and collapsing with a groan that was less pain and more utter despair.
At that very moment, a frantic figure tore around the corner, her red hair a fiery blur. Lily Evans, her face pale with worry, skidded to a halt, her green eyes wide with alarm. She had been roused by frantic whispers in the common room about a "griffin," "possible maiming," and "Potter and Black being torn to shreds." Her heart had pounded with genuine fear for her friends, even if they were insufferable. She had envisioned gore, broken bodies, a full-blown tragedy.
Instead, she saw… this.
She saw James clutching his jaw, tears in his eyes. She saw Sirius curled on the floor, making soft, whimpering noises. She saw Remus holding his arm, looking utterly shell-shocked. And she saw a single, rainbow-haired second-year, standing over them, his fist raised, his expression a terrifying blankness as he prepared to deliver another blow to a cowering Peter.
A mythical beast wasn't maiming. It was a methodical, brutal, one-sided beating, administered with chilling ease.
"Severus!" Lily shrieked, her voice cutting through the cheers and murmurs. She had just spotted Snape standing by the common room entrance, seemingly unconcerned, watching the entire spectacle. "Severus, do something! They're being mauled!"
Severus, who had indeed been observing the proceedings with a detached, almost serene satisfaction, merely raised a hand, stopping her. His lips, usually thin and cruel, were curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. He turned his dark, gleaming eyes from the crumpled Marauders to Lily, then to the growing crowd of Gryffindors.
"I am, Lily," Severus drawled, his voice a low, silky purr of contentment. He held up a small, surprisingly full money pouch, jingling it softly. "And that 'something' is making a tidy profit. Your friends, it seems, were rather overconfident in their ability to handle a simple schoolboy.
"Lily stared at Severus, her jaw slack. "You're… you're betting on this?! Severus, they're being thrashed!" Her eyes darted from the battered Marauders to Echo, then back to Snape, a mix of disbelief and fury warring on her face. "Break it up, Severus! Now!"
Severus sighed dramatically, the picture of a man inconvenienced. He tucked the money pouch into his robes with a faint clink, then straightened his robes, a flicker of genuine annoyance replacing his smugness. "Very well, Lily. However, I fail to see the urgency. Potter and his sycophants are merely receiving a long-overdue lesson in humility." He began to stride forward, a reluctant hero, his wand still sheathed, clearly intending to bark orders simply and perhaps cast a mild disarming charm.
Just as he reached the edge of the brawl, James, still flailing wildly in a desperate attempt to land a blow on Echo, spun unexpectedly. Echo, with a fluid, almost bored movement, sidestepped James's clumsy punch, but James's elbow, propelled by desperate momentum, connected with a sickening crack directly across Severus's nose. Severus froze, a low, guttural growl escaping him. His hand flew to his face, and when he pulled it away, a thin trickle of blood stained his pale fingers. He stared at the blood, then at James, who was now staring at him, wide-eyed with horror.
"Potter!" Severus hissed, his voice a low, terrifying snarl, unlike anything Lily had ever heard. All trace of his earlier composure vanished, replaced by an incandescent, years-long fury that finally, spectacularly, boiled over. This wasn't just about the elbow; it was about every slight, every taunt, every torment James Potter had ever inflicted. "You… you imbecile!"
Without a word, Severus ripped his wand from his robes, his eyes blazing with a dangerous, unrestrained rage. "Petrificus Totalus!" he shrieked, the spell rocketing towards James with venomous speed. James, still reeling from Echo's earlier blows and the shock of hitting Snape, was too slow to react. He stiffened, his eyes wide, and toppled over with a wooden thud, completely paralyzed.
The crowd of students gasped, then erupted into a fresh wave of cheers, wilder and more fervent than before. This was even better! It was a proper brawl!
Severus, not done, turned his blazing eyes on Sirius, then Remus and Peter. "You think this is over? You think you're safe? You think you can bully and torment and get away with it?!" He didn't wait for an answer. "Incarcerous!" he bellowed, nets of thick, enchanted rope bursting from his wand, binding Sirius and Remus instantly, leaving them flailing and snarling on the floor. Peter, seeing his fate, let out another high-pitched squeal and tried to scuttle away on all fours.
"And you, you pathetic worm!" Severus roared, aiming his wand at Peter. "Locomotor Mortis!" Peter's legs snapped together, locking at the ankles, and he tumbled face-first into the stone.
Echo, standing amidst the chaos, paused his systematic beating. His rainbow hair was still vibrant, and his emerald eyes flickered with a flicker of genuine, if cold, surprise. He watched Severus, a fellow Slytherin, unleash a torrent of long-repressed fury on the Marauders, his movements precise and utterly ruthless. The scene was unexpectedly…efficient.
Lily, however, could only watch in horrified exhaustion. She threw her hands up, her shoulders slumping. "Oh, for Merlin's sake!" she groaned, the cheers of the students echoing mockingly around her. She stomped forward, her own wand now drawn, a desperate plea in her voice. "Enough! All of you! This is Hogwarts, not a street brawl!"
"What in the name of Merlin is going on here?!" a booming voice thundered, cutting through the chaos.
Professor Cleen stormed around the corner, his usually neat robes askew, his kind face contorted with a mixture of anger and alarm. He took in the scene: the battered Marauders sprawled on the floor, the infuriated Severus, the distraught Lily, and Echo, with his impossibly vibrant rainbow hair, standing amidst it all, his eyes still gleaming with cold fury.
Without a moment's hesitation, Professor Cleen raised his wand, his movements swift and authoritative. "Ascendio!" he bellowed.
A powerful wave of upward-lifting magic surged through the corridor. James, still paralyzed, shot upwards before gently floating back down. Sirius and Remus, still entangled in Severus's ropes, were lifted clear of the ground, the binding enchantments snapping with a series of sharp cracks. Peter, released from the leg-locking charm, floated up, then landed with a soft thump. Echo, Severus, and Lily also felt the upward surge, a gentle, guiding lift that pulled them away from the immediate fray.
Professor Cleen's gaze swept over the gathered students, his voice sharp and commanding. "All of you! Disperse! Now! Back to your common rooms! Immediately!"
The crowd, startled by the professor's sudden arrival and powerful magic, scrambled to obey. The corridor emptied with astonishing speed, leaving only the five students and Professor Cleen amidst the lingering tension.
Professor Cleen lowered his wand, his gaze softening slightly, though his brow remained furrowed with deep concern. He looked directly at Echo, then at the still-recovering Marauders.
"Alright," he said, his voice now lower, but still firm. "Peeves came screaming to me, claiming a student was trying to kill others with a griffin. Someone care to explain?"
Accusations immediately flew.
"He beat us up, Professor!" James blurted, clutching his still-aching jaw. "He just… he just started hitting us! And he summoned a griffin!"
"And Snape used binding charms on us!" Sirius added, glaring at Severus.
"They started it!" Echo's voice was flat, devoid of a single tremor, but his hand flew to his rainbow hair, his eyes blazing with cold indignation. "They turned my hair into… into this! I look like a walking pride flag!"
"Potter hit me!" Severus snarled, wiping a fresh trickle of blood from his nose. "He broke my nose! After hours of… observing his endless idiocy!"
"Professor, please!" Lily interjected, her voice filled with exasperation and a desperate plea for reason. "It started with a prank, a very foolish one, yes. They swapped out Echo's shampoo. And then Echo… he got very angry. He did summon a griffin, I think. I didn't see that part, but it didn't hurt anyone. And then he just… he started fighting them with his bare hands. Severus joined in after James hit him by accident. I was trying to break it up, Professor!"
Professor Cleen rubbed his temples, his sigh deep and weary. "Silence!" he boomed, his voice echoing down the now-empty corridor. "All of you, quiet down! This is preposterous!" He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, his gaze sweeping over the chaotic tableau before him. "Peeves claiming a griffin, a public brawl, bloodied noses, and hexes flying before breakfast! This is utterly unacceptable!"
He pinched the bridge of his nose, then leveled a stern gaze at the assembled students. "Since the seven of you are at the very heart of this…incident," he said, his voice clipped, "you shall all share in the consequences. And it will be served… in the Forbidden Forest."
Six gasps of shock ripped through the air.
"Detention?" James stammered, his eyes wide with horror.
"Forbidden Forest?" Sirius choked out, his face paling even further.
"But Professor!" Remus protested, his voice laced with genuine fear. "The Forbidden Forest is… It's dangerous!"
"Detention, sir?" Lily pleaded, her green eyes filled with disbelief. "For me? I was trying to stop them!"
"The Forbidden Forest?" Peter whimpered, shrinking further.
Severus, for his part, merely sneered, a flicker of outrage in his eyes. "Indeed, Professor. The Forbidden Forest is hardly an appropriate punishment for a… an accidental nasal injury."
But amidst the chorus of protests, a different sound cut through the air. Echo, his rainbow hair still a vibrant testament to the morning's events, suddenly looked up, a faint, almost imperceptible spark of genuine excitement in his dark eyes. "Forbidden Forest?" he repeated, a quiet hum of anticipation in his voice. Then, with a sudden, uncharacteristic burst of enthusiasm, he clenched his fists and practically bounced on the balls of his feet. "Yay!"
Silence fell. All six pairs of eyes snapped to Echo, their expressions ranging from stunned disbelief to utter horror.
"Yay?" James repeated, his voice incredulous.
"Did he just say 'yay'?" Sirius whispered, utterly flummoxed.
"Yay?" Remus echoed, his brow furrowed in utter confusion.
Echo, realizing his mistake, froze. The cold excitement that had briefly flared within him instantly extinguished, replaced by a familiar, chilling blankness. He looked at their bewildered faces, then plastered on a terrible, unconvincing frown, his eyes widening in exaggerated alarm.
"Darn," Echo muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to look concerned. "Oh, no. The Forbidden Forest. That sounds… terrifying. And detention. Bummer." He even managed a faint, unconvincing shudder. "So much… fear. For me."
Professor Cleen stared at him, his expression a mixture of confusion and lingering irritation. "Indeed, Echo. Terrifying. And a bummer, as you so eloquently put it." He paused, his gaze hardening slightly. "This is not a game, Mr. Slytherin. This is serious. You will report to Hagrid at sundown, all seven of you. He will assign your tasks. And rest assured, there will be no 'yays' about it once you've experienced the true nature of the Forbidden Forest." He turned, his robes swirling. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to inform the Headmaster about this… rainbow-colored brawl." He strode off, his voice fading as he went. "A griffin, indeed… what next?"
Silence descended upon the corridor, thick and heavy. The Marauders, still nursing their bruises and now facing a far more terrifying prospect than Echo's fists, glared at him with a mixture of fear and profound resentment. Lily, however, looked at him with a gaze that was a complex mix of exasperation, bewilderment, and a faint, almost imperceptible hint of something akin to awe.
Echo met their gazes, his blank expression unwavering. He had successfully, if inadvertently, exchanged a physical beating for a shared punishment, one that, for him, held an unexpected allure. The Forbidden Forest. It was a place of wild magic, of hidden dangers, and of creatures he was beginning to understand in a way no one else could. He felt a cold satisfaction. This was far more interesting than a mere fight.
"Happy now, Echo?" James snarled, rubbing his jaw. "You got us detention in the Forbidden Forest. You happy?"
Echo considered the question, then gave a slow, deliberate nod. "Yes, Potter," he stated, his voice flat. "I am. Very."
The Marauders groaned collectively. Lily merely shook her head, a soft, exasperated sigh escaping her lips. The rainbow hair, however, remained a vibrant, mocking testament to the morning's chaos. It seemed, for now, that Echo was stuck with his new, colorful identity. And the Forbidden Forest awaited. However, Echo's cold satisfaction was short-lived. A sudden, high-pitched giggle echoed from the corridor above, followed by a faint, translucent form zipping into view. Peeves, the poltergeist, hung upside down in the air, his eyes gleaming with mischievous delight.
"Oh, it was glorious!" Peeves chortled, his voice a grating cackle. "A full-blown brawl! Rainbow hair! And a griffin, too! Headmaster's going to be livid!" He pointed a spectral finger at Echo. "And you, little Slytherin! Did you really think Peeves wouldn't tell? This is far too much fun!"
Echo's eyes narrowed, a cold wave of annoyance washing over him. "You told Professor Cleen," he stated flatly. "Why?"
Peeves spun in a dizzying circle. "Why not? It meant more chaos! More screaming! More punishments! It's delightful! And seeing you get in trouble, after all your quiet brooding, that's just priceless!" He floated closer, his translucent face twisting into a mocking grin. "Especially with that lovely hair! Really makes a statement, doesn't it?"
Echo ignored the taunt about his hair, his mind working quickly. Peeves thrived on chaos, on entertainment. He needed to offer a better spectacle.
"You saw it all, didn't you, Peeves?" Echo said, his voice low, a chillingly calm undertone that nonetheless caught the poltergeist's attention. "You saw me. A second year. A single boy. I beat them. All four of them. James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Single-handedly. No magic, just… skill."
Peeves tilted his head, his laughter fading slightly, replaced by a flicker of genuine curiosity. "Indeed, I did! A surprising display for the quiet one!"
"And you told Professor Cleen that I summoned a griffin," Echo continued, his gaze unwavering. "You told him there was a monster. You created a scene of panic and fear. But what if you had painted a different picture?"
Peeves blinked, a hint of confusion in his eyes. "What kind of picture?"
Echo's lips curved into that faint, bloodless smile. "Imagine, Peeves, the tale that could have been told. A lone second-year, facing down four older boys, disarming them with naught but his bare hands. A silent, terrifying force of justice, teaching the bullies a lesson they would never forget. No magic needed. Just raw, unadorned… dominance." He gestured vaguely at the still-bruised Marauders, then at his own unblemished hands. "Imagine the whispers. The legends. The sheer, unadulterated humiliation for the great James Potter, getting thrashed by someone half his age, with no wand involved. All while the whole school gossiped about his rainbow hair."
Peeves's eyes widened, a slow, malicious grin spreading across his face. He looked from Echo to the defeated Marauders, then back to Echo's unchanging, rainbow-colored hair. The poltergeist let out a low, guttural chuckle that quickly escalated into a delighted shriek.
"Oh, that would have been far more entertaining!" Peeves cackled, clutching his spectral belly. "A public humiliation, indeed! A true masterpiece of misery!" He hovered closer, a glint of genuine admiration in his eyes. "You, little Slytherin, are a devious one! A grand schemer! Peeves likes that!"
"Next time, Peeves," Echo said, his voice a silken promise, "you stick to the facts that truly matter. The ones that cause the most delicious despair. Understood?"
Peeves snapped to attention, saluting with a flourish. "Understood, oh master of quiet torment! Peeves will remember that! Oh, the tales I could have spun! The lamentations! What a wasted opportunity!" He let out another mournful wail of regret.
Professor Cleen, who had paused and listened to the unusual exchange with a mixture of growing bewilderment and faint alarm, finally intervened. "Peeves! That is enough! Return to your duties, or I shall be forced to inform the Headmaster of your direct complicity in this…this schoolyard incident!"
Peeves, with one last, lingering look of profound regret at the missed opportunity for maximum humiliation, vanished with a final, mournful wail. "Oh, what a story that would have been!" his voice echoed faintly.