The days that followed Dumbledore's announcement were a whirlwind of activity for Echo. His detention with Hagrid became less of a punishment and more of an extended research trip. Twice a week, he would venture into the Forbidden Forest with the half-giant, assisting him with mundane tasks like feeding the Thestrals or checking on the giant spiders, but also, under Dumbledore's implicit instruction, subtly continuing his study of Beast Magic. Hagrid, delighted to have a companion who genuinely seemed to understand the forest's inhabitants, unwittingly became Echo's chief assistant. He would regale Echo with tales of various creatures, their habits, and their unique magical properties, never realizing that Echo was cataloging every detail for his evolving theories on the transfer of selective traits.
"See them Blast-Ended Skrewts, Echo?" Hagrid would boom, pointing to a cluster of repulsive, scuttling creatures. "Mean little devils, they are. But tough, eh? Shell's like iron."
Echo would merely nod, a faint, thoughtful expression on his face, mentally filing away "Blast-Ended Skrewt: enhanced durability – possible application for defensive enchantments."
Of course, before his detention, he returned to the Room of Requirement and released all the magical beasts he had rescued and healed from the poachers, making sure they returned to the forbidden forest.
Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall took her role as Echo's Transfiguration mentor with formidable seriousness. Their weekly sessions, initially met with dread by Echo, slowly evolved into a rigorous exploration of magical theory and practical application. She insisted on meticulous documentation, reviewing every one of Echo's hastily scrawled notes with a critical eye, pushing him to articulate his abstract concepts into coherent magical principles.
"If you intend to implement this 'Beast Magic' of yours, Echo," she stated one afternoon, her spectacles perched on her nose as she scrutinized his scribbled diagrams, "then it must be replicable. It must be quantifiable. We cannot have Aurors accidentally turning into half-Kneazles when they're meant to be fighting dark wizards."
Echo would sigh, but he would comply, painstakingly translating his intuitive understanding into precise formulas and theories. The emerald strand in his hair, a constant companion now, would often deepen in hue during these sessions, reflecting his underlying irritation, but also a growing, grudging respect for McGonagall's sharp intellect.
His social interactions, however, remained largely unchanged. The Marauders were serving their grim detention with Filch, their groans and muttered curses echoing through the castle. They often caught glimpses of Echo heading towards the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid, looking impossibly serene, and their resentment festered.
"Look at him," James grumbled one evening, polishing a tarnished Quidditch trophy with a furious intensity. "Off to play with his pet dragon, probably. While we're stuck here, polishing silver until our fingers bleed."
Lily, meanwhile, was enjoying her greenhouse detention with Professor Sprout, where she nurtured mandrakes and cultivated magical herbs. She still occasionally caught Echo's eye in the Great Hall, offering a small, appreciative smile, which he would return with a faint, almost imperceptible nod. Severus, in his own greenhouse detentions, maintained his usual sneer, but he too had a lingering, unsettling fascination with Echo's revelations.
While resolved physically, the incident with the rainbow hair irrevocably altered something within Echo. The emotions, once a distant echo in his hollow core, now flared with an unexpected vibrancy. He still preferred his usual impassivity, finding overt displays of feeling tedious and inefficient, but he was undeniably feeling them. And his hair, a silent, colorful testament to this internal shift, reacted to every subtle ripple.
One particularly frustrating afternoon, during a Transfiguration lesson with Professor McGonagall, Echo struggled with a complex theoretical application of his Beast Magic—how to imbue an object with the resilience of a Gurdyroot without simply transforming it into a Gurdyroot. He slammed his fist on the desk, a rare display of exasperation.
"It's illogical," he stated flatly, his black hair suddenly streaked with an angry crimson. "The principles are contradictory. The object must retain its form while gaining new properties. It's… It's like trying to make water dry."
McGonagall, who had momentarily paused her lecture, merely raised an eyebrow at the sudden flash of color in his hair. "Indeed, Echo. A formidable challenge. But not an impossible one. Perhaps you are thinking too rigidly. Consider the essence, not merely the form."
Echo stared at the problem, his crimson hair pulsing with renewed frustration. He felt the familiar cold fire of annoyance, but beneath it, a faint, almost imperceptible spark of… determination. A theoretical paradox wouldn't defeat him. He tapped his wand against his chin; his eyes narrowed in concentration.
Later that week, during a casual conversation in the common room, a first-year Slytherin, still new to the school, innocently asked Echo about his hair. "Echo, sir," the boy piped up, his eyes wide, "your hair is always black now. But sometimes… sometimes I see a green bit and other colors. What does that mean?"
Echo looked at the boy, his expression blank. He then glanced at the emerald strand in his hair, a silent reflection of his present state of detached observation.
"It means," Echo stated flatly, his voice devoid of emotion, "Something you're far too young to understand or try to. Knowledge is a tool, but sometimes that tool can harm you if you're not careful. Luckily for me, knowledge wasn't the harm but the fix, and I'm still in dire need of fixing."
The first year blinked, confused. "Fixing?"
Echo merely inclined his head, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor running through the emerald strand. He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to. Let the children be children, even though he himself was still a child.
Later that evening, in the bustling Great Hall, Echo found himself in an unusual predicament. Due to the unspoken truce that now existed between them, Lily and Severus had somehow managed to procure a table at the very back of the hall, allowing them to sit adjacent to the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables, a compromise that seemed to satisfy both their houses. Echo sat between them, a silent, unblinking presence, attempting to eat his dinner.
Lily, however, was not eating. She was leaning close, a quill poised over a fresh roll of parchment, her eyes fixed with unnerving intensity on Echo's dark hair.
"Oh, this is fascinating, Echo!" she whispered, her voice bubbling with excitement. "Look! It's still emerald green! So, that's… annoyance, or perhaps general discontent? I'll write that down." She scribbled furiously. "Emerald: detached observation."
Echo sighed, a faint, almost imperceptible huff. "Lily, I am trying to eat. And I am not a glorified mood ring for your… scientific endeavors." The emerald strand in his hair deepened slightly, then briefly flashed a subtle, shimmering sapphire blue before returning to black.
Lily ignored him, her eyes shining with curiosity. "But it's so useful, Echo! Think of the applications! We'll be able to tell exactly what you're feeling! Now, try to feel… oh, try to feel… excitement! Or happiness! You said you felt joy with the Mooncalves, so it must have a color!"
Echo stared at her, his expression blank. He closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to conjure the fleeting warmth of the Mooncalf dance, but all that came was a sense of profound irritation at being prodded. The emerald strand in his hair, instead of shifting to a new color, merely vibrated a golden shimmer that seemed to ripple through it for a moment.
"See?" Lily exclaimed, pointing triumphantly. "It's gold! So that must be joy. Maybe… maybe joy and happiness are different shades or colors? Or is it something else entirely? Oh, this is going to take a lot of research!" She began to scribble again; her brow furrowed in concentration.
Echo turned his head slowly, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly. He looked at Severus, who was sitting on his other side, painstakingly dissecting a roasted potato. Severus, sensing Echo's gaze, looked up, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He merely chuckled, a low, dry sound, clearly enjoying Echo's dilemma.
"Help," Echo mouthed, his voice a flat, almost desperate whisper, so low that only Severus could hear it. For a split second, a hint of deep, velvety plum purple flickered throughout his hair.
Severus merely raised an eyebrow, a silent message passing between them: You brought this upon yourself. This is your problem now. He then returned to his potato, a faint, lingering amusement in his eyes.
Echo stewed in a simmering cauldron of frustration. Lily, oblivious, leaned even closer. "Alright, Echo, try sadness. Think of… think of something truly melancholic. A lost pet. A favorite book is being destroyed. Go on, I need to see the color for sadness!"
Echo's jaw tightened. Sadness? He barely remembered what that felt like. But irritation? That was a well-trodden path. His black hair flared, morphing instantly into a sharp, fleeting, angry crimson flash that briefly pulsed throughout, which spread across his whole head like a warning sign.
"Lily," Echo stated, his voice flat, but with a raw, undeniable current of intense, cold irritation, "despite the fact that I love you, you need to fucking stop already! You are treating me like a degraded magical experiment, and it is tedious in the extreme!"
Lily gasped, her quill clattering onto the parchment. Her eyes widened, not at the profanity, but at the sheer, unbridled emotion in his voice. "Echo!" she breathed, a look of profound astonishment on her face. "You… you emoted! With your voice!" She immediately picked up her quill, her eyes blazing with renewed scientific fervor.
His anger, though fleeting, had been undeniably real. And now, as Lily gaped at him, something shifted within Echo. He realized that in the months since his hair had been transformed, months in which his voice had become more monotoned than even Severus's, he hadn't heard his own voice emanate with such raw emotion. It had always been a cold, hollow blankness, or a flat, uninflected statement. Sure, the pitch would raise, or the tempo quicken, but it was like turning up the volume on a whispering conversation; the underlying flatness remained. But this—this outburst—this had been different. There had been a current to it, a resonant depth he hadn't thought himself capable of anymore.
A faint, surprised joy bloomed in his chest, surprising him with its warmth. And as it did, his black hair, still streaked with emerald, began to shimmer with a vibrant, unmistakable gold. It pulsed, a bright, triumphant beacon in the dimly lit Great Hall.
Lily, eyes wide with astonishment, let out a delighted squeal. "Echo! Your hair! It's gold! And you… You actually emoted! Not just the cold, sarcastic kind! You sounded… annoyed! That's incredible!" She clapped her hands together, a wide grin spreading across her face. "Oh, Echo, this is wonderful! Now you can emote with your voice! All you have to do is relearn how to emote with your voice and make facial expressions, and you'll be truly fixed by Christmas or even sooner!"
Echo stared at her, the golden shimmer in his hair slowly receding back to the familiar emerald. He still felt the lingering warmth of that unexpected joy, a quiet, unfamiliar hum in his core. Lily's words, however, brought a fresh wave of… something. "Fixed?" he repeated, his voice flat once more; every lock of his hair shifted to several colors at once. "Lily, I assure you, I am still very much a work in progress, so one step at a time. And relearning facial expressions sounds… tedious. Besides, I can feel emotion full-time without them disappearing."
Lily's triumphant smile faltered, and Severus, who had been listening with detached amusement, visibly stiffened. Both looked at Echo and then at each other, their faces a mixture of surprise and sudden understanding.
"You… you can feel emotions again?" Lily whispered, her voice hushed with awe.
"Full time?" Severus added, his sneer momentarily gone, replaced by a look of profound, almost bewildered, curiosity. "When did this… when did this happen?"
Echo's emerald-tinged hair flickered with a faint, almost imperceptible warmth. He paused, looking at their earnest faces. "I… I never told you?" he stated, his voice flat, a rare note of genuine surprise in his tone. He hadn't realized he'd kept it to himself, so accustomed was he to his own internal processes. He then looked from Lily to Severus, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Can you both… can you promise me something? A promise you will keep, without exception?"
Lily nodded immediately, her eyes wide. "Of course, Echo! Anything!"
Severus hesitated for a fraction of a second, then, with a reluctant huff, gave a terse nod. "Indeed. A promise from a Slytherin, once given, is rarely broken."
Echo surveyed them for a long moment, then slowly nodded, his usual impassivity returning. "Very well. The Marauders. Their… prank. The rainbow hair." He paused, gesturing vaguely at his now-black hair, which had a vibrant emerald streak. "It acted as a… catalyst, somehow. A void, as I called it, for my suppressed emotions. It broke the void's hold. Now, I can feel them. All of them. Full-time. They don't disappear."
Lily gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, Echo! That's… that's truly amazing!"
Severus, however, merely stared, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. "So… Potter's idiotic antics… actually helped you? That's… truly disturbing."
Echo nodded, a faint, bloodless smile touching his lips. "Indeed. Which is precisely why you must never, under any circumstances, mention this to them. To anyone. Especially not the Marauders." His voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "They will take credit. They will find some way to twist it, to use it, to attempt to 'help' me 'express' myself further. And I will not tolerate it. Do you understand? This remains our secret. A silent testament to their accidental idiocy."
Lily and Severus exchanged a glance. Lily's eyes sparkled with mischievous agreement. Severus, after a moment, gave a slow, deliberate nod, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips. The thought of James Potter taking credit for Echo's… cure… was, for once, a motivation strong enough to overcome even his deepest prejudices.
"Understood, Echo," Lily said, her voice serious. "Our lips are sealed. Absolutely."
"Indeed," Severus drawled, a rare, genuine spark of amusement in his dark eyes. "Some secrets are simply too precious to share with Gryffindors."
Suddenly, the grand doors of the Great Hall burst open with a resounding CRASH! that silenced the buzzing conversations and sent a collective jolt through every student and professor. Madame Pince, the Hogwarts librarian, stood framed in the doorway, her usually austere face contorted into a mask of furious indignation. Her thin lips were pressed into a tight, formidable line, and her spectacles, usually perched calmly on her nose, seemed to vibrate with her barely contained fury. In her hand, she clutched a stack of parchment, its edges crinkling under her tight grip. Without a single word, she strode purposefully into the hall, her sensible shoes thudding ominously against the flagstone floor. Her gaze, sharp and accusatory, swept over the tables, making even the most boisterous Gryffindors shrink into their seats. She didn't stop until she reached the Head Table, where she slammed her stack of parchment onto the podium with another startling CRASH!
"Silence!" Madame Pince's voice, usually a hushed whisper suitable for libraries, boomed through the hall, startling even Dumbledore, who had been calmly enjoying a treacle tart. "I demand your attention! All of you! Every single student, every single professor! Listen well, for I am beyond exasperated!"
Her eyes, blazing with righteous fury, scanned the faces before her. "It has come to my attention," she continued, her voice rising with each word, "during my recent inventory, that several, and I mean several, highly valuable, exceedingly rare, and most importantly, restricted books are missing from my library! Stolen! Pilfered! Without so much as a proper checkout record!"
A wave of nervous whispers rippled through the hall. Students exchanged uneasy glances. No one dared meet Madame Pince's furious gaze.
"I am not a fool!" she declared, her voice cracking slightly with outrage. "I know these books were not simply misplaced! Someone, some insolent, law-breaking student, has dared to defile the sanctity of my Restricted Section! And I want them back! Now! Confess! Fess up, whoever you are, and return what you have so brazenly taken!" Her eyes narrowed, focusing on no one in particular, yet somehow conveying a direct accusation to everyone. "Otherwise, I shall begin a search. And believe me, when Madame Pince begins a search, nothing remains hidden for long!"
Echo, sitting calmly between Lily and Severus, continued to eat his pumpkin pasty, his expression as blank as ever. He knew exactly which books she was talking about. He had, indeed, 'borrowed' them from the Restricted Section several weeks ago, with the unexpected, if slightly chaotic, assistance of Peeves. He had been so careful, so precise, ensuring no one saw him. He had thought he was in the clear.
Then, a cold, unwelcome thought, a chilling splash of reality, washed over him. His hair. His newly black hair, with its single, constant emerald strand of detached observation, was also a living, breathing mood ring. Even if he kept his face utterly devoid of emotion, even if he managed to make his voice sound completely uninterested, his hair would betray him. Nervousness, fear, anxiety, guilt – every one of those emotions would paint a tell-tale color across his head. He was, to put it mildly, deeply, unequivocally screwed.
Madame Pince took a menacing step forward, her gaze sweeping over the students, as if trying to divine the culprit through sheer force of will. "I shall start with… House points! Fifty points from every house if these books are not returned by supper! And then, a full-scale search of every trunk, every dormitory, every secret nook and cranny in this castle!"
Before she could begin her furious search, before the color of his hair could betray him, Echo lowered his voice, barely above a whisper, yet imbued with an uncharacteristic urgency. "Peeves," he murmured, directing his voice towards the ceiling, where the poltergeist was almost certainly lurking, enjoying the chaos. "Peeves, I require your assistance. And I shall make it worthwhile for you. Very much worth your while."
A moment of eerie silence followed Echo's whispered plea, broken only by Madame Pince's heavy breathing. Then, from the very rafters of the Great Hall, an unusually quiet cackle echoed, sharp and piercing. "Oooooh, little Echo wants Peeves' help, does he? And for a 'very much worth your while' reward, eh?" Peeves materialized in the wall behind him, his wide, malicious grin fixed on Echo. "And what if Peeves says no? What then, eh?" His eyes glinted with mischief. "Peeves could tell old Pincey where all those books went, couldn't he?"
Echo reached into his robe pocket, his hand emerging with a small, clear glass bottle filled with a shimmering, opalescent liquid. Immediately, Sniffles, who had been peeking out, chittered excitedly and lunged, his tiny claws attempting to snatch the shiny object. Echo deftly pulled the bottle back, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor of irritation in his emerald hair.
"Down, Sniffles," he stated flatly in a soft tone. "This is not for you."
Sniffles gave a disgruntled sniff and retreated, though his beady eyes remained fixed longingly on the bottle.
Echo held the bottle behind himself, allowing the faint light to catch its iridescence. "This," he whispers, his voice bouncing through the suddenly hushed Great Hall, drawing the attention of Madame Pince, who couldn't hear what was being whispered, "is a Potion of Dancing Facials. One drop," Echo continued, his voice flat and precise, "and a troll's whiskers would dance the Macarena. I assure you, Peeves, its effects are… compelling. And highly amusing to watch." He gave the poltergeist a pointed look, a silent challenge in his eyes.
Peeves, still hiding behind him, considered this, his wide grin stretching even further. "Dancing facials, eh?" he chuckles, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Peeves likes the sound of that! A proper laugh, eh? More fun than just plain old hiding books!" He snatched the bottle from Echo's hand with surprising gentleness. "Right then, little Echo! Peeves will play!"
With a mischievous flourish, Peeves corked the bottle with his thumb, then zipped away. A second later, a loud, attention-grabbing THWACK! Echoed from the far end of the Great Hall. Madame Pince, already turning her furious gaze, let out a strangled cry of outrage. "My first editions!" she shrieked, staring at a fake book, identical in every way to a highly valuable, leather-bound volume in the restricted section, that had appeared, seemingly out of thin air, balanced precariously on the head of a startled Hufflepuff first-year, who was now swaying nervously, trying not to let it fall. "You little monster!"
Peeves, cackling wildly, materialized next to the book, snatched it, and then zipped off towards the hall entrance, swinging it just out of Madame Pince's reach. "Catch me if you can, Pincey! Your precious books are safe with Peeves! For now!"
Madame Pince, roaring with renewed fury, took off in hot pursuit, her sensible shoes pounding after the gleefully taunting poltergeist, leaving the Great Hall in a state of stunned, bewildered silence. Silence. Then, a collective murmur of relief, followed by a ripple of laughter, spread through the Great Hall. Dumbledore, after a moment of thoughtful contemplation, merely shook his head, a faint, amused smile touching his lips. He picked up his treacle tart once more.
Echo sighed in relief, resumed eating his pumpkin pasty. The emerald strand in his hair flickered, a silent testament to the brief moment of anxiety, now replaced by detached amusement. Lily looked at him, then at Severus, a wide, knowing grin on her face.
"That was… brilliant, Echo," Lily whispered, her eyes shining with admiration. "You saved us all from Madame Pince's wrath. And fifty points from every house!"
Severus merely sniffed, though the corners of his lips twitched upwards, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. "A surprisingly cunning maneuver, exceptional for a Slytherin."
Echo merely shrugged, his voice flat. "Peeves might be chaotic, but also predictable. You just have to know how to talk to him. After all, I did make good fun of him over the summer." He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "And it saved my hair from becoming a public embarrassment." The emerald strand in his hair deepened slightly, then briefly flashed a subtle, shimmering sapphire blue before returning to its usual emerald.
Lily giggled. "Oh, so that means… embarrassment?" she whispered, scribbling furiously on her parchment. "Sapphire: embarrassment. Noted!"
Echo sighed, but a faint, almost imperceptible tremor of amusement vibrated in his chest. His hair, a silent betrayer of his every nuanced feeling, now held an odd, almost entertaining, fascination for Lily. It was, he supposed, a small price to pay for the return of his emotions and for the continued secret that James Potter and his idiotic friends had inadvertently "fixed" him.
Snape then leaned close to Echo, whispering to him as Lily was engrossed in her writings. He asked, "What are you going to do once Madam Pince finds out those books Peeves is absconding with are fake? You'll be back at step one."
Echo waved him off and assured him, "Not to worry. I've already read the books cover to cover. I'll return them today without Pince noticing. I'll just get Peeves to help me again." Sbape roller his eyes, returning to his food, not saying it but hoping the boy was right.