The following morning, the Great Hall was its usual boisterous self. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, illuminating the floating candles and the cheerful chatter of students. Echo, however, had a different agenda. He finished his breakfast at the Slytherin table with his usual detached efficiency, then, with a purposeful stride that drew a few curious glances, made his way towards the Gryffindor table. Sniffles, tucked snugly in his robe pocket, chittered softly, oblivious to the impending drama. As Echo approached the Gryffindor table, a subtle shift occurred. Conversations faltered. Heads turned. The usual cheerful din softened into a nervous hum. James, Sirius, and Remus, who had been loudly recounting a particularly daring prank from their first year, stiffened, their eyes widening. Lily, sitting a little further down, looked up, a flicker of apprehension in her gaze. Echo stopped directly beside the table, his newly black hair, with its persistent emerald streak that changed colors along with the rest of his hair, gleaming in the morning light. His expression was, as ever, completely unreadable.
"Good morning, Gryffindors," Echo stated, his voice flat and calm, yet somehow managing to cut through the lingering murmurs. "I have a question. A rather important one, concerning a rumor that has been… circulating."
The effect was instantaneous and dramatic. Like a flock of startled pigeons, the Gryffindor students erupted from their benches. Chairs scraped, plates clattered, and a flurry of red and gold robes scattered in every direction. They vanished into the crowd of students heading out for their first lessons, leaving behind a bewildered few and, notably, a solitary figure still seated at the table: Frank Longbottom.
Frank looked around the suddenly empty table, then back at Echo. "What… what happened?" he mumbled.
Echo turned his blank gaze to Frank. "Thank you for volunteering, Longbottom," he stated, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips. "Your willingness to assist is… admirable."
Frank blinked, startled. "Volunteering for what?"
"Follow me," Echo commanded, turning on his heel.
Grudgingly, and with no small amount of trepidation, Frank rose and followed Echo out of the Great Hall. Echo led him through a labyrinth of little-used corridors, eventually stopping before a heavy, unmarked wooden door that Frank had never noticed before. With a flick of his wand, Echo opened it, revealing a small, dusty, abandoned classroom.
"In here," Echo stated, stepping inside.
Frank entered cautiously, his eyes darting around the dim room. Echo closed the door behind them with a soft click, then turned, his full, unblinking gaze fixing on Frank. The emerald streak in his hair seemed to pulse with a low, controlled intensity.
"Now, Longbottom," Echo began, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, yet carrying an undeniable edge of menace, "I require information. Specifically, who started the rumor that I am built like a Tickle Me Elmo doll that has depression and is always on fire with the fear factor of a chimera on cocaine."
Frank's eyes widened, and he visibly gulped. "I… I don't know, Echo. Honestly."
Echo's lips curled into that familiar, bloodless smile, a chilling sight. "That, Longbottom, is utter bullshit. Ninety percent of the rumour mill in this castle comes from Gryffindor. And this particular phrase has been… remarkably persistent. I can handle whispers. I can handle rumors. I am, after all, accustomed to such things being thrown at me. But this," Echo continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "has gotten serious."
With a swift, almost theatrical movement, Echo reached into his robe pocket. He pulled out a slightly disheveled, bright red Tickle Me Elmo doll, its familiar face seemingly frozen in a rictus of perpetual, unsettling glee. He held it up for Frank to see.
"Someone," Echo stated, his voice flat, "sent this to me. By owl. This morning."
Frank stared at the doll, then back at Echo's impassive face, his expression a mixture of profound bewilderment and dawning horror.
Echo then reached into another pocket, pulling out a small, clear plastic bag filled with a fine, white powder. Frank's eyes immediately darted to the bag, then back to Echo's face, a look of pure panic flashing across his features.
"Now, before you lose control of your bladder, Longbottom," Echo said calmly, noticing Frank's rising alarm. I assure you, this is not 'booger sugar,' as some of your less intelligent classmates might call it. It is merely powdered sugar."
Frank sagged against the wall, a shaky breath escaping him. "How… how do you know that?" he stammered, his eyes still fixed nervously on the white powder.
Echo merely pointed a casual finger at his robe pocket. From within, Sniffles, the Niffler, suddenly shot out like a miniature furry projectile. The small creature, its beady eyes wide and its tiny claws extended, zipped around the room at an impossible speed, bouncing off the walls, the ceiling, and even Frank's head with delighted chitters. It was a blur of frantic, sugar-fueled motion.
"This," Echo stated, gesturing at the hyperactive Niffler, "only happens when he eats sugar. And he had a small, experimental taste of this particular substance earlier."
Frank watched the bouncing Niffler, then slowly let out a long, drawn-out sigh. The sheer absurdity of the situation finally broke his composure. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, a look of weary resignation on his face. "It's Remus," Frank admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Remus Lupin. He's been whispering that phrase… for weeks, ever since the detention."
A faint, almost imperceptible flicker of something – perhaps satisfaction, perhaps cold determination – passed through Echo's emerald hair. He tucked the Elmo doll and the bag of sugar back into his robes. Sniffles, still bouncing, eventually burrowed back into his pocket.
"Thank you, Longbottom," Echo stated, his voice flat. "You have been an earnest friend to me." He turned towards the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me."
Echo paused at the door, then turned his head slightly, a chilling glint in his blank eyes. "I'm off to teach Lupin a lesson."
He strode out of the classroom, leaving Frank Longbottom alone in the dusty silence, contemplating the bizarre turn of events and the chilling promise in Echo's voice.
Later that afternoon, the Room of Requirement shimmered into existence for Echo. It was still extremely comfortable for long study, creature care, and magical practice, but now it was a bit more open and spacious. He paced the polished stone floor and rugs, the single strand in his black hair pulsing with a low, jasmine-colored controlled intensity as he thought. Sniffles, perched on his shoulder, chittered occasionally, perhaps sensing the turmoil of his companion.
"Remus Lupin," Echo murmured, his voice flat, the name a stone dropping into a still well. "A 'Tickle Me Elmo doll that has depression and is always on fire with the fear factor of a chimera on cocaine.'" He paused, his steps slowing. "The audacity. The sheer, unadulterated nonsense."
He stopped, turning abruptly. The emerald in his hair flared, a brief, angry crimson replacing it before fading back. "I could transfigure his bed into a giant Mooncalf that bleats every time he moves," he mused aloud, staring at a blank section of wall. "Or perhaps fill his shoes with Blast-Ended Skrewt secretions." Sniffles chittered, a tiny, excited tremor running through him at the mention of the repulsive creatures.
Echo resumed pacing, his head tilted slightly, as if listening to an internal monologue. "Too simple. Too… Gryffindor in its directness. It needs to be precise. Inescapable. A lesson that will resonate through his very bones, without leaving a trace of physical harm."
He considered the possibilities, his mind a cold, efficient engine of retribution. "A charm that causes every book he touches to combust into a shower of glitter spontaneously? No, too obvious. Dumbledore would trace it." The emerald in his hair flickered with a faint, almost imperceptible sapphire blue, a touch of self-correction. "A subtle, psychological attack. Something that exploits his… sensitivities."
He stopped again, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips. The emerald strand in his hair deepened, then shifted, a flicker of pure, unadulterated gold appearing, not of joy, but of cold, calculating satisfaction. "Ah," Echo murmured, the sound barely audible. "I have it. I should go simple but effective. Give him exactly what he wants. But where am I going to find a body suit with red fur?"
The Room of Requirement, ever attuned to the needs of its occupant, subtly shifted. A large, plush red onesie, complete with a perpetually grinning, sewn-on face and oversized googly eyes, shimmered into existence on a nearby mannequin. Beside it, a complex array of miniaturized magical components, delicate wiring, and a tiny, almost invisible vocalizer hummed softly.
Echo's lips curled into a slow, chillingly satisfied smirk. The golden flicker in his hair intensified, a vibrant, triumphant beacon of his meticulous planning. This was going to be perfect.
Later that evening, a small, elegantly folded piece of parchment landed on Remus Lupin's lap in the Gryffindor common room. It was unsigned, but the handwriting was unmistakably Sirius Black's, a flamboyant scrawl that promised mischief.
"Moony, old friend, meet me in the abandoned classroom on the fourth floor, west corridor, in ten minutes. Got a brilliant new prank to discuss. Very private. Don't tell James."
Remus's brow furrowed slightly. A new prank? Without James? And in that particular abandoned classroom? It seemed odd, even for Sirius. But the lure of a new, top-secret prank and the slight competitive thrill of being chosen over James was enough. He folded the note, a faint, weary smile touching his lips.
"Right then," he muttered to himself, getting up.
Ten minutes later, Remus stood before the heavy, unmarked wooden door in the dimly lit corridor. He pushed it open cautiously, peering into the gloom. The room was dark, the windows covered, and a heavy, musty silence hung in the air.
"Sirius?" he called out, his voice echoing eerily. He stepped inside, expecting to see his friend spring out with a Bombarda charm or a tripping jinx.
But no one answered. He took another step, and the door swung shut behind him with a soft, yet ominously final click. Remus spun around, his heart leaping into his throat.
Standing directly in front of the now-locked door, bathed in the faint sliver of moonlight filtering through a crack in the boarded-up window, was a figure that made Remus's blood run cold. It was Echo, entirely enveloped in the plush, bright red Tickle Me Elmo onesie, its enormous, googly eyes fixed unblinkingly on Remus. The sewn-on grin seemed to stretch wider in the dim light, a rictus of unsettling cheer. Echo's face, however, remained impassive, framed by the red fur hood, a stark contrast to the saccharine costume. The single emerald streak in his hair was now a pulsing, vibrant crimson against the black, a silent alarm bell.
Remus stumbled backward, hitting the opposite wall. His usually sharp and quick mind whirled with a mixture of terror and utter, profound bewilderment.
"E-Echo?" he stammered, his voice cracking. "What… what is this? Look, about that rumor, I… I can explain. It was just a joke, a silly—"
Echo tilted his head slightly. His lips, framed by the red fur, curved into that faint, bloodless smile. Then, to Remus's absolute horror, a low, slow, tuneless hum began to emanate from the Elmo costume. It wasn't the cheerful, high-pitched voice of the actual doll, but a deep, resonant, and utterly chilling baritone.
"Elmo's World… that's where Elmo lives…" Echo sang, his voice flat and devoid of warmth, yet laced with an unnerving, deliberate slowness that stretched each word into an agonizing crawl. His unblinking eyes never left Remus's face.
Remus whimpered, pressing himself further into the wall. "Echo, please! I'm sorry! I really am! It was just… a phrase! I didn't mean… I didn't think you'd actually… get an Elmo doll, let alone… wear it…"
Echo ignored him, stepping forward, his movements eerily smooth and deliberate in the bulky costume.
"Elmo's World… that's where Elmo lives… He loves his goldfish… and his crayon too…"
The song continued, each word a hammer blow to Remus's frayed nerves. The unnervingly slow tempo, the flat, emotionless voice, the unblinking stare of the googly eyes – it was a psychological assault, far worse than any physical prank James or Sirius could concoct. Remus's breath hitched in his throat, his eyes wide with unadulterated fear. He wanted to scream, but no sound escaped him. Echo reached the final verse, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, yet somehow growing even more menacing.
"And when Elmo wants to play… he always finds a way… to tickle you… until you…"
Echo paused, his voice trailing off into a profound, chilling silence. He slowly raised his right arm, pointing an unblinking, Elmo-clad finger towards the ceiling.
At that exact moment, with a sudden, whooshing roar, every single wooden board covering the windows, every dusty desk, every piece of forgotten parchment in the room, burst into roaring, licking flames. The air shimmered with intense heat, casting dancing, orange and red shadows that pulsed and flickered across Echo's unmoving, Elmo-costumed form. The flames reflected in the googly eyes of the Elmo suit, making them appear to burn with an internal, terrifying light. Echo stood perfectly still in the inferno, utterly untouched, his flat gaze still fixed on Remus, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips as the surrounding room became a vivid, living recreation of the infamous "Elmo in Hell" meme.
From Remus Lupin's throat tore a sound that was less a scream and more a high-pitched, girlish shriek of pure, unadulterated terror. It was a sound that would echo in his nightmares for years to come.
At the same time, the air in Transfiguration class was thick with the scent of singed feathers and a low hum of student chatter. Professor McGonagall was mid-lecture, demonstrating a complex animagus transformation, when the door to her classroom burst open with a frantic BANG! A terrified Hufflepuff first-year, eyes wide and hair disheveled, stumbled into the room, gasping for breath.
"Professor McGonagall!" the boy shrieked, pointing a trembling finger back out into the corridor. "Professor! You have to come quickly! Remus Lupin is being chased! By a… a feral red Muppet!"
The class erupted in bewildered murmurs and a few stifled giggles. McGonagall, however, merely raised an eyebrow, a flicker of irritation crossing her stern features. "Mr. Fin, kindly compose yourself. There are no 'feral red Muppets' in Hogwarts. And certainly not chasing students."
But before she could continue her lecture, a loud, terrified yelp echoed from the corridor, unmistakably Remus Lupin's.
"It's true, Professor!" the Hufflepuff insisted, his voice cracking with genuine fear. "It's enormous! And… and it's singing!"
A low, off-key, baritone rendition of "Elmo's World" wafted through the open doorway, chillingly familiar to anyone who had witnessed Echo's previous night's demonstration.
Minerva's eyes narrowed. That unnerving monotone… she knew that voice. With a grim set to her jaw, she swept past the startled first-year and out into the corridor, her robes billowing behind her.
The sight that greeted her was utterly surreal. Remus Lupin, pale as a ghost, was frantically attempting to scramble up the leg of a towering, ornate suit of armor that stood in a nearby alcove. The suit of armor, usually inanimate, was, to McGonagall's astonishment, visibly trembling and trying to shake Remus off, its gauntleted fists clanking against its chest as if in distress. And behind them, steadily advancing, its enormous googly eyes fixed on the struggling pair, was a human-sized, plush red Elmo. Its fabric grin seemed wider, more menacing in the dim corridor light.
"Professor!" Remus shrieked, his voice hoarse with terror. Help me! It's Elmo! And he's going to tickle me to death!"
The Elmo took another deliberate step forward, its head tilting. "Elmo loves to play… with his friends… and tickle them… until they… scream." The last word was drawn out into a low, guttural growl that sent shivers down McGonagall's spine.
Then, the suit of armor itself let out a terrified clank and, with a shudder, managed to rip its leg free from Remus's grasp, clanking noisily down the corridor in the opposite direction. Remus yelped as he tumbled to the floor, landing in an undignified heap.
The giant Elmo stopped, its head cocked. Then, with a sigh that seemed to vibrate through the very walls, its hood was slowly pushed back, revealing Echo's impassive face. His newly black hair, with its persistent emerald streak, pulsed with a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of gold—not joy, but cold satisfaction. He looked down at the cowering Remus, then up at the dumbfounded McGonagall.
"Good morning, Professor," Echo stated, his voice flat, completely devoid of the horrifying baritone that had just terrified a Gryffindor into hysterics. "It seems Mr. Lupin and I were simply having a rather… spirited discussion about appropriate pranking etiquette." He then nudged the still-shivering Remus with the toe of his large, red Elmo-clad foot. "Isn't that right, Lupin?"
Remus merely whimpered, burrowing his face into his hands.
McGonagall stared at the bizarre tableau and then at Echo, her lips pressed into a thin line. She took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing. "Mr. Echo," she began, her voice dangerously quiet. I believe we need to have a word. In my office. Immediately." Her gaze then shifted to the still-cowering Remus. And Mr. Lupin, when you are quite finished… conversing with the floor, you will join us."
Echo merely nodded, his expression unreadable, but a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of satisfaction passed through the golden-tinged streak in his hair. He knew exactly what was coming. And he was entirely prepared. He simply turned and, with an eerily calm stride, began walking towards McGonagall's office, the oversized red Elmo suit rustling softly around him. The silence in the corridor was thick with the scent of residual fear and a faint, lingering whiff of singed fabric.
Remus slowly, cautiously, lifted his head from his hands. He watched Echo retreat back, then looked up at McGonagall, his face a mask of utter despair. "Professor," he croaked, his voice raw, "I… I think I need a very long lie down. And possibly some therapy."
McGonagall merely snorted, a surprisingly undignified sound. "Indeed, Mr. Lupin. I daresay you do. Now, come along."
With a shaky sigh, Remus pushed himself to his feet, his legs still trembling. He cast one last, haunted glance at the spot where the fiery Elmo had stood, then trudged miserably after his Head of House, the terrifying baritone of "Elmo's World" still echoing in his ears.
Minerva McGonagall's office, usually a sanctuary of dignified order, felt particularly strained that afternoon. The air crackled with a mixture of her stern disapproval and the lingering absurdity of the morning's events. Remus Lupin sat slumped in a chair before her desk, looking utterly miserable, his face still pale. Echo stood impassively, the vibrant red Elmo suit a surreal anomaly in the elegant room. His black hair, with its persistent emerald streak, gave no hint of what internal thoughts might be stirring.
"Now," McGonagall began, her voice crisp, her gaze sweeping between the two boys, "perhaps one of you would care to explain, in coherent terms, precisely what in the blazes just occurred in the third-floor corridor? Mr. Lupin, perhaps you can start. What was that… performance?"
Remus visibly flinched. "Professor," he croaked, his voice raspy, "it was… it was Echo. He… he was wearing that… that thing. And he was singing. And… and the suit of armor ran away!" He shuddered, then fixed a desperate look on Echo. "And he set the room on fire!"
Echo merely blinked, his expression unchanging.
McGonagall turned her sharp gaze to Echo. "Mr. Echo. Is this true? Did you, in fact, don this… costume, and proceed to terrorize Mr. Lupin with a song and a spontaneous combustion of classroom furniture?"
Echo nodded, his voice flat. "Indeed, Professor. I found it… necessary."
McGonagall's eyebrows shot up. "Necessary? And pray tell, why was such a… theatrical display of aggression deemed 'necessary,' Mr. Echo? Especially after our recent discussion about 'significant disruptions' and 'uncontrolled applications' of your abilities?"
Echo's emerald hair pulsed faintly. He reached into his robe pocket, pulling out the disheveled Tickle Me Elmo doll. "This, Professor," he stated, holding it up, "arrived by owl this morning. Accompanied by various other… disturbing items." He then produced the small, clear plastic bag, which was now mostly empty, save for a few clinging white flakes. "Such as this. Powdered sugar, as it happens. But the implication, I assure you, was quite clear."
He paused, then added, his voice dropping to a low, chillingly precise tone, "For weeks, Professor, since my unfortunate detention, whispers have been circulating. Rumors. That I am 'built like a Tickle Me Elmo doll that has depression and is always on fire with the fear factor of a chimera on cocaine.'" He cast a pointed, unblinking stare at Remus. "A rather… colorful description, I believe."
Remus withered under Echo's gaze.
"So," Echo continued, turning back to McGonagall, "when the physical manifestation of this utterly absurd, yet highly irritating, rumor appeared on my doorstep, accompanied by what could easily have been a truly illicit substance, I felt it was only logical to address the source. Directly. And memorably."
McGonagall listened, her expression slowly shifting from stern disapproval to a mixture of exasperation and… something that might have been a flicker of reluctant amusement. The corners of her lips twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Mr. Lupin," she said, her voice a little softer, though still firm, "did you indeed originate this… phrase?"
Remus mumbled, "I… I might have mentioned it once or twice, Professor. Just… as a joke. I didn't think…"
"You didn't think, Mr. Lupin," McGonagall finished dryly, "is precisely the problem. Both of you. This kind of behavior, particularly in light of the serious incidents that occurred yesterday, is entirely unacceptable. We have just discussed the consequences of 'uncontrolled applications' of magic, Mr. Echo, and 'misguided pranks,' Mr. Lupin. You were both explicitly warned." She sighed, rubbing her temples. "However, it would appear that Mr. Lupin has, quite clearly, learned his lesson regarding the true impact of his words." She eyed Remus, who was still visibly trembling. "Indeed, it seems he has learned it quite thoroughly."
She then turned her gaze to Echo, a faint, almost mischievous glint in her eyes. "As for you, Mr. Echo. While your methods are… unorthodox, and your reasoning, while disturbingly logical, borders on the terrifying, you did, as you say, address the source. And you did not, as far as I can discern, cause any lasting physical harm, beyond perhaps a few nightmares for Mr. Lupin and a temporarily startled suit of armor."
She paused, then a faint smile, entirely devoid of her usual sternness, touched her lips. "Therefore, Mr. Lupin, there will be no further punishment for you. I believe your experience this morning has been sufficiently…educational."
Remus let out a shaky sigh of relief.
"However, Mr. Echo," McGonagall continued, her voice regaining a hint of its usual severity, "while your point may have been made, parading around the castle in that… costume, and using magic to create a highly distressing environment, is still a disruption. A significant one. Therefore, for your punishment, you will wear that suit for the remainder of the day. In public. To all your classes. And to dinner."
Echo's expression remained blank, but the emerald streak in his hair pulsed with a faint, almost imperceptible golden flicker—a signal of cold, calculating satisfaction. He gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. "Very well, Professor. A fair and entirely proportionate consequence."
"Good," McGonagall said, a hint of triumph in her voice. "Now, if you'll both excuse me, I have a lecture to continue."
Echo turned to leave, the oversized red Elmo suit rustling around him. He took one step, then another, his usually graceful stride strangely hampered by the plush fabric. He attempted to navigate the subtle incline of the office floor, but the smooth, synthetic material of the Elmo suit's feet seemed to have a mind of its own.
With a sudden, undignified squawk of plush fabric, Echo's feet slipped out from under him. He windmilled his arms wildly for a moment, the googly eyes of the Elmo suit bouncing alarmingly, before he finally pitched forward with a soft but undeniable THUD, landing face-first on the polished floor, his nose pressing unceremoniously into the thick red fur.
Remus, still pale and shaken, stared at the fallen Elmo. A faint, almost imperceptible snort escaped him. McGonagall, however, merely pressed her lips together, her shoulders shaking with what might have been suppressed laughter.
Echo, still prone on the floor, let out a low, muffled groan from within the Elmo suit. He attempted to push himself up, but his hands, encased in the bulky Elmo mittens, slipped uselessly on the smooth floor. He tried again, only to slide further.
"Tedious," Echo muttered, his voice muffled by the plush fabric. The single emerald strand in his hair flared crimson with profound irritation, then flickered to a faint, shimmering sapphire blue with acute embarrassment. Utterly, irrevocably tedious."
"I need a word, Professor," Severus drawled, his voice tight with barely concealed frustration, as he all but dragged Echo down the corridor. Echo, encased in his ludicrously fluffy Elmo suit, stumbled along beside him, a soft, pathetic thump accompanying each awkward step. "A word regarding… this." He gestured vaguely at the crimson monstrosity that was Echo's detention uniform.
Professor McGonagall, who had been briskly striding towards her office, paused and turned her stern gaze upon them. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the sight of the fur-clad second-year, who seemed to be struggling just to maintain his balance.
"Mr. Snape," she said, her voice crisp, "is there a problem? Mr. Echo's punishment is quite clear. And it appears he is… diligently performing his duties, however outlandish the attire." She eyed the Elmo suit with a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes.
"Problem, Professor?" Severus scoffed, rolling his eyes. "The problem, if you must know, is that this… this abomination has rendered him entirely useless. He cannot walk without falling over, he cannot speak without muffled gibberish, and he certainly cannot be expected to perform any further 'duties' in this state. I implore you, end this farce, or at least give him something else to do."
McGonagall's brow furrowed. "Mr. Snape, I understand your… disinclination towards the aesthetic, but the point of the punishment was not comfort. Now, why precisely can he not speak?"
"Because," Severus began. He looked down at the furry red head beside him. "Echo, lift your head."
Echo, with a tremendous effort, tilted his massive, fluffy head upwards. Severus, with a rare, almost uncharacteristic flash of impatience, reached down and lifted the cumbersome head of the Elmo suit.
A choked gasp escaped Professor McGonagall's lips. Her eyes, usually so composed, widened in utter horror. Echo's face, pale beneath the disheveled rainbow hair, was a horrifying tapestry of bruising. Two black eyes, swollen and purple, peered out from the puffy skin. His nose was clearly crooked, and to McGonagall's utter shock, his front teeth were completely, utterly gone. Only ragged, red gums remained where his perfect teeth had been.
"Merlin's beard!" McGonagall exclaimed, taking an involuntary step back. "Echo! What in the name of all that is holy happened to you, boy?! Did you get into a fight?! Who did this to you?!"
Severus, seizing the opportunity, spoke quickly, his voice devoid of its usual sneer, replaced by a grim satisfaction. "No, Professor. He did not get into a fight. He cannot. He cannot even stand. This… this suit," he jabbed a finger at the Elmo head, "has no traction whatsoever. He has, by my highly scientific and utterly accurate count, fallen over three hundred and ninety-four times since this ridiculous punishment began." He paused for dramatic effect. "Each time, landing squarely on his face, as the suit prevents any attempt to break his fall. The missing teeth, the black eyes, the broken nose – all a direct consequence of your… inspired choice of attire, Professor."
McGonagall stared at Echo's mangled face, a fresh wave of horror washing over her. She imagined the sheer, excruciating pain of falling repeatedly onto one's face, encased in a suit that offered no protection. A flicker of genuine remorse, and perhaps a healthy dose of embarrassment, crossed her features.
"Three hundred and ninety-four times?" she murmured, aghast. She looked from Echo's battered face to Severus's unblinking, accusatory gaze. "My word. This is… unacceptable." She sighed, running a hand over her face. "Very well. Mr. Snape, you are correct. This punishment has clearly become detrimental to Mr. Echo's well-being. He cannot continue in this state."
She looked at Echo, her gaze softening. "Echo, for the next few days, your punishment will be to assist the house-elves in cleaning up after Peeves' pranks. He seems to have an unusual… affinity for you, and perhaps your presence will deter his more destructive tendencies. It is still a punishment, mind you, but significantly less… physically impactful." She then turned to Severus, her voice firm. "Mr. Snape, take him to Madam Pomfrey immediately. Tell her to cut him out of that infernal suit and to heal his face and teeth. At once."
Severus managed a faint, almost imperceptible smirk of triumph. "As you wish, Professor." He gave a gentle nudge to Echo, who, still speechless and bruised, obediently shuffled off towards the Hospital Wing, the oversized red fur now a symbol of his unwitting martyrdom.