The air in the Magical History classroom hung heavy with the scent of old parchment and dust, a comforting aroma to most, but to Echo, merely a quantifiable particulate matter. Professor Binns, a wispy, translucent ghost with spectacles perched precariously on his non-existent nose, floated languidly at the front, his voice a droning monotone that could lull even the most energetic student into a state of semi-consciousness.
"And so, as we conclude our unit on the Goblin Rebellions of the eighteenth century," Binns intoned, his gaze sweeping over the rows of second-year students, "we move on to a rather exciting, and indeed, historically significant, project."
A ripple of low groans spread through the classroom. Echo, meticulously sharpening his quill, merely blinked. Projects, when logically structured, could be a highly efficient means of knowledge acquisition.
"For this endeavor," Binns continued, oblivious to the collective despair, "you will be engaging in a collaborative effort with some of our esteemed fifth-year students. Your task, in your second year, will be to compile a comprehensive report on a historical event, person, or significant magical artifact based on research conducted with your assigned fifth-year partner. You are to document not only the historical facts but also what you learn from your partner and their research methodology."
Echo's emerald hair flickered with intrigue. Collaboration. A new variable. This could prove… enlightening.
"The reports," Binns announced, conjuring a large, worn wizard's hat from thin air, "will be due in precisely one month. And to ensure fairness and, indeed, the most historically enriching pairings, partners will be selected… randomly!"
He began to call out names, his voice a faint whisper that seemed to echo from the hat itself. "Miss Abbott and Mr. Nott… Mr. Boyle and Miss Fawcett… Miss Carrow and Mr. Finnigan…"
Echo listened, his mind already formulating potential research strategies. He hoped for a partner with a strong logical framework, perhaps a Ravenclaw. Someone who valued precise data over fanciful speculation.
"And finally," Binn's voice drifted across the room, "Mr. Echo and… Mr. Remus Lupin!"
Echo froze. The emerald in his hair flickered wildly, then, with a sharp jolt, ignited into a chaotic, agitated violet, tinged with a furious, desperate crimson. Remus Lupin. One of them. One of the Marauders. His logical mind screamed.
"Professor Binns!" Echo stated, his voice flat, but with a barely suppressed tremor of pure, unadulterated horror. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly across the floor. "Professor, with all due respect, I must politely request another partner. Anyone. Absolutely anyone. Even… even Lucius Malfoy."
"Mr. Echo!" Binns exclaimed, his ghostly form momentarily solidifying in surprise. "Mr. Malfoy is not in the fifth year, and furthermore, that is hardly a polite request!"
Echo instantly realized his tactical error: Lucius Malfoy, the sheer, illogical, snobbish entitlement. His crimson hair deepened with mortification. "My apologies, Professor," he corrected swiftly, his voice gaining a desperate edge. A momentary lapse in judgment. I meant… literally anyone else. Even… even Peeves. I would go with Peeves."
A few students snickered. Peeves, the poltergeist. The bane of Hogwarts.
Binn's spectral eyebrows rose. "Peeves, Mr. Echo? While I admire your… unconventional thinking, I'm afraid that is quite impossible. Peeves is not a student."
"But he's a historical entity within the castle!" Echo argued, his voice flat, but surprisingly impassioned. The violet in his hair pulsed with a frantic, agitated yellow of sudden inspiration. "Think of it, Professor! We could chronicle the history of pranks within Hogwarts! Piecing together centuries of his… anecdotal data! It would be a fascinating, entirely unique historical document! A primary source, as it were!"
Binns floated closer, his translucent face oddly contemplative. "An interesting proposition, I confess, Mr. Echo. To compile a historical narrative through the lens of… continuous mischief. It has a certain… unconventional charm."
Echo's yellow hair flared with triumph.
"However," Binns concluded, his voice firming, "rules are rules. All students must be paired with living students. I'm afraid your partner must be Mr. Lupin."
Echo's brilliant yellow hair withered, replaced by a dull, defeated violet, tinged with a faint, almost sickly green. He turned, his gaze sweeping across the room until it landed on a small, shimmering, translucent form hovering near the ceiling.
"My apologies, Peeves," Echo stated, his voice flat, yet carrying a profound sense of genuine regret. "It appears our collaboration is… not to be. Your unique historical contributions will, unfortunately, remain… unquantified. For now."
Peeves, who had been listening with a rare, unnerving stillness, let out a high-pitched, mournful wail, then zoomed off, leaving a trail of spectral tears. Remus Lupin, meanwhile, simply stared at Echo. His multi-hued hair, which had been a dull, defeated violet, now pulsed with a steely, determined gold. Echo marched directly towards Remus Lupin, his footsteps surprisingly loud in the suddenly silent classroom. Remus, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of amusement and concern, tensed.
"Lupin," Echo stated, his voice flat, every syllable sharp and unyielding. "Follow me. We need to talk. Immediately."
Remus blinked, caught off guard by the sheer intensity of Echo's tone. He glanced at Link, who merely floated impassively, then slowly rose from his seat.
Echo didn't wait. He spun on his heel and strode out of the classroom, leaving Remus to scramble after him. They walked in silence, Echo leading the way with precise, determined strides, navigating the crowded corridors until they reached a deserted stretch of grounds behind the Quidditch pitch, far from any eavesdropping ears.
Echo stopped abruptly, whirling to face Remus. His emerald hair, now blazing with a furious, agitated crimson, pulsed ominously. "Alright, Lupin," he hissed, his voice dangerously low, "we need to establish some ground rules. Immediately. For the duration of this… collaborative effort."
Remus raised an eyebrow, a hint of annoyance flickering in his eyes. "Ground rules, Echo? What exactly—"
"Silence!" Echo snapped, cutting him off. "Rule number one: No pranks. No tricks. No Marauder 'shenaniganry,' as you so quaintly put it. This project requires precision, logic, and a complete absence of infantile tomfoolery. Do you understand?"
Remus opened his mouth, then closed it. He merely nodded, a wary look on his face.
"Good," Echo continued, pressing his advantage. His crimson hair remained, but a sharp, authoritative yellow began to seep into the hue. "Rule number two: No flaking. If you abandon this project, if you leave me to complete your portion of the research independently, I will hex you, Lupin. I will hex you to produce a highly audible, gaseous expulsion every single time you attempt to sit down. For a month. Possibly two, depending on my mood."
Remus paled, a genuine look of horror crossing his face. "You wouldn't!"
"Try me," Echo stated, his voice flat, utterly devoid of humor. "I assure you, my hexes are not like my academic performance, exceptionally precise and regrettably effective. And finally, rule number three: You will not, under any circumstances, run off to cavort with your… boyfriend, Black."
Remus's eyes widened, and he sputtered. "Sirius isn't my boyfriend! What in Merlin's name gave you that idea?"
Echo waved a dismissive hand, the crimson in his hair now tinged with an exasperated violet. "Irrelevant. The point is, no running off to engage in… romantic entanglements during our allocated work time. Is that clear?"
Remus stared at him for a moment, then a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips. "Fair enough, Echo. But if we're setting rules, then you can't run off to be with your girlfriend either. Princess Skate, was it? The one who nearly drowned Potter in mud?"
Echo blinked, then, slowly, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk, devoid of its usual bloodlessness, spread across his transformed lips. The violet in his hair receded, replaced by a triumphant, brilliant gold. "Agreed," he stated. "An entirely logical stipulation. This is precisely why we will conduct our research sessions at Black Lake, near the shore. Skate, you see, enjoys playing with my multi-hued hair. This way," he concluded, his voice flat, "we can effectively kill two birds with one spell, as it were. Or rather, two problems with one location."
Remus stared, then burst out laughing, a genuine, unforced sound that usually only escaped him around his closest friends. "Echo, you are… truly something else." He wiped a tear from his eye. "However, as logical as that might be, we can't start today. I have… other plans."
Echo blinked, his gold hair flickering with mild annoyance at the unexpected delay. "Other plans? That doesn't make sense. This project has a deadline."
"I know, I know," Remus said, still chuckling faintly. "But trust me on this one. I'm completely busy today, and tomorrow too. We'll have to start the day after tomorrow."
Echo's gold hair, which had begun to dim, flared with renewed irritation, tinged with a questioning jade. "The day after tomorrow? Why? I have… things to do after classes today that mean I can't start right away anyway. But tomorrow? I'm free all day for schoolwork."
Remus shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Echo's direct gaze. "It's… a doctor's appointment. A regular one."
Echo's hair flared with violet, a clear sign of suspicion. "A doctor's appointment? I've noticed you taking a sick day once per month. And this happens every month? And takes up a whole day? That seems really… weird. Is it catching? Does it make you think less clearly? Will it stop you from doing good research?"
Remus sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's nothing catching, Echo. And no, it won't make me think less clearly. It just… is. Look, if you let this go, I promise I'll do my share. We'll finish this project early, even if we have to work extra hours the day after tomorrow. I'll even… I'll even help you with your dragon, Wick, if you need it."
Echo paused, the violet in his hair subsiding, replaced by a thoughtful gold. Wick. That was a good offer. His dragon was currently trying to eat things even a dragon could not or could not digest, and he had to teach her the difference, which needed immediate and careful help.
"You would help me with Wick?" Echo asked, his voice flat but with a hint of genuine interest.
"Yes," Remus said, relief flooding his features. "Absolutely. Whatever you need."
Echo stared at him for a long moment, his hair flickering between suspicious indigo and calculating emerald. The 'doctor's appointment' was definitely strange, and Remus's not explaining it only made Echo want a logical reason more. But the idea of finishing early and getting help with Wick was better than needing a full explanation right now.
"Okay, Lupin," Echo stated, a faint, almost unnoticeable smirk touching his lips. "I'll accept your… strange doctor's visits. We will start the day after tomorrow. But," he added, his voice dropping slightly, "I'm still suspicious. If any… bad things happen because of this 'doctor's appointment' that stop us from doing our schoolwork, I'll cancel our agreement. And I'll still curse you to make embarrassing noises whenever you sit down."
Remus gulped, but nodded. "Deal, Echo. Deal." He managed a weak smile. "So, you're off to the Forbidden Forest now?"
Echo nodded, turning to stride back towards the castle. "Yes. But first, I have to grab some things. Wick has started trying to eat things she shouldn't. It needs quick attention. A dragon with stomach problems can be… a problem."
Remus watched him go, then let out a long, weary sigh. "Oh, this is going to be a long month."
The day after tomorrow arrived, crisp and clear. Echo, true to his word, led Remus to a secluded spot by the Black Lake, far from the usual paths. He had, with characteristic foresight, conjured a thick, checkered blanket, which he spread meticulously on the damp grass.
"Optimal for prolonged recumbence," Echo stated, his voice flat, as he promptly lay down on his back, his head positioned precisely at the water's edge. His black hair, now noticeably longer and reaching the nape of his neck, fanned out onto the damp earth.
Remus, looking remarkably fatigued, with dark shadows under his eyes and a fresh, jagged scar marring his left cheek, blinked at the scene. He clutched a stack of heavy, ancient-looking tomes, his shoulders slumping. "Optimal, Echo? I've barely slept. And what's with the blanket?"
"For comfort, Lupin," Echo replied, his eyes closed. "And for the cessation of unnecessary environmental contact. Now, if you would be so kind, retrieve the parchment and quills. We can begin with the historical overview of ancient Transfiguration rituals."
Before Remus could respond, a ripple disturbed the surface of the lake, and then, with a soft splash, Skate emerged. Her moonlight-colored hair flowed around her, and her ocean-deep eyes, sparkling with amusement, immediately fixed on Echo. She glided towards him, her iridescent tail barely disturbing the water.
Echo opened his eyes and offered Skate a faint, unbloodied smirk. "Good morning, Princess," he greeted, his voice flat. "Just in time."
Skate let out a soft, melodic trill and then, to Remus's utter astonishment, gently nudged Echo's head. She then began to idly comb her delicate, webbed fingers through his now neck-length black hair, intertwining strands of his emerald streak with the newly grown moonlight-colored ones that still subtly marked his connection to her. Slowly, methodically, she began to braid it.
Remus gaped, his stack of books threatening to slide from his grasp. "He's… he's getting his hair braided by a mermaid?" he whispered to himself, a new level of bewilderment adding to his exhaustion.
Echo, seemingly oblivious to Remus's internal crisis, spoke. "Lupin, the materials. Now. Time is a finite resource. And Skate enjoys engaging in aesthetically pleasing, repetitive tasks during periods of intellectual discourse."
Remus sighed, forcing himself to move. With a soft thud, he dropped the books and a roll of parchment onto the blanket, then sank down beside them, rubbing his temples. He looked utterly drained, his movements stiff.
"Are you quite alright, Lupin?" Echo asked, without opening his eyes, his voice flat. "You appear… less robust than usual. And there is a new laceration upon your facial region. Is it a result of your 'medical condition'? Was it… unpleasant?"
Remus flinched, instinctively touching the fresh scar. "It was… more involved than usual," he mumbled, trying to sound casual, but his voice was tight with fatigue. "Nothing for you to worry about, Echo. Just… a minor mishap." He looked at Echo's relaxed form, then at Skate, who was now expertly weaving a third braid into his hair, her fingers moving with surprising dexterity. The pink and gold in Echo's hair pulsed with a serene calm.
"Right," Remus said, pulling a quill and inkpot closer. "Transfiguration rituals. Where do you want to start? By era? By practitioner? Or perhaps by the unintended side effects, given your… recent history?"
Echo merely hummed, a low, contented sound. "A chronological approach would be most logical, Lupin. Starting with the earliest documented examples of human attempts at non-corporeal and corporeal manipulation. And do ensure precise dating. I abhor vague temporal estimations."
As Remus began to pore over the ancient texts, his brow furrowed with concentration, Skate continued her meticulous work on Echo's hair. Her soft trills and the gentle tug of her fingers clearly had a soothing effect, as Echo seemed to drift into a state of profound, relaxed focus. His multi-hued hair, particularly the sapphire and pink, shimmered with contentment as he used his wand to write with his quills and parchment.
Remus, however, was having a harder time. He kept glancing at the lake, half-expecting another unexpected emergence. The sheer absurdity of the situation—researching ancient magic with a boy who was being given a mermaid-braid makeover—was almost too much for his exhausted mind to process. He rubbed his eyes, the new scar on his cheek throbbing faintly. His mind, usually sharp, felt sluggish, and keeping pace with Echo's relentless demand for precision was proving to be a monumental task. Every few minutes, he'd stifle a yawn, then try to refocus, only to be distracted by a faint, melodic giggle from Skate as she playfully tugged on a stray strand of Echo's hair.
"Lupin," Echo's flat voice cut through his thoughts. "Your transcription of the 13th-century incantation for the Transfiguration of Lead to Gold contains an error. The fifth syllable is 'veridian,' not 'viridis.' The semantic difference is critical for alchemical stability. And you know how fussy Professor Links is about proper spelling."
Remus jumped, nearly knocking over the inkpot. "Right, sorry," he mumbled, quickly correcting the mistake. He looked at Echo, still lying there, eyes closed, seemingly half-asleep, yet possessing an uncanny awareness of every detail. And a mermaid was braiding his hair.
He tried to write another sentence, but his quill felt heavy, his hand cramped. The words on the parchment blurred, and he realized he'd written the same phrase three times. He squeezed his eyes shut, a wave of dizziness washing over him. He wasn't just tired; he was utterly, profoundly exhausted. The "doctor's appointment" had taken more out of him than he'd anticipated, leaving him drained and depleted. He still needed to research the history of protective charms for their project, but his mind was drawing a blank. He couldn't even remember the basic incantations.
Echo, without opening his eyes, shifted slightly. The sapphire in his hair pulsed, tinged with a questioning jade. "Lupin," he stated, his voice flat, a hint of something uncharacteristic – concern – entering his tone. "Are you really okay? You're thinking much slower now. And your writing looks like a mess."
Remus flinched, then managed a weak, strained laugh. "I'm fine, Echo. Just… a bit of a late night, you know? Studying and my medical condition." He tried to pick up his quill again, but his fingers trembled.
Echo opened his eyes, his large, transformed gaze sweeping over Remus. The jade in his hair intensified, then flared into a deep, troubled violet. He sat up abruptly, dislodging Skate's hands from his hair. Skate trilled softly in protest, but her eyes, seeing Echo's expression, immediately shifted to concern.
"Lupin," Echo stated, his voice now entirely flat, devoid of its usual detached amusement. "You are not fine. Your face is pale, your eyes are red, and you can't move your hands properly. You're also breathing fast, meaning you're stressed." He paused, his gaze softening almost imperceptibly. "Whatever is wrong with you, you clearly haven't gotten better. This is not smart. You are hurting yourself. And our project."
He reached out, taking the quill gently from Remus's trembling hand. "Stop," Echo commanded, his voice firm. "You're going to burn out completely. You can't even research right now. This project is due in one month. We've done enough work that we can finish it easily before the presentation. There's no reason for you to keep working when you're like this."
Echo pushed the parchment and books away from Remus. "Go," he stated, his voice softened by an unfamiliar, almost parental, inflection. "Go and rest. Focus on getting better. We'll work again when you're back to normal. Tomorrow, or the day after at the latest. I'll tell Professor Link you needed a short break for medical reasons."
Remus stared at him, utterly stunned. He wanted to argue, to insist he was fine, but the sheer weariness in his bones, the dull throb behind his eyes, contradicted him. He swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. "Echo… thank you," he mumbled, his voice hoarse with exhaustion and a strange, unexpected gratitude.
Echo merely inclined his head, his pink and gold hair pulsing with a quiet satisfaction. "It just makes sense, Lupin. A bad worker doesn't help anyone. Now, leave. I'll wait for you to get better."
Remus, still in a daze, slowly pushed himself to his feet. He looked at Echo, then at Skate, who was watching him with gentle, understanding eyes. He managed a weak smile, then, without another word, turned and stumbled back towards the castle, leaving the strange, serene scene by the Black Lake behind him.
Skate swam closer to Echo, her head tilted, a soft, questioning trill escaping her lips. "He is… ill?" she trilled, her ocean-deep eyes still fixed on Remus's retreating form.
Echo shook his head, the pink and gold in his hair pulsing with a new, thoughtful indigo. "No, Skate. Not exactly sick. He gets tired and pale once a month, and always has a new cut, and he calls it a 'doctor's appointment.' It doesn't make sense. It's a mystery." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the now-empty stretch of grass where Remus had been. "He's the only one of the Marauders who actually thinks straight. He's got a good head on his shoulders, and he's pretty nice for a human. He doesn't pull stupid pranks or bully people like those two idiots, Potter and Black. But he still hangs out with them." The indigo in his hair deepened, tinged with a questioning jade. "It doesn't add up, Skate. It just doesn't make sense."
Skate hummed softly, her hand once again finding its way to Echo's hair, gently smoothing the now-tangled strands.
Echo sighed, a long, weary sound. "Anyway, the project. We have to finish it." He picked up the quill Remus had dropped, his gaze settling on the parchment. "We need to keep working."
He began to write, his movements precise and quick, but his mind kept going back to the mystery of Remus Lupin. As he worked, he started writing down what he noticed about the boy, trying to figure him out.-Who: Remus Lupin (Fifth-Year Student, Gryffindor, hangs out with the Marauders)
What I've Seen:
Smart: Yes, very smart. He understands hard magic stuff. (Example: He helped with the Transfiguration research, even when he was tired.)
Good Person: Surprisingly good for a guy his age. He doesn't bully or play mean tricks. (Example: He's not involved in the Marauders' bad stuff, and sometimes he even looks annoyed by his friends' pranks.)
Friends: Mostly with James Potter and Sirius Black, who aren't very smart or good. (Confusing: Why hang out with people who aren't as good as him?)
Gets Sick: Once a month, he has a 'medical appointment' and gets really tired, pale, and has a new cut. (Confusing: Don't know what's wrong; he keeps it secret, so it's probably not normal. Weirdly, he doesn't explain it.)
How He Acts: He cares about other people, even me. (Example: He thanked me for stopping work, even though it was necessary. He seemed surprised when I was nice to him.)
Who He Likes (My Guess):
Doesn't seem to like girls: He doesn't try to date girls.
He spends a lot of time with Sirius Black. I see him with Sirius Black a lot; they look at each other and laugh. (Confusing: Black is annoying and doesn't make sense. Why is he always with him?)
What he did when I said 'boyfriend': He got nervous and said no. (Confusing: Saying no might be a way to hide it because people might not like it.)
Inside jokes with Black: He and Black have weird jokes that no one else gets. (Confusing: This means they have a special, close bond.)
My Idea (First Guess):
Based on what I've seen, and how confusing his 'medical condition' is, and why he hangs out with illogical people like Potter and Black, I can only think of one answer: Remus Lupin likes men. Especially how he's always with Sirius Black, even though it doesn't make sense, and how he denied it, which makes me think he has secret feelings for him. His monthly 'doctor's appointments' might be a way to hide private dates that people might not approve of.
Echo leaned back, his quill still ready to write. The pink and gold in his hair pulsed with a strong feeling of having figured something out. He had solved the mystery. Remus Lupin. He had a secret. A really interesting, really confusing secret.
"Skate," Echo whispered, a faint, almost invisible smile on his changed lips. The gold in his hair glowed with a bit of playful yellow. "I think im sitting on a real bad boy piece of information."
He launched himself to his feet, discarding the blanket, and with a burst of speed that surprised even himself, shot off after Remus. The gold in his hair pulsed with pure, unadulterated excitement at having solved such a perplexing human riddle. He caught up to Remus, who was halfway to the castle, stumbling along with his books clutched to his chest. Echo grabbed his arm, pulling him to a halt."Lupin!" Echo stated, his voice flat but vibrating with triumph. "Wait! I apologize for the momentary delay in my understanding, but I have, after considerable data analysis, finally deduced your secret."
Remus froze, his already pale face turning ashen. His eyes, wide with sudden terror, darted to Echo's. "My… my secret?" he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "Echo, you haven't… you can't have…" He shook his head frantically. "No! You're wrong! You haven't figured it out!"
Echo merely blinked, a hint of confusion flickering in his gold hair. "Of course I have. It was surprisingly obvious once all the illogical variables were removed." He paused, his gaze softening almost imperceptibly. "And I merely wish to convey one thing, Lupin."
Remus flinched, bracing himself, his body rigid with tension. This was it. Echo was going to expose him.
"I will not tell a soul," Echo stated, his voice flat, but infused with a profound, unexpected sincerity. "Your secret, Lupin, is safe with me. I will not reveal it to Professor Dumbledore, nor to Professor McGonagall, nor even to your… associates. Not even to Potter and Black, despite their infuriating behavior."
Remus stared, his jaw slack. He had been expecting condemnation, exposure, and fear. Not… this. A profound, shuddering sigh escaped him, and his shoulders slumped in overwhelming relief. "Echo… thank you," he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you. You… you don't know what this means."
Echo waved a dismissive hand, the gold in his hair tinged with a faint, almost embarrassed pink. "It is merely the logical course of action. And I must confess, Lupin, I am… regretful. My earlier snarky comments regarding your supposed 'boyfriend' were, in retrospect, entirely unwarranted. I was merely being… impish."
Remus blinked, a frown creasing his brow. "My… boyfriend? What are you talking about, Echo?" His mind, reeling from the near-exposure of his true secret, struggled to comprehend this new, bizarre turn.
Echo sighed, his hair flaring with a fresh wave of exasperated violet. "Black, Lupin. Sirius Black. Your… romantic proclivities. I deduced it from your excessive proximity, your shared incomprehensible jokes, and your defensive denial. While I find his general demeanor illogical and his hygiene questionable, I now understand the… impetus behind your association. I simply wish to assure you that I will not disclose this to anyone. It is your private business, and frankly, I find such emotional entanglements to be a waste of valuable research time."
"Says the guy with a girlfriend," Lupin shot back.
"Touche," Echo agreed. "And it is certainly not contagious. So it will not impede our project."
Remus stared, then a slow, incredulous laugh bubbled up from his chest, quickly turning into a groan of utter despair. "Echo… you… you think…" He stopped, shaking his head. "You think Sirius and I are… Echo, you have no idea!"
Echo raised a disdainful eyebrow, his violet hair pulsing with a touch of annoyance. "On the contrary, Lupin, my deductions are rarely inaccurate. And while I shall respect your privacy in this matter, I wish to make it clear that my discretion does not extend to Black."
Remus paled again. "What? What do you mean?"
"I mean," Echo stated, his voice flat and ominous, a triumphant, mischievous yellow beginning to pulse in his hair, "that I am going to consult Peeves. Immediately. For advice on the most efficient and publicly humiliating methods of expressing… disapproval of Black's… perceived interest in men. I believe a well-executed series of spectral pranks, perhaps involving a phantom chorus of embarrassing love songs, would be highly efficacious. It will serve as a logical deterrent against further insolence from him."
Remus's eyes widened in horror. "Echo, no!" he shrieked, making a desperate grab for Echo's arm. "You've got it all wrong! That's not—"
But Echo was already gone, a blur of motion, sprinting back towards the castle, a single, determined purpose driving him.
"Echo!" Remus yelled, dropping his books with a thud and scrambling after him. "You haven't figured out my secret! It's not that! Echo, wait!"
His desperate shouts faded behind Echo, who didn't even turn his head. The gold and yellow in his hair pulsed with gleeful anticipation. He was on a mission, a logical, calculated mission to restore equilibrium. Black's perceived romantic interest in Lupin, though entirely illogical, demanded a public, humiliating rectification. And Peeves, he knew, was the perfect instrument for such a task.
He burst into the Entrance Hall, nearly colliding with a startled first-year. He scanned the vast space, his eyes darting to the various nooks and crannies where Peeves often lurked. He spotted a faint shimmer near the suit of armor by the Great Hall doors.
"Peeves!" Echo called out, his voice flat, but infused with an almost giddy excitement. "A moment of your… unquantifiable time, if you please!"
Peeves, who had been attempting to swap the heads of the armored knights, solidified with a cackle. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the gloomy genius! Come to share another sad song, have we? Perhaps one about bleeding ears?"
Echo ignored the taunt, his gold hair flaring with determination. "No, Peeves. I have a more… intellectually stimulating proposition for you. A collaborative effort, if you will, in the pursuit of public humiliation."
Peeves's eyes gleamed, and his spectral form vibrated with delight. "Ooh, public humiliation! My favorite kind! Who's the lucky victim, then? Filch? That boring old Headmaster?"
"Neither," Echo stated, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Sirius Black. And I require your… specialized expertise in the dissemination of embarrassing information via auditory and visual manifestations. Specifically, romantic ones."
Peeves's jaw dropped, then he let out a piercing shriek of pure, unadulterated glee. "Romantic humiliation for Black? Oh, this is delicious! Tell me more, oh wise one! Give Peeves all the juicy details!"
Echo began to outline his plan, his voice low and precise, while behind him, Remus Lupin finally staggered into the Entrance Hall, breathless and disheveled, only to see Echo earnestly conspiring with the mischievous poltergeist. Remus groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Echo!" Remus shrieked, finally reaching them, his chest heaving. He grabbed Echo's arm, pulling him away from the cackling poltergeist. "Echo, stop! You've got it all wrong! It's not that! That's not my secret!"
Echo blinked, the gold and yellow in his hair flickering with orange mild confusion. "It's not?" he asked, his voice flat.
"No!" Remus insisted, his voice raw with desperation. "No, it's not! It's… It's something else entirely! Something much worse!"
Peeves, hovering excitedly, let out a high-pitched giggle. "Ooh! A different secret? Even juicier? Tell Peeves, tell Peeves!" He zipped closer, his spectral face eager.
Remus recoiled, glaring at the poltergeist. "No! Absolutely not, Peeves! It's none of your business!"
Peeves pouted, his form wavering. "Spoilsport! Fine, fine! But Peeves will be watching! Peeves will figure it out! A new mystery for Peeves to unravel!" He zoomed off, humming a mischievous tune.
Echo turned back to Remus, his hair settling into a thoughtful sapphire, tinged with a questioning violet. "Sorry, Peeves," he called out, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips. "We can't shame Black right now. But," he added, turning to Remus, his voice regaining its usual flat, pragmatic tone, "we can still do the suds. It'll mess up anyone washing their hands, turning the bathroom into a suds party."
Peeves, hearing this from a distance, let out another joyful shriek. "Bubbles! Ooh, Peeves loves bubbles!" He zoomed back, already planning his attack on the nearest washrooms. "Much better than boring old secrets anyway!"
Remus stared at Echo, utterly perplexed. "How do you do that?" he whispered, his eyes wide. "How do you just… tell Peeves what to do? He doesn't listen to anyone! Not even the Headmaster!"
Echo blinked, his sapphire hair flickering with a hint of genuine confusion. "It is not about 'control,' Lupin. It is about understanding optimal motivational factors. Peeves, much like a highly enthusiastic, non-corporeal dog, responds to clear directives that align with his core programming. In his case, the pursuit of mischief. One merely needs to articulate a proposition that resonates with his fundamental desires. It is simply a matter of… appropriate linguistic framing."
Remus rubbed his temples, a fresh wave of exhaustion washing over him. "'Linguistic framing'? Echo, you're the only person who can talk to Peeves without getting slimed or having something dropped on their head. Why are you even a Slytherin? You should be in Ravenclaw. You're brilliant."
Echo shrugged, the sapphire in his hair dimming slightly, tinged with a faint, almost defensive, violet. "I am not 'brilliant,' Lupin. That is an overestimation of my cognitive capabilities. While I possess a certain aptitude for logical deduction and problem-solving, my magical abilities are, by and large, rather rudimentary. My spellwork, particularly pre-existing incantations, is remarkably… weak. Utterly without finesse or power, unless it is a spell I have personally conceived and refined. And even then, it is often more a matter of precise application than raw magical strength." He paused, then added, his voice flat, "Furthermore, my primary mode of information acquisition is experiential. I learn best through direct application and observation, through the tangible manipulation of variables. Theoretical knowledge, while necessary, does not engage my mind with the same… efficiency as practical experimentation. Therefore, the strategic and ambitious application of limited resources, which is a hallmark of Slytherin, is more congruent with my operational methodology than the pure, unadulterated pursuit of abstract knowledge typically associated with Ravenclaw."
Remus just stared at him, then let out a long, weary sigh. "Right," he said, his voice flat with exhaustion. "I'm going. And… thanks, Echo. Really."
Echo merely nodded, already turning back towards the scattered parchment and books. "Go, Lupin. The sooner you are restored to optimal functionality, the sooner we can resume our collaborative efforts. I will attempt to make some initial progress on the historical timeline in your absence. Do not feel compelled to rush your recovery. Your well-being, and by extension, the quality of our eventual report, are paramount."
Remus managed a faint, appreciative smile, then, without another word, turned and slowly made his way back to the castle, leaving Echo alone to return to the Black Lake.
Echo watched him go, then, with a satisfied nod, settled back onto the blanket. He picked up his quill, his emerald hair flickering with a focused intensity. The distraction of Remus's peculiar ailment was momentarily set aside. Now, there was only the project. He would get a head start, ensuring their work remained on schedule, a testament to his own logical foresight. The silence of the lake stretched around him, broken only by the gentle lapping of the water and the rhythmic scratching of his quill on parchment.