Echo's heart ached with a familiar, persistent sorrow. The Forbidden Forest, usually a place of quiet solitude, felt heavy with unspoken regrets. It had been months since that dreadful night, since Frieze's terrified scream had echoed through the trees, since the Dementor's chilling presence had shattered their fragile bond. He knew he had to try. He had to explain. He found Frieze by the edge of the lake, skipping stones across the shimmering surface, his usually bright red hair subdued by the late afternoon light. Echo approached slowly, his black hair a hesitant blue, his hands held open in a gesture of peace.
"Frieze," he began, his voice soft, almost a whisper. "Can we talk? Please?"
Frieze stiffened, his arm dropping the stone he had been about to skip. He turned, his eyes wide with an instantaneous, unadulterated terror. The moment their gazes met, the memories of that night, raw and vivid, flooded Frieze's face. His breath hitched, and he took a step back, then another.
"Frieze, wait!" Echo pleaded, taking a step forward. "I need to explain. It wasn't what you thought. It was a Dementor, and—"
But Frieze didn't wait. With a strangled cry, a sound that tore at Echo's heart, he turned and bolted, his small figure disappearing into the twilight gloom of the lakeside path.
Echo watched him go, a fresh wave of despair washing over him, colder and more profound than any he had felt before. He had tried. He had genuinely tried. But the fear, the horror etched into Frieze's memory, was too deep. It was insurmountable.
His shoulders slumped. The vibrant blue in his hair faded to a dull, lifeless grey, mirroring the emptiness that now consumed him. He sank to his knees on the damp earth, the chill seeping into his robes, tears silently tracking paths down his cheeks. The air grew heavy, thick with the weight of his failure. He had lost him. Again.
Hours later, the despair still a heavy cloak around him, Echo found himself in the Slytherin common room. It was late, and the room was empty, the only light coming from the magical lamps and the shimmering, green-tinged glow of the enormous window that looked out into the Black Lake. He sat cross-legged on the plush, leather sofa, staring blankly at the dark, swirling water, his grey hair dull and lifeless. The door to the common room hissed open, and Minerva McGonagall stepped in, holding a pet carrier. She wore her usual emerald robes, a faint frown creasing her brow.
"Mr. Echo," she began, her voice a little tired. "I've been looking for you. The Headmaster sent me. Due to the rather… unfortunate events of last year, and particularly that dreadful feast—"
Echo flinched, his grey hair flickering with a brief, angry red. "Professor," he interrupted, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. I assure you, I remember every excruciating detail of that feast. It's etched into my brain. I would greatly appreciate it if you could get to the point.
Minerva sighed, adjusting her spectacles. "I understand your sentiments, Mr. Echo, but context is often necessary. The Headmaster, concerned about your… morale, and given the considerable challenges you've faced, has decided to bestow upon you a gift. He hopes it will, in some small way, lift your spirits."
She held out the pet carrier to him. It was a sturdy, wicker contraption, and a faint shuffling sound emanated from within.
"I have a meeting at the Ministry of Magic regarding some… urgent matters," Minerva continued, her gaze sweeping over the common room. "I trust you will endeavor to keep out of trouble until my return."
Echo took the carrier, a faint, humorless smile touching his lips. His red hair settled into a weary grey. "If I had a middle name, Professor, it would probably be Chaos."
Minerva merely rolled her eyes, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch of amusement at the corner of her mouth. "Indeed, Mr. Echo. Indeed." With a final, weary nod, she turned and left the common room, the door hissing shut behind her, leaving Echo alone once more.
Echo looked down at the carrier, its contents a mystery. A gift, Dumbledore said. To lift his spirits. He already had so many magical creatures – a Griffin, a Thunderbird, a Basilisk, sorta, a dragon, a Chupacabra, Ashwinders, a Runespoor, an Occamy, a Horned Serpent… the list went on. He didn't need another magical creature. He thought of a few possibilities: a kneazle, perhaps? Or a Bowtruckle? Maybe a puffskein or two? But he had all of those as well.
With a sigh, he set the carrier on the floor and unlatched the door. He tipped it slightly, expecting whatever was inside to emerge cautiously. Instead, a small, rather disheveled house-elf tumbled ungracefully out onto the green carpet, blinking up at him with enormous, tennis-ball-sized eyes. Its ears, large and bat-like, twitched nervously, and it wore a rather threadbare, stained tea towel as its attire. Echo stared, his grey hair flaring a surprised, confused blue. Of all the things Dumbledore could have sent, a house-elf was the last thing he had expected.
"A house-elf?" Echo said out loud, his voice laced with bewilderment, his blue hair flickering with disbelief. "What are you doing here?"
The house-elf wrung its tiny hands, its large eyes fixed on Echo. "Dumbledore, sir, he says I am to be your house-elf. To make you happy, sir. To serve you."
Echo frowned, his blue hair shifting to a questioning black. "You keep saying 'I.' Is 'I' your name?"
The house-elf blinked. "Oh, no, sir! 'I' is not my name, sir. I… I do not have a name, sir. Professor Dumbledore says you, sir, have been given the pleasure of giving me a name."
Echo stared at the small creature, then sighed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "A name? I'm too confused to give you a name right now. Everything's just... I'm still trying to process everything."
"Oh, please, sir!" the house-elf squeaked, its ears drooping. "Please, a name would be… a great honor, sir! A wonderful honor!"
Echo winced at the intensity of the house-elf's plea. "Alright, alright, fine!" he muttered, thinking fast. "A name, a name… How about… Pip?"
The house-elf's eyes widened, then filled with an almost painful joy. "Pip, sir? My name is Pip! Oh, thank you, sir! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" It bowed repeatedly, almost toppling over.
"Hold on, Pip," Echo said, his black hair settling into a firm blue. "I'm not going to be your master. I don't believe in house-elf slavery."
Pip immediately straightened, a look of profound distress on his small face. "But, sir, you are my master! Professor Dumbledore says he had you sign a magical contract, sir! Pip belongs to you, sir! Pip must serve you!"
Echo's blue hair flared a fierce, indignant red. "No, Pip! Absolutely not!" he declared, his voice rising with vehemence. "I am not your master, and I refuse to be! I don't believe in owning any intelligent being, least of all a house-elf. I am an avid supporter of house-elf rights and rights for all intelligent life, magical or otherwise! To keep you as my servant would make me a complete hypocrite!"
He stood up, his agitation evident. "Do you know what I did three months ago, Pip? I broke every single bone in a fifth-year's leg for stomping on a house-elf right here in Hogwarts! How can I, in good conscience, accept you as my property after that? It's… unthinkable!" He ran a frustrated hand through his red hair, which now pulsed with his anger. "This is completely unacceptable. I'll have to talk to Professor McGonagall or Dumbledore about this immediately. But for now, understand this: you are not my master, and I am not yours. Do you hear me?"
Pip, despite Echo's vehement declarations, looked utterly bewildered, his large eyes welling up with tears. "But… but Pip must serve, sir! It is Pip's purpose! Pip is a bad house-elf if Pip does not serve his master!"
Echo sighed, his red hair softening to a frustrated but resigned blue. He knelt, trying to meet Pip's gaze gently. "No, Pip. You're not bad. And it's not your purpose to be a slave. You have free will, just like anyone else. You can choose to do whatever you want."
Pip shook his head, tears now streaming down his little face. "No, sir! Pip cannot choose! The contract… the contract binds Pip! Professor Dumbledore, he said… he said Pip belongs to you!"
Echo ran a hand over his face. This was going to be more complicated than he thought. He felt a surge of familiar anger, not at Pip but at Dumbledore and the entire wizarding world for perpetuating such a cruel system. "Alright, Pip. Look. I'm going to figure this out. I'm going to talk to Professor McGonagall, and if she can't help, I'll go straight to Dumbledore. I will find a way to free you from this contract. Do you understand?"
Pip wrung his tiny hands, his large eyes welling up with fresh tears. "No, sir! Please, no! Pip does not want to be free, sir! It would be a great dishonor! Other house-elves would shun Pip, sir! Pip would have no one, no place to go! Please, sir, do not do this to Pip!" His voice was a thin, desperate plea, his body trembling. "Even a free house-elf is a lonely house-elf, sir! They have no family, no home! Please, sir, Pip begs you!"
Echo's red hair softened to a determined blue as he saw Pip's genuine terror. "Calm down, Pip, calm down!" he said, trying to infuse his voice with reassurance. "It's not too late. There has to be a loophole, some way to fix this without dishonoring you. Professor McGonagall! She must still be in the castle! I can catch her before she leaves!"
With a renewed sense of urgency, Echo scrambled to his feet and bolted out of the Slytherin common room. He ran through the deserted corridors, his footsteps echoing, and burst into Minerva McGonagall's office. It was empty. The lingering scent of tea and parchment was all that remained.
"Professor McGonagall!" Echo called out, his voice laced with desperation. Silence. He spun around, frustrated, and called out, "House-elf! Any house-elf!"
A moment later, a small, timid house-elf wearing a clean, white tea towel appeared before him. "Yes, master?" it squeaked nervously.
"Have you seen Professor McGonagall?" Echo demanded, his blue hair flickering with impatience. "Where did she go?"
The house-elf wrung its hands. "Professor McGonagall, she left Hogwarts, sir. She apparated away just a moment ago, sir, to the Ministry."
"Damn it!" Echo roared, a potent curse escaping his lips. His blue hair blazed a furious red. He turned and sprinted towards Dumbledore's office, muttering curses under his breath. He didn't even bother with the gargoyle, bursting through the hidden door and up the spiral staircase. He barged into Dumbledore's office, shouting, "Dumbledore! Headmaster! Where are you?"
The Sorting Hat, perched on a shelf, stirred. "He's not here, young Echo. He left for the Ministry with Minerva some time ago."
"Bloody hell!" Echo shouted, slamming his fist against the wall. His red hair pulsed with raw, unadulterated fury. He turned and stormed out, leaving the Sorting Hat to its quiet vigil. He wandered aimlessly through the deserted upper corridors, his anger slowly draining away, replaced by a crushing sense of defeat. Finally, he slumped against a cold stone wall, sliding to the floor, his grey hair dull and lifeless once more. He was too late. Again.
He remained there for what felt like hours, a statue of despair against the cold stone. Pip, his little house-elf, eventually found him, whimpering softly as he approached.
"Master… Echo, sir?" Pip whispered, his large eyes filled with concern. "Pip is… Pip is worried about you, sir."
Echo slowly looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow. "It's no good, Pip," he mumbled, his voice raw. "They're both gone. I can't free you. You're… you're stuck with me."
Pip sat down beside him, his small form a pathetic bundle. "Pip does not mind being stuck with you, sir. Pip… Pip likes you, sir. You are kind to Pip."
Echo managed a weak, humorless chuckle. "Kind? I just made you cry, and now I'm telling you that you're condemned to servitude because of me. Some kindness, huh?"
"But you tried, sir!" Pip insisted, looking up at him with earnest eyes. "You truly tried to make Pip free. No other master has ever done that for Pip! No other master has ever cared if Pip was happy!" Fresh tears welled in Pip's eyes, but these were different, tinged with a strange, hopeful gratitude. "Pip would be honored to serve a master like you, sir. If… if Pip must serve, then Pip would choose you, sir."
Echo stared at the little house-elf, a flicker of something he hadn't felt in hours—a tiny spark of warmth—igniting in his chest. Pip's words, so simple and sincere, began to chip away at the crushing weight of his despair. He had failed to free Pip, yes, but Pip saw his effort, his intent. And in that, there was a strange, unexpected comfort.
He reached out a hesitant hand, gently patting Pip's head. His grey hair, slowly, almost imperceptibly, began to soften, a faint, hopeful blue returning. "Pip," he said, his voice still a little shaky, "I… I still don't like the idea of you being bound to me. I'm still gonna find a loophole, once one of the professors comes back." Echo pulled at his face and let out a deep sigh before stressing, "I'm too stressed right now. I need to go do something, anything, that isn't this." He pushed himself to his feet, a renewed, if frantic, energy sparking in his eyes. His blue hair pulsed with agitation. "I'll be back. I just… I need to calm down."
He returned to the Room of Requirement, willing it into a sprawling, multi-tiered vivarium. He found his creatures, one by one, and set about brushing them with a meticulous, almost desperate fervor. He started Rowena, the Thunderbird, her iridescent plumage smoothed with careful strokes. He brushed his Graphorn, his Occamy, his Runespoor, his Ashwinders, his Horned Serpent, even Shimmer, the Chupacabra, and Sniffles, the Kneazle, the puffskienes, and Jobberknolls and Fwoopers, even the creatures that should be brushes like Bowtruckle and Purple Toads. He brushed and brushed, each stroke an attempt to banish the gnawing anxiety, to find some semblance of control in a world that felt utterly chaotic.
Hours passed. Every single animal, great and small, was sleek, shiny, and purring or chittering with contentment. Yet, the knot in Echo's stomach remained, taut and unyielding. His blue hair, despite its rhythmic, calming effect, still pulsed with underlying tension. It hadn't worked.
He tried other things. He meditated, focusing on his Beast Magic, trying to find inner peace in its powerful flow. He practiced complex Transfiguration spells, losing himself in the intricate wand movements and incantations. He even attempted to write more of his Beast Magic documentation, but his mind kept circling back to Pip, to the contract, to his own infuriating helplessness. Nothing worked. The frustration only mounted, a buzzing static beneath his skin.
Finally, utterly defeated and with a profound sense of helplessness, he gave up. With a weary sigh, his blue hair dulling to a muted grey, he made his way back through the silent castle corridors. There was only one thing left to do: wait. He found himself outside Minerva McGonagall's office once more, the faint scent of tea and parchment a melancholic comfort. He pushed the door open, stepped inside, and slumped into her visitor's armchair, his gaze fixed on the empty desk. He would just sit and wait.
He remained there for what felt like an eternity, the minutes dragging into hours, the soft tick-tock of a magically enchanted clock on the wall the only sound breaking the oppressive silence. The light outside the window slowly faded from the last vestiges of twilight to the impenetrable black of night. Still, he waited, his despair hardening into a cold, quiet anger.
Finally, a faint click echoed from the corridor, followed by the familiar rustle of robes. The door to Minerva's office creaked open, and a shadowy figure stepped inside.
"Professor McGonagall?" Echo's flat and chillingly calm voice cut through the darkness, making the figure jump. His grey hair flickered with a faint, malevolent red in the gloom.
Minerva let out a startled gasp, her hand flying to her chest. "Mr. Echo! Good heavens, you scared the life out of me!" With a sharp flick of her wand, the gas lamps in the office flared to life, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow. Her eyes, still wide with alarm, landed on Echo, slumped in the armchair, his face etched with exhaustion and a deep, simmering displeasure.
"Mr. Echo, what in Merlin's beard are you doing here in the dark?" she demanded, her voice a mixture of exasperation and concern. She took in his disheveled appearance, the dull grey of his hair, and the palpable tension emanating from him. "And why do you look as though you've just wrestled a Grindylow? Was it… the gift? Has something gone wrong with the gift?"
"The gift?" Echo repeated, his voice low, then growing louder with each word as the anger finally bubbled to the surface. "The gift? The gift! The bloody gift!" With a sudden, forceful movement, he snatched something from beneath the desk and, with a soft thump, deposited a trembling Pip onto the polished wood surface. "This, Professor," he declared, his voice trembling with a mixture of fury and despair, "is the gift! Tell me, Professor, what do you think of this gift?"
Minerva stared at the small, cowering house-elf, then at Echo, her eyebrows rising in profound bewilderment. "Mr. Echo… why on earth do you have a house-elf?"
"Because, Professor," Echo snarled, his grey hair blazing a furious, indignant red, "this 'gift' is a slave! A magically bound slave for the rest of my life! Something I never wanted! Something I would never want!"
Minerva's face paled, her eyes wide with a shock that mirrored Echo's own. "A… a slave? What are you talking about, Mr. Echo? Dumbledore wouldn't… he couldn't have…" She trailed off, her gaze fixed on Pip, who whimpered softly, shrinking further into himself. "A magically bound slave?" she whispered, the words laced with genuine horror.
Echo, his red hair flickering violently, let out a short, bitter laugh. "Oh, but he did, Professor! He absolutely did! Apparently, I signed a magical contract!" He gestured wildly at Pip. "He even said it himself: 'Pip belongs to you, sir! Pip must serve you!"
Minerva's face was a mask of disbelief and growing anger. "A magical contract? Without your explicit, informed consent, Mr. Echo? That is… that is highly irregular, to say the least!" She knelt, gently, before Pip, her voice softening. "Little one, is this true? Did Professor Dumbledore bind you to Mr. Echo without his knowledge?"
Pip, still trembling, nodded his head vigorously, tears streaming down his face. "Yes, Professor! Dumbledore, sir, he said it was for Master Echo's happiness! He said Master Echo needed a loyal friend, a servant to help him!"
Echo turned to Minerva, his red hair crackling with disbelief. "Professor! Did you… Did you know about this? Did you have any idea Dumbledore was going to pull something like this?"
Minerva rose slowly to her feet, her face a thundercloud. "Mr. Echo," she said, her voice dangerously quiet, "I had no idea. The Headmaster informed me he was giving you a 'companion,' a magical creature to lift your spirits. I assumed it was another one of your… unique acquisitions. A Kneazle, perhaps. Or a particularly intelligent Pygmy Puff. Never, in my wildest imaginings, did I believe he would bind a sentient being to you without your express consent! A house-elf can only be truly bound by the contract of a willing participant, Mr. Echo. Did Professor Dumbledore make you sign any paperwork recently? Anything at all?"
Echo frowned, trying to sift through the chaotic memories of the past few months. "No, I haven't… not that I recall. I mean, I've signed so many permission slips and detention forms lately, but nothing about a…" He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening in a sudden, horrific realization. A loud gasp escaped his lips.
The great hall, after the Dementor incident. Echo, still reeling from the attack, his mind a hazy mess of fear and confusion. Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling, a quill and a roll of parchment extended towards him. "Just a formality, my dear boy. A standard release form after such a… trying experience. For your own well-being, you understand." Echo, barely comprehending, had scrawled his name, the parchment blurring before his eyes.
Echo snapped back to the present, his grey hair blazing a furious, indignant red. "He tricked me!" he roared, slamming his fist on the desk. Pip squeaked and jumped, nearly falling off. "He tricked me into signing it when I wasn't even in my right mind!"
"Mr. Echo, calm down!" Minerva commanded, her voice sharp, though her eyes were alight with her own burgeoning fury. "There's only so much air in this room for all of us to be this… agitated!"
"Dumbledore tricked me!" Echo repeated, his voice thick with rage.
Minerva's lips thinned into a dangerous line. "What?" she whispered, the single word dripping with ice. She turned, her emerald robes swirling around her. "Follow me, Mr. Echo."
Echo scrambled off the desk, a new, vengeful glint in his eyes. "Are we going to tear the Headmaster a new one, Professor?"
Minerva didn't even look back. "He'll be lucky if it's only one we tear open," she snarled, her voice laced with a promise of brutal retribution.
They stormed out of her office, Echo struggling to keep pace with Minerva's furious stride. They didn't bother with the secret passage to Dumbledore's office, simply bursting through the gargoyle's entrance and up the spiral staircase. Minerva flung open the door to Dumbledore's office without knocking.
Dumbledore was seated at his desk, a serene smile on his face, conversing with Professor Starlit, the Divination Professor. As the door crashed open, both men looked up, startled.
"ALBUS PERCIVAL WULFRIC BRIAN DUMBLEDORE!" Minerva's voice, usually so composed, roared through the office, shaking the very portraits on the walls.
Everything in the office paused. The portraits froze, the various trinkets on Dumbledore's shelves ceased their gentle whirring, and even Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, let out a startled squawk. Professor Starlit, however, merely sighed, a look of profound weariness on his face.
"Well, Albus," Professor Starlit said, slowly rising from his chair, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. "It seems my premonition about your impending demise was accurate, after all. Do tell me, after this little… confrontation, will you be laid to rest in the Headmaster's tomb? I'll be sure to buy you the nicest flower during your funeral."
Dumbledore, looking remarkably small and vulnerable under Minerva's furious gaze, cleared his throat. "Yes, sweet pea?" he ventured, his voice uncharacteristically high-pitched, a nervous smile plastered on his face.
Minerva whirled on him, her eyes blazing. "Don't you 'sweet pea' me, Albus!" she snapped, her voice cracking like a whip. "I have been willing to overlook your more questionable decisions over the years. The ramifications were either non-existent or, by some miracle, even beneficial in the long run. But this… this is crossing a very, very thick line!"
Echo, his red hair still crackling with fury, blinked. "Sweet pea?" he repeated, looking from Minerva to Dumbledore, then back to Minerva. "Professor, did that actually work on you? The 'sweet pea' thing?"
Minerva let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand over her face. "It worked once, Mr. Echo," she grumbled, her voice still tight with anger. "And that, I assure you, was twenty years ago."
Echo's eyes widened. "Was that before or after you found out he was a gay old queen?"
Minerva's lips pressed into a thin line, and she shot a withering glare at Dumbledore. "Before."
Dumbledore cleared his throat, his nervous smile faltering. "Minerva, my dear, I assure you, there's a perfectly logical explanation for all of this."
"Oh, I am quite certain there is, Albus," Minerva retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And I am equally certain it will involve the greater good, a few well-intentioned lies, and a complete disregard for the rights of sentient beings!" She gestured dramatically towards Echo. "You bound a house-elf to Mr. Echo without his explicit, informed consent! You tricked him into signing a contract when he was barely coherent after a Dementor attack!"
Dumbledore sighed, his shoulders slumping. "It was for his own well-being, Minerva. He has been through so much. He needs a loyal companion, someone to look after him, to ensure he is… cared for."
"Cared for, Headmaster?" Echo interjected, his voice still simmering with rage. "I don't need a slave to 'care for' me! I need people who treat me with respect, who don't lie to me, and who don't undermine my deeply held beliefs about freedom and autonomy!"
Professor Starlit, who had been observing the scene with a detached amusement, finally spoke. "Albus, if I may, your methods, while often effective, do tend to err on the side of… manipulative. Even for you."
Dumbledore winced. "A necessary evil, my dear Starlit, for the greater good."
"The greater good of whom, Albus?" Minerva snapped, her voice rising again. "Certainly not, Mr. Echo, and most assuredly not the house-elf you so cavalierly enslaved!" She turned back to Dumbledore, her gaze unyielding. "Release him, Albus. Release the house-elf from this contract immediately."
Dumbledore wrung his hands. "Minerva, the contract is magically binding. It is not so simple as a mere flick of the wand."
"Then unbind it with whatever convoluted, manipulative magic you used to create it in the first place!" Minerva thundered, taking a menacing step towards him. "Or I swear to Merlin, Albus, I will personally ensure that every single house-elf in this castle goes on strike, effective immediately! We shall see how well you manage Hogwarts without a single clean sock or a warmed scone!"
The threat, delivered with such conviction, finally seemed to penetrate Dumbledore's placid demeanor. His eyes widened slightly, and a flicker of genuine alarm crossed his face. He knew Minerva was not one for idle threats.
"Minerva, please!" he pleaded. "That would be… catastrophic!"
"Then release the house-elf!" she repeated, her voice firm.
Dumbledore sighed, running a hand over his long beard. "Alas, Minerva, it is not as simple as merely undoing what has been done. This contract, you see, is bound by ancient magic, a blood pact, if you will. It can only be broken by two eventualities: the unfortunate demise of either Mr. Echo or the house-elf, or a willing act of emancipation from Mr. Echo, performed with genuine intent and full understanding."
Echo's red hair, which had begun to dim, blazed with renewed fury. "But I can't just free him, Dumbledore! He doesn't want to be free! He's terrified of the shame, of being an outcast among other house-elves! He said it himself: 'Even a free house-elf is a lonely house-elf'! So, what, I'm supposed to force him into a life of misery just to satisfy my own principles?"
He paced frantically, his mind racing. Then, a dangerous glint appeared in his eyes, and his red hair settled into a cold, calculating black. "If death is the only other loophole," he said slowly, his voice laced with a grim determination, "then I'll just have to die. For a few minutes, anyway."
Minerva gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Mr. Echo! What are you saying?"
"I'll stop my heart," Echo continued, ignoring her. "For just long enough. Then, when I'm brought back, the contract will be broken. Pip will be free, but his peers won't shame him, because it won't be my choice to free him. It will be an act of fate, of circumstance." He looked at Dumbledore, a challenging glint in his black eyes. "That should work, shouldn't it, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore, who had been listening with a growing sense of alarm, shook his head, his face grave. "No, Mr. Echo. It would not. While the contract would indeed be momentarily severed in the instant of your passing, the magic is tied to your life force. Should you be revived, the contract would simply reinstate itself. You would endure a profoundly traumatic experience for naught."
Echo stared at him, utterly deflated, his black hair dulling to a lifeless grey. "So I'm truly stuck with him," he whispered, the words heavy with defeat. He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration boiling over. "No! This can't be it! There has to be another way!" He spun on his heel, his eyes wild with a desperate, desperate search for an answer. "There's one thing I haven't tried yet!"
Before Dumbledore or Minerva could offer an alternative solution, Echo bolted from the office, leaving a trail of stunned silence and two very worried professors in his wake.
Dumbledore, seeing Minerva's back turn slightly, and sensing the immediate crisis had passed, sagged slightly in his chair, a faint sigh of relief escaping him. He even offered Professor Starlit a weak, apologetic smile.
"See, Starlit? All is well," Dumbledore said, a touch of his usual twinkle returning to his eyes.
Professor Starlit merely raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't be so sure, Albus." He then turned, moving with an almost unnatural swiftness towards the door. "If you'll excuse me, I believe I left my tea brewing, and I wouldn't want it to get cold. Good luck, Albus." He slipped out of the office, closing the door softly behind him, leaving Dumbledore alone with the furious Minerva.
Minerva, however, did not miss Dumbledore's attempt at relaxation. She turned back, her eyes narrowing to slits, and pointed a finger at him. "Don't you dare unclench, Albus! We are far from 'all well'! I am not finished having a word with you yet!"
Echo ran, blindly, through the deserted corridors, his mind a whirlwind of frustrated anger and desperate hope. He burst through the great oak doors of Hogwarts, ignoring the lingering magic that hummed around the wards, and plunged into the welcoming gloom of the Forbidden Forest. The trees, ancient and familiar, closed around him, muffling the sounds of the distant castle. He didn't stop until he reached it – the small, ancient-looking clearing by the babbling brook, now adorned with a surprisingly cozy, if slightly crooked, little cottage fashioned from gnarled branches and moss-covered stones. Smoke curled lazily from a stone chimney, and a faint, earthy scent of ancient magic and brewing herbs hung in the air.
He pounded on the wooden door, his knuckles raw. "Granny Ethel!" he shouted, his voice hoarse. "Granny Ethel, are you in there? It's Echo!"
The door creaked open, revealing Ethel, her face wreathed in a warm, toothless smile. She wore a surprisingly clean, if still patchwork, apron over her robes, and a wisp of smoke still clung to her grey hair. Her eyes, ancient and knowing, sparkled with genuine affection.
"Well, bless my withered heart, if it isn't my favorite grandchild!" she cackled, pulling him into a surprisingly strong hug that smelled faintly of pine needles and something vaguely sulfurous. "What in the name of all that's unholy has got my little sprout in such a tizzy?"
Echo, still reeling from his run, blinked. "Grandchild?" he repeated, his grey hair flickering with confusion.
Ethel waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, that's just a thing we hags say, dearie, to those we like, to those we feel a kinship with. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it. Now, come inside, before the Kneazles get curious. And tell old Ethel what has you looking like you've just wrestled a pack of Grindylows in a teacup."
Echo allowed himself to be pulled into the cozy, dim cottage. The interior was a fascinating jumble of dried herbs hanging from the rafters, bubbling cauldrons over a low-burning fire, and shelves overflowing with jars of unidentifiable, often glowing, concoctions. A fat, grey cat with remarkably intelligent eyes sat on a stool, meticulously cleaning its paws. Echo took a deep breath, the comforting, earthy smells a balm to his frayed nerves. He quickly explained about Dumbledore's manipulative contract and Pip's desperate plea to remain a bound house-elf.
Granny Ethel listened, her expression shifting from amusement to solemn understanding, and finally, to a grim, calculating look that sent a faint chill down Echo's spine. When he finished, she patted his arm, her gnarled fingers surprisingly gentle.
"Ah, Dumbledore," she cackled, a dry, rustling sound that filled the small cottage. "Always meddling, always for the 'greater good.' And always with a touch of the utterly vexing, bless his manipulative old heart." She then looked at Echo, her ancient eyes twinkling. "So, you wish to free your little house-elf, but without dishonoring him or forcing him into a life of lonely freedom?"
Echo nodded, his grey hair flickering with a renewed, desperate hope. "Yes, Granny Ethel. There has to be a way. You said you know ancient hag rituals, things long forgotten."
Ethel leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful expression on her wrinkled face. "Indeed, dearie. Hags have always had a… unique understanding of contracts, of magical bonds. We deal in them often, particularly when negotiating with less scrupulous creatures of the forest." She paused, her gaze fixed on the bubbling cauldron. "There is a way, a very old way. It is not without its risks, and it will require a touch of your own unique magic, but it can be done."
Echo straightened, his blue hair flaring with eager anticipation. "Anything, Granny Ethel! Just tell me what to do!"
"First," Ethel began, her voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. We will need a full moon, just as with an Animagus attempt. But this time, the magic will be very different. We will perform a ritual of transference. We will transfer the magical contract from your life force to a specially prepared vessel."
Echo frowned. "A vessel? What kind of vessel?"
"A creature, dearie," Ethel replied, a glint in her eye. "A very particular kind of creature. One whose life force is resilient, long-lived, and, most importantly, willing to take on such a burden. And it must be one of your own."
Echo's eyes widened in understanding. "One of my creatures? But… which one?"
Ethel smiled, a knowing, almost mischievous curve of her lips. "The one whose magical signature is most intertwined with yours, little one. The one who has chosen you, and whom you have chosen in return. The one whose loyalty is absolute, and whose very existence is bound to your command." She paused, then added, "And it needs to be one that will be unaffected by the contract, not just any creature can hold such a strong magic without being withered away."
Echo thought for a moment, then a name, clear and unwavering, rose to his lips. "Wick," he whispered, his blue hair settling into a firm, determined black. "My Dragon. She's the strongest, the most loyal. She's perfect."
Ethel nodded, a rare, genuine look of approval on her face. "Indeed, dearie. The Dragon. A formidable choice. Her ancient magic, her immense life force, her deep connection to you… yes. She would be perfect. But even with Wick, this ritual will not be simple. It will be arduous, taxing on both you and the creature. And there is a final component: a personal sacrifice from you."
Echo's black hair pulsed with resolve. "What sacrifice, Granny Ethel?"
"A memory, dearie," she said softly, her eyes searching his face. "A powerful, deeply personal memory. One that you hold dear, one that represents a significant bond or a moment of profound joy. This memory will serve as the anchor, the binding agent that truly shifts the contract from you to the Dragon. It will be lost to you forever, a price paid for Pip's freedom."
Echo felt a pang in his chest, a sudden hollowness. To lose a cherished memory… it was a steep price. But then he thought of Pip, of his tear-streaked face and his desperate plea to remain 'bound'. He thought of the injustice of it all, of Dumbledore's manipulation. And he thought of Frieze, the boy he had lost, the boy he had accidentally terrified. This was different. This was a choice, a sacrifice for another.
He considered this, the weight of the decision settling heavily in his chest. To lose a memory, a precious fragment of his past, for someone else's freedom… It was a noble act, certainly, and Pip deserved that freedom. But the idea of intentionally severing a piece of himself, even a memory, brought a cold dread coiling in his stomach. He remembered the first summer of his attendance at Hogwarts, the Dementor that had broken into the castle and sucked all but the soul out of him. If it hadn't been for outside circumstances, things could've gone so much worse. He had spent several months afterwards with no joy or sadness or anger or anything – just an unbearable emptiness, an inability to feel or express emotions. It had taken many more months to finally re-learn emotion, to break free of the void that came after the near-kiss, to feel like his old self again.
He didn't think he could do that again. Even if it was just one memory, one emotion, he knew the pain of losing almost all of them. He didn't want to be reminded of that cold, dark time, of the profound hollow ache that had replaced everything he once was.
Echo slowly shook his head, his black hair dulling to a sorrowful grey. "No, Granny Ethel," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I… I don't think I can. I just… I can't go through with this. Not that way."
Ethel's ancient eyes softened with understanding. She reached out, her gnarled hand gently patting his arm. "I understand, dearie," she said, her voice a comforting rumble. "To lose a part of oneself, even a memory, is a fearsome thing. Especially for one who has known such emptiness before." She paused, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. "The only other path, then, is the one you spoke of earlier, the one Dumbledore presented as emancipation: to break the contract and simply employ the house-elf."
Echo looked up, his grey hair flickering with a flicker of confusion. "Employ him? What do you mean, Granny Ethel?"
"I mean just that, little one," she replied, a knowing glint in her eyes. "You broke the contract, yes, but you immediately offered him employment. You pay him wages, give him comfortable living quarters, and treat him with the respect any free worker deserves. He would still be your companion, your helper, but he would be doing so out of his own free will, not by magical compulsion. He would have the dignity of choice and the security of a home and purpose. Other house-elves might shun him for being 'free,' as he fears, but they would have no cause to shun him for being 'dishonorable,' if he chose to serve you of his own accord, for fair compensation."
Echo considered this, his grey hair shifting to a thoughtful black. It was a good idea, a genuinely good idea. It maintained his principles and offered Pip a path to a dignified life. But then the initial wave of despair returned, a cold reminder of the inevitable.
"That's… that's a good idea, Granny Ethel," Echo said slowly, his voice laced with a fresh wave of defeat. "But… once I die, and I'll die way before Pip does, he'll just be an outcast again. He'll be free, yes, but he'll be utterly alone."
Ethel nodded, her expression grim. "Indeed, little one. That is the unfortunate truth of it. There is not much more I can do, unless you are willing to make a choice. To free him, knowing the consequences of your own passing, or to leave him bound, knowing he wishes for it."
Echo sighed, running a hand through his grey hair. "I thought that might be the case, Granny Ethel." He managed a weak, appreciative smile. "Thank you, though. Truly. For all your help, and for listening." His blue hair flickered with a desperate need for fresh air. "I… I need to clear my head. Consider things. Maybe go get a butterbeer. Too much has happened all at once, in the span of just under a month and a half."
Ethel's ancient eyes softened with understanding. "Take your time, dearie," she said, her voice gentle. "And come back if you do change your mind. You know where to find old Ethel." She paused, her gaze lingering on him. "But before you go, little one," she added, a sudden, almost casual tone in her voice, "who was it that caused all this trouble for you? Dumbledore is one separate thing, but who was the cause of the rest of your woes?"
Echo frowned, his blue hair shifting to a thoughtful black as he considered her question. "Lucius Malfoy," he said, the name a dull weight on his tongue. "He's a seventh-year, or rather, he was a seventh-year. Graduated this year." He shrugged, no longer feeling the burning need for immediate retribution. "He's not coming back to Hogwarts, not unless he has a good ace up his sleeve, and he knows he'll die if he doesn't take me seriously." He then looked at Ethel, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "Why do you want to know, Granny Ethel?"
Ethel's smile was a little too wide, a little too quick. Her ancient eyes twinkled with an almost imperceptible glint that suggested something far deeper than mere interest. "Just curiosity, dearie," she chirped, trying to hide her growing irritation, though a faint, earthy scent of ancient magic seemed to thicken in the air around her. Just an old hag's curiosity."
Echo didn't notice, lost in his own turmoil. "Right." He gave her a final, grateful nod. "Goodbye, Granny Ethel."
With that, he turned and stepped out of the cozy cottage, the faint sounds of bubbling cauldrons fading behind him as he melted into the dappled light of the Forbidden Forest. Once he was gone, Ethel's smile vanished, replaced by a cold, hard expression. Her ancient eyes, now devoid of their usual warmth, narrowed into sharp, calculating slits. The faint scent of ancient magic in the cottage grew stronger, laced with something metallic, something old and dangerous. She stepped to the open door, her gaze sweeping the dense canopy of trees.
"Raven," she called out, her voice a low, resonant rumble that carried through the quiet forest, a stark contrast to her earlier gentle tones. "Come to me."
From the deepest shadows of the ancient oaks, a large, intelligent raven, its feathers as black as pitch, detached itself from the gloom and flew silently towards the cottage, landing on a gnarled branch just outside the door. It cocked its head, its beady eyes fixed on Ethel, awaiting its command.
"Take this, little one," Ethel commanded, her voice still a low, guttural growl. She held out a small, crudely fashioned effigy carved from a gnarled piece of yew wood. It resembled a twisted, screaming figure, its eyes hollow, its arms outstretched in silent agony. Tiny, almost invisible runes glowed faintly across its surface. "Fly north, Raven. To the Malfoy Manor. You know the place."
The raven bobbed its head once, a silent acknowledgment.
"Hang this," Ethel continued, her eyes fixed on the effigy, a chilling intensity in their depths, "in full view of the estate. Let it be seen from every window, from every approach, by anyone who enters the property. It is a warning, Raven. And then… give a message to the head of that wretched house. Abraxas Malfoy and his son Lucius."
She leaned closer to the bird, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Tell him, Raven. Tell him that the old ways are not forgotten. Tell him that those who harm the innocent, those who meddle with bonds not their own, those who draw the ire of the ancient earth… will face consequences far older than any Ministry law. Tell him that a debt has been incurred, a transgression against the natural order, and that the balance will be restored. Tell him that the hag remembers. Tell him that the forest remembers. And tell him that the consequences will be… profound, and Granny Ethel never forgets or forgives easily."
The raven took the effigy gently in its beak, its black eyes gleaming with understanding. With a powerful beat of its wings, it launched itself into the darkening sky, a silent, ominous shadow vanishing northward, carrying Ethel's dark promise into the night.