Support the magic—50 epic chapters, 1000+ words each, and an unforgettable retelling of Harry Potter. Only on my Patreon.patreon.com/Kun_kunsi12
Detention was never quiet with Snape.
But tonight, it felt too quiet.
Harry stood outside the Potions classroom long after curfew, feather tucked into his robes and mind buzzing from the second echo. Ron and Hermione had argued about him going alone, but Professor McGonagall's note had been clear:
"Mr. Potter is required in the dungeons tonight. Midnight. No exceptions. — S. Snape."
What kind of detention starts at midnight?
Harry stepped inside.
Snape was already at his desk, a candle flickering beside a steaming cauldron filled with a smoky green mist.
"Potter," he said flatly, not looking up. "Close the door."
Harry did.
Snape stirred the cauldron twice, then turned to him, eyes gleaming beneath his hooked brow.
"You've been wandering."
Harry's stomach clenched. "What do you mean?"
"You know precisely what I mean," Snape snapped. "Vaults that don't open. Runes that whisper. Echoes."
He said the last word like a curse.
"Professor, I—"
"You're playing with something ancient. Something buried for a reason."
Then, before Harry could speak, Snape turned sharply and called:
"You may show yourself now."
The air shimmered near the back wall.
A shadow appeared — hunched, cloaked, and floating half an inch off the ground.
A figure stepped forward.
Not quite ghost. Not quite human.
His skin was translucent. His robes dark blue, trimmed with silver. His eyes were cloudy with light, and yet focused… straight on Harry.
Snape crossed his arms. "Potter, meet Archivist Marwyn."
🪶 The Raven's Watcher
The figure bowed slightly.
"I have not been awake in… many years," he said, voice echoing like wind down a long hall. "But when the first feather stirred, I felt it."
"Archivist?" Harry asked, glancing at Snape.
Marwyn nodded. "I served Seraphina Ravenclaw. I kept her tower. I witnessed its fall."
Snape looked away, as if uncomfortable.
"She left behind more than echoes," Marwyn continued. "She left a memory weapon. Something that can unmake even the strongest enchantments — by remembering what they were before."
Harry stepped closer. "Why didn't anyone tell me about this? Why didn't Dumbledore say anything?"
Marwyn's expression darkened. "Because the Order of the Phoenix sealed the knowledge away. Even Dumbledore feared the truth Seraphina had captured."
"Then why am I seeing it now?"
Marwyn looked down at Harry's pocket. "Because you are bound to it."
🧠 Bound by Memory
Snape moved to the cauldron and added a single drop of silver liquid.
It hissed.
"You will drink this," he said. "It's a stabilizing draught. Designed to anchor you when the Third Echo is triggered."
Harry frowned. "What happens if I don't drink it?"
"Then you risk losing part of your own mind," Marwyn said simply. "The echoes were never meant to be carried by children."
Harry stepped forward and took the goblet Snape offered.
It was heavy. Cold.
He drank.
The potion was like ice down his throat — but behind his eyes, a strange calm settled.
His thoughts sharpened.
The feather in his pocket fluttered briefly and then fell still.
"Good," Marwyn said. "Now you're ready."
🕯 Secrets of the Potions Master
As Harry turned to leave, he stopped at the door.
"Professor," he asked quietly, "how do you know about this? Why are you helping me?"
Snape's gaze was unreadable. "Because I knew someone like her once. Someone who believed truth could save people."
"Lily?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.
Snape's face froze.
Then, softer than Harry expected: "No. Before even her."
He nodded toward Marwyn. "When I was a boy, I found the First Feather. I ignored it. Buried it. Pretended it wasn't mine. But you… you're chasing it."
Harry felt a weight settle on his chest.
"Be careful, Potter. Truth is rarely kind."
🐍 The Slytherin Clue
As he stepped back into the corridor, the castle was silent. But the candlelight along the walls flickered strangely — pulling toward the left.
Harry followed the movement to an alcove hidden behind a cracked pillar.
There, scratched deep into the stone, was a snake-like symbol.
But it wasn't Parseltongue.
It was a riddle, written in runes that shimmered in serpent-green:
"Speak not the heir's name,Lest the Tower hear.But whisper the mirror's lie,And the third shall appear."
Harry traced it with his fingers.
The wall behind the rune pulsed slightly.
He knew what it meant: the Third Echo would come not from action…
…but from a lie.
And he already knew what lie the mirror had shown him weeks ago — the one he hadn't told anyone:
That in the reflection, Seraphina didn't look like a stranger.
She looked like him.
Support the magic—50 epic chapters, 1000+ words each, and an unforgettable retelling of Harry Potter. Only on my Patreon.patreon.com/Kun_kunsi12