Lucius Malfoy, his body slumped against the rough granite boulder, stared up at the man who had effortlessly warped space to drag him here, the truth of Echo's identity a raw, terrifying wound. His shock gave way to a sputtering rage.
"W-what is this, Echo? What are you doing here? Why… why did you do all of this? The wedding, the dragon…?" Lucius stammered, scrambling for words.
Echo took a slow, menacing step closer, his dragon-scale robes rustling. His crimson hair blazed in the cloudy sky above, and his voice was cold, lethal marble. "Oh, I think you know exactly why. After all—"
Echo didn't get to finish. Lucius, driven by instinct and panic, whipped his wand out from his suit sleeve. A rapid succession of hexes—a blinding red Stupefy, a thin, silvery Slicing Jinx—shot toward Echo's head and chest. But the attacks were too slow, too predictable. Echo moved as if time had warped for him alone, Shimmer's future sight lending him inhuman reflexes. He casually tilted his head, letting the stunner whistle past his ear, and took a single step to the side, allowing the slicing jinx to carve a harmless line in the earth where his heart had been a fraction of a second prior. Echo countered with a flick of his wrist and a single, sharp wordless spell. The magic, precise and cold, snapped Lucius's wand from his grasp. It flew through the air and landed silently in the grass beside him.
"Predictable as always, Lucius," Echo said, turning the wand over in his fingers with contempt. "But I think you should stop before you get really hurt."
At that moment, the ground shuddered. A massive, black shadow fell over the field, accompanied by a deafening WHOOSH of displaced air. Wick appeared from the cloudy sky, flying low and fast, landing in a crashing slide that churned the earth. She skidded to a halt directly in front of Lucius, her gigantic, horned head looming over him. She pinned him instantly against the boulder with the massive, leathery thumb of her wing, the sheer weight of the appendage crushing the air from his lungs. Lucius tried to wiggle free, his face a mask of terror, but the dragon had him trapped, the heat radiating from her black scales oppressive. She opened her mouth—a cavern of teeth and molten fury—already filled with a roaring white-hot fire.
"Wick, stand down," Echo commanded, his voice cutting through the hiss of the dragon's breath. "I want to say my peace to him. So I want him alive, for now."
The dragon let out a frustrated, rattling snort that shook the ground, but the fire instantly collapsed, leaving a thick puff of smoke billowing from her nostrils. She kept Lucius trapped, her massive golden eyes fixed on him with cold, reptilian hatred. Echo stepped up, and Shimmer, no longer willing to hide, turned fully visible on Echo's shoulder. The silvery, wide-eyed creature glared down at Lucius, its silver fur bristling with malevolence.
"Remember, Shimmer, Lucius?" Echo asked, his voice low. "He remembers you. Remembers how much he hates you."
Shimmer let out a high-pitched, furious screech, amplifying the creature's palpable anger. As if to add insult to absolute injury, the bronze-plumed Diricawl, which had accompanied Echo, hopped onto the flat crown of Lucius's head and settled there, its tiny talons gripping his perfect, silver-blond ponytail. It began to peck gently at the knot, slowly unraveling the meticulous braid.
"What do you want?" Lucius croaked, the words forced past the immense pressure on his chest, ignoring the ridiculous indignity on his head. "And where is Crabbe?"
"Don't worry, Crabbe is very much alive," Echo replied with a cold, humorless smile. "The potion wouldn't work if he were dead." He kicked Lucius's wand closer to the trapped man with a careless motion. "As for what I want, Lucius? I want revenge."
"Revenge for what?" Lucius demanded, desperate to understand.
"You know what!" Echo yelled, the sound raw and thick with years of accumulated fury. "You know exactly what!"
Lucius genuinely looked confused, shaking his head.
Echo's voice dropped back to a deadly whisper. "I can think of a few things. Forcing me to use dark magic. Trying to convince me to join the Dark Lord. Trying—and failing—to bully me in school. Attacking me on several occasions. Trying to use that ancient artifact to turn me evil. Defaming me and spreading rumors about me, which killed my social life and school credit. Destroying the Pensieve holding all the proof of your wrongdoings!"
Echo took a couple of shaky breaths, the furious crimson in his hair blazing. He looked down sadly. "But I'm not here for those. Those I could forget, given time. Heck, maybe I could've convinced you to turn away from the Dark Lord, and maybe even become friends in some odd way. I did become friends with the Marauders in a way. So nothing is out of the question." He paused, looking down at his feet. "But not anymore." Echo gave a dark, sharp giggle, bringing his head back up, his eyes locking onto the terrified man pinned beneath the dragon's wing. "But that's also your fault."
He leaned closer to Lucius's face, his voice spitting venom. "In addition to that, I want revenge for everything you've done to me over the past year. Putting my name in the Goblet of Fire and making me participate in the event, causing me no end to the stress and the ruining of my public image, making me hated not by one school, but three schools, potentially all of the UK, and several other countries." Echo's voice broke on the final grievance, thick with anguish and absolute malice. "And the worst of all, wearing the face of my friend and killing my precious Sniffles! That's why I want revenge!"
Recoiled against the granite boulder, Lucius flinched as far as the stone would permit, seeking sanctuary from the boy's clinical, white-hot fury. "W-why?" he stammered, the query a thin, high-pitched tremor that betrayed the total collapse of his composure. "What makes you so certain it was me?"
Echo's posture suddenly relaxed, the manic fire in his eyes dimming into a cold, terrifyingly calm violet. "Of course I know it's you," he murmured, his voice a low, conversational rasp that carried the weight of an absolute sentence. "It couldn't be anyone else. You see, I spent so long wallowing in misery, wondering why it all happened—what possible convoluted reason, what cosmic crime did I commit for such a series of events. I lept thinking back, replaying everything in my head again and again until I took a moment to ask not why, but who. And the answer was placed right in front of me, right under my nose."
Echo paused, offered a small, dry chuckle—a sound like grinding stone. "But I must give credit where it's due. After you sneakily inserted my name into the Goblet, I was so thoroughly consumed by the logistics of escape that I never looked beyond my immediate viewpoint. You ensured I was so saturated with stress that when it boiled over, and you had the opportunity to break me, you took it, and you did it. You really, truly broke me." He paused, a ghost of a predatory smile flickering upon his lips. "And you know what? You almost succeeded. But you never accounted for my friends, who love me far more than I love myself."
Echo raised his hand, holding his thumb and forefinger a mere fraction of an inch apart before Lucius's eyes. "But you made one teeny tiny mistake," he whispered, his voice a freezing blade. "You dedicated so much energy to the distraction that you never thought to take suspicion off yourself. You were playing checkers, not chess. That's how I know. I'm right, aren't I?"
Lucius offered no articulation, but the naked terror and the dawning, visceral realization etched upon his face spoke a thousand words. Echo let out a dark, satisfied chuckle—a sound of clinical triumph. "Got it." Standing back up straight, Echo methodically smoothed the shimmering dark green folds of his dragon-scale robes. "So, I concluded: since you dedicated your existence to the systematic dismantling of my mental health, I should reciprocate. So I decided to ruin your little wedding."
Lucius, though shaking slightly, attempted to maintain his composure. He straightened himself as best he could in the dragon's hold, meeting Echo's gaze with a practiced sneer.
"A performance, as always, Echo," Lucius said coolly, his voice strained. "But how would you truly know it's me? Everything you've said is nothing more than speculation and soft evidence. What hard proof do you have? You talk of impostors and curses, but I see no proof."
Echo smiled, a chillingly calm, predatory expression. "I'm glad you asked, Lucius, because the proof is you."
Lucius stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"During the duel in the maze, before Sniffles took a one-way skydiving lesson, the person wearing James's face was injured several times," Echo explained, his voice conversational. "And not enough time has truly passed for all those injuries to pass or have any convincing magical plastic surgery to cover them up." He reached out a hand. "Exhibit A."
Lucius tried to pull away, but Echo held firm, his fingers clamping onto Lucius's jaw. Echo's thumb rubbed roughly against Lucius's cheek, forcing his head still, and rubbed off the faint layer of makeup Lucius was wearing. Exposed beneath the powder were four faint, pink scars running across his cheek.
Echo's eyes gleamed with cold triumph. "Four claw-shaped scars, exactly like that of a Niffler's claws, just like what Sniffle did to our mystery man. Exhibit B."
Echo moved his hand, roughly pulling Lucius's long, silvery-blonde hair aside, causing the Diricawl sitting on the trapped man's head to jump off in panic. Beneath the hair, several prominent bruises—a mottled purple and green—were visible on Lucius's scalp.
"Bruises from blunt force trauma, just like from when Shimmer hit our mystery man with his beating stick." Shimmer, who was resting on Echo's shoulder, growled angrily, baring his teeth at Lucius.
Echo pulled back slightly and said, "And finally, Exhibit C." He moved his hand behind Lucius's back, reaching between his shoulder blades, and squeezed.
Lucius cried out in sudden, sharp agony, his composure shattering as he writhed against the hold.
Echo smirked, maintaining the brutal pressure. "Injuries to the spinal column, just like when I used the Dark Beast to try and tear the spine out of Sniffles' killer. Which is also why you actually have to use that decorative cane you flaunt around now. I could go on, but those are just the big three."
Lucius knew he had been had. It was all true. He was the one responsible for it all, and there was no denying it now, not by threat, or magic, or money. This was it.
Lucius, his face contorted in pain and defeat, spat a final, desperate insult, his voice hoarse. "You're nothing but a pathetic, half-blood freak who plays with filth, you disgusting little piece of trash! You'll die here when I'm found, and your name is known."
Echo's smile didn't falter, but the light in his eyes vanished. "Pathetic? Maybe. But at least I have friends who fight for me, not just for a bloodline. And unlike you, Lucius, I'm still breathing."
"You're insane!" Lucius bellowed, his body thrashing uselessly against the crushing, leathery weight of the dragon's wing.
Echo laughed—a wild, sharp sound of pure, unbridled anarchy. "Yes! And you were the one who forged my insanity, Lucius! You could've stopped this whenever you wanted, but no—you just had to keep pushing, and pushing, and pushing! You successfully drove me over the precipice, but you and I both failed to recognize that I had wings. And I flew."
"You don't understand!" Lucius pleaded, his eyes darting frantically toward Wick's smoking, sulfurous nostrils. "I was compelled! The Dark Lord—"
"Oh, save it with the Dark Lord rhetoric," Echo interjected, his voice snapping with the lethal precision of a whip. "Regardless of whether you acted by command or by choice, the transgression remains yours. And you failed to take me out. So here I stand: alive, and infinitely more malevolent than before. And it's all. your. fault!"
Echo inhaled a deep, stabilizing breath, his hand coming to rest upon his chest as he smoothed his hair. "Originally, I intended to merely ruin you physically—to allow you to survive and haunt the remainder of your short, miserable life. But I find myself desiring a more poetic equality. An eye for an eye, as they say." He tapped his chin with a clinical thoughtfulness. "Now, let me recall… what was one of the first things you did to me when you were wearing James Potter's face as a mask in the maze?"
Lucius remained entombed in a petrified silence, the memory a fresh violation. Echo smiled, deliberately drawing out the silence before executing a sharp, rhythmic snap of his fingers. "Oh, that's right! You attempted to burn me alive, didn't you?"
He shifted his gaze toward Wick and snapped his fingers a final time. "Wick, I've said my peace," he told the dragon, his voice utterly devoid of residual warmth. "You can roast up your food now."
Wick uncoiled her massive jaws, the abyss of her throat beginning to glow with a churning, incandescent heat. Lucius stared into the fiery tunnel of his own death, his breath hitching in a final, pathetic gasp. Just as the dragon prepared to exhale its terminal judgment, a brilliant bolt of crimson light—a high-powered, stunning spell—slammed into the back of Echo's head.
Under normal circumstances, such a concussive force would have sent a wizard sprawling, yet Echo didn't even falter. He had been subjected to so many stunning curses over the preceding months that he almost failed to register the impact. He merely felt a dull, hollow thud against his skull. He turned around with a slow, predatory grace, his expression shifting into a low, murderous snarl.
"Who threw that piece of paper at me?" he growled, the sound a low vibration of pure malice.
Several yards behind him stood Narcissa Malfoy. Her silver wedding gown was tattered and soiled at the hem from her frantic flight through the fields, her wand extended in a shaking but fiercely determined grip. She appeared caught in a visceral struggle between her fierce protection and a dawning, absolute terror.
Echo turned fully toward her, a cold, mocking smirk playing on his lips. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the blushing bride to be, or in this case, the burnt bride to be," he drawled, his voice laced with surgical cruelty. "You're never getting the deposit back on that dress, are ya, pumpernickel."
Lucius, despite being pinned and scared to tears, let out a choked, indignant yell. "How dare you refer to my wife as bread!"
Echo turned his head slightly back to the groom, arching a crimson eyebrow in challenge. "Look at her hair and tell me that it doesn't look like it," he countered flatly.
Lucius looked at Narcissa, and though he never wanted to admit it, her distinctive black-and-blonde hair did, in this chaotic light, bear a striking resemblance to marble rye. He swallowed hard and said in a small, uncharacteristically soft voice, "I always found it beautiful."
Narcissa, blushing despite the grime and the terror at the unexpected compliment, tightened her grip on her wand. "Release my husband," she commanded, her voice ringing with brittle authority.
Echo rolled his eyes, a gesture of profound, exhausted boredom. "This doesn't involve you, so get lost," he snapped. "Before Wick makes you and that dress go from lightly done to well done."
As if on cue, Wick let out a low, vibrating snarl and exhaled a sharp puff of white-hot fire in Narcissa's direction, the heat singing the grass between them.
"I won't tell you again," Narcissa insisted, stepping forward, her wand arm steadying with a fierce, protective resolve.
Echo sighed loudly, the sound echoing off the silence of the hills. "Why don't you stop pretending already?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, clinical rasp. "I know you don't actually love him. You never did."
Narcissa looked genuinely surprised, her eyes widening. Echo continued, his words like a series of cold, sharp needles. "Ah, but don't feel bad, he never loved you either. Not one of you purebloods truly loves your partners; they're only a means to an end. A way to keep the bloodline pure and strong, a way to keep your status—which means nothing. This isn't love, it's a business transaction, and you two are the companies making a new product."
Hearing this, Lucius felt a cold hollow open in his chest. He reflected, the words landing on the raw nerves of his insecurities. Was it true? Did he truly love Narcissa, or did he merely desire the optics of a noble union? Was this life he'd built nothing more than a hollow facade? What even was all this? Was it even worth it?
But then Narcissa's voice tore through his spiral, loud and defiant. "You're right about one thing!" she exclaimed, making all eyes—including Echo's—lock onto her. "This is a political arrangement. It is a way to keep our power and prestige. But you are fundamentally wrong about one thing, and that is the love I have for Lucius."
She stood tall, the tattered silver silk of her gown billowing in the wind. "I did follow the pureblood edict, but I did so on my own terms and married the man I truly love. I love Lucius with my whole heart, and I will stand and fight for him in the name of love!"
Lucius was stunned into a breathless silence. Any doubt or existential dread he had felt the raw sincerity in her voice scrubbed away moments before. He stared at his wife, a single, genuine tear rolling down his soot-stained face.
Echo's dry, metallic chuckle suddenly punctuated the heavy, emotional moment. "How sentimental," Echo said, his eyes twin points of lightless violet fire. "It almost brings a tear to my eye. Oh, wait, no—that's just the smoke from your burning wedding reception.".Echo took a moment, his expression shifting from mocking to a mask of exaggerated, fake sympathy. "You know, all this sweetness has caused two very distressing things to happen to me," he said, his voice a sickeningly sweet drawl. "I have this lump in my throat, but I'm also sick to my stomach. All this mushy-gushy stuff makes me want to choke on my own vomit!" The facade shattered into a look of pure anger and disgust as he mimicked a retching sound, pointing a finger deep into his open mouth. He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "God, you purebloods are so aggravating, it makes me want to yank my hair out!"
He suddenly calmed, his movements becoming chillingly still as he fixed his gaze on Narcissa. "Since you're not going to listen to my simple instructions, that means you're a part of the problem."
Narcissa didn't wait for him to finish. With a desperate, sharp cry, she engaged him in a duel. She sent off a rapid succession of spells—slicing jinxes and stunning hexes—her movements fueled by sheer terror and desperation. Echo barely reacted. He stood his ground, casually flicking the spells away with the tip of his wand as if batting at flies. Shimmer, still perched on his shoulder, didn't even look concerned, his large eyes tracking the futile magical bursts with bored detachment.
Echo let out a long, theatrical sigh as he continued to block and reflect her attacks. "Oh, this is pathetic. I expected a pureblood to be a more competent duelist. I mean, I shouldn't talk since my method is essentially to hit the target harder than it can hit me until it dies or explodes, but then again, I ain't playing softball anymore."
With one swift, minimal motion, Echo barked, "Expelliarmus!" The silver-white flash connected with Narcissa's hand, knocking her wand clean from her grasp. It skittered across the damp earth, leaving her defenseless.
"You know, I did plan something especially for you just to hurt Femboy Monthly over there," Echo said, motioning with his head toward the pinned Lucius. "But on the way here, I thought that wasn't worth the effort." He paused, his expression settling into a cold, deadly silence. "But now... You have made it worth it."
The deep maroon of Echo's hair began to shift, bleeding into a vibrant, sickly evil green—the exact shade it became when he tapped into the most forbidden wells of dark magic. "I think it's about time that Hag's curse be put to use."
Lucius, struggling against Wick's wing, found his voice. "You! You were the one who had that Hag place a curse on the Malfoy estate!"
Echo turned back to him, his smile thin and sharp. "In my defense, I didn't tell Aunty Ethel to do that. She did it all on her own... because she likes me that much."
Lucius let out a harsh, barking laugh. "You idiot! We had the effigy magically removed! The curse no longer affects us!"
Echo paused for a long, aggressive moment. Then, a small giggle escaped him, quickly escalating into a full-scale, hysterical laugh that echoed across the lonely field, putting both Malfoys on edge. He looked at Lucius, his eyes crinkling with mad delight. "You really are an idiot! The effigy is just the catalyst. It's meant to spread the magic; it doesn't hold the magic. The curse is still on the Malfoy name and in your blood! It's no different than an unscrewed lightbulb; once it's screwed in and given some power, the magic manifests."
He turned his gaze back to Narcissa, who was frozen with fear. "And now, she is a part of your bloodline."
Without hesitation, Echo slashed his wand through the air. A jagged bolt of dark, purple-black energy, bearing a sickening resemblance to the Cruciatus Curse, slammed into Narcissa, aiming directly for her womb. She let out a blood-curdling shriek and crumpled to her knees, clutching her stomach in absolute agony, her body wracked by the phantom strikes of the dark spell.
Lucius raged against the dragon's hold, howling his wife's name in a desperate panic, hurling every insult and threat he could muster at Echo. Echo ignored him completely. He began to chant, his voice dropping to the low, guttural rasp of Hag-Magic as Aunty Ethel had taught him. He spoke the oath, his words twisting the very air around them as he channeled the ancient curse.
"I curse the womb of Malfoy's bride! You shall bear children, Narcissa, but before any can reach the light of day, they shall be ripped from you. Nine times you shall feel the life within grow, coming closer and closer to the term, only to watch it wither and die. And on the tenth time... on the tenth, you shall finally carry a child to its full term. And in that moment of success, you shall draw your last breath and die! Life for a life, Malfoy. I hereby swear this so long as I draw breath."
"NO!" Lucius yelled. In a final, adrenaline-fueled surge, he managed to wrench one arm free. He lunged for his wand lying in the grass and, with a desperate roar, blasted Wick directly in the damaged eye with a blinding Lumos Maxima. The dragon let out a pained shriek and staggered away, her vision scorched, releasing her thumb from Lucius.
Lucius scrambled to his feet and ran toward Echo. Echo didn't even notice him, his focus still locked on the curse, until Shimmer let out a piercing scream of warning. Echo turned just in time to see Lucius's fist connect squarely with his jaw. His head snapped back from the impact, and he stumbled.
Lucius didn't stop to fight. He sprinted past Echo to Narcissa, who lay unconscious on the ground. He hauled her up into his arms, his hands shaking as he stroked the hair from her soot-stained face. "Narcissa! My love, my heart! Please, wake up! Say something! Anything!" he begged, his voice breaking. After a terrifying second, she let out a small, weak groan. Lucius pulled her tight to his chest, sobbing with a mixture of relief and dawning horror at the words Echo had spoken.
Echo brought his head back up, having not even been knocked off his feet by the blow. He began rubbing his jaw as Shimmer fussed over him, the Demiguise's tiny hands patting his face in distress after the attack. Echo gave the creature a small, dismissive wave. "I'm fine, Shimmer," he murmured, his voice cold and level. "I just never expected a wizard, let alone a pureblood, to actually throw hands. I always thought that was a me thing. But," he added, a cruel edge entering his tone, "it wasn't very strong."
He turned back toward Lucius, who was still cradling the semi-conscious Narcissa on the grass. "Gotta say, Malfoy, never thought you had it in you," Echo said, his eyes twin points of violet malice. "I always pegged you for a wuss. But I guess we can all be surprised some days."
Lucius looked at him with pure, unadulterated hate, tears streaking down his soot-stained face as he yelled, "You're a monster!"
Echo stared at him for a long, quiet beat, his expression unreadable. "Of course I am," he finally replied, the maroon in his hair pulsing. "After all, you helped make this monster."
Echo began a slow, predatory approach. Lucius froze in fear, pulling Narcissa even tighter against his chest as the boy leaned down, his face a mere foot away. "Now tell me something, Lucius," Echo asked, his voice a low, clinical whisper. "After all this, after every choice you made, after everything you did... was it worth it?"
Lucius didn't say anything for a long time. The only sounds in the field were his ragged breaths and the distant crackle of fire from the estate. Tears continued to stream down his face until he finally broke, his voice a pathetic, crushed rasp. "No... it wasn't."
Echo smiled—a sharp, terrifying expression that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm glad you have some form of self-awareness, Lucius. But it's too little, too late."
He straightened up and walked back to Wick's side. The dragon had finished rubbing the spots from her eyes and let out a low, vibrating growl as Echo began to pet her scales. He looked back at the huddled couple one last time. "You know, I was going to make you suffer for the rest of your life," Echo said, his voice flat with finality. "But I think I'll just end your story, and your bloodline, here and now."
Echo snapped his fingers again. Wick responded instantly, her massive jaws uncoiling as her throat began to glow white-hot once more. Lucius held Narcissa close, closing his eyes and waiting for the end. But before the fire could erupt, two high-powered stunning spells slammed into the back of Echo's head in rapid succession.
"Ow! Ow!" Echo barked, his head jerking forward. He whirled around, his face a mask of incandescent fury. "Who the hell keeps doing that?!"
Wick also turned her gaze from the couple, letting out an earth-shaking roar toward the direction of the new attack. The momentary distraction was all Lucius needed. Gathering every shred of his remaining focus, he gripped Narcissa and vanished with a desperate, sharp POP of Apparition.
They didn't get far. The displacement of air brought them to a thicket of trees and low bushes barely a hundred yards away. Lucius collapsed into the undergrowth, hiding Narcissa behind a screen of leaves. They looked out, trembling, at the scene unfolding in the center of the field.
Echo and Wick were now standing off against two older wizards who had appeared several yards away, their wands drawn and faces set in masks of aristocratic outrage. Echo's eyes narrowed as he recognized them: Abraxas Malfoy and Cygnus Black. They had no doubt followed Narcissa when she had somehow managed to find Lucius.
Echo adjusted his hood, his crimson hair blazing with a new, aggressive light as he addressed the newcomers. "Well, well, well," Echo drawled, his voice carrying clearly across the field. "If it isn't Malfoy Senior and Black Senior. Gotta say, I wasn't expecting anyone else to show up." He leveled his twisted wand at them, his shadow lengthening into the form of the Dark Beast. "Now, do yourselves a favor and get lost."
The calm air of the clearing shattered as Abraxas Malfoy and Cygnus Black instantly became irate. Abraxas, his face flushing crimson beneath his aristocratic pallor, was the first to lunge forward, his robes billowing as if to physically menace Echo.
"You insolent, half-breed scum!" Abraxas snarled, his voice vibrating with pure, unadulterated contempt. He jabbed a trembling finger at Echo's chest. "You dare stand here with that thing," he spat the word, gesturing dismissively toward Wick, "as if you've done anything but defile the sacred 28? I will personally ensure that when the Ministry and Hogwarts learn of this, your punishment will be slow, agonizing, and spectacular! You'll beg for the bliss of the Killing Curse, and I will refuse you!"
Cygnus, never one for subtlety, followed suit, his own voice a guttural, furious bellow. He gripped his wand so tightly his knuckles were white. "Silence your filth, Malfoy! This mongrel deserves no warning!" He turned his fiery gaze onto Echo. "You think yourself untouchable? You think that freakish magic of yours makes you a match for the Ancient and Most Noble Houses? I will carve the pure-blood crest onto your skin and hang your filthy entrails from the highest tower of Hogwarts as a warning! When I am done, there will be nothing left of you but a cautionary tale!"
Echo stood perfectly still, his expression settling into a mask of profound, clinical boredom. He glanced down at the Diricawl by his feet, then up at Shimmer on his shoulder, and finally at Wick on his right. All four of them shared a long, meaningful look—a silent, communal question: Are these two actually serious?
Hidden within the dense foliage of the nearby thicket, Narcissa stirred in Lucius's arms. Her eyes fluttered open, landing instantly on the scene in the field. She saw her father and her father-in-law, their silhouettes sharp against the gathering clouds, screaming at the boy in the green robes. She opened her mouth to scream, to warn them that they were outmatched, but the phantom agony of the Hag's curse rippled through her womb, stealing her breath. She could only watch in mute terror, praying that the two patriarchs had a strategy that transcended mere shouting.
The deep maroon of Echo's hair underwent a final, sickening transformation. It bled into a vibrant, malevolent evil green—the shade of forbidden magic. He raised his twisted wand with a casual, almost lazy grace. He didn't scream the incantation; he spoke it with the effortless ease of someone reciting a grocery list.
"Avada Kedavra."
A flash of emerald light erupted with such blinding, solar intensity that Lucius and Narcissa were forced to shield their eyes. When the world stopped spinning and the spots cleared from their vision, they saw them. Abraxas and Cygnus lay in the grass, their bodies crumpled like discarded puppets, the light of life extinguished in an instant. Narcissa's chest heaved with a silent, wracking sob, but Lucius clamped a hand over her mouth, pulling her tight. His eyes were wide, fixed on Echo with a new, paralyzing horror. He wasn't just grieving his father; he was contemplating the impossible. The Killing Curse was designed to extinguish a single life, yet Echo had felled two men with a single, casual strike. Lucius began to wonder, for the first time, exactly what kind of entity Echo had become.
"Well," Echo said, his voice flat and clinical, "that takes care of those inconveniences. No witnesses, as they say." He turned to Wick, patting her scales. "Go ahead, girl. Looks like you'll be eating twice the amount I promised."
Wick responded with a low, eager rumble. She bathed the two corpses in a localized, intense flame, incinerating their clothing, accessories, and hair with surgical speed. Once the bodies were roasted to her satisfaction, she began to feed. Echo watched with detached indifference, leaning down to retrieve the wands of the fallen wizards. He tucked the two lengths of wood into his magic satchel, the clicks of the latches loud in the silence. From the bushes, Narcissa buried her face into Lucius's chest, her body shaking with a despair that transcended words. Lucius stood paralyzed, tears streaming down his own face, watching his father be treated like a slab of livestock meat.
Once Wick finished her grisly task, Echo turned back toward the boulder. "Now, where was I? Oh yeah, I was just about to do to you what I just did to your—" He stopped, his gaze landing on the space against the stone. He trailed off, the word "fathers" dying in his throat.
The silence broke in an instant. Echo erupted into a screaming, possessed rage. He launched himself across the field, his movements jagged and frantic. "WHERE ARE YOU?!" he shrieked, the sound tearing through the hills. "WHERE ARE YOU?! YOU THINK YOU CAN HIDE?! YOU THINK YOU CAN RUN?! YOU CAN CERTAINLY TRY! REST WHILE YOU CAN, CAUSE I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN! AND WHEN I FIND YOU, I WILL BREAK YOU! I WILL MAKE YOUR LIFE HELL! YOU HEAR ME?! HELL!"
Lucius and Narcissa froze, not even daring to breathe too deeply, terrified that the vibration of their own heartbeats would betray them. After several agonizing minutes, Echo's screams subsided into ragged gasps. He calmed himself with a terrifying speed, smoothing his hair back to a focused black. He turned back to Wick. "Let's go back home."
Just before Echo departed, Lucius saw something that put the fear of God into his soul. Standing beside Echo, partially obscured by a shifting fog, was a skeletal, dark shape. To Lucius, who had not yet come to terms with the deaths he had just witnessed, the Thestral appeared as a physical manifestation of Death itself, standing guard over its master. He watched from the shadows as Echo mounted the dragon and soared into the sky, the spectral horse following close behind.
Once the sky was empty and the silence returned, Narcissa looked up at her husband, her voice a broken whisper. "Lucius… what did the Dark Lord make you create?"
Lucius looked at the scorched earth where his father had been consumed, his voice hollow and devoid of pretense. "A monster," he replied. "I helped create a monster."