The chaos following the Aurors' departure served as the perfect cover. The real Echo, holding Shimmer tightly and using the Demiguise's superior invisibility, slipped away from the main doors before the professors had even fully calmed the initial panic. The illusion of him, a complex, high-power projection sitting atop the charging Graphorn, was now deep in the Forbidden Forest, drawing every ounce of attention away from the castle.
Echo moved with the stealth of a cat, his charcoal-colored hair a perfect match for the shadows he hugged. The Great Hall's tumult—the screams, the rushing feet of the staff, Madam Pomfrey's sharp, worried voice attending to Lily—all faded behind him as he melted into the stone corridors. He knew he had to escape, but first, he had to secure something.
He didn't stop until he reached the familiar, serpent-carved entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. A quick, whispered password, and he was inside, the cold, wet air of the dungeons momentarily washing away the heat of the battle. He avoided the common room entirely, heading straight to his dormitory.
Once inside his empty dorm, he slammed the door shut and threw up a complex layering of silencing and locking spells. When he was certain he was completely, perfectly safe, he deactivated Shimmer's invisibility. The world snapped back into clear focus, and the isolation hit him like a physical blow. He stumbled, collapsing against the polished, dark wood of his wardrobe, the last vestiges of his adrenaline-fueled rage dissolving into a crippling wave of sheer human vulnerability.
He was silently crying, great, shuddering sobs that shook his entire frame but made no sound due to his charms. He covered his mouth with his hand, biting down hard to stop the noise, tears tracking hot, painful paths through the grime and dried blood on his cheeks. He was breathing heavily, ragged, desperate gasps that clawed at his lungs. The battle, the betrayal, the fear in Remus's eyes, the potential realization of the setup—it all overwhelmed him. Part of him wanted nothing more than to crawl onto his four-poster bed and surrender to the dark oblivion of sleep, hoping that when he woke, the Great Hall would be full of laughter again and all of this would be a bad dream.
But he knew better.
He pushed himself up, wiping the tears away with the heel of his hand, leaving angry red streaks. The charcoal in his hair was already giving way to a weary, determined blue. Time was of the essence. The illusion would only last so long, and the Aurors would realize their mistake. He had to act fast. He had minutes, maybe less than an hour, before the entire castle became a cage.
Echo took a long, shuddering breath, using the sleeve of his robe to wipe the tears and grime from his face. The determined blue in his hair deepened, replacing the sickly emotions of the past hour. He had to compartmentalize the pain—the betrayal, the loss—and focus on the one thing he still had control over: a clean escape. But he couldn't simply disappear. The people who had stood by him, the few constants in his chaotic life, deserved an explanation.
Sitting down at his desk, he pulled out a heavy stack of parchment and several quills. For the next several minutes, he did nothing but write, his vision blurring behind fresh, agonizing tears that dropped onto the paper. He wrote several versions of the same core message: an explanation of the setup in the Great Hall, a desperate apology for leaving, a plea for understanding, and a profound thank you for their friendship and help over his barely four years at Hogwarts. Looking back, he had started with nothing, gained so much love and support, and was now losing it all again. The least he could do was not vanish without a trace.
He wrote one letter to Aunty Ethel, the old hag he had rescued and helped relocate to the Forbidden Forest, thanking her for her lessons and wisdom. Another went to Bane, the centaur herd leader, expressing his gratitude for the centaurs' protection and acceptance. He penned a quick note for the Hogwarts house elves, acknowledging their quiet kindness and endless support. He wrote to Newt Scamander, whom he had met through Hagrid, thanking him for his insights into Beast Magic and sharing his own self-made Dragon spells. He also wrote a letter to his dearest friend, Ragnok, his goblin ally at Gringotts, who had helped him through several legal nightmares and who had, in the eyes of the goblin community, made Echo an honorary goblin.
The final letter was the hardest. He addressed it to the Queen of the Mermaids, his future mother-in-law, and to his girlfriend, Skate. In that one, he promised he would find a way to see her again, saying that one day they would be together, but for now, they had to be apart. After he was finished, the stack of parchment sat accusingly on his desk, damp with his tears.
He called for his loyal house elf. "Pip!"
The small creature materialized with a soft pop, his large green eyes fixed on Echo. "Yes, Mister Echo, what can Pip do?"
Echo gathered the stack of letters and handed them to the elf. "Deliver these, Pip. Every single one, as fast as you can. They are very important."
Pip nodded seriously. "Pip will deliver them, Mister Echo." He vanished immediately.
Echo took a second to collect himself. He took out his wand, pressed the tip to his forehead, and extended his mind—a private, mental tether—out to Wick waiting in her cave. Be ready, Wick. We have to make a hasty escape.
With that done, all that remained was to pack. Echo turned toward his wardrobe, but before he could take a step, the locking spell on his dormitory door suddenly snapped open, followed by the faint click of the latch turning. Echo knew instantly. Someone had either stumbled in by mistake or, far more likely, was actively looking for him.
He whirled around, his wand up, his body immediately snapping back into a defensive posture. Shimmer, who had been resting invisibly on the bedpost, materialized, its silvery fur bristling. The Demiguise snatched its beating stick, turned invisible again, and silently vaulted onto the doorframe, ready to knock out whoever dared step into the room.
The door opened, and Echo pointed his wand, ready to curse, but stopped. Standing in the doorway was Severus.
"Severus," Echo warned, his voice dangerously low, his wand tip glowing with barely contained power. "I don't care if you're my friend. If you try to stop me, I'll take you down. I'm leaving, and you can't stop me."
Severus didn't argue. He carefully took out his own wand, and with a few silent, practiced flicks, he began casting packing spells. Echo's magic satchel, where all the money he had saved from Sniffles' old hoard was kept, floated off his belt and soared across the room. Next, the sturdy backpack Echo had used for his trip to visit Lily's family for the holidays emerged from the wardrobe. One by one, Echo's belongings—his school robes, his winter wear, his Muggle clothes, and the expensive green dragon-scale outfit he'd bought weeks ago—floated neatly into the backpack, which settled gently on the bed. The satchel and the fully packed backpack were then handed over to a very confused Echo.
Shimmer instantly became visible, putting his beating stick away and jumping from the doorframe onto Echo's shoulders, equally bewildered by the scene. Echo looked at Severus, searching for an angle, a hidden trap, but all Severus said was, "Go."
He turned to leave, but Echo stopped him. "Severus, wait."
Sev paused, his hand on the door handle.
"Thank you, truly," Echo said, his voice thick with emotion. "But I have to make one more stop in the castle."
"The Room of Requirement," Severus stated, his dark eyes fixed on the door.
Echo nodded. "A lot of my creatures are living in there. I have to take them; I can't abandon them."
"I'll try and distract them," Sev promised, his voice flat. "Keep them away from the seventh floor. But you can't come back to Hogwarts. You have to leave... forever."
Echo looked down, a profound sadness overwhelming the blue in his hair. "I know." He looked back up at Sev. "Just tell Lily I'm sorry for breaking our oath and for everything else. And tell her to take care of herself, and you do the same."
Severus didn't say anything in reply. He just closed the door and left, leaving Echo behind in the room, fully packed and ready to go.
Echo took another deep, calming breath. At that moment, Pip returned with a soft pop. "All letters delivered, Master Echo," the elf reported proudly.
"Good," Echo said, already moving toward the door. "Now, Pip, I need you to take me to the seventh-floor corridor, near the Room of Requirement."
Pip nodded, and with a second, barely felt a crack; the boy and his elf vanished from the dormitory. They reappeared moments later near a blank stretch of wall on the seventh floor. Echo quickly walked past the wall three times, concentrating hard on what he needed. A plain, oak door manifested, and Echo quickly stepped inside, pulling Shimmer off his shoulder and holding him close, hoping the sudden appearance hadn't been witnessed by any lingering students or passing ghosts.
Echo stepped inside, and for a moment, the breath left his lungs. The Room of Requirement was still his personal paradise, a sprawling, impossible space that had been his true home for four years. He looked at the reading nook overflowing with forbidden texts, the sleeping area with its mismatched, comfortable cushions, the scorched floor of the spell practice range, and the bubbling cauldrons in the potion nook. Beyond them lay the vast vivariums, each a self-contained ecosystem where his many magical beasts resided.
He looked at the central rock where he'd spent countless hours studying, crafting potions, and celebrating birthdays with the few friends who knew of this place. A single tear traced a path through the soot on his cheek. After letting the wave of emotion pass, he moved with practiced efficiency. He grabbed his Nab-sack and began the grim task of collection.
One by one, the creatures were drawn into the magical depths of the sack: chattering Jobberknolls, hissing Kneazles, giant Purple Toads, and a swarm of humming Puffskeins. He gathered the elusive Diricawls and the hypnotic Fwoopers. He whistled for the Hippogriffs and caught the Swooping Evil mid-flight. The hulking Bugbear went in next, followed by the luminous Unicorns. Rowena the Thunderbird descended from her artificial clouds with a mournful cry, and Hellga the Graphorn—having successfully led the Aurors on a merry chase before vanishing back to the room—returned to the sack with a triumphant snort. Finally, he collected his many magical snakes, including the massive, three-headed Runespoor.
His plan was simple: sneak to the Forbidden Forest, release them into the wild where they could be free, and then vanish forever on Wick's back. As the last creature was magically sucked into the Nab-sack, Echo turned toward the door. He paused, looking back one last time. The room had already begun to revert to its usual, chaotic state of hidden things. "Thank you," he whispered to the stone walls. "I wish I had more time."
As he approached the exit, the door seemed to recede slightly. A small pile of junk, barely waist-high, now stood in his path. Resting on top was a steaming mug of hot cocoa, prepared exactly as he liked it. Echo took the cup, the warmth seeping into his chilled fingers, and drank it down in one go. It was a final act of kindness from the castle itself. As he went to set the mug down, his eyes caught a glint of silver on the pile—a delicate diadem set with a brilliant blue jewel, reminiscent of the lost treasure of Rowena Ravenclaw. The thought barely registered; he had no room for history now.
He stepped out into the seventh-floor corridor where Pip was waiting. Suddenly, the sound of heavy boots echoed from around the corner. Echo instantly connected with Shimmer, and both he and the house elf vanished into invisibility. Two Aurors rounded the bend, their voices tight with frustration.
"It was a trick," one hissed. "The beast just vanished in the trees. We've realized he's likely still in the castle. The Ministry is corralling all the house elves now—they're going to track any attempts at elven apparition. He won't be escaping that way."
Echo's heart hammered against his ribs. His first plan was dead. He couldn't use a Diricawl either; they'd be looking for his signature beast-teleportation. He was trapped taking the long way out. Staying perfectly still and invisible, he began the agonizing crawl through the castle. He jumped at every creak of the floorboards, freezing like a statue whenever an Auror patrol passed by, their crimson robes a blur in his peripheral vision.
Slowly, he made his way down to the Entrance Hall. The Great Hall was now an empty, echoing tomb, its massive oak doors still hanging off their hinges where Hellga had smashed them open. He slipped through the gap and out onto the lawn. The cool night air hit him, and for the first time since the feast began, he felt a spark of hope. The Forbidden Forest loomed ahead, a wall of protective darkness. All he had to do was reach the trees, and he would be home free.
Echo was four hundred yards from the treeline, the familiar, cool scent of pine and damp earth filling his lungs. Shimmer, invisible on his shoulder, pressed close, sensing freedom was moments away. The cool night air felt clean against his face—a brief, glorious reprieve from the toxic atmosphere of the Great Hall.
A sharp, silver-white flash erupted from the castle's battlements, slicing through the darkness. It was a focused, powerful curse designed not to wound, but to strip away magical obfuscation. The spell hit Echo squarely in the back, the force of the impact throwing him forward a step. The world snapped back into blinding focus as his invisibility shattered.
"Uh-oh," Echo murmured, the single word cutting through the sudden silence.
He was caught in the middle of the perfectly manicured lawn, lit harshly by the full moon and the lamps of the castle. He was instantly surrounded. Aurors in crimson robes formed a tight, armed semicircle between him and the forest. Behind them, stern-faced professors gathered, including Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, and a menacing, scarred man Echo immediately recognized as Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, whose magical eye spun relentlessly, fixing on Echo. Near the professors stood a cluster of older students—the "ballsy seventeenth years" who were too proud or too angry to stand down.
Echo stood his ground. Shimmer, now shimmering silver and fully visible, clung tightly to his shoulders. Echo had his school backpack slung on his back, his Nab-sack held defensively in his left hand, and his twisted black wand in his right. At his feet, Pip, the house elf, materialized with a faint pop, saw the scene, and immediately cowered, trembling violently.
"Just leave me alone!" Echo shouted, his voice hoarse with desperation. "I'll make this an easy choice for all of you. I'll leave Hogwarts for good. The wizarding world will never see me again, I can promise."
One of the Aurors, a stocky man with an intimidating scowl, stepped forward. "You're not going anywhere, boy. You need to answer for your crimes."
Echo's eyes flashed with a dangerous, deep violet. "Crimes? You mean the crime of trying to protect and defend the ones I care about by any means at my disposal? I know you occasionally use the unforgivable and are given permission to do so in certain situations, so you have no right to talk about such crimes."
Alastor Moody stepped out from the cluster of professors, his magical eye whirring as it looked Echo over. "We heard what the students said about you, bout what they saw you do," Moody growled, his voice a low rasp. "The way you used the unforgivable in such a unique way. This wasn't just a use of the unforgivables; this was clear evidence of testing and practicing them." Mad-Eye leveled his wand arm at Echo. "I warned you back then; now this is the consequence of that warning."
"You don't understand," Echo pleaded, the violet in his hair flickering with uncertainty. "None of you could! I never practiced with dark magic because I wanted to; I had to. I had no choice."
"Echo, don't say that," Minerva said, her voice laced with stern warning and pleading. "Everyone has a choice."
Echo shook his head, his voice rising in anguish. "But not me. None of you know what's inside of me, what I have to deal with daily."
As he spoke, the air on the lawn grew impossibly cold. His shadow, which should have been small and sharp in the moonlight, began to stretch, a massive, oily pool spreading across the green and up the castle's stone façade. On the wall, where his shadow should have been, the Dark Beast manifested—a titanic, black, snarling silhouette. It was a terrifying form, all teeth and claws, and it instantly grabbed everyone's attention, letting out a peal of chilling, guttural laughter at their collective reactions of fear and surprise.
"It's just an illusion!" one of the younger Aurors tried to convince the rest, his voice shaking with forced certainty.
The Beast didn't like that, being called an illusion; it wasn't an illusion, it never was, and it was tired of being called that, so today it would make sure they all knew the truth. It stretched its arm down the castle, across the ground, and toward the Auror, its movement unnatural and fluid. It didn't touch the man's body; instead, it grabbed him by his shadow with its massive, black claws. The Auror screamed, a piercing, inhuman sound, as he felt the Beast sink its claws into him. The Beast pulled the man's shadow, violently dragging him along. It held the man—suspended in mid-air and pinned only by his shadow—on the side of the building, finally making it undeniably clear that the Dark Beast was not an illusion.
The Beast then began to twist and pull the Auror's shadow, causing the man to cry out in agonizing pain. "Stop it!" Echo screamed, clutching his wand in terror, desperately trying to wrestle back control. But Echo wasn't in full control. The Beast used its momentary freedom to show off, holding and manipulating the man like a puppet before growing bored with him and finally snapping the shadow, which reflected on the man, killing him with one loud, sickening snap.
The Beast dropped the man's shadow, allowing the lifeless body to fall to the ground with a heavy, muffled thud as the monstrous silhouette laughed in triumph. Echo, overcome with horror and shame, used a powerful, blinding light spell. The sudden illumination caused the shadow-Beast to writhe and retreat instantly, shrinking and melting back into Echo's body with a rush of icy cold air.
Kingsley Shacklebolt, a tall, imposing Auror, gasped, his face pale with shock. "What the bloody hell was that thing?!"
Echo stood amidst the sudden silence, breathing heavily, tears mixing with the sweat on his face. "The reason I had to practice the dark arts was to keep it happy. Now, let me leave, and you'll never see it or me again."
Minerva stepped slightly ahead of the Aurors, her face a mask of grief and determination. She pleaded with him: "Please, Echo, stand down and let us help you. Let us get rid of this monster."
Echo turned his gaze toward her, his expression hardening with cold finality. "You don't get it, Professor. The Dark Beast isn't something infecting me; it's him. It's a part of him; it's his own magic that has come to life. To get rid of it is to end his life. Though that probably sounds like a good idea to all of you."
Minerva gasped, tears welling in her eyes. "That's nonsense, Echo! We want to help you."
Echo gave a hollow, bitter laugh. "Like how you all helped me today with that little setup? Let me show off all my pent-up anger and trauma after my mental state was already wobbly, all so you could finally put me away into Azkaban for the rest of my life since I don't fit into the perfect little mold that you fucking wizards are so insistent on oppressing everyone into!"
Minerva tried to step forward, her hand outstretched. "We didn't do that, Echo—"
Echo cut her off, his voice rising to a raw, painful shout. "I don't want to hear it! Not your excuses or more lies! I know where I stand in your eyes, and I know now that all these years I've been played for a fool by all of you, and that's the most horrible thing any of you has done to me." He looked directly at Minerva, tears freely flowing now. "How could you do this to me, Professor? I considered Hogwarts my home, and all of you my family." He scanned the staff, his gaze full of heartbroken accusation, before settling back on Minerva. "I…I considered you the mother I never had, Professor."
Minerva stared at him, tears streaming down her own face now, her composure utterly shattered by the raw agony in his voice. "Echo, please," she whispered, her voice barely audible, a profound crack running through the stern Head of House persona. "You can't believe that. We care about you. We made mistakes, terrible ones, but we never—"
"Lies!" Echo roared, cutting her off again, the pain too much to bear. "You let this happen! You watched them! You all stood there and watched me break, and now you have the gall to tell me you want to help? After I just killed a man, right here, right now, to save your ungrateful lives? What am I, a weapon to be pointed and put away when the job is done?" His wand hand, trembling violently, rose slightly. "I am done being your victim, your experiment, and your fucking weapon!"
Albus Dumbledore finally stepped forward, his eyes clouded with a deep, sorrowful regret. "Echo, my boy, if you would only lower your wand. We cannot undo the past hour, but we can offer you protection from the Ministry—"
"Protection?" Echo laughed, a harsh, dry sound. "I don't need your protection, old man. I need to be free. You can't even protect me from your own students, let alone the entire Ministry. I am done with this world, with its rules, and with its hypocrisy." He glanced at the lifeless body of the Auror, then back at Dumbledore. "I'll do what I should have done a long time ago. I'll take my beasts, and I'll vanish. Let the world burn without me."
Mad-Eye Moody, unmoved by the emotional exchange, barked an order. "Enough of this sentiment! He's a menace and a murderer! Stun him, now!"
The Aurors, galvanized by the command, raised their wands. Crimson light began to coalesce at their tips.
Echo looked at the line of Aurors, their wands already pulsing with deadly red light, and the grim faces of the professors behind them. He took one last, ragged breath, the pain of Minerva's shattered image and the memory of the dead Auror fueling a desperate, final resolve.
"This is your last chance," Echo warned, his voice cutting across the silent lawn, quiet yet vibrating with absolute power. The subdued charcoal of his hair sparked with an unsettling, flickering maroon. "Let me leave, or else I will defend myself. I don't want to hurt anyone else."
Mad-Eye Moody let out a rough, dismissive laugh that sounded like gravel grinding together. "You're not the first Dark Wizard we've faced, boy," he growled. His magical eye fixed on Echo with contempt. "And we don't take orders from a child."
Echo didn't flinch. He didn't raise a defensive shield. He merely took a deep breath to steady himself, the flickering maroon in his hair solidifying into a dark, resolute black. "Then you leave me no choice," he said in a cold, dark tone.
With impossible speed, Echo threw his twisted black wand into the air, simultaneously opening his Nab-sack with both hands. He upended the magical opening, and the contents erupted onto the lawn—not as a gentle stream, but a massive, chaotic tidal wave of magical creatures.
A flock of iridescent Fwoopers burst forth, their hypnotic, discordant songs instantly disorienting the nearest Aurors. Snapping Kneazles—a whirlwind of fur and claws—darted through the grass, aiming for exposed ankles. The gigantic, hairy Bugbear barreled out, roaring, its sheer bulk sending a group of seventh-years scattering like frightened mice. Unicorns, their horns lowered, charged the defensive line, their presence radiating a pure, disruptive magic that made the Aurors' shields flicker violently. The massive, three-headed Runespoor coiled into a defensive position at Echo's feet, its three heads hissing in terrifying harmony, ready to strike anything that came near its master, Shimmer, and the cowering Pip. Rowenea took the skies, turning the night to pitch-black storms. Helga charged in like a train, bursting through a line of auras. The three species of flying snakes swooped and struck from the sky as the horned serpent and Occamy worked in tandem to overpower some of the professors alongside a small herd of hippogriffs.
The sudden, overwhelming onslaught of beasts accomplished its goal: the Aurors' coordinated attack dissolved into a frantic, panicked defense. Instead of stunning Echo, they were fighting for their lives, their curses redirected at the swirling chaos of scales, feathers, and claws.
Echo snatched his wand from the air, brought the tip to his lips, and blew into it while igniting a complex, specialized piece of self-made magic. The sound that followed was not the high-pitched shriek of a normal whistle, but a deep, resonating thrum that seemed to shake the very ground—the Beast Whistle spell. The call was a psychic beacon, instantly cutting through the protective shield of the Forbidden Forest.
From the black depths of the treeline, the air exploded with movement. Howls, snarls, and the thudding of massive feet echoed across the lawn. A pack of vicious Thestrals came in like a flood, Godric the griffin swooped down from the sky, the kappa burst from its river to fight, alongside Sekhmet the sphinx, who had been hiding in the first since her escape during the tournament, and all other kinds of creatures came from every angle, charging straight into the professors' flank. Gigantic Purple Toads landed with wet, concussive THWACKS among the students, forcing them to retreat further. Echo's entire menagerie—every creature he had befriended and protected in the forest over the years—was responding to his desperate plea, swarming the castle grounds and creating an impenetrable wall of wild, chaotic magic.
Echo didn't stop there. He lowered his wand, channeling his magic through it to execute a far more powerful, higher-level spell: the Dragon Whistle. This call was silent, a searing, undeniable command sent through his mind-link, bypassing the need for sound. Wick. Now. Come to me. He needed his dragon to fly him away, as the chaos would only buy him minutes.
The sky, previously still, began to roil. Echo knew the powerful, loyal creature would be here soon. But he couldn't wait for the aerial rescue. He still had to make headway. With a fierce snarl, he clutched the Nab-sack tight, adjusted his backpack, and began pushing through the tide of his own creatures, charging toward the treeline. He needed to be in the forest when Wick arrived. He was halfway through the swirling chaos of his creatures, pushing past a trio of charging Unicorns, when he felt it. A sudden, sharp, agonizing pain ripped through his right ankle. Something with teeth had clamped down, biting hard, trying to break the bone.
"AARGH!" Echo screamed, the sound raw and piercing, completely unlike his earlier battle cries. He stumbled, pitching forward onto the damp grass, the Nab-sack tumbling from his grip. He frantically tried to pull his leg away, but the jaws clamped down harder, the teeth grinding against his shin.
Shimmer screeched in worry, its silvery form flashing momentarily as it vaulted from Echo's shoulder, a flurry of tiny, anxious hands swatting uselessly at the unseen attacker. Pip, seeing his master in pain, began pulling frantically at Echo's robes. Echo twisted, his face a mask of agony, to look at what had him. Clamped onto his shin, biting down with desperate, furious strength, was a massive, shaggy black dog—Sirius Black in his Animagus form. The dog's eyes, visible even in the shadows and full of a furious, primal rage, were fixed on Echo. This was personal; this was all the anger for James, for the Triwizard Tournament, for the humiliation, condensed into a single, brutal attack.
"Let go, you bastard!" Echo yelled, tears of pain blurring his vision. He slammed his wand hand down, but the dog just held tighter, a guttural growl rumbling in its chest.
With a final, desperate surge of pain-fueled adrenaline, Echo swung his free leg, kicking out hard and blindly at the dog's face. The blow connected with a sharp yelp. The jaws unlocked instantly, and the dog skidded across the grass. As it scrambled to its feet, the dog twisted and elongated, dissolving in mid-air and reforming into the tall, slight figure of Sirius Black. Sirius, his face contorted in a mix of rage and pain, spat a mouthful of Echo's blood onto the grass. He took a staggering step forward, his wand arm rising to strike. Echo, clutching at his now bleeding, heavily injured shin, struggled to push himself up on his elbow. Shimmer and Pip, united in their defense, stood between Echo and the furious wizard, the Demiguise chittering warnings while the elf nervously held out a thin, trembling hand.
"Cru—" Sirius began, his voice hoarse with hatred.
Before he could finish the Unforgivable, a bright crimson jet of light snapped out from the trees, slamming into Sirius's hand, with the only sound being the snap of fingers.
Sirius cried out as the disarming spell knocked his wand clear. Before he could recover, a second, more powerful yellow light followed immediately with the same snapping sound. The stunning spell hit him squarely in the chest, and he went down, his eyes rolling up in his head. The wand, spiraling through the air, was caught by a figure stepping out of the treeline. It was a short, powerfully built figure with a shock of coarse black hair and sharp, calculating eyes.
"Ragnok?" Echo gasped, his voice thick with confusion and relief.
The goblin gave a brief, predatory smile as he casually tucked Sirius's wand into his belt. "How ya doin', kid?"
Sirius groaned, the stunning spell already wavering in his system. Ragnok didn't spare him another glance, turning his full attention back to the groggy wizard.
"Well now, you must be one of the Blacks," Ragnok said, his voice ringing with disdain. "Not that I really care which one of them you are. The only thing that I know about your family is how bloody annoying and irritating you are to work with at Gringotts." He gave a cold chuckle. "Always thought you and Echo here were friends. Guess that's no longer on the table."
The goblin then pulled Sirius's wand back out, turning it over in his hand with a look of intense curiosity. "You know, I never really understood why you wizards are so insistent on making sure goblins aren't allowed wands to wield. I was always told that our means of spellcasting are far superior to yours. Let's see what all the bother is about."
Ragnok pointed the wand at the recovering Sirius and began to chant in a low, rapid-fire Goblin-tongue. The spells that erupted from the end of the wand were far more powerful than anything Sirius had ever produced. They were faster, sharper, and held a raw power that seemed to bend the light around them. The barrage of offensive magic culminated in a final, concussive blast that sent Sirius flying backward. He crashed, with a sickening CRACK, into the side of one of the stone fountains in front of the castle, slumping unconscious against the cold marble.
Ragnok laughed, a booming, triumphant sound. "Well, now. Now I see what all the trouble was about: keeping these little things out of our hands. I've never felt a spell more powerful between my fingers."
Echo, struggling onto his knees and wincing from the pain in his ankle, looked up at his friend. "Ragnok, what are you doing here?!"
The goblin helped Echo find his Nab-sack and, with surprising tenderness, offered him a hand. "Got your letter not too long ago, kid. And like it or not, the Ministry knows the two of us are connected. The moment you disappear, they're going to come to me, trying to get information, even though our relationship ain't anything to write home about. And you know how well wizards treat goblins when they're under suspicion for anything." He gave a hard, meaningful look at Sirius's motionless body. "So, I thought I might as well skip all the cruel indignation and just escape to greener pastures with you. After all, you are my friend at the end of the day, and an honorary goblin now and forever."
Echo looked at him, a single tear of touched gratitude rolling down his cheek. "Ragnok…"
Before either of them could enjoy this brief, touching moment of mutualism, the battle around them—between the Aurors, the professors, and the magical beasts—was still raging. Ragnok's eyes darted to the charging Thestrals and the circling Hippogriffs.
"I guess we can talk later," Ragnok said, his voice sharp and businesslike. "For now, we have to escape. I assume you already have a plan."
As the goblin helped Echo gingerly to his feet, Echo leaned heavily on him, his wand already back in his hand. "I do. Wick is on her way right now, and once she's here, we're going to fly out of Hogwarts."
"The pet dragon that you told me about?" Ragnok said, a flicker of genuine excitement in his eyes. "Shit, I almost forgot you had one."
"You can admire her later," Echo wheezed, adjusting his grip on the goblin's shoulder. "For now, we have to make ground, or at least hold back any attackers until Wick arrives."
As they limped toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a figure detached itself from the group of professors, accompanied by two grim-faced Aurors. They stood directly in the path to the treeline. Echo's blood ran cold. The man in the center was Professor Cleen, the Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Cleen was not fighting; he was waiting. The Aurors stood at his side, wands raised, but their attention was on Cleen.
"You're not going anywhere, Echo," Professor Cleen said, his voice quiet, carrying a cold, final authority.
Echo looked at the three people standing in their way. The two Aurors were nothing more than individuals simply doing their job, but Professor Cleen was a different story. Echo knew, almost from the beginning, that the professor had never liked him. Still, after several different events, including seeing his Exspecto Daemonium and his full unrestrained magic, Cleen had only ever shown hatred for the boy.
Echo looked at the man with a neutral but cold expression, the charcoal of his hair a dull, dead color. "You never liked me, did you, Professor? Not even from the beginning. You never once trusted me."
Professor Cleen's eyes were narrowed, holding a fierce, uncompromising loathing. "I always knew you were a bad apple. And I'm somewhat happy that my prejudice about you has finally come true. So now I take great pleasure in this."
A single, lonely tear rolled down Echo's eye, trailing through the grime on his cheek. "I wanted to like you, Professor. I really did. And I wanted you to like me back, to be proud of me. But if that's how you truly feel, then I have no more regrets."
Echo's final, cold declaration hung in the air, a profound break from the hopeful boy he had been just hours before. The two Aurors and Professor Cleen stood frozen, their wands raised, but their attention was suddenly snatched away from the trio on the ground. A sound, ancient and deafening, tore through the night sky.
RRROOOOOOAAAAAAARRRRRR!
The professors and Aurors instinctively looked up. The sky, which moments before had been a battlefield of small creatures and human wizards, was now utterly dominated. A massive, bat-winged silhouette—a Hebridean Black Dragon—descended from the inky clouds like a falling mountain. Its scales were the color of polished obsidian, its wings spanned the width of the Great Hall, and its eyes, glowing with a baleful yellow fire, were fixed on the group by the treeline. It was Wick, and she looked, in every terrifying aspect, absolutely furious.
The sheer, staggering sight of the beast landing with a bone-jarring THUD directly behind Echo, Shimmer, Pip, and Ragnarok was a shock the three attackers were not prepared for. Their wands wavered, their faces slack with a fear that transcended professional training. Echo didn't waste the precious microsecond of their paralysis. His hair, a dull, dead charcoal, flared violently with a spark of maroon, instantly morphing into the dark, resolute black of pure, cold resolve.
"Incendio!" Echo shrieked, pointing his wand at the three figures.
Wick didn't wait for a second command. Her massive jaws parted, and a devastating, concentrated stream of brilliant white-hot fire erupted from her throat. The flames hit the two Aurors and Professor Cleen simultaneously. Their shields, weak from the shock, failed instantly. They didn't even have time to scream as they were engulfed, their robes disintegrating and their bodies collapsing into burning effigies that slumped to the ground, the smell of burnt flesh mingling with the scent of pine.
"Go! Go! Now!" Ragnok shouted, shoving Echo forward.
Echo, with the adrenaline masking the pain in his shin, scrambled onto Wick's back, straddling her thick neck just behind her head. Shimmer, now a blur of silver, secured his usual perch on Echo's shoulder, clinging tightly. Ragnok, agile despite his bulk, climbed onto the thick, ridged back scales, with Pip clutching tightly to his Gringotts suit.
"Depulso!" Echo roared, pointing his wand down into the air. The Dragon Spell Command was a surge of directed, forceful magic that turned Wick's charge into a sudden, explosive sprint. The massive dragon surged forward, tearing up the manicured lawn with her talons, heading straight for the Forbidden Forest.
"Ascendio!"
Wick, still running, spread her monumental wings. They flapped once, twice, scooping up the ground and the magical creatures fighting near the treeline, before she launched off her massive back feet and soared into the air, clearing the wall of trees and ascending into the night.
"Ascendio!" Echo yelled again, pouring every last reserve of his magic into the command. Wick responded with a raw burst of power, accelerating faster and higher into the night.
Just when it seemed like Echo had finally escaped, the sound of pursuit began to rise from the chaos below. Several Aurors and professors, disengaged from the magical beasts on the ground, took to their brooms, becoming dark, fast-moving shapes against the night sky. They were gaining fast, firing off stunning spells at Wick's wings, trying to clip her flight.
"Fly faster, Wick! Down! Evasive maneuvers!" Echo screamed, shouting commands to his loyal beast.
Wick banked sharply, the sudden turn forcing her lower. The chase led them over the Black Lake, its surface an oily, moon-reflecting mirror. Ragnok, his eyes gleaming, shot curses back at the pursuers. "You lot just don't know when to give up, do you!" he snarled, sending a flurry of bright, focused spells that sizzled harmlessly past the fast-moving targets. Wick spat back her own fireballs, streaks of flame missing the broom-riders by inches.
"Just leave us alone!" Echo yelled, his voice cracking with desperation.
It was a losing fight until they got a much-needed, devastating ally from the deep. A trident burst out of the Black Lake's surface. It flew with impossible speed and accuracy, spearing one of the lead Aurors squarely in the chest, the force of the impact knocking the flying target from his broom and sending him plummeting into the dark water. Then, with a furious, powerful splash, a figure erupted from the lake. Skate, the mermaid princess and Echo's beloved, burst into the air, her green, iridescent tail thrashing violently. She was not aiming for a weapon. She lunged, her hands shooting out to grip two of the remaining Aurors by their throats. She squeezed, her strength inhuman, trying to crush their windpipes in her furious grasp.
The two Aurors reacted in sheer terror, trying to shake off the enraged mermaid by flying up higher. It was a fatal mistake. In their panic, they lost control. With the mermaid princess still attached, all three crashed into a large, ancient pine tree on the shoreline. The tree, heavy with sharp, bare branches that stuck out like spikes, proved to be a cruel trap. The impact was sickening and final. All three were impaled on the jagged branches.
Echo, flying past at a dizzying speed, saw it all—the horrific sight of his girlfriend, his beloved, being speared like a common fish from the river.
A gut-wrenching, broken scream of "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" tore from his throat.
As they flew by what he was sure was her corpse, a primal instinct screamed at him to go back, to pull her out, to try and heal her. But somewhere, deep in his heart, a cold, logical certainty settled: there was no way she had survived that. He knew she had sacrificed herself for him, and he would not let her sacrifice be in vain.
Echo swallowed his agony, collecting himself with a brutal effort of will. He gripped Wick's neck and, through his mind-link, commanded: "Wick! Up! Ascend to the clouds!"
Wick, sensing his renewed resolve and his pain, let out a stream of fire that dispersed the few remaining broom flyers. She surged, her powerful wings driving her upward. As the remaining Aurors and professors chased them, their wands still firing off spells, none of them were aware of what lurked beneath the forest canopy.
Bane, the leader of the centaurs, saw them flying from below with the rest of his herd. All of them drew their bows, and he shouted, "FIRE!"
A flurry of arrows rained upon the aggressors. One of the Aurors was shot from the sky, along with two of the twin professors—Professor Starlit, the Divination teacher, and her twin, the Astronomy professor. Then, the Art teacher, Professor Weasley, the Ghoul Study Professor, Professor Hollow, and one other Auror were suddenly snagged and held fast by the very trees themselves, thanks to the wild, ancient magic of Aunty Ethel. With the path now fully clear and no one trying to shoot them out of the sky, Wick was finally able to ascend. She tore through the remaining clouds, climbing higher and higher until the lights of Hogwarts became pinpricks below. She carried Echo, Shimmer, Pip, and Ragnarok into the protective darkness of the night sky, vanishing into the welcoming abyss.
Echo felt the brutal rush of cold air against his face, a raw, sharp feeling that was infinitely better than the suffocating weight of the castle. The lights of Hogwarts were nothing more than a faint, sickly glow beneath the black expanse of the Forbidden Forest, and the sheer distance finally swallowed the terrifying sounds of the chase. He was free. He was alive. His girlfriend had likely died, his entire world was in ashes, but he had people with him, and he was flying. A ragged, choked sob of sheer, desperate relief broke from his chest. The dark, resolute black in his hair began to soften, yielding to a quiet, weary gray.
He was beginning to settle into the familiar, rocking rhythm of Wick's powerful flight when his eyes, which had been scanning the stars, snapped forward. In the dead center of his front line of view, a shape was emerging from the deep, inky blackness of the higher atmosphere. It wasn't a broom, which would have been a fast, sweeping blur. It was a slow, deliberate silhouette that seemed to be waiting for them. The moment Echo saw it, every instinct he possessed—the cold, calculating cunning, the raw, predatory sense of the Beast—screamed at him. Whatever this was, it was an obstacle of terrifying, final gravity, an entity far stronger than anything they had faced all night. It was an absolute.
"Wick. Stop. Aresto Momentum!" Echo roared, slamming his wand down onto the dragon's neck with a force that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with raw, pure command.
Wick responded instantly, her massive wings braking against the air, slowing her staggering ascent. She hovered, the sound of her heavy, reptilian breathing the only noise in the void.
Ragnok, who had been clinging white-knuckled to the thick ridges of Wick's back, looked forward, then down at Echo with a furious scowl. "What in the blazing hell was that, kid? We were getting away! What are you stopping for?"
Echo didn't look back. His eyes were fixed, wide and unwavering, on the approaching shape. His hand, shaking slightly, simply pointed toward the deep night sky. "Him," Echo whispered, the sound small and brittle against the sheer scale of the darkness.
Ragnok followed the line of his finger. He squinted, the darkness making the shape almost impossible to discern, but as it drew closer, it resolved into two figures. The first was a skeletal, horse-like creature, its leathery wings propelling it with silent, ominous efficiency. The second was the figure riding upon its back—tall, clad in shimmering, silver-threaded robes, his half-moon spectacles catching the faint light from the distant ground. The Goblin's jaw fell slack. The air of wild, arrogant fury that had defined him all night—the disdain for wizards, the triumphant laughter—vanished, replaced by a profound, cold shock. Ragnok simply stared at the Headmaster of Hogwarts, who was not floating by spell or riding a broom like any sane wizard, but was instead mounted upon a creature of death and despair.
"...Albus Dumbledore," Ragnok exhaled, his voice utterly devoid of his usual arrogance.
Echo slowly lowered his hand, gripping the scaly neck of his dragon. The charcoal in his hair, the color of exhausted surrender, began to weave with a thread of dark, perfect maroon—the color of a final, desperate battle. He looked over his shoulder at the stunned Goblin. The emotion in Echo's eyes was no longer pain or rage; it was a chilling, absolute certainty.
"The Ministry and the Aurors? They were just the cleanup crew," Echo said, his voice flat, steadying against the immense power emanating from the figure before them. "This… this is the one who let it happen."
He looked back at Dumbledore, who had stopped his Thestral a hundred yards away, the silence between them thick with unspoken history and terrible judgment. Echo didn't need a prophecy or a warning. He felt it in the cold weight of the Nab-sack on his shoulder and the agonizing phantom-ache in his shin. He felt it in the sudden, terrifyingly sober look on Ragnok's face. This was the true last test in order to finally escape Hogwarts. And all of them knew that.