The last day of term was a whirlwind of last-minute packing, shouted goodbyes, and the joyful chaos that always preceded the Hogwarts Express journey. Echo, despite the lingering frustration from the Marauders' campaign, felt a lightness in his step. The successful assessment, his newfound friendship with Lilly, and the promise of more lessons with Hagrid (and Wick!) over the summer had filled him with a quiet optimism. He was walking through the bustling Entrance Hall, Sniffles tucked securely in his pocket, when he heard the familiar, irritatingly cheerful voice.
"Well, well, if it isn't the little sprout, looking rather pleased with himself," James Potter called out, stepping out from behind a pillar, effectively blocking Echo's path. Sirius, Remus, and Peter emerged behind him, their faces alight with mischievous anticipation. "Heard you've been making new friends, eh, Echo? Getting rather chummy with certain Gryffindor girls, I hear."
Echo stopped, a familiar tension coiling in his stomach. He met James's gaze, remembering Snape's words: Control. Reserve. Deny them that fuel. He forced his expression to remain neutral. "My friendships are none of your concern, Potter."
James chuckled, a superior sound. "Oh, but when it involves a certain fiery-haired witch, it absolutely is. Lilly's a busy girl, sprout. Doesn't have time for… peculiar first-years who lurk in the shadows."
Echo felt a flicker of annoyance, but he tamped it down. "Lilly is perfectly capable of choosing her own friends. And for the record, she's not 'your girl,' Potter. She made that abundantly clear. She finds you, and I quote her personally, an arrogant, insufferable toe-rag, in fact." He paused, then added, a mischievous glint entering his eyes, "And if you want my honest opinion, she seems far better suited to someone like Snape. At least he possesses a modicum of intellect and doesn't spend his days tormenting others like an overgrown baboon."
The air froze. James's face, usually so animated, went utterly still. Sirius's smirk vanished, replaced by a look of sheer outrage. Remus sighed, rubbing his temples, and Peter whimpered.
"You take that back, sprout!" James hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "You dare compare me to Snivellus? And you dare suggest Lilly would prefer that slimy git over me?"
Echo met his furious gaze, a strange calmness settling over him. "I said what I said, Potter. You want a reaction, but you won't get one from me. I'm done playing your game. You can try all you want, but you'll never get my goat."
James's eyes narrowed into slits. "Oh, won't I?" he snarled, pulling out his wand. "Let's see how unreactive you are when your precious little… pet… is in danger." He pointed his wand, not at Echo, but at Echo's robe pocket, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "Incendio!"
A jet of orange flame, small but intensely hot, shot from James's wand, aimed directly at the fabric over Sniffles's hiding place. Echo's eyes widened in horror. His heart hammered against his ribs as the flame licked at the fabric, dangerously close to Sniffles. A furious, primal roar ripped through him, but it was trapped in his throat.
"Sniffles!" he screamed, his voice raw with terror and rage.
Before the flames could touch the Niffler, James gave a sharp flick of his wand. A silent, invisible force snatched Sniffles from Echo's pocket, lifting the terrified creature into the air. Sniffles squeaked frantically, scrambling at the empty air, his large, dark eyes wide with fear. James, a triumphant, cruel grin plastered across his face, lifted Sniffles higher, holding him directly over a decorative brazier that glowed with hot coals nearby.
"Look at him squirm, sprout!" James laughed, the sound echoing harshly in the hall. Sirius guffawed beside him, while Peter let out a nervous, delighted giggle. Remus looked uneasy, his faint smile gone. "See how scared your little friend is? Is this 'useful magic' enough for you, eh? Can your precious gargoyle protect him now?"
Echo saw red. The world narrowed to James's sneering face, the terrified squeaks of Sniffles, and the dancing flames of the brazier. The beast within him roared, a deafening, guttural sound that drowned out everything else. His black wand, still clutched in his hand, pulsed with dark, furious energy. His magic surged, cold and deadly, through his veins, demanding release. He felt the ancient, forbidden incantation rise to his lips, a word of pure, unadulterated destruction that promised immediate obliteration. He could taste it, the power of it, the absolute finality. His eyes burned with a terrible, consuming fire.
His hand rose, his wand pointing directly at James. The first syllable was already forming on his tongue, a deep, guttural sound from the very core of his being.
Av—
But then, just as the word began to escape, a flash of something warm, something good, pierced through the red haze. Wick. Hagrid. Lilly. Snape's grim, unyielding face, demanding control. The beast thrashed, hungry for vengeance, but Echo fought back, slamming a hand over his mouth, biting down hard on his tongue to prevent the curse from escaping. He couldn't. He wouldn't. Not like this. Not for them. The rage, momentarily checked, twisted into a cold, focused fury. James was still laughing, gloating, completely oblivious to the abyss he had almost pushed Echo into.
"Accio!" Echo snarled, pointing his wand at James's feet.
A sudden, violent tug on James's shoelaces sent him sprawling forward with an undignified yelp, his wand flying from his grasp. Simultaneously, Echo snapped his wand again, this time aiming at Sniffles.
"Accio Sniffles!"
The Niffler shot through the air, away from the brazier, and landed safely in Echo's waiting hand. Sniffles clung to him, trembling, burying his face in Echo's robe.
Echo didn't wait. With Sniffles secured and the Marauders momentarily stunned by James's fall, he spun on his heel. He bolted, disappearing into the chaotic throng of students, leaving behind a bewildered James picking himself up, a furious Sirius, a sighing Remus, and a whimpering Peter. He didn't stop running until his lungs burned and his legs ached. He didn't care where he was going, only that it was away from James Potter, away from the screaming rage that had almost consumed him. He found himself on the second floor, in a quiet, rarely used corridor. Spotting an open classroom door, he darted inside, slamming it shut behind him and leaning against it, gasping for breath. The room was dark, filled with the dusty scent of disuse and faint moonlight filtering through tall windows.
Sniffles, still trembling, burrowed deeper into Echo's robe. Echo sank to the floor, clutching the Niffler, his own hands shaking. The image of James's sneering face, the flame, the terrified squeaks of Sniffles—it replayed endlessly in his mind. And then, the word. The single, horrific syllable that had almost escaped.
Avada Kedavra. The Killing Curse.
He had almost cast it on James Potter. He, Echo, who had sworn to create, to nurture, to protect life, had nearly extinguished it with a word. The realization hit him like a physical blow, colder and more terrifying than anything the Marauders could inflict. He had been so close. One more breath, one more desperate second, and James would have been a corpse. And Echo… Echo would have been a murderer. He buried his face in his hands, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. He was a monster. Lucius Malfoy had been right. He was fundamentally, irrevocably broken. His magic, his 'useful magic,' was nothing more than a thinly veiled destructive force, always lurking, always eager to lash out. He had tried to control it, to channel it into creation, but in a moment of true terror and fury, it had reverted to its primal, terrifying nature.
But then, a different thought, cold and clear as ice, pierced through his despair. He hadn't cast it. He had stopped himself. He had fought the beast, and he had won, even if by a hair's breadth. And more than that… he had known it. He had known the curse, its name, its intent, its terrible power. It wasn't something he had learned; it was something intrinsically linked to his darkest magic. He remembered the feeling from the clearing, the moment he had absorbed Lucius's curse, how its essence had resonated within him. The Unforgivable Curses. He hadn't just witnessed them; he had, in a twisted way, understood them. They were part of the darkness he had tried to transform, the raw power that had brought Wick back to life.
A chilling realization settled in his chest. If he hadn't confronted this, truly understood it, and gained mastery over it, next time, it wouldn't have been an accidental slipping of syllables. It would be intentional. He knew, with a horrifying certainty, that he possessed the capacity for all three Unforgivables. The rage that had almost made him kill James could just as easily fuel the Cruciatus Curse, twisting another person's mind into agonizing torment. The manipulative force that had roused the gargoyle could, with a darker intent, bend another's will into complete obedience with the Imperius Curse.
He couldn't ignore it. He couldn't pretend this part of his magic didn't exist, or that it was something he could simply avoid. If he didn't gain control over the Unforgivables, the next time he was pushed, the next time he was consumed by fear or rage, it wouldn't be an accidental slipping of syllables. It would be an intentional act, a mind-controlled servant, a suffering person, or a corpse. And he, Echo, would be the one responsible. The choice was stark: master the darkness within, or be consumed by it. And he would take the summer break to do just that.