The morning after the eventful arrival of the international delegations, the Great Hall was once again abuzz, but this time with a different kind of tension. The air vibrated with anticipation for the choosing of the Triwizard Champions. Echo, however, was in a world entirely his own.
He sat at a table near the Beauxbatons contingent, but not with his friends. Instead, he was surrounded by the ethereal beauty of the Veela, who had taken him completely under their collective wing. His blue hair was a soft, almost imperceptible green, a reflection of his profound contentment and curiosity. The Veela, their golden hair shimmering, treated him less like a fellow student and more like a particularly captivating, exotic pet.
One Veela, with eyes like emeralds, gently stroked his cheek, her touch feather-light. Another, her fingers deft, began braiding a section of his already long, flowing hair with a tiny, iridescent ribbon. A third delicately offered him a candied violet, then, with a soft, musical giggle, wiped a speck of sugar from his lips with her thumb. They fawned over him, cooed at him, pinched his cheeks, and generally treated him with an affectionate indulgence usually reserved for a cherished, impossibly cute animal.
Echo, utterly oblivious to the peculiar spectacle he presented to the rest of the Great Hall, was too engrossed in his investigations. His leather-bound notebook and quill were out, and he scribbled furiously as he peppered the Veela with questions.
"So, the bioluminescence in your hair is entirely a magical phenomenon, not a chemical one?" he asked, his green hair pulsing with academic enthusiasm as a particularly beautiful Veela ran her fingers through it. "And your eyes, they refract light in a way that creates that shimmering effect, correct? Is it a form of natural glamour, or a physiological adaptation?"
"Oh, little one," the golden-haired Veela who had pinkie-promised him replied, her voice a melodious chime as she adjusted the small, intricate braid in his hair. "It is simply nous – our magic, our very essence. It shines from within."
"Fascinating," Echo murmured, scribbling this down. "And your diet? Does it consist primarily of magical sustenance, or do you require conventional food like humans?" As a different Veela hand-fed him a small, delicious pastry, he added, "Do you have favorite colors, or hobbies outside of… well, being breathtakingly beautiful?"
The Veela found his genuine, unadulterated curiosity utterly charming. They answered his questions with unreserved delight, finding his lack of romantic overtures a refreshing change from the usual fumbling attempts at flirtation they endured from most wizards.
At one point, a Veela with striking silver hair, who had been affectionately pinching his cheek, leaned in conspiratorially. "You know, little one," she whispered, her voice a soft, tinkling bell, "we have a natural immunity to the basilisk's deadly gaze."
Echo's green hair flared with an almost violent intensity. His quill froze mid-air. "You do?" he practically squeaked, his eyes wide.
"Oui," she confirmed, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "We can place a retractable keratin sheath over our eyes, just like a nictitating membrane, to protect ourselves while still being able to see perfectly. It happens without thought, a natural reflex."
Echo exploded with excitement. "A retractable keratin sheath! Fascinating! A perfect evolutionary adaptation against certain magical threats! And you don't even have to think about it?" He furiously scribbled down every detail, his mind already racing with implications for defense against Dark creatures.
Even Shimmer and Sniffles were enjoying the attention. Shimmer, visible for once and perched on the shoulder of a dark-haired Veela, meticulously groomed a strand of her shimmering hair, occasionally accepting a gentle brush from the Veela's free hand. Meanwhile, another Veela held Sniffles, who was trying with all his might to stuff a strand of her impossibly shiny hair into his expanding pouch. The Veela, with a delighted laugh, would gently pull it out, only for Sniffles to complain with a series of indignant squeaks and snorts, making her coo with amusement.
The sight of this domestic scene, however, was slowly building to a crescendo of exasperation for one particular individual. Madame Maxime, who had been observing the Beauxbatons table with growing annoyance, finally reached her limit. Her imposing figure strode purposefully towards them, her face a mask of stern disapproval.
"Girls!" Madame Maxime's voice, though not a thunderclap, cut through the gentle murmuring. "Leave the boy alone! He is not a Kneazle to be petted, nor a baby to be coddled!"
The Veela, startled, looked up, their expressions a mix of sheepishness and defiance.
"But Madame Maxime," the golden-haired Veela protested, her voice still sweet, "he is no trouble. He is so polite, and he does not try to make… passes at us, like most others. We enjoy his company."
"He is not a pet!" Madame Maxime insisted, her hands on her hips, her gaze sweeping over the scene with renewed irritation. "He is a Hogwarts student! And he is certainly not your baby! Now, send him off! It is almost time for the choosing of the champions!"
A collective groan of disappointment rippled through the Veela. They looked at Echo with sad, longing eyes.
Echo, however, had already gathered his notebook and quill. He stood up, his green hair settling into a calm, polite blue. "It's alright, Madame Maxime," he said, offering a small, appreciative smile to the Veela. "I understand. Thank you for answering all my questions. It was truly… illuminating."
The Veela waved him off with soft murmurs of "Au revoir, little one" and "Come back soon, mon petit" as he navigated through the tables, their shimmering eyes following his departure.
Echo, a satisfied grin on his face, rejoined Lily, Amos, Frank, and Severus at their secluded table in the back. His blue hair pulsed with a contented hum.
"Everything alright, Echo?" Lily asked, a hint of amusement in her voice as she caught sight of the small, iridescent ribbon still braided into his hair.
Echo nodded, pulling out his notebook. "Oh, absolutely, Lil. I learned some absolutely fascinating things about Veela biology and magic today. You wouldn't believe it." He paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes, then added, "Also, I think I have a new method for defending against Basilisks now."
Severus, who had watched the entire interaction with a mixture of disbelief and grudging respect, simply rolled his eyes. "Of course, you do, Echo. Of course."
Dumbledore, sensing the palpable shift in the hall, rose to his feet. Beside him, at the head table, stood a stern-faced wizard with impeccable, though somewhat severe, attire – Barty Crouch Sr., a formidable presence from the Ministry, tasked with overseeing the ancient magical contract of the tournament. The hum of conversation died down almost instantly as Dumbledore's eyes, full of their usual mischievous twinkle, scanned the expectant faces.
"The moment has arrived!" Dumbledore's voice boomed, amplified by magic, reaching every corner of the vast hall. It's time for the choosing of our Triwizard Champions!" He gestured towards the magnificent Goblet of Fire, which glowed with an ethereal blue light, its flames dancing higher. Mr. Crouch from the Ministry will ensure the integrity of the selection process."
Barty Crouch Sr. gave a curt nod, his gaze sharp and unyielding, a clear indication that no funny business would be tolerated.
"Without further ado," Dumbledore continued, his voice resonating with theatrical anticipation, "I now call upon the Goblet to present to us, our first champion!"
The blue flames in the Goblet of Fire flickered violently, then shot a single, charred piece of parchment into the air. Dumbledore caught it with practiced ease. He cleared his throat, his eyes twinkling. "From Durmstrang Institute, I give you… Miss Vanya Krum!"
A roar of applause erupted from the Durmstrang table. A tall, powerfully built girl with a stern expression and braided dark hair rose, her movements precise and confident. She acknowledged the cheers with a single, unsmiling nod before making her way to the smaller, empty table reserved for the champions at the front of the hall.
"Our second champion," Dumbledore announced, as the Goblet once again pulsed and spat out another piece of parchment. "From Beauxbatons Academy of Magic… Monsieur Lucian Delacour!"
The Beauxbatons delegation clapped with elegant enthusiasm as a tall, regal young man with perfectly coiffed dark hair and piercing blue eyes rose. He inclined his head in a graceful bow to Madame Maxime, then to the applauding hall, his bearing one of sophisticated charm, before joining Vanya Krum at the champions' table.
Echo, who had been watching the proceedings casually, now felt a prickle of unease. His contented blue hair began to shift, almost imperceptibly, to a nervous, pale green. He shifted in his seat, suddenly finding the silence between announcements oppressive.
"And finally," Dumbledore boomed, a wide smile spreading across his face as the Goblet sent forth its last piece of parchment, "our Hogwarts Champion! From Ravenclaw House… Miss Seraphina Thorne!"
The Ravenclaw table erupted in an explosion of cheers, a wave of pure, unadulterated joy. Students leaped to their feet, hugging and shouting, as a bright-eyed girl with a cascade of dark curls, her face flushed with disbelief and delight, slowly rose. Her housemates practically carried her towards the champions' table, their joyous cries echoing through the hall.
As the cheers died down, Echo let out a long, shaky breath, his pale green hair still flickering. Frank, noticing his friend's sudden pallor, leaned over. "You alright there, Echo? You look a bit on edge."
Echo nodded, picking at a loose thread on his robes. "Yeah, just… a bit on edge."
Amos, still beaming from the excitement, looked at him incredulously. "On edge? A whole flock of Veela, Echo was just pampering you. What's got you all flustered?"
Echo ran a hand through his hair, which pulsed with increasing agitation. "I just… I have this really bad feeling," he confessed, his voice a low whisper. "What if… what if my name gets called?"
Severus, who had been observing Echo with an expression of mingled exasperation and faint amusement, rolled his eyes dramatically. "Don't be a dolt, Echo. You heard Lily, and you heard Dumbledore. The tournament is only open to seventh-year students. The Goblet is enchanted; it wouldn't even let anyone under seventeen put their name in, let alone be chosen. You're perfectly safe."
Echo winced, his green hair darkening to a worried indigo. "Yeah, but with my luck, it would probably still happen. Even if I didn't put my name in the Goblet of Fire."
Frank frowned. "Wait, you did put your name in, Echo?"
Severus scoffed, a look of utter disbelief on his face. "Frank, honestly. The Goblet of Fire is magically enchanted to repel anyone under the age of seventeen from even approaching the selection line. And even if, by some miracle, Echo managed to bypass that, it certainly wouldn't choose him. It's an ancient, powerful artifact. It knows the rules."
Echo took a deep breath, letting Severus's words wash over him. His indigo hair slowly, thankfully, receded to a calm, resolute blue. "You're right," he conceded, a small, relieved smile touching his lips. "Severus is right. There's no way something like that could happen. Maybe… maybe this year will finally be a nice, peaceful, and normal school year. Or at least, as normal as Hogwarts can get."
Just as the last word left his lips, the Great Hall plunged into an eerie silence. The Goblet of Fire, which had settled back into a steady, blue glow, suddenly sputtered. Its flames flared violently, higher and brighter than before, turning a furious, angry red. With a sound like a thunderclap, it shot out another piece of charred parchment, sending it arcing through the air.
Dumbledore, his eyes wide with surprise, tentatively reached out and caught the paper. The entire hall was dead silent, every eye fixed on the Headmaster. Dumbledore stared at the name on the parchment, his expression shifting from surprise to profound bewilderment, then to an almost stunned disbelief. He looked up, his gaze sweeping over the silent, expectant faces, and then, his voice a low, hesitant whisper, he read the name.
"The Goblet of Fire," Dumbledore announced, his voice filled with an almost bewildered awe, "has chosen a fourth champion." He paused, his gaze fixing on Echo's table, his eyes wide. "Mr….Echo."
Echo, who had just taken a large gulp of pumpkin juice, promptly choked, spitting it out in a spectacular, misty spray that narrowly missed Frank's face. Shimmer, who had been delicately accepting a piece of roast chicken from Severus's plate, dropped it with a loud thud, his translucent body flaring with alarm. Sniffles, perched precariously on the edge of the table, attempting to abscond with a shiny goblet, let out a terrified squeak and tumbled ungracefully to the floor, landing with a soft thump amidst the scattered food.
Echo slowly pushed himself away from the table, his chair scraping loudly on the stone floor, a harsh sound in the sudden, profound silence. His blue hair, which had been so calm moments before, exploded into a chaotic swirl of agitated red and panicked yellow. He stumbled into the center aisle, his eyes wide and unseeing, fixed on Dumbledore. A strangled, almost hysterical laugh bubbled up from his throat, growing in volume, hollow and disbelieving.
"Hah! Ha ha ha!" he guffawed, the sound entirely devoid of mirth. He clapped his hands together, a manic grin stretching across his face. "Oh, Headmaster! That's a good one! A very good one! You almost had me there!" He looked around at the sea of silent, staring faces, his eyes darting from student to professor, searching for a shared chuckle, a knowing smile, anything to confirm that this was indeed a grand, elaborate prank. "Right? You all saw it! Headmaster Dumbledore, he's a comedian! A very, very funny man!"
He pointed at Dumbledore, his laugh echoing strangely in the cavernous hall. "A truly excellent joke, Professor! You really sold it! The way you said my name… perfect delivery! Now, come on, let's all have a good laugh together!" He paused, his laughter tapering off slowly as Dumbledore's expression remained steadfast, a mixture of concern and solemnity. The twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes was gone, replaced by a deep, troubled gaze.
Echo's manic grin faltered, his shoulders slumping. The frantic red and yellow in his hair began to dim, fading into a sickly, desperate grey. His forced laughter dissolved into a choking sob, and he took a shaky step forward, his voice barely a whisper. "Please, Headmaster," he pleaded, his eyes brimming with tears, "please tell me it's a joke. Tell me this is all just… a misunderstanding. I'm too young! I can't… I can't be a champion! It's not fair!"
Dumbledore, his voice soft but firm, met Echo's gaze. "I am afraid, Mr. Echo," he said, the words heavy in the silent hall, "this is no joke."
A wave of murmuring, then outright whispers, swept through the Great Hall. Faces turned towards Echo, a mixture of confusion, suspicion, and even a faint, malicious pleasure twisting their features.
"A fourth champion?" someone hissed from the Slytherin table. "And a third-year? This is an outrage!"
"It must be cheating!" another voice declared, louder this time, from the Hufflepuff section. "He must have found a way to trick the Goblet!"
"A Hogwarts champion again?" a Durmstrang student grumbled, eyeing Echo with clear resentment. "This is a fix!"
Echo, oblivious to the accusations or perhaps simply too consumed by his own terror, stumbled past his friends' bewildered faces. His agitated red-and-yellow hair pulsed violently as he lurched towards the head table, his eyes fixed on the stern-faced Barty Crouch Sr.
"Mr. Crouch!" Echo demanded, his voice high and frantic, his words cutting through the rising tide of whispers. "Are you truly in charge of all the rules and the magical whoo-ha for this… this competition?"
Barty Crouch Sr., clearly taken aback by Echo's sudden, direct approach, straightened his already rigid posture. "I am indeed, Mr. Echo," he stated, his voice clipped and precise. "As the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, I am here to ensure the… "
"Then I politely request to be taken out of this competition!" Echo blurted out, cutting him off with desperate speed. His voice cracked with urgency, his hair now a frantic, pleading yellow.
Crouch blinked, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly for a moment. "Mr. Echo, I'm afraid that is not possible. Once the Goblet of Fire has chosen a champion, they are bound by a magically binding contract. You cannot simply—"
"Then I would like to fucking rudely demand to be taken out of this ass competition right fucking now!" Echo roared, his voice echoing through the stunned hall. His yellow hair exploded into a furious, blazing crimson, streaked with angry black. His face was contorted with a desperate, almost feral rage.
Barty Crouch Sr. recoiled slightly, clearly not accustomed to such an outburst. "Mr. Echo, I understand your distress, but I must impress upon you that—"
Echo, his patience completely evaporated, moved with a sudden, startling swiftness. His hand shot to his holster, pulling out his gnarled wand with a sharp snap. The air crackled with a dark, primal energy as his crimson-and-black hair seemed to writhe. He pointed the wand not at Crouch but vaguely at the ceiling, his eyes blazing with terrifying intensity.
"Do I have to kill someone?" Echo snarled, his voice low and dangerous, dripping with a chilling conviction. "Because I will! If it means I can be taken out of this! Just tell me who! Or better yet, tell me how!"
Barty Crouch Sr. paled, his composure finally shattering. His voice, usually so steady, rose to a frantic shout. "That won't work, Mr. Echo! The contract can only be broken by death! Your death!"
Echo blinked, his wand hand lowering slightly. The furious red and black in his hair receded, replaced by a sudden, eerie calm, a chilling, almost desperate clarity. He looked at the vast sea of faces, then back at Crouch. A slow, chilling smile spread across his lips, devoid of all humor.
"Oh," he whispered, the sound carrying clearly in the now utterly silent hall. "My death, you say? Well, that's easy enough, isn't it?" He turned his gaze to the assembled students, his eyes wide and strangely vacant. "Alright, then. Who wants to hit me with a stunning spell hard enough to stop my heart for a few minutes so that the Cup can drop me?"
The response was instantaneous.
Almost immediately, a forest of hands shot into the air. Not just a few, but nearly every Hogwarts student above the first year—excluding Echo's immediate circle of friends and the bewildered Marauders—raised their wands or hands, their faces a mixture of eagerness and frustration, and even a few with gleeful, predatory grins. A significant number of Durmstrang students, their eyes gleaming with cold, calculating ambition, also raised their hands.
A collective gasp of shock ripped through the head table. Dumbledore's eyes, usually twinkling, were wide with horror. Professor McGonagall looked as if she might faint.
Then, from the Beauxbatons table, one of the older Veela, the one with the golden hair and the melodious voice, leaped to her feet, her ethereal beauty momentarily forgotten in a blaze of furious indignation. Her shimmering hair seemed to crackle with an unseen force.
"Mais qu'est-ce que l'enfer ne va pas avec cette école, putain! Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas avec votre peuple?!" she shrieked, her French words, though unintelligible to many, clearly conveying a powerful, scathing outrage. "What in the actual fuck is wrong with this school, what the hell is wrong with your people?!"
Severus, his dark eyes narrowed in thought, stepped forward, his expression grim. "I can do it cleanly, Echo," he stated, his voice low and devoid of emotion. "A precisely aimed Stunning Spell, strong enough to induce temporary cardiac arrest, yet allow for a swift revival. I can bring you back."
Echo's shoulders slumped. He let out a long, weary sigh, and his hand slowly rose to his face, covering his eyes. His grey hair pulsed with utter exasperation. "Oh, for Merlin's sake," he muttered, his voice muffled. "Why didn't I just start with you, Sev? You're the only one here who actually knows how to bring me back without causing permanent brain damage or turning me into a turnip." He dropped his hand, looking at the assembled students and professors with a withering gaze. "And no one else here would even try, or succeed, at bringing me back without making things worse, would they?"
A profound silence met his words. No one disagreed. Not a single student or professor dared to contradict him.
From the Beauxbatons table, the golden-haired Veela, still seething, stamped her foot. "Encore une fois, je demande! Qu'est-ce que le diable ne va pas avec vous, les gens?!" she shrieked, her voice now hoarse with genuine fury. "Again, I ask! What in the actual hell is wrong with you people?!"
Echo ignored her, turning back to Severus. His desperate, almost resigned calm returned. "Alright, Sev," he said, taking a step forward, his eyes fixed on his friend. "Hit me. Do it now."
Before Severus could raise his wand, Dumbledore's sharp and unyielding voice cut through the tension. "No one will be stopping anyone's heart, Mr. Echo!" he boomed, his eyes, though usually twinkling, now stern and resolute.
Echo whirled around, his face a mask of desperate frustration. "But Headmaster, I consent! I'm giving my full, informed consent!"
Dumbledore shook his head, his gaze unwavering. "Even if you were to cease your heart temporarily, Mr. Echo, the magical binding of the Goblet's contract would merely be reinstated the moment you were brought back to life. It is not so easily circumvented."
Echo stared at Dumbledore, his face a storm of conflicting emotions. His grey hair flickered with a sudden, desperate determination. He turned back to Barty Crouch Sr., his gaze sharp and unwavering.
"Mr. Crouch," Echo said, his voice surprisingly calm now, a stark contrast to his earlier outburst. "Is there truly nothing that can be done? No magical loophole, no ancient clause, no… no administrative error that can remove my name from that infernal Goblet?"
Crouch, still visibly shaken by Echo's previous display, cleared his throat. "Mr. Echo, the Goblet of Fire is an impartial judge. Its decisions are final. The magically binding contract… it is absolute. There are no… no provisions for withdrawal once a champion has been chosen. It would be… to defy centuries of magical law and tradition."
Echo listened, his eyes narrowing. He watched Crouch's evasive movements, the way his gaze darted, the careful phrasing. A bitter, understanding smile slowly spread across his face. His grey hair settled into a cold, calculating black.
"I see," Echo murmured, his voice laced with a chilling realization. "So, you don't actually make the rules, do you, Mr. Crouch? You just… enforce them. You're a glorified referee, aren't you? Completely powerless to actually change anything."
Barty Crouch Sr. stiffened, his lips pressed into a thin, grim line. He didn't speak, but his silence was a resounding confirmation.
Echo let out a single, cold, humorless laugh that sent shivers down many students' spines. "I can't believe this," he said, the words barely audible, yet resonating with a profound despair. "I'm stuck. Stuck in a competition I didn't consent to enter, bound by a contract that feels more like a prison sentence, and the highest points of power and authority in this entire room are completely useless to help me." He looked from Dumbledore to Madame Maxime, then to Karkaroff, his gaze devoid of hope. "And my only tether to this… this whole miserable farce… is that bloody cup."
As he spoke, a cold, dangerous glint entered Echo's eyes. His black hair, still and lifeless for a moment, began to pulse with a deep, unsettling violet. An icy aura, subtle yet palpable, permeated the Great Hall, making the room's ambient warmth seem to drop several degrees. Students instinctively shivered, and even some of the professors looked at him with a dawning apprehension.
Dumbledore, his eyes losing their twinkle entirely, his face etched with sudden concern, stepped forward. "Echo," he said, his voice low and urgent. "What are you thinking?"
Echo turned to him, his violet hair flaring with a dangerous intensity. A chillingly resolute expression settled on his face, devoid of any fear or hesitation. "If you want something done right," he said, his voice clear and unwavering, "you have to do it yourself."
With those words, Echo began to walk, slowly but purposefully, directly towards the Goblet of Fire. Each step echoed in the hall's profound silence.
"Echo, no!" Dumbledore's voice boomed, sharp with alarm. "Do not do whatever it is you are thinking!"
Echo didn't stop, didn't even glance back. His pace quickened, his violet hair a vibrant, furious beacon. "I will not be collecting any more trauma like chocolate frogs!" he roared, his voice cracking with raw emotion, echoing through the stunned hall.
With a furious flick of his wand, his eyes blazing with a potent mix of anger and desperation, he channeled his Beast Magic. A ripple of distortion shimmered in the air beside him, and with a deafening SCREECH, Godric the Griffin materialized in the center of the Great Hall.
Chaos erupted. Students screamed, chairs clattered, and the Headmasters, who had been watching Echo with a mixture of concern and exasperation, sprang to their feet, wands drawn. Godric, a magnificent beast of golden feathers and razor-sharp talons, let out another ear-splitting cry as his powerful wings beat, sending gusts of wind through the hall.
"Smash it, Godric!" Echo roared, his voice cutting through the pandemonium, pointing his wand at the Goblet of Fire.
The griffin, with a guttural growl of obedience. It soared towards the Goblet, its massive form a blur of feathers and fury. It landed with a thunderous thud, rearing onto its hind legs, its powerful clawed forelimb raised high, poised to strike the ancient artifact. A collective gasp swept through the hall.
But just as Godric's claw descended, a shimmering, golden barrier erupted from the Goblet of Fire, deflecting the blow with a resounding CLANG. The barrier pulsed, then a brilliant, golden bolt of magic shot forth, striking Godric squarely in the chest. The griffin let out a pained shriek, its eyes rolling back as it was flung backward, a feathered projectile soaring across the entire length of the Great Hall. It slammed into the furthest stone wall with a sickening THUD, then crumpled to the floor, motionless.
"Godric!" Echo cried, his voice raw with anguish. The crimson in his hair faded to a terrified black, and he ran towards the fallen creature. He skidded to his knees beside the massive griffin, his hands trembling as he gently touched its still form. Godric lay utterly still, completely knocked out, a silent testament to the power of the Goblet's magic.
Echo's frustration boiled over. He stood over the unconscious Godric, his black hair flaring a furious, incandescent red. "Fine," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "If a griffin won't do, then something else will." With a renewed surge of his Beast Magic, he flicked his wand again. A shimmer of light, and then a magnificent unicorn stallion, pure white with a spiraling horn, appeared with a startled whinny in the Great Hall. It reared up, its hooves pawing at the air, its eyes wide with confusion and fear.
"Break it!" Echo commanded, pointing at the Goblet of Fire.
The unicorn, sensing the urgency in Echo's voice, lowered its head and charged, its horn glowing faintly. It struck the invisible barrier around the Goblet, and with a powerful *CRACK, the magical defense shattered. The unicorn pushed forward, its horn just inches from the Goblet's rim when, with a blinding flash, a bolt of pure magic erupted from the cup. It struck the stallion with immense force, sending it flying backward, its legs kicking wildly in the air as the Goblet's magic surged around its form. When the magic faded, the unicorn scrambled to its feet, let out a terrified whinny, and bolted. It galloped out the Great Hall doors, through the Hogwarts entrance, and vanished into the Forbidden Forest.
Echo watched it go, a dark growl rumbling in his chest. "There's more than one way to skin a kneazle," he snarled, his eyes glinting with a dangerous resolve. He raised his wand once more, focusing his intent. With another surge of Beast Magic, a brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the hall, and Rowena the Thunderbird, a majestic creature with feathers that shimmered like a stormy sky, appeared, letting out a piercing cry. She soared into the air, circling above the Goblet, and with a powerful beat of her wings, a miniature storm began to brew within the Great Hall. A crackling bolt of lightning shot from her, striking directly at the Goblet of Fire.
But the Goblet's magic was swift and cunning. It redirected the lightning, sending the amplified bolt back at the Thunderbird. Rowena shrieked as the powerful magic slammed into her, sending her plummeting from the sky. She landed with a sickening thump on the Ravenclaw table, unconscious, her magnificent feathers ruffled and singed.
Dumbledore's voice boomed, "Echo, stop this madness at once!"
Echo, his face a mask of furious determination, merely scoffed. "Stop this, you old coot!" He waved his wand, but nothing visibly happened. Instead, he looked towards the great hall's open doors, leading outside of Hogwarts. "Helga, charge!" he bellowed.
A ripple of confusion, then a murmur, swept through the Hufflepuff table. Anything named after their kind founder couldn't be that bad, could it? Their thoughts shattered as a full-grown Graphorn, its veins bulging and red, steam wafting from its massive body, thundered into the Great Hall. Anyone seated near the central aisle leading to the front of the hall, where the Goblet sat, immediately scrambled over their tables to get out of the way.
Helga lowered her head, her horns aimed squarely at the Goblet. She hit it with incredible force, but once again, the Goblet's magic protected itself. Instead of just stopping the blow, it collected the kinetic energy and sent it right back into Helga, knocking her clean out in one counter-strike. The mighty Graphorn collapsed to the floor with a groan.
Echo, nearly at the end of his tether, flicked his wand. Every light in the Great Hall flickered and died, plunging the room into a sudden, panicked darkness. Amidst the screams and shouts, Echo summoned another creature, one that no one could see but everyone could hear. Coils moved across the ground, accompanied by ominous hissing. Then, something large and snake-like wrapped around the edge of the Goblet.
"It's an Occamy!" someone shrieked, thinking of the creature's ability to grow and shrink. But it wasn't. It was Pretty, the Basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets. Echo, speaking in Parseltongue, gave her commands. To prevent her deadly gaze from accidentally killing anyone, he instructed her to keep her eyes shut, guiding her movements with his voice. The only other people who knew about the hidden creature, a Basilisk, were the Veelas, whose retractable, clear keratin lens caps slid over their eyes.
Pretty raised her head and tried to strike at the Goblet with a bite, but once again, the Goblet's magic protected it, sending a bolt of magic into Pretty. The Basilisk was shot backward, smashing through the large windows behind the Headmasters and professors. She flew away into the night, off the cliff, and into the Black Lake with a massive splash, leaving behind a lingering sense of terror and unease.
Dumbledore, with a swift flick of his wand, illuminated the Great Hall once more. The professors quickly cast calming charms to soothe the terrified students, but the air remained thick with shock and the acrid stench of burnt stone and ozone. Echo, however, paid them no mind. His eyes, still blazing with furious determination, were fixed on the Goblet of Fire, or rather, the empty space where it had been. His black hair pulsed with a dangerous, unyielding violet.
"Fine," Echo growled, his voice a low, chilling rumble that cut through the murmuring. He raised his wand, his gaze unwavering, and channeled every ounce of his Beast Magic. "You want to play hardball, you stupid piece of metal? Let's play."
With a silent, furious command, a shimmering distortion appeared directly above the Goblet. A creature, small and scaly, with surprisingly tiny, leathery wings and a short, prehensile tail, materialized with a faint pop. It was Balloonie, Echo's wyvern. Balloonie, despite his relatively small size, immediately inflated his wings and tail, making him appear much larger and more imposing than he actually was. He let out a triumphant squeak, then, with surprising speed and agility, descended upon the Goblet of Fire.
Before anyone could react, Balloonie's long, scaled tail expertly wrapped around the base of the Goblet, securing it in a surprisingly firm grip. With a powerful beat of his inflated wings, he soared upwards, making a grand, defiant circle around the entire Great Hall, flaunting his stolen prize. Then, with a triumphant screech, he darted out through the massive, splintered oak doors, carrying the glowing Goblet of Fire with him into the outside world.
A collective gasp, then a roar of disbelief, swept through the hall. Students and professors alike scrambled to their feet, rushing to the doors, eager to witness the unbelievable spectacle. Echo, with a smirk of grim satisfaction on his face, followed at a more leisurely pace, his violet hair still pulsating with dangerous resolve.
Outside, the entire Hogwarts populace, along with their bewildered Beauxbatons and Durmstrang guests, watched in stunned silence as Balloonie, a tiny speck against the vast blue, soared higher and higher into the crisp morning sky. He flew with incredible speed, ascending so rapidly that he almost vanished from sight, and the glowing Goblet was a distant, shimmering star clutched firmly in his tail.
Suddenly, Barty Crouch Sr., his face a mask of panic and fury, sprinted towards Echo. He grabbed Echo's shoulders, his grip surprisingly strong. "Mr. Echo!" he demanded, his voice hoarse with desperation. "You must command your creature! Order it to release the Goblet at once! The contract binds you! You cannot simply—"
Echo's cold and unforgiving gaze met Crouch's. His voice was a chilling whisper, devoid of warmth. "As you wish, Mr. Crouch."
A look of profound realization, then dawning horror, spread across Barty Crouch Sr.'s face. He understood. His words, in his desperation, had been ill-chosen. He had given Echo the very command he needed. He tried to speak, to correct himself, to retract the fatal phrase, but the words died in his throat.
Without allowing Crouch a chance to correct his wording, Echo raised his wand, not to the sky, but directly to his temple. His eyes, fixed on the distant speck that was Balloonie, burned with a fierce, unwavering resolve. "Drop," he commanded, the word a silent, mental instruction, transmitted directly to his loyal wyvern.
High above, a tiny flicker in the vast expanse of blue, Balloonie instantly received the mental command. With an eager, triumphant flick of his tail, he released his grip. The Goblet of Fire, a tiny, glowing ember in the immense sky, began its plummet. It fell with breathtaking speed, a streak of light hurtling towards the distant ground. A collective gasp of horror and disbelief rippled through the gathered crowd below. Echo, however, watched with an almost serene satisfaction, a dark, dangerous smile playing on his lips, as the Goblet of Fire, the supposed unchallengeable authority, fell to its inevitable, shattering end.
Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, and Igor Karkaroff, their wands already raised, prepared to unleash a barrage of defensive and cushioning charms. "Arresto Momentum!" Dumbledore bellowed, his voice laced with urgency. "Cushioning Charm!" Madame Maxime added, her own voice booming. Karkaroff muttered a rapid incantation, a dark, shimmering net of magic forming in his hands.
But before their spells could take full effect, a massive, golden form streaked through the air. Godric the Griffin, shaking his head as if clearing a fog, let out a triumphant shriek. He landed squarely in front of Dumbledore, his razor-sharp talons scraping against the stone. Simultaneously, Rowena the Thunderbird, her feathers still a bit ruffled but her eyes blazing, soared down from above, circling menacingly over Madame Maxime. And with a thunderous thud, Helga the Graphorn, steam still rising from her massive body, positioned herself defiantly between Karkaroff and the falling Goblet. The three recovered beasts, their loyalty to Echo paramount, formed an impassable wall. Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, and Karkaroff roared in frustration, their spells dissipating uselessly against the powerful presence of the magical creatures. The Goblet of Fire, a shimmering streak of light, continued its dizzying descent, picking up speed, a silent testament to the magic of the unbreakable contract.
Echo, watching from below, a dark, excited grin spreading across his face, clapped his hands together. His violet hair pulsed with a frantic, almost manic joy. "Faster! Faster!" he chanted, his voice a low, gleeful murmur, as if urging on a thrilling race.
The Goblet of Fire, a glowing ember against the blue, hurtled towards the earth, seeming to defy all laws of physics. The assembled crowd gasped, covering their eyes, bracing for the inevitable, devastating impact.
But it never came.
Just as the Goblet was mere feet from the ground, a blinding, golden light erupted from its form. A shimmering, invisible barrier, intricately woven with ancient runes, materialized around it. It hit the earth with an astonishing thud, half-embedding itself in the perfectly manicured lawn, sending a spray of dirt and grass into the air. Yet, when the golden light faded, the Goblet of Fire stood completely unharmed, its blue flames still dancing merrily within, as if nothing untoward had happened. A collective, stunned silence fell over the entire Hogwarts populace. No one spoke, no one moved. They simply stared at the impossibly resilient artifact, half-buried in the ground, its magic once again defying all expectations.
Then, a voice, small and awestruck, broke the silence. "Well, I'll be," a third-year Hufflepuff whispered, his eyes wide as saucers. "That Goblet's magic sure is strong."
Echo, who had been watching with an eager, almost triumphant expression, slowly deflated. His frantic violet hair dimmed to a dull, despairing grey. His eyes, which had been alight with a desperate joy, glazed over with utter defeat. He stumbled forward a few steps, then collapsed to his knees on the grass, burying his face in his hands.
"Just one," Echo sobbed, his voice muffled by his hands. "Just one normal year. That's all I wanted. One year without being almost killed, or getting dragged into something impossible, or being accused of breaking fifty school rules before breakfast! And now… now I'm in this… this Triwizard Tournament, which I didn't even know existed until yesterday! I'm going to die! Or worse, I'm going to cause so much property damage that the Ministry will finally kick me out!"
Dumbledore, his eyes filled with a deep, sorrowful concern, walked slowly towards the kneeling boy. He gently placed a hand on Echo's shoulder. "My dear Echo," he said, his voice soft and comforting, "I understand your distress. This is indeed a most… unforeseen turn of events. But I assure you, you are not alone. We, all of us at Hogwarts, will do everything in our power to ensure your safety and well-being throughout this challenge. You possess a unique spirit, a remarkable resilience, and a boundless capacity for… unexpected solutions. Perhaps this is precisely the kind of challenge you are uniquely suited for."
Echo flinched away from Dumbledore's touch, pushing himself to his feet, his face still buried in his hands. His grey hair began to shift, a chaotic swirl of red, violet, and dark, despairing black. "No!" he screamed, his voice raw, echoing through the still-silent Great Hall. "No, no, no! I don't want to be 'uniquely suited' for this! I don't want 'unexpected solutions'! I just wanted to learn some magic, maybe blow up a potion or two, and have a quiet year! This isn't fair! It's not fair!" His voice rose to a guttural roar, a primal scream of frustration, sadness, and incandescent rage that seemed to shake the very ground. "I HATE THIS! I HATE ALL OF IT!"
As Echo's anguished cry tore through the air, his three summoned creatures, still forming their defiant wall around the miraculously intact Goblet, responded with their own echoing emotions. Godric, the majestic griffin, let out a piercing shriek of pure, unadulterated anger, his golden feathers bristling. Rowena, the magnificent thunderbird, shrieked a frustrated, echoing cry, her stormy feathers flaring with indignation. And Helga, the mighty graphorn, let out a deep, mournful bellow, a sound so filled with sadness that it seemed to carry the weight of Echo's despair.
Suddenly, a small, dark shape detached itself from the sky, a rapidly growing speck. Balloonie, the wyvern, swooped down with breathtaking speed, a flash of green and brown. With surprising precision and a triumphant yet anxious squeak, his prehensile tail expertly wrapped around Echo's waist. Before anyone could react, the wyvern soared upwards, carrying a stunned and still-screaming Echo away from the bewildered crowd and directly towards the dark, looming trees of the Forbidden Forest.
Shimmer, who had solidified and was still perched on Severus's shoulder, let out a high-pitched, anxious chatter. With Sniffles still clutching tightly to his translucent form, Shimmer blurred and sprinted after them, a shimmering streak of silver disappearing into the forest's shadows. Simultaneously, Godric, Rowena, and Helga vanished from the Great Hall in silent pops of apparition, leaving only the lingering scent of ozone, burnt feathers, and the stunned silence of an entire school community.
Dumbledore, after a moment of profound silence, slowly lowered his wand. His gaze swept over the still-staring students and the equally stunned professors. A deep, troubled sigh escaped him. "Well," he said, his voice softer now, but still carrying a weight of concern, "it seems Mr. Echo has… made his preferences quite clear. And it appears his creatures share his sentiments." He paused, running a hand over his long, silver beard. "Professor McGonagall, if you would be so kind as to ensure the Great Hall is… tidied. And perhaps a few more calming charms for our international guests. This has been… quite the spectacle."
He then turned to Madame Maxime and Igor Karkaroff, both of whom still looked utterly bewildered. "My sincerest apologies, my friends," Dumbledore said, a flicker of his usual twinkle returning, albeit a subdued one. "I assure you, this is not a typical Hogwarts welcome. Though I daresay, it is certainly memorable."
Madame Maxime, still looking shaken, merely nodded, her eyes fixed on the distant Forbidden Forest. Karkaroff, however, let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. "Memorable? Albus, your school is in chaos! Your student has assaulted a magical artifact, summoned beasts, and then fled into the wilderness with a small dragon! This is not memorable; this is a disaster!"
Dumbledore merely smiled, a knowing glint in his eye. "A disaster, perhaps, to some, Igor. But with Echo, one often finds that chaos is merely… a prelude to ingenuity. I have no doubt he will return, and perhaps with a clearer understanding of his role in this tournament. Or, at the very least, a more dramatic story to tell." He then looked towards the remaining students, his voice firming. "Now, all of you, back to your houses! There is much to discuss, and many lessons to learn from this… unique turn of events."
As the students slowly dispersed, whispering amongst themselves, Lily stood, her eyes still wide with worry, staring at the forest where Echo had vanished. Severus, standing beside her, placed a hand on her shoulder. "He'll be fine, Lily," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "He always is. And frankly," he added, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips, "it's about time someone gave the school a good scare regarding the Goblet of Fire ."