Echo, Lily, and Severus were now settled in the cozy den of the Evans household, the lingering scent of roasted turkey and pumpkin pie filling the air. Michael leaned back in his armchair, a thoughtful expression on his face as he looked at Echo.
"So, Echo," he began, a friendly curiosity in his voice, "I can't help but notice your hair. It's... well, it's quite striking. Is that natural?"
Echo chuckled, running a hand through his now-black hair with its single emerald strand. "It is now, sir, but it wasn't always like this. It's magical, though. Sometimes people ask if I'm a Metamorphmagus."
Rose emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, a puzzled frown on her face. Petunia could be heard in the background, still clattering dishes. "A what, dear?" she asked.
Severus, ever the concise one, lowered his book slightly. "A wizard or witch that can shape-shift at will, becoming anyone or anything."
Michael's eyebrows shot up. "They must be quite troublesome, then, being able to change into anything."
Severus gave a dry, almost imperceptible nod. "They usually are. But their shapeshifting isn't as usable as you might think."
Michael looked confused. "Not usable? What do you mean?"
Echo leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "It's basically just a really good disguise. They can grow claws, but they'll shatter when they strike something hard enough. They can make tentacles, but the suction cups will hook to nothing. And don't even get me started on wings."
Severus groaned, rubbing his temples. "So many try that and end up dead or in serious condition."
Echo shrugged. "There's a strength and a weakness to anything and everything, Sev. The key is finding it."
From the kitchen, Rose's voice drifted in, a warm, appreciative tone. "Echo is so smart, like Severus, but much bubblier."
Michael chuckled. "No offense to Severus, of course, his dry and simple input helps out a lot."
Severus, to his credit, merely offered a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. "None taken."
Michael then turned back to Echo, a more serious look on his face. "But about your hair, son."
Lily quickly cut him off, a worried frown on her face. "Dad, it's really a sore subject, honestly."
Echo, however, gave her a reassuring smile, his blue hair flickering with a gentle, calming green. "It's alright, Lily. Really. I'm over it now. All the stress and anger, it's just a funny memory now." He chuckled, and his hair shimmered with a playful yellow. "Besides, it's kind of an interesting story."
He leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You see, in my second year, some dimwits thought it would be hilarious to replace my shampoo with one that had a potion in it. A potion that makes your hair change color based on your emotions." He shook his head, a faint, exasperated smile on his face. "I could have gotten rid of the effect if I'd acted fast, but... well, things happened, I forgot, and now the color-changing effect is permanent." He shrugged, his hair cycling through a vibrant array of colors. "So now, my hair acts as a living mood ring, always showing what I'm feeling at any time."
Rose, still puzzled, emerged from the kitchen, having finished with the dishes. "But, Echo, dear, have you ever tried to remove it simply? With a spell, or a potion perhaps?"
Echo opened his mouth to answer, then paused, a look of profound realization dawning on his face. His hair settled into a shocked, thoughtful blue. "You know," he said slowly, "I actually... I never thought of it. It's just become such a part of me, I guess I stopped seeing it as something to be removed." He paused again, then added, "Plus, I have a way to turn it off if I need to, so it's not usually a problem."
Petunia, who had also emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on a floral dish towel, sniffed disdainfully. "Then why don't you? Your hair is far too loud. It's distracting."
Echo's hair flared to a furious red, and he opened his mouth, ready to shoot back that her neck was too long, so why bother eating human food when she could go eat off trees with the other giraffes. But Lily, sensing his impending retort, gave him a look, almost pleading, her eyes silently asking him not to. Echo met her gaze, and after a moment, he closed his mouth, a silent sigh escaping him as his hair softened to a resigned blue.
Michael, seizing the momentary lull, leaned forward again. "So, Echo," he said, a glint in his eye, "does this nitwit happen to be one James Potter?"
Echo's head snapped up, his blue hair flaring to a shocked white. "How did you know that, sir?" he blurted out, genuinely astonished.
Michael chuckled, a knowing smile on his face. "Lily sometimes mentions him," he explained, nodding towards his daughter. It never goes into much detail, mind you, just that he 'did this and that with his friends' and 'made her mad.'" He then turned his gaze to Lily, a curious eyebrow raised. So, Lily, who is this James fellow, anyway?"
Lily, caught off guard, stammered, her cheeks flushing. "James is… well, James is…" She trailed off, searching for the right words.
"James," Echo interjected, his hair settling on a thoughtful blue, "is a big-headed, arrogant, toe-rag with a penchant for showing off and an even greater knack for getting into trouble."
Severus, seizing the opportunity, added, sneering, "He's also an insufferable, attention-seeking bully who believes the world revolves around his pathetic existence."
Lily sighed, pointing a finger at Severus. "That, Dad, is James Potter." She then added, a softer, more reflective tone entering her voice, "But he… he has changed in the last several months. He still pulls dumb pranks and gets into trouble, but not as much anymore. In fact, he's actually maturing, and I'm seeing a side of him I didn't think was possible to see."
Michael looked surprised. "How did that happen, love?"
Lily glanced at Echo, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching her lips. "Mostly Echo, Dad."
Michael turned to Echo, a curious glint in his eye. "How did you manage that, son? Change James, I mean? He sounds like a handful."
Echo began to explain, "Well, James and I had a little chat. I told him that if he didn't wise up and fast, then he'd—" Echo suddenly stopped, his eyes falling on a peculiar rock resting on the mantlepiece. It was a smooth, baseball-sized stone, unassuming in its simplicity. "Is that rock important?" he asked, pointing at it.
Rose, who had been listening intently, shook her head. "Oh, no, dear. It's just a decorative piece. Found it on the beach years ago."
Echo nodded slowly, then, without another word, he walked over to the mantle and picked up the baseball-sized rock. He turned back to the family, his expression hardening. "As I was saying," he continued, his voice low and firm, "I told James that if he didn't wise up, and fast, then he'd—"
A visible ripple of dark, crackling energy emanated from Echo's hands as he squeezed the rock. His hair flared to a furious, crackling black, his violet eyes burning with intense, focused anger. The sound of stone groaning under immense pressure filled the quiet room. Michael, Rose, and Lily stared, their mouths agape, as cracks spiderwebbed across the rock's surface. With a final, agonizing crunch, Echo crushed the rock between his bare hands, compressing it down to the size of a golf ball, perfectly round and unnervingly polished. He blew gently on the miniature stone, then placed it back on the mantlepiece with a soft click.
He turned back to the stunned family, his hair settling back into its vibrant, chaotic display. "And after that talk," he finished, a faint, almost innocent smile on his face, "James actually took my advice."
A stunned silence descended upon the room, broken only by the faint sound of Petunia clattering dishes in the kitchen. Michael, Rose, and Lily stared at the perfectly spherical, golf-ball-sized rock on the mantle, then at Echo, their faces a mixture of shock and profound disbelief.
Finally, Michael let out a booming laugh, shaking his head in bewildered amusement. "Well, I'll be damned!" he exclaimed, wiping a tear from his eye. "I really like this kid!"
Rose, still looking a little pale from the demonstration of Echo's raw power, managed a weak smile. "Indeed, Michael. He's… he's certainly memorable."
Lily, however, simply shook her head, a mixture of exasperation and pride in her eyes. "Echo, sometimes you are truly unbelievable."
Echo just shrugged, his hair swirling with a playful mix of blues and greens. "I told you, Lily, I'm just being myself."
The next few days passed in a comfortable blur of Muggle domesticity and magical revelations. Echo, Lily, and Severus settled into a rhythm, spending their days in the Evans' cozy living room, often with Michael recounting tales of his bank job or Rose sharing anecdotes from her bustling garden. Even Petunia, though still prim and disapproving, was present, usually curled up with a fashion magazine, occasionally interjecting with a cutting remark that Echo, now much more adept at ignoring her, largely let slide.
"So, Echo," Michael began one afternoon, peering over the top of his newspaper with a curious glint in his eye. You mentioned learning about magical plants at your school. What kind of plants? Do they... do they grow money?" He winked, a playful smile on his face.
Echo chuckled, his hair a vibrant, amused green. "Not exactly money, Mr. Evans, but some of them can be pretty valuable. There are Mandrakes, for example, which scream loudly enough to kill you if you don't wear earmuffs. But their roots are essential for powerful restorative potions."
Rose gasped, her eyes wide. "Goodness me! How do you even go about harvesting such a thing?"
"Very carefully, Mrs. Evans," Echo replied, a grin spreading across his face. "With thick earmuffs, and often with a healthy dose of courage potion."
Petunia, from her armchair, sniffed. "Sounds utterly barbaric. Why can't they just grow normal, silent plants like respectable people?"
Lily, who had been listening with a fond smile, nudged Echo. "Don't mind her, Echo. She thinks anything beyond a rosebush is 'unnatural.'"
Severus, engrossed in a particularly dense volume of magical theory, merely grunted in agreement.
"But what about those magical creatures, Echo?" Michael pressed, his interest fully piqued. "You mentioned your flying snake. Are there other strange beasts in your world?"
Echo's eyes lit up, his hair flaring to an excited yellow. "Oh, absolutely! There are Hippogriffs, magnificent creatures with the head and forelegs of a giant eagle and the body and hind legs of a horse. You have to bow to them before approaching, or they might attack."
"And Nifflers," Lily added, remembering Sniffles. "They're small, furry, and absolutely obsessed with anything shiny. Echo has one that tried to steal Professor Flitwick's spectacles."
"And then there are Basilisks," Echo continued, his voice dropping slightly, his hair taking on a more serious blue. "Giant serpents whose gaze can kill or petrify. They're incredibly dangerous, and very rare."
Petunia shuddered visibly, pulling her magazine closer. "That's horrifying! Why would anyone want to even know about such monstrous things?"
"Because understanding them is how you stay safe, Petunia," Severus interjected, finally looking up from his book, a rare spark of passion in his eyes. "And in some cases, how you can even cure their victims."
That evening, as the house settled into quiet slumber, Echo and Severus found themselves once again in their shared room. Severus, with a theatrical sigh, climbed into the double bed, carefully positioning himself on the far edge, fully intending to keep as much distance as possible from the smaller boy. He had made his "big spoon" declaration with the firm belief that he would maintain at least a foot of personal space.
But as the night wore on, and the chill of the unheated room seeped in, Severus found himself involuntarily shifting. He awoke hours later, stiff and slightly disoriented, to a soft, even breathing against his chest. Echo, a small, warm weight, had somehow migrated across the bed and was now firmly plastered against Severus, his head nestled comfortably on Severus's shoulder, his mouth slightly ajar. His hair, a soft, contented blue, brushed against Severus's chin.
Severus tried to disentangle himself, gently pushing at Echo's shoulder. The boy, however, merely let out a soft sigh and snuggled closer, a faint, almost imperceptible purr emanating from him. Severus tried again, a little more forcefully this time, but Echo seemed to be made of lead, clinging with astonishing tenacity.
Just as Severus was considering a more drastic measure—perhaps a well-aimed jab to the ribs—a faint whoosh of leathery wings filled the air. The emerald flying snake, its body now noticeably lumpier after its triumphant rat-hunting spree, slithered into the room. With a contented hiss, it coiled around their feet, a living, scaly blanket radiating surprising warmth.
Severus groaned internally, utterly defeated. He was trapped, wedged between a human space heater and a lumpy, serpentine foot-warmer. He let out a long, suffering sigh, resigning himself to his fate. At least, he thought, trying to find some solace in his predicament, it was warm.
The next evening, with the Thanksgiving feast a delicious memory, Lily, Echo, and Severus were gathered in the living room once more. The room was bathed in the soft, flickering glow of the television set, a strange and wonderful contraption that mesmerized Echo with its moving pictures. Lily, armed with a stack of VHS tapes, was eager to share a cherished Muggle tradition.
"Alright, you two," Lily announced, holding up a tape with a cheerful cartoon reindeer on the cover. "Tonight, we're going to experience the magic of cinema! And first up, a holiday classic!"
Severus, who had been observing the television with a mixture of suspicion and grudging fascination, raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it a bit early for Christmas, Lily? It's barely past Thanksgiving."
Lily shook her head, inserting the tape into the player with practiced ease. "Sev, there's no TV or projector at Hogwarts, so when are we going to have another chance like this? And knowing Echo's luck, he'll be abducted by some new creature and miss Thanksgiving next year!"
Echo, whose hair had been a contemplative blue while watching the screen, flared to an amused green. "She's got a really good point, Sev."
So, they settled in, watching a couple of classic movies, Echo utterly captivated by the narratives unfolding on the screen. As the evening wore on, Mr. and Mrs. Evans emerged from the kitchen, ready to retire for the night.
"Alright, you three," Mrs. Evans said, her voice soft. "Don't stay up too late, and keep the volume down, please. Have fun! And maybe you could braid one another's hair into one big braid, like Lily and Petunia did that one time?"
Lily's cheeks instantly flushed a deep crimson. "Mum!" she exclaimed, utterly embarrassed. "That was a long time ago!"
Mr. Evans chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "And you better be careful when doing that, otherwise I might sneak down and throw a spider on them just to see what happens!"
Mrs. Evans and Lily groaned in unison. "Michael!" Mrs. Evans scolded, shaking her head. "Remember the disaster that happened last time you did that?"
Mr. Evans merely laughed. "It was hilarious!"
Echo, however, clapped his hands together, his hair flaring to an excited yellow. "Ooh! I want to throw a spider and see what happens!"
Mr. Evans roared with laughter. Severus, meanwhile, struggled valiantly to suppress his own amusement, his shoulders shaking with silent mirth. Both Mrs. Evans and Lily rolled their eyes, letting out simultaneous moans of exasperation.
Mrs. Evans looked at her husband, bewildered. "Michael, did you make Echo by accident when I wasn't looking?"
Mr. Evans beamed, shaking his head. "I'd never do that, dear. But Echo really is like the son I never had!"
Lily threw her hands up in mock surrender. "You're both ridiculous!" she declared, though a fond smile played on her lips.
With a final chuckle, Mr. and Mrs. Evans wished them a good night and headed off to bed. "Goodnight, Mum, Dad," Lily called out, a soft smile on her face. Lily then turned back to the television, pulling out the tape of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. "Alright, boys, next up, the most famous reindeer of all!"
As the animated classic began, Echo and Severus found themselves drawn into the story of the misfit reindeer. During the scene in which Rudolph, dejected after being bullied, is comforted by Clarice, Lily rose from the sofa.
"I'm going to make some more popcorn," she announced, stretching. "You two behave."
Echo and Severus nodded, their eyes still glued to the screen. As Lily left, Rudolph and Clarice were sitting together. Clarice, with a gentle smile, told Rudolph she liked his nose, making him feel a flicker of hope. Rudolph, still wishing he were different, then listened as Clarice sang, "There's Always Tomorrow."
Echo felt a lump form in his throat as Clarice's sweet voice filled the room. His hair, which had been a gentle blue, softened to a contemplative, almost melancholic green. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the unexpected moisture from his eyes. He looked at Severus, whose usual stoic expression was softened by the flickering light of the television.
"You know, Sev," Echo began, his voice a little hoarse. "I really… I really relate to Rudolph. He always feels different, like an outsider, like he doesn't quite fit in. All because of something you can't control." He sniffed, a genuine tear finally escaping and tracing a path down his cheek. "It's… It's hard, sometimes, isn't it?"
Severus, to Echo's surprise, nodded slowly. His gaze was still fixed on the screen, but his voice was quiet, almost reflective. "Yes, Echo. I… I understand something of that feeling. Not precisely, perhaps, but… somewhat similar."
Echo watched the screen for another moment, a soft, wistful smile touching his lips. "And Lily," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "she's almost like our Clarice, isn't she? Always there, always kind, always seeing the good in others, even when no one else does."
Severus said nothing, his eyes still on the screen, his expression unreadable.
Just then, Lily returned, a large bowl of freshly popped popcorn in her hands. She set it down on the coffee table, a cheerful smile on her face. "Perfect timing," she said, grabbing a handful. "Did I miss anything good?"
After a moment, Severus cleared his throat, drawing Lily's attention. He looked at her, his dark eyes holding a rare, gentle sincerity. "Lily," he said, his voice soft, "you are my Clarice."
Lily blinked, a faint flush rising on her cheeks. She looked from Severus to the television screen, then back at him, a puzzled frown on her face. "My… my Clarice? What are you talking about, Sev?"
Echo, still a little teary-eyed, looked at the screen, then back at Lily. His hair, a soft, melancholic green, flickered with a sudden understanding. "He means… he means, like in the movie, Lily. The one who sees past the differences and finds the good in everyone." He paused, then met her gaze, a genuine warmth in his violet eyes. "You're my Clarice, too, Lily. Always have been."
Lily's eyes widened, and a slow, tender smile spread across her face. The meaning of their words, intertwined with the scene playing out on the television, finally clicked into place. Her heart swelled with an overwhelming sense of affection for her two unlikely friends. She reached out, gently touching Echo's cheek, then Severus's. "Oh, you two," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "you're both my Rudolphs."
With that, she leaned in and placed a soft kiss on Echo's cheek, making him giggle, his hair flaring to a bright, delighted yellow. Then she leaned over and kissed Severus's cheek. Severus, caught completely off guard, instantly stiffened, a deep crimson blush spreading across his pale face. He reached up, touching the spot where her lips had been, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and something akin to a rare, hesitant pleasure.
Echo, still giggling, looked at them both, his hair a playful, excited green. "Maybe we should all dress up as reindeer for Christmas!" he suggested, a mischievous glint in his eye.
Severus, finally recovering from his blush, looked at Echo with utter horror. "I will absolutely not," he stated, his voice firm, "dress up as a smelly animal, Echo."
Lily, still smiling, shook her head. "He's right, Echo," she said, a teasing note in her voice. "Sev is definitely more of an elf."
Echo burst into laughter, a joyful sound that filled the cozy living room. Severus merely rolled his eyes, though a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.
The next morning, the soft, early light of dawn filtered into the living room, illuminating a heartwarming scene. Michael and Rose Evans emerged from their bedroom, ready to start the day, and paused at the doorway, a soft "Aww" escaping Rose's lips.
The three teenagers were curled up on the large sofa, sound asleep. Lily and Severus were resting their heads against one another, Lily's fiery red hair mingling with Severus's dark locks. And nestled comfortably on their laps, like a contented cat, was Echo, his body curled into a compact ball, his vibrant, color-changing hair a soft, tranquil blue.
Michael and Rose cooed at the sight, their faces alight with warmth and affection. Petunia, however, emerging from the kitchen with a cup of tea, took one look at the sleeping trio, rolled her eyes with a dramatic sniff, and muttered, "Honestly, they're worse than actual cats."
The following evening, the last night before their return to Hogwarts, the Evans household was filled with a comfortable warmth. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls of the living room. Michael was recounting a particularly amusing anecdote from his work at the bank, while Rose knitted quietly, her needles clicking softly. Lily, curled up on the sofa beside Echo and Severus, was animatedly describing a recent incident in Potions class that involved a self-stirring cauldron and an accidental explosion of purple foam. Echo's hair, a vibrant, happy green, shimmered with his amusement, and even Severus offered a rare, almost-smile.
"—and then Professor Slughorn just looked at us, his face completely covered in goo, and said, 'Well, at least it's a rather fetching shade of amethyst, Miss Evans!'" Lily finished, giggling.
Michael roared with laughter, and Rose chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, Lily, you do have the most extraordinary stories, darling."
"It sounds utterly chaotic," Petunia interjected from her armchair, her voice laced with her usual disdain. She was ostensibly reading a magazine, but her eyes kept flicking to Lily. "Honestly, Lily, must you always be so… dramatic? And so… different? It's not normal, all this magic and these… these freaks you associate with."
The laughter died in the room. Michael's smile vanished, replaced by a stern frown. Rose's needles stilled, and her eyes flashed with anger. "Petunia!" Mrs. Evans admonished, her voice sharp. "That is quite enough! Lily is telling us about her life, and you will not speak to your sister like that!"
"Indeed, Petunia," Michael added, his tone unusually firm. "Your sister is a remarkable young woman, and we will not have you diminishing her or her friends."
But the words had already landed. Lily, who had been beaming moments before, slowly stiffened. The bright sparkle in her eyes dimmed, and a visible tremor ran through her. She looked at Petunia, her face crumpling, as if her sister's words had finally found a weakness, a long-held dam giving way. A single, glistening tear traced a path down her cheek.
"Excuse me," Lily whispered, her voice barely audible, thick with a sudden, overwhelming emotion. Without another word, she pushed herself up from the sofa and hurried out of the room, her footsteps heavy on the stairs. A moment later, the soft click of her bedroom door closing echoed through the now-silent living room.
Echo felt his cheerful green hair flare to a furious, crackling black. His violet eyes, usually so full of light, narrowed dangerously. He could hear the faint, muffled sound of sobbing from upstairs, and a cold, chilling rage began to simmer in his gut. This was it. Rudolph was going to defend Clarice.
He rose from the sofa, his movements deliberate and silent. Severus, sensing the shift in Echo's demeanor, watched him with a grim, knowing look.
Echo walked directly to the kitchen, where Petunia was just setting down her teacup. "You," Echo said, his voice low and menacing, a guttural growl beneath the word that made Petunia visibly flinch.
Petunia turned, her pale blue eyes wide with confusion, a hint of disdain still lingering on her thin lips. "Me?" she asked, a nervous tremor entering her voice.
Echo took a step closer, his black hair sparking with barely contained fury, his violet eyes burning holes into her. "We need to have a little talk," he stated, his voice leaving no room for discussion and no possibility of refusal. The sheer, overwhelming power radiating from him, the ancient, dangerous aura he exuded, made Petunia's blood run cold. She instinctively recoiled, her eyes wide with fear, backing away like a cornered animal.
Echo advanced, slowly, relentlessly, never breaking eye contact. Petunia stumbled backward, step by terrified step, through the kitchen, past the back door, and out into the chilly night air of the back garden. As she stumbled out, Echo quietly closed the door behind him with a wordless spell, the lock clicking softly into place, all without ever once taking his burning gaze off her.
Once they were alone in the dimly lit garden, Echo jabbed a finger at her, his voice a low, furious hiss that sliced through the quiet night. "What," he demanded, his voice trembling with controlled rage, "is your major malfunction?"
"My… my major malfunction?" Petunia repeated, her voice rising in a nervous, indignant squeak. "How dare you? What is your major malfunction, coming into my house and—"
"Many things, Petunia," Echo cut her off, his voice still low, dangerous, and utterly unwavering, his black hair still sparking with fury. "But this isn't about me. This is about you." He took another slow, deliberate step forward, and Petunia stumbled back, hitting the cold stone wall of the garden shed. "You've been so desperate to be the center of attention the whole damn time we've been here, haven't you? Well, congratulations. Now you are. Just you and me."
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Lily, your sister, has been nothing but kind and considerate to you since she set foot into her own house. And what has she been met with? Hostility. By the person she treasures the most." Echo's eyes burned into hers. "I always wondered why Lily would get sad when speaking about her sister. But now I know why. You're an absolutely insufferable git, Petunia. And that's coming from me. But at least I have charisma."
Petunia bristled, her face contorting with a mixture of fear and outrage. "I don't have to take this!" she shrieked, making a desperate lunge for the back door.
But before she could reach it, a flash of emerald green burst from Echo's shirt. The flying snake, its bat-like wings unfurled, hissed menacingly, its golden eyes fixed on Petunia, who froze mid-stride, a terrified gasp caught in her throat.
"Do you want to know something interesting, Petunia?" Echo asked, his voice calm again, almost deceptively so, his black hair settling to a thoughtful blue.
Petunia could only shake her head, too terrified to speak.
"Good," Echo continued, a faint, chilling smile playing on his lips. "Because you're going to listen. During my current three years at Hogwarts, I've managed to take a field of magical study and make it into its own branch of magic. I call it Beast Magic."
"Why are you telling me this?" Petunia finally managed to stammer, her eyes wide.
Echo ignored her, continuing, "With Beast Magic, I can give direct commands to my beasts without uttering a single word or wasting time on training." As he spoke, the flying snake on his arm bent and twisted into different, impossible shapes, then launched into the air, performing a series of intricate aerial maneuvers with astonishing speed and grace, before landing and coiling itself around Echo's extended arm once more.
"I can even see and hear through their senses." As he said this, Echo's violet eyes turned into pools of swirling darkness, and the flying snake's golden eyes were replaced by exact replicas of Echo's own, glowing violet orbs. After a moment, Echo broke the connection, and his and the snake's eyes returned to normal. "I can even see their memories, Petunia," he added, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Like that time you stole Lily's favorite childhood doll and buried it in the rose garden just because she got a new magic kit for her birthday."
Petunia gasped, her face draining of all color.
"And finally," Echo finished, a dangerous glint in his eyes, "I can magically transfer the natural aspects of a creature from them to myself for a limited amount of time. I can be as fast as a unicorn, as strong as a Graphorn, breathe fire like a dragon, or…" Echo trailed off, his eyes changing to narrow, reptilian slits, and a small, forked tongue flickered from his mouth. A tiny drop of venom fell from the tip of his tongue onto a nearby dandelion, which instantly wilted and turned black. "…the venom of a snake."
Petunia quivered, pressing herself even harder against the shed wall, her eyes fixed on the wilting dandelion, then back at Echo's unnervingly slitted gaze.
"So, Petunia," Echo said, his voice laced with menace, "do you still want to take that tone with me?"
Petunia finally cracked. "You wouldn't understand!" she shrieked, her voice raw and trembling with a volatile mix of fear and something deeper, more desperate. You wouldn't get it, you… You freak!"
Echo's black hair flared to a furious red, but he held his ground, his slitted eyes fixed on her. "Try me," he growled, the venomous glint still present. "Help me understand, Petunia."
"You can't know my pain!" she yelled, tears finally welling in her pale blue eyes.
"Pain?" Echo roared back, his voice echoing in the chilly garden. "I know pain, Petunia! I know more pain than you could ever imagine!"
The dam finally broke. Petunia slid down the shed wall, burying her face in her hands, her thin shoulders shaking with convulsive sobs. "Every time she comes home," she choked out, her voice muffled, "or even when she's just mentioned, it's always 'Lily did this at magic school,' 'Lily did that at magic school,' 'Lily, Lily, Lily!' I'm sick of it!" She looked up, her face streaked with tears, a raw, burning resentment in her eyes. "I'm so, so sick of it!"
"What do you want it to be, Petunia?" Echo demanded, his voice still sharp, but a flicker of something new, something almost understanding, entering his eyes.
Petunia let out a guttural sob, burying her face in her hands once more. "I want it to be 'Lily and Petunia did this and that at magic school… together!" she wailed, her voice cracking with despair. She dissolved into another fit of uncontrollable tears, her body wracked with a profound, aching sorrow.
Echo stared at her, the pieces slowly, agonizingly, clicking into place. His black hair softened, swirling with shades of blue and green, a profound realization dawning on him. He finally understood.
"You don't hate Lily because she's different, Petunia," Echo said, his voice surprisingly soft, utterly devoid of anger now. "You hate her because you're jealous."
Petunia's eyes were still red-rimmed. "We've done everything together, Lily and I," she began, her voice thick with a sudden, raw emotion. "Since we could both walk and talk, absolutely everything. But the one thing I wanted to do with her, the one thing that truly mattered, I couldn't. She got to go to a magic school, and no matter how much I begged and pleaded and cried and wrote to Dumbledore, I could never attend with her. It's not fair!" A fresh wave of tears welled in her eyes, and she buried her face in her hands.
Echo sighed, his vibrant hair softening to a sympathetic blue. He moved from his spot and sat next to the crying woman on the lawn, a comforting presence. "Life rarely is fair, Petunia," he said softly, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Life is short and cruel, even to the best of us, and even more so to those who don't deserve it."
Petunia slowly calmed, her sobs subsiding into sniffles. She looked up at Echo, her face streaked with tears. "What do you know about life not being fair?" she challenged, a hint of her usual acerbity returning, though it was tinged with genuine curiosity.
Echo gave a wry, almost sad smile. "I know a lot, Petunia. When I tried to get my first wand, every other one blew up in my hands, except for one that was cursed. I couldn't perform magic normally and had to resort to other methods to make even the simplest spells work. My natural magic affinity is dark by nature, and people can feel that. I don't do things normally, I don't act normally, I talk to magical beasts instead of people half the time, my girlfriend is a mermaid, and my reputation, thanks to one asshole who wears his granny's wig, is ruined to the point people actually despise me. I even have something inside of me, something that isn't natural, at least in the usual sense, something that makes me perform leaps and bounds to keep in check, so I know what it's like for you."
Petunia looked at the boy beside her, truly seeing him for the first time. But then her gaze drifted past him, to his shadow, which was cast on the outer house wall by the flickering porch. Her eyes widened in horror. In Echo's shadow, a dark, bestial form seemed to writhe and shift, its eyes glowing with a hungry, evil grin as it looked around the dark backyard. Petunia froze, a choked gasp escaping her lips. She pointed wordlessly at the wall, her hand trembling.
Echo, noticing her sudden terror, turned. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. He followed her gaze to the wall, and his eyes narrowed. "Hey!" he yelled at his shadow, his voice sharp with irritation. "Stop putting on a show and get back inside!"
The dark beast in his shadow glared at him, a silent, defiant challenge in its glowing eyes. Then, with a final, contemptuous flourish, it receded back within Echo's body, but not before giving him two distinct middle fingers as his shadow returned to normal.
"I'm really sorry you had to see that, Petunia," Echo said, a sheepish look on his face, his blue hair flickering with genuine regret. "My… well, my dark half, he's a bit of a show-off. Always looking for the biggest bang, the next surprise, you know?"
Petunia slowly stood up, brushing dirt from her apron. The fear was still etched on her face, but a flicker of her usual indignation returned. "It doesn't matter now," she said, her voice thin and shaky. "It's too late. Even if you do understand what I'm going through, and more, there's no way you can fix it."
Echo nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. "You're right, I definitely can't… at least, not right now." He ran a hand through his hair, which settled into a reflective green. "My magic is unique and different. If I can remove a werewolf curse, I could probably activate a magic core inside someone."
Petunia's eyes widened, a fragile spark of hope igniting within them.
Echo saw it and quickly added, "But I still don't know how to do that safely. I don't want to use you like a test subject, Petunia. But… I might be able to do something else."
"What?" Petunia asked, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes fixed on him.
Echo gave her a small, hopeful smile. "At Hogwarts, I met a man who's a squib, a magical person who simply can't use magic. So I made him a wand, a fake one, enchanted with all sorts of things that even a Squib could use. If I can do that, I'm pretty sure I can make one for a Muggle, too."
Petunia stared at him, a tremor running through her. "Are you… Are you serious? You could really do that? For me?" Her voice was a bare whisper, a fragile hope blossoming in her eyes.
Echo nodded, his green hair flickering with earnestness. "Yes, Petunia. I can. But if I do this for you, you have to make me a promise." His voice grew serious. "When I come back next year, or whenever I manage to finish it and get it to you, I want you to try and mend things with Lily. Start small. No more snide comments, no more glaring at her. Just… listen. Engage. Really listen to what she's saying, and go from there. Can you do that?"
Petunia's gaze dropped, her brow furrowed. "It might be too late," she murmured, her voice laced with doubt. "Would Lily even forgive me after… after all this?"
Echo's smile softened, a profound warmth in his violet eyes. His hair turned a gentle, reassuring blue. "For Lily? Petunia, Lily would give you a second, a third, and a twelfth chance every single time. She loves you, even if you make it hard for her. Just try."
Petunia looked up, her gaze steady, a flicker of resolve in her tear-streaked eyes. "I promise," she said, her voice stronger now. "I'll… I'll try."
Echo shook his head, a playful glint in his eye. "No, Petunia. Do, or do not. There is no try."
Petunia blinked, a placid, almost blank expression on her face. "Did Lily show you Star Wars last night?" she asked, a hint of accusation in her tone.
Echo grinned impishly, his hair flashing a mischievous yellow. "No..But until then, how about I show you how it feels?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand, a gnarled piece of blackthorn, ancient and unsettling. "Here," he said, holding it out to her. "Take it."
Petunia eyed the wand with suspicion. "But… didn't you just say that it was cursed?" she asked, a nervous tremor in her voice. "Why can't we just use Lily's?"
Echo snorted, his hair flickering to a dismissive blue. "Lily's wand would probably explode in my hands, Petunia. And I don't have to guess that you like having all ten of your fingers."
Petunia shivered at the thought, her eyes widening.
"Besides," Echo continued, a teasing glint in his eye, "you'll be perfectly fine. You're non-magical. To you, it's just a good-looking stick."
Hesitantly, Petunia reached out and took the wand, her fingers surprisingly steady around the dark wood. Echo moved to stand beside her, just touching the base of the wand with the tip of his finger. "Alright," he said, his voice soft, "what spell do you want to try?"
Petunia looked at him, utterly bewildered. "I… I don't know any spells."
Echo chuckled, a mischievous glint in his violet eyes. "No worries, Petunia. Just tell me what you want to cast, and I'll help you."
Petunia's brow furrowed in thought, then a faint smile touched her lips. "Something with light," she murmured, almost to herself. "Like… like a flashlight."
Echo's grin widened. "Perfect! That's called Lumos. Now, just flick your wrist up, like this," he demonstrated a quick, upward flick, "and say 'Lumos'."
Hesitantly, Petunia mirrored his movement, her grip on the blackthorn wand firm. "Lumos," she said, her voice a little breathless.
As the word left her lips, Echo, still with his finger touching the base of the wand, murmured the incantation under his breath. The tip of the dark wand instantly burst into a soft, warm glow, illuminating Petunia's wide, astonished eyes.
"Oh!" she gasped, a genuine look of wonder on her face.
Echo beamed. "See? You're a natural! Now, to turn it off, just flick your wrist down and say 'Nox'."
Petunia, still marveling at the light, flicked her wrist down. "Nox," she said, and the light obediently extinguished itself. She looked at Echo, a flicker of excitement in her eyes. "That was… that was amazing!"
"Want to try something else?" Echo asked, his hair swirling with an excited yellow. "How about levitating something?"
Petunia's eyes lit up. "Yes!"
"Alright," Echo said, pointing to a small, brightly painted porcelain garden gnome near the shed. "Point the wand at that gnome. Then, you'll need to do a swish and flick—like you're stirring a cup of tea, then flicking a crumb off your finger—and say 'Wingardium Leviosa'."
Petunia nodded, mimicking his movements, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration. She pointed the wand at the gnome, swished and flicked her wrist, and, with a determined expression, declared, "Wingardium Leviosa!"
As Echo channeled the magic with a subtle movement, the porcelain gnome wobbled, then slowly, majestically, lifted off the ground, hovering a few inches in the air. Petunia gasped again, a bright, joyous laugh escaping her lips as she watched the gnome float.
"I'm doing it!" she exclaimed, her face alight with triumph.
But her concentration wavered, and the gnome began to spin erratically. Then, with a sickening crash, it plummeted to the ground, shattering into several pieces.
"Oh, blast it!" Petunia cursed, her face falling. "Mother's favorite!"
Echo shrugged, his hair a dismissive blue. "That ugly thing? Honestly, I think we did her a favor."
Petunia shot him a withering look.
"Fine, fine," Echo conceded, holding up his hands. "Alright, let's fix it. This one's a bit trickier. You need to raise the wand, spin it about three times clockwise, and say 'Reparo'."
Petunia did as instructed, raising the wand and making three slow, clockwise circles. "Reparo," she said, her voice tinged with a mix of hope and anxiety. As she performed the motion, the emerald flying snake, which had been coiled around Echo's neck, instantly uncoiled and slithered down his arm, pressing its body firmly against his finger, ensuring unbroken contact with the wand as Echo subtly augmented the repair spell.
With a soft glow and a faint whirring sound, the shattered pieces of the porcelain gnome began to knit themselves back together. In a matter of seconds, it stood whole once more, as if it had never been broken.
Petunia stared, her jaw dropping. She looked from the perfectly repaired gnome to Echo, then down at the blackthorn wand still clutched in her hand. "That was… that was amazing!" she breathed, her voice filled with genuine awe. "It was like… like I was actually casting the magic myself! Thank you, Echo, thank you so much!"
Echo smiled, a warm, genuine expression on his face as he gently took his wand back from her. "You're welcome, Petunia," he said, his green hair flickering with pleasure. "And you know what? You have really good wand work. If you could use magic, you'd be a natural."
Petunia, her eyes still wide with wonder, looked at Echo, a raw, unaccustomed gratitude on her face. "Echo," she began, her voice thick with emotion, "thank you. Really. That… that was the most incredible thing anyone has ever done for me." She reached out, impulsively squeezing his arm. "I… I don't know what to say."
Echo's smile softened, his hair a reassuring blue. He met her gaze, his expression growing serious. "You don't have to say anything, Petunia. Just remember your promise." His voice dropped, losing its earlier playfulness. "You promised me you'd try to mend things with Lily. Small steps, remember? No more cutting remarks, just… try to listen to her. Try to be her sister again." He paused, his violet eyes locking onto hers with an intense, unwavering stare. "Because if I come back here next year, or whenever this wand is ready, and I find out you haven't even tried, or worse, you've made things even harder for her… then I will still make that wand for you, Petunia. I will show it to you. And then, I will snap it in half, right in front of your eyes."
Petunia flinched, her face paling at the stark intensity of his words. She looked down at her hands and then back up at Echo, a profound understanding dawning in her eyes. "I understand, Echo," she whispered, her voice firm and stripped of its previous indignation. I promise. I'll try. I really will."
Echo looked at her for a long moment, a searching expression in his violet eyes. Finally, a small, genuine smile touched his lips, and his hair softened to a contented green. "Good," he said simply. "Now, come on. Let's go back inside. It's getting cold out here, and Lily's probably wondering where we went."
He turned and walked back towards the house, the flying snake coiling itself around his neck once more. Petunia watched him go, a strange mix of fear, awe, and a nascent hope swirling within her. She took a deep breath, then followed him, a new resolve firming her features.
When they re-entered the living room, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Michael and Rose sat stiffly on the sofa, their faces etched with concern. Severus was pacing, with a dark scowl on his face, while Lily was curled up in an armchair. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, and she was a silent, heartbroken figure.
"Echo! Petunia!" Mrs. Evans exclaimed, relief flooding her voice. "What in the world happened? We heard… well, we didn't know what we heard!"
Echo gave her a reassuring smile, his green hair shimmering with calm. "Just a little… heart-to-heart, Mrs. Evans. Petunia and I were just discussing a few things."
All eyes turned to Petunia, who, to everyone's surprise, met their gazes with a newfound steadiness. She walked over to Lily's armchair, a hesitant look on her face. Lily, still sniffling, looked up, her eyes wide with apprehension.
"Lily," Petunia began, her voice soft, a fragile tremor beneath it. "I… I'm sorry." The words, so uncharacteristic, hung in the air. "I was… I was wrong. About everything."
Lily's eyes widened further, a flicker of disbelief crossing her face. Severus stopped pacing, his head cocked to one side, a look of profound astonishment on his usually impassive features. Michael and Rose exchanged a bewildered glance.
"You… you are?" Lily whispered, her voice barely audible.
Petunia nodded, her gaze earnest. "Yes. I… I've been so jealous, Lily. So stupid. I just… I just wanted to be part of your world, too. And I let that turn into… this." She gestured vaguely at the silent, strained room. A fresh tear escaped her eye. "I'm so, so sorry, Lil."
Lily stared at her sister, then, with a choked sob, launched herself out of the armchair and into Petunia's arms. Petunia, after a moment of surprised stiffness, hugged her back, burying her face in Lily's vibrant red hair. The two sisters stood there, clinging to each other, their bodies shaking with a mixture of tears and relief.
Michael cleared his throat, wiping a tear from his own eye. Rose openly wept, a joyful smile on her face. Even Severus, after a moment, offered a small, almost imperceptible nod of approval to Echo.
Echo watched the embrace, a profound sense of peace settling over him. His green hair softened to a radiant, contented blue, reflecting the warmth that now filled the room. The flying snake, still coiled around his neck, nudged his ear with its head, as if sharing in his happiness.
"It truly is a Christmas miracle," Rose whispered through her tears.
Later that night, as the house finally settled into slumber, Echo and Severus once again lay in their shared bed. This time, however, Echo didn't have to sneak across the mattress. Severus, with an almost content sigh, had already made room for him, and the emerald flying snake, as if by unspoken agreement, had found its usual spot at their feet.
"You know, Echo," Severus murmured, his voice barely a whisper in the dark, "you did well tonight. Very well."
Echo, nestled comfortably against Severus's side, smiled into the darkness. His hair, a soft, tranquil blue, gave off a faint, comforting glow. "I just told her the truth, Sev. And showed her a little magic."
Severus grunted softly. "Indeed. A terrifying amount of truth, and a rather… forceful demonstration of magic. I daresay she will remember it." He paused, then added, "And her sister will too."
Echo chuckled softly. "That's the plan." He yawned, feeling the comforting weight of Severus beside him, the faint warmth of the snake at their feet, and the lingering sense of a family mended. "Goodnight, Sev."
"Goodnight, Echo," Severus replied, his voice gruff, but with an underlying current of something akin to contentment.
The next morning, the trio woke early, the festive atmosphere of the Evans' household replaced by the bittersweet anticipation of their return to Hogwarts. After a final, tearful goodbye from Mrs. Evans, a hearty handshake from Mr. Evans, and a surprisingly sincere hug from Petunia—who, though still a little shy, managed a genuine smile at Lily—they made their way back to King's Cross.
The journey back was quieter, more reflective. Lily, her hand linked with Echo's, occasionally glanced at her sister's parting gift, a small, hand-knitted scarf in Gryffindor colors. Severus, in a rare moment of openness, confessed that Petunia had actually offered him a small, rather lumpy, fruitcake, which he had, to his own astonishment, accepted. As the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station, the familiar sight of Hagrid waiting for them was a welcome sight.
"Echo! Lily! Severus!" Hagrid boomed, his face alight with a warm smile. "Had a good holiday, did yeh?"
Lily beamed. "It was wonderful, Hagrid! And you wouldn't believe what happened with Petunia!"
Echo, his hair a vibrant, excited green, launched into a breathless recounting of the garden shed confrontation, the broken gnome, and Petunia's eventual change of heart. Hagrid listened, his eyes wide, occasionally letting out a thunderous chuckle.
Severus merely rolled his eyes at Echo's theatrical embellishments but didn't correct him. As they walked towards the castle, the familiar, comforting silhouette of Hogwarts rising majestically against the twilight sky, Echo felt a profound sense of gratitude. He had come to the Evans' home seeking a brief escape, a glimpse into a "normal" family holiday. What he had found was something far more precious: a deeper understanding of friendship, the surprising complexity of human emotions, and the enduring power of love and forgiveness.
He glanced at Lily, who was beaming up at the castle, and then at Severus, who, despite his usual stoicism, had a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. They were his family, in their own chaotic, magical way. And he wouldn't have it any other way.