The library was quiet, save for the rhythmic scratching of quills and the occasional dusty sigh of a turning page. Echo sat at a secluded table near the Restricted Section, surrounded by a fortress of books on international magical law and goblin treaties. He wasn't studying for his Transfiguration exam as Dumbledore had suggested; he was preparing for war. A sharp tap-tap-tap on the high, arched window broke his concentration. Echo looked up to see a sleek, tawny owl hovering outside the glass, a heavy parchment envelope clutched in its talons. It bore the official crimson seal of the Ministry of Magic.
With a flick of his wand, the window latch clicked open. The owl swooped in, landing gracefully atop a stack of books on Goblin Rebellions of the 18th Century. It extended its leg imperiously, waiting. Echo untied the letter, offering the bird a dried beetle from his pocket as payment, which the owl accepted with a dignified hoot before taking flight again. Madam Pince glared from her desk, her feather duster raised like a weapon, but Echo ignored her. He broke the wax seal and unfolded the thick parchment.
Dear Mr. Echo,
We are writing to acknowledge receipt of your recent correspondence regarding the Triwizard Tournament and the... sensitive matters detailed therein. The Minister for Magic, Harold Minchum, requests a meeting with you at your earliest convenience to discuss these issues in person.
Please report to Level One of the Ministry of Magic. We await your arrival.
Sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
Echo read the letter twice, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face. He didn't feel a shred of fear. There was no racing heart, no sweaty palms. Instead, a thrill of pure, electric excitement shot through him. The bait had been taken.
"Finally," he whispered, folding the letter and sliding it into his pocket. "Showtime."
This meeting could only mean one of two things. One: The Ministry was terrified of what he knew and was looking to cut a deal to keep him quiet. Or two: They were planning to ambush him, legally or magically, to silence him by force.
He had to be prepared for both. He stood up, shoving his books into his bag. He couldn't Apparate directly from within Hogwarts—the castle's wards prevented it—but the rules of wizarding magic had never really applied to him anyway. Not when he had his creatures.
"I need a ride," he murmured, closing his eyes and extending his senses. He reached out with his beast magic, pushing a call through the castle walls, searching for a specific signature.
Pop.
A small, plump bird with fluffy blue-and-pink feathers materialized on the table in a burst of feathers. It was a Diricawl—a magical creature known to Muggles as the dodo, capable of vanishing and reappearing at will to escape danger.
"Hey, buddy," Echo said softly, scratching the bird under its beak. The Diricawl chirped happily, leaning into his touch. "I need a lift. Long distance."
He placed both hands on the bird's soft feathers. He didn't cast a spell; instead, he pushed his own magic into the creature, linking his consciousness with its natural ability to traverse space. He felt the familiar, warping sensation of the Diricawl's teleportation magic—a biological form of Apparition that bypassed wizarding wards effortlessly.
"Next stop: Gringotts," Echo commanded. "I need to pick up a friend."
The air around them shimmered and warped. With a soft poof and a flurry of downy feathers, the library table was empty, leaving Madam Pince to shriek at the sudden disappearance of a student and a dodo from her silent sanctuary.
With a sudden displacement of air and a startled squawk from a nearby goblin teller, Echo and the Diricawl materialized in the grand marble lobby of Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Echo stumbled slightly, disoriented by the abrupt travel, while the Diricawl puffed its feathers out indignantly, demanding a treat for its trouble. Echo quickly fished another dried beetle from his pocket, which was snatched up instantly.
Ignoring the glares from the wizards in line and the narrowed eyes of the goblin guards, Echo strode purposefully towards the high counter. Griphook was diligently weighing a pile of rubies, his long fingers moving with practiced precision.
"Griphook," Echo said, leaning casually against the polished wood. "Is Ragnok in today?"
Griphook didn't pause in his work, didn't even glance up. He simply jerked a thumb towards the heavy oak doors at the far end of the hall. "He is expecting you. You know the way."
"Cheers," Echo said, already moving.
He bypassed the grand double doors designed for human visitors and instead darted towards a much smaller, goblin-sized door set unobtrusively into the wall beside them. It was a tight fit—Echo had grown significantly since his first visit—but he didn't care. He practically threw himself at the door, bursting through it with a loud BANG!
"RAGNOK!" Echo shouted, stumbling into the opulent office beyond.
Ragnok, the King of the Goblins, sat behind his massive desk, poring over a parchment that looked older than the bank itself. He didn't look up at the intrusion. He merely sighed, the sound heavy with long-suffering patience.
"Echo," Ragnok grumbled, dipping his quill into an inkpot. "I have told you repeatedly to stop using the service entrance. You are far too big for it now. You are not the scrawny child you used to be."
Echo, who was currently wedged rather firmly in the doorframe by his shoulders, wiggled experimentally. "Speak for yourself!" he retorted, grunting as he tried to pry himself free. "I'm still smaller than everyone else! I haven't grown an inch since my first year! It's this door that's shrinking!"
Ragnok finally looked up, his sharp eyes twinkling with amusement as he took in the sight of the stuck wizard. He set down his quill, stood up, and walked around the desk. With a firm, unceremonious shove to Echo's chest, he popped the boy backward out of the frame. Echo stumbled but regained his balance, dusting off his robes.
"There," Ragnok said, crossing his arms. "Now that you are free, tell me. What is wrong? You do not burst into my office covered in the smell of dragon dung without reason."
Echo straightened up, the playful demeanor vanishing instantly. A slow, chilling smile spread across his face—a smile that promised chaos.
"It's time," Echo said simply.
Ragnok stared at him for a long moment, searching his face. Then, a slow, predatory grin mirrored Echo's own, revealing sharp, gold-capped teeth.
"Is it now?" Ragnok murmured. He turned back to his desk, sweeping a stack of documents into a leather satchel with efficient movements. "Well then. Let us not keep destiny waiting."
He walked over to where Echo stood waiting with the Diricawl. Echo placed a hand on the bird's head and another on Ragnok's shoulder.
"Hold on tight," Echo warned. "Ministry security is about to have a very bad day."
He pushed his magic into the bird once more. The office dissolved in a swirl of color, and with a soft pop, the three of them vanished, leaving behind only the faint scent of ozone and the promise of a reckoning.
The atrium of the Ministry of Magic was a cavernous space of polished dark wood and gleaming gold, usually filled with the purposeful stride of Ministry officials and the soft whoosh of Floo powder. Today, however, the routine was shattered by a sudden displacement of air and a startled squawk. In the center of the atrium, near the Fountain of Magical Brethren, Echo, Ragnok, and a disoriented Diricawl materialized out of thin air. Ministry workers stopped in their tracks, staring. Several witches dropped their stacks of parchment. A wizard near the fountain choked on his pumpkin juice. It wasn't every day that a Hogwarts student, the King of Goblins, and an extinct bird appeared in the lobby without using the fireplaces.
Ignoring the gaping stares, Echo adjusted his robes and strode towards the security desk with Ragnok at his heels. The witch manning the desk, a bored-looking woman with frizzy hair and spectacles, looked up from her copy of Witch Weekly. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the trio.
"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice laced with the practiced skepticism of a bureaucrat.
Echo slapped the Ministry letter onto the polished counter. "I'm here for a meeting with the Minister," he announced. "My name is Echo."
The witch picked up the letter, glancing at the seal, then at Echo, then at Ragnok, who was idly sorting his papers. She blinked, then looked at the large, ornate clock on the wall behind her.
"Mr. Echo?" she repeated, sounding perplexed. "But... we only sent this owl an hour ago." She looked back at him, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline. "I was expecting a return letter to schedule an appointment for next week. Not... you. Here. Now."
Echo leaned on the counter, flashing a grin that was all teeth. "I like to be punctual. Saves on postage."
The witch sighed, rubbing her temples as if warding off a headache. She looked from the letter to the formidable goblin king standing guard. "Well," she muttered, "I suppose given the... company... and the urgency implied by your arrival method, we can't exactly turn you away." She picked up her wand and tapped a small silver bell on her desk. "I'll send word up to the Minister's office immediately. They'll have to scramble to get a meeting room ready, but I imagine they'll want to see you."
She scribbled something on a piece of parchment, which folded itself into a paper airplane and zoomed off towards the golden lifts. "Take a seat, Mr. Echo. Someone will be down to collect you shortly." She glanced nervously at Ragnok again. "And I suppose your…friend will be joining you?" Echo just nodded as if it were normal.
"I will," Echo replied with a nonchalant shrug, leaning back against the cool marble of a pillar. "But only if need be. Ragnok has a short fuse for bureaucrats."
He didn't have to wait long. A jittery, young wizard in lime-green robes appeared, practically vibrating with nervous energy, and beckoned them towards the golden lifts. The ride up was silent and tense, the young wizard sweating profusely under Ragnok's unblinking stare. They were led down a long, echoing corridor lined with portraits of stern-faced witches and wizards, finally stopping before a set of imposing double doors. The young wizard pushed them open, announcing, "Mr. Echo to see the Minister," before scuttling away as fast as his legs could carry him.
Echo stepped into the room, Ragnok a silent, menacing shadow at his shoulder. It wasn't an office; it was a courtroom, or something very close to it. The room was circular, dominated by a high, lonely podium in the center. Surrounding it in an imposing semicircle were raised desks, tiered like a lecture hall, occupied by over a dozen severe-looking Ministry officials.
At the very top, in the highest seat directly in the middle, sat the Minister for Magic, Harold Minchum. It was the first time Echo had seen the man in the flesh, not just a moving photograph in the Daily Prophet. Minchum was... impressive. He had a magnificent white beard that cascaded down his chest and piercing blue eyes beneath bushy eyebrows. To Echo's Muggle-raised mind, he looked like a bizarre, distinguished hybrid of Gandalf and Merlin—assuming either of those fictional wizards had a penchant for pinstriped robes and an air of weary authority.
Echo walked to the podium. It was built for a full-grown adult, the top edge coming up to his nose. He stood there for a moment, staring at the wood grain, until a flustered clerk hurried over with a wooden crate and set it apologetically at his feet. Echo stepped onto the box, finally bringing his head and shoulders into view of the assembly. He scanned the faces staring down at him. Most were strangers—pinched, bureaucratic faces etched with disapproval or boredom. But two stood out like beacons. To the left sat Barty Crouch Sr., his face as rigid and unyielding as granite. Echo fixed him with a cold glare, remembering the man's ruthless adherence to rules over morality. And to the right...
Echo felt a slow smirk tug at his lips. There, clad in a violently pink cardigan, sat Dolores Umbridge. Her toad-like face was pale, her eyes darting nervously between Echo and the goblin beside him. She remembered. Oh, she definitely remembered their last encounter on the Hogwarts grounds, when Echo had introduced her to his "pet" Dementor. Judging by the lack of Aurors trying to arrest him for it, he guessed no one had believed her frantic tales of a student controlling the soul-sucking guards of Azkaban.
"Welcome, Mr. Echo," Minister Minchum's deep voice boomed, echoing slightly in the vast room. "I must say, I am quite surprised to see you so fast. Though I suppose I shouldn't complain; the Ministry has been having... trouble with punctuality in recent years." He cast a pointed look at a wizard a few seats down who was furiously shuffling papers.
"That's me," Echo replied breezily, leaning his elbows on the podium. "Mr. Punctual. Always on time, unless there's a dragon involved."
Minchum offered a faint, polite smile. "Indeed. Do you know why we have called this meeting, Mr. Echo?"
"I have two ideas," Echo said, holding up two fingers. "But please, enlighten me. Which one is it?"
Minchum shuffled a stack of parchments on his desk. "It is in regard to your correspondence. We have received your letters. All of them. All one hundred and thirty-two."
Echo held his breath, a spark of hope igniting in his chest. This is it, he thought. They're finally going to let me go.
"And we have reached a decision regarding your placement in the Triwizard Tournament," Minchum continued.
Echo gasped in delight, his hands gripping the edge of the podium. "Yes? And?"
"You will have to stay," Minchum said simply. "Despite your repeated requests for withdrawal, the binding magical contract of the Goblet of Fire is absolute. We cannot release you."
"NOOOOOO!" Echo wailed, slamming his forehead onto the wood of the podium with a dull thud. A few officials jumped. "Why do you torture me like this? Just let me leave! I'll go live in a cave! I promise!"
Minchum waited patiently for the lamentations to cease. When Echo finally lifted his head, rubbing a red spot on his forehead, the Minister continued.
"The other thing we wanted to discuss," Minchum said, his voice taking on a graver tone, "was your other letter. The one regarding your proposal for a new law." He picked up a particular piece of parchment and held it up. "The 'Beast Freedom Act', as you've titled it. Strictly making the use of control collars illegal in all contexts."
Echo straightened up, the misery vanishing from his face instantly, replaced by a sharp, focused intensity.
"Ah," he said softly. "That was the second thing I was thinking of."
"Let me guess," Echo said, cutting him off, his voice dry. "You're going to tell me that while you 'appreciate my concern' and 'admire my passion', the Ministry simply cannot pass such a law at this time. Something about tradition, budget constraints, or the ever-popular 'unforeseen administrative complications'. Am I close?"
Minister Minchum blinked, momentarily thrown off his script. "Well... yes, actually. That is essentially the gist of it. How did you—"
"No offense, Minister," Echo said, leaning back and crossing his arms, "but you bureaucrats are easier to read than a picture book. It's always 'no' wrapped in fifty layers of polite parchment."
Minchum sighed, a flicker of genuine tiredness crossing his face. "We did not invite you here merely to say 'no' to your face, Mr. Echo. That could have been done via owl. We are here because, despite the administrative hurdles, there is some... curiosity regarding your proposal. We wish to hear your reasoning."
"So you can hear me out and then say no anyway?" Echo countered, raising an eyebrow.
"That depends entirely on the soundness of your reasoning," Minchum replied evenly. He gestured to a small desk to the side of the podium, where a wizard sat surrounded by floating rolls of parchment. Several enchanted quills hovered above them, twitching in anticipation. "And for the official records, of course."
Echo turned to look at the scribe. "Wait, so they're writing down everything? Every word? Every action?"
The scribe, a thin man with ink-stained fingers, nodded without looking up. "Everything, Mr. Echo. Verbatim."
A mischievous glint sparked in Echo's eyes. He cleared his throat loudly. "Flibber-flabber! Wonky-donky! Squeaky-baky!" He suddenly flapped his arms like a chicken, spun in a circle, and struck a dramatic pose. The enchanted quills flew across the parchment in a blur of frantic scratching, capturing every nonsensical syllable and describing every bizarre movement with ruthless accuracy.
"Mr. Echo, please," Minchum said, rubbing his temples. "Try to stay focused."
"Sorry," Echo grinned, straightening up. "Just testing the equipment. But does 'everything' include what Shimmer is doing right now?"
Minchum frowned. "Shimmer? Who is—"
"The Demiguise," the scribe droned in a monotone voice, his quills not stopping for a second. "Currently invisible in the corner, shaking his rear end at his reflection in the decorative mirror. Yes, I have noted it."
Every head in the room turned toward the large, gilded mirror in the corner. As if on cue, a shimmering distortion in the air coalesced into the form of a silver-haired, ape-like creature. Shimmer, caught mid-twerk, froze. He stared wide-eyed at the room full of witches and wizards, then let out a high-pitched squeak, scrambled across the floor on all fours, and leaped onto Echo's shoulders, burying his face in Echo's hair.
"And," the scribe continued without missing a beat, "I have also noted the Niffler currently pilfering from Madam Umbridge's purse."
"What?!" Dolores Umbridge shrieked, looking down. A small, black snout was indeed protruding from her pink handbag. "Get away! Get away, you filthy little beast!"
Sniffles the Niffler burst out of the bag, clutching a handful of shiny Galleons and a glittery brooch. He scampered across the desks, dodging swatting hands, leaped off the edge, and scurried up Echo's robes to dive into the safety of his deep pockets.
Echo looked at the scribe with genuine admiration. "Wow. You are really good at this."
"I am a professional, Mr. Echo," the scribe replied dryly.
Beside Echo, Ragnok leaned in, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that carried just enough for Echo to hear. "He is the only thing in this entire building that actually works properly."
Echo snorted, covering a chuckle with a cough.
"If we could proceed?" Minchum said loudly, regaining control of the room. "Please, Mr. Echo. State your case."
Echo took a breath, his demeanor shifting instantly from playful to serious. He adjusted his stance on the crate. "Right." He looked out at the assembly. "Ladies, gentlemen... trolls of all ages." He cast a pointed look at Umbridge, who glared back with venomous hatred.
"I am here to argue that the use of Beast Control Collars—specifically the 'Compliance' models currently sanctioned for Class X through XXXXX creatures—should be made illegal. Fully illegal. Not 'regulated', not 'restricted', but banned entirely."
He paused, letting the words hang in the air.
"These collars rely on pain compliance and magical suppression to force obedience," Echo continued, his voice steady. "They cause long-term psychological damage, physical trauma, and often lead to increased aggression when the collar is removed or fails. They don't make creatures safe; they make them ticking time bombs. And while I know the official stance is that they are illegal for private use, we all know the reality. Poachers use them. Black market traders use them. Because the blueprints exist, the items exist."
Minchum leaned forward, interlacing his fingers. "We understand your... humanitarian plight, Mr. Echo. However, you must understand that these collars are strictly for Ministry use. They are heavily regulated. The public does not have access to the blueprints or the enchantment protocols."
"Poachers don't care about regulations, Minister," Echo muttered. "They care about profit. If a tool exists, they will find it."
A wizard two seats down from Minchum, a stern man with a monocle, spoke up. "Mr. Echo, these collars are essential for the safety of our handlers. They allow us to transport dangerous creatures—Dragons, Manticores—without loss of life. Unless you have concrete evidence that they are ineffective or excessively cruel beyond necessary restraint, I fail to see why we should dismantle a key safety protocol."
Echo smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a trap snapping shut. "I'm so glad you asked for evidence," he said sweetly.
He reached into his magic satchel. He rummaged for a moment, his arm disappearing up to the elbow. Then, with a grunt of effort, he hauled out a massive, leather-bound binder. It was at least six inches thick, stuffed with parchment, photographs, and diagrams. He slammed it onto the podium with a deafening WHAM!
Dust motes danced in the air. The officials jumped in their seats. Even the unflappable scribe paused, his quills hovering uncertainly over the paper. Echo opened the binder. The creak of the stiff leather spine echoed in the silent room. He cleared his throat, the sound sharp and authoritative.
"Exhibit A," he began, flipping to a page marked with a red tab. "August 14th, 1952. Transport of a Graphorn in Wales. The collar's suppression enchantment short-circuited due to a mild thunderstorm. The creature woke up mid-transit, tore through the transport crate, and rampaged through a Muggle village. Result: Three injured Muggles requiring memory modification, one destroyed bakery, and a breach of the Statute of Secrecy that required a twenty-man obliviator squad to fix. The collar was found later, fused and useless."
He flipped another page.
"Exhibit B: March 3rd, 1971. Romania. A Hungarian Horntail being moved for breeding. The pain compliance mechanism malfunctioned, delivering continuous, agonizing shocks instead of controlled bursts. The dragon, driven mad by pain, broke its chains, incinerated the transport team's leader, and flew three hundred miles before collapsing from exhaustion. Result: One dead wizard, two hospitalized, and significant property damage to a local vineyard."
He flipped again, his voice gaining momentum.
"Exhibit C: Just last year. A shipment of Occamy eggs was confiscated from a smuggler. The mother was collared. The drug dosage was miscalculated based on the collar's readings. She woke up early, thrashed in the confined space, and crushed half her own eggs before she could be subdued. Result: Loss of endangered species offspring, injury to two junior handlers, and a very angry, very traumatized mother."
He continued for another ten minutes, listing incident after incident. Failed suppressors leading to Chimera escapes. Drug interactions causing lethal heart failures in Griffins. A collar on a Nundu that simply fell off due to a faulty clasp, leading to the quarantine of an entire African village. With each example, the faces of the Ministry officials grew paler and more uncomfortable.
Finally, Echo slammed the binder shut. "And there are over fifty more cases detailed in here. Deaths. Injuries. Breaches of secrecy. All because you rely on a piece of enchanted leather and pain to do a job that requires understanding and respect."
The room was silent. Even the scribe's quills had paused.
Then, the wizard with the monocle spoke up again, though his voice was less confident this time. "While these incidents are... regrettable, Mr. Echo, they are statistical anomalies. No system is perfect. The cost of developing a new method would be exorbitant. We simply cannot justify the expense based on a few... mishaps."
Echo smiled again. It was the smile of a gambler laying down a Royal Flush.
"I thought you might say that," he said smoothly. "Which is why I brought another piece of evidence. One that I know no government official can ignore." He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. "Money."
He turned and waved a hand at the goblin standing silently beside him. "Ragnok? If you would?"
Ragnok stepped forward. He climbed onto the wooden crate Echo had used. He stood on his tiptoes. The top of his head didn't even reach the rim of the podium.
"A little help?" Ragnok grumbled, his voice muffled by the wood.
Echo sighed, pulling out his wand. "Levioso."
With a gentle swish, Ragnok floated upwards until his head and shoulders were clearly visible above the podium, hovering slightly in mid-air. He looked completely unbothered by the magical assistance, calmly opening his leather satchel and extracting a sheaf of parchment covered in dense columns of numbers.
Ragnok cleared his throat, a sound like grinding stones. He adjusted his spectacles and began to read.
"Loan #4592-B," Ragnok announced, his voice carrying the terrifying weight of a debt collector. "Taken out by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, September 1952. Purpose: Emergency funds for 'Statute of Secrecy Repair and Structural Reconstruction in Wales'. Amount: Fifty thousand Galleons. Status: Still outstanding. Interest accrued: Twelve thousand Galleons."
The monocled wizard paled.
"Loan #8810-A," Ragnok continued relentlessly. "Taken out March 1971. Purpose: 'Dragon Containment and Personnel Compensation Benefits'. Amount: One hundred thousand Galleons. Status: Active. Monthly repayments currently consume 15% of the Department's discretionary budget."
He shuffled his papers.
"Loan #9901-C. 'Occamy Conservation and Handler Medical Leave'. Twenty thousand Galleons. You are barely making the minimum payments on this one."
Ragnok looked up over his spectacles, his gaze sweeping the room with cold, calculating precision. "And there are many more just like these. Millions of Galleons borrowed to clean up the messes caused by your 'cost-effective' collars. You are bleeding gold, Minister. And you are doing it on borrowed time."
He leaned forward, hovering ominously. "Speaking of time... I feel obligated to inform you that your repayment for the current fiscal quarter was due yesterday. As of this morning, you are in default. To avoid penalty fees and a significant hike in your interest rates, Gringotts expects payment in full within the next twenty-four hours."
A collective gasp went through the room. Minchum looked like he had swallowed a lemon. The financial reality of their failures hung in the air, heavier than any moral argument.
Suddenly, a sickeningly sweet cough broke the silence. "Hem, hem."
Dolores Umbridge smoothed her pink cardigan, a simpering smile plastered on her face. "Well," she said, her voice high and girlish. "While all this evidence is... fascinating, Mr. Echo, and you have certainly brought a troubling issue to our attention... one simply cannot dismantle an existing system without a viable alternative."
She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Unless you have a solution ready to implement immediately—something tested, proven, and affordable—we will have no choice but to continue as we are. We cannot leave our handlers defenseless based on complaints and debts, especially one brought forth from a child and a goblin."
Echo looked at her. His smile didn't waver. In fact, it widened.
"I'm so glad you brought that up, Dolores," he said, his voice ringing with triumph. "Because as a matter of fact... I do."
A murmur of surprise rippled through the room. Minchum leaned forward, intrigued. "You have a solution?"
"Better than a solution," Echo said, reaching into his pocket. "I have solutions."
"I have developed three specific spells," Echo announced, his voice echoing slightly in the chamber. He held up three fingers. "Spells designed to pacify and manage high-risk magical creatures without the need for potions, sedatives, or those barbaric drugs you inject into their collars. And to prove it, I will demonstrate the first one now."
He reached down, unbuckling the flap of his magic satchel.
"Are you going to demonstrate on your current pets?" one of the younger officials asked, looking nervously at the bag.
Echo scoffed, not looking up as he rummaged around. "Goodness no. They are far too tame to make my point effectively. A spell like this needs a real challenge." He grunted, bracing his foot against the table leg as he tugged at something inside the bag. "No, I have something much more convincing in here. If only I could pull him out... putting him in was such a pain to start with."
With a final, strenuous heave, Echo yanked his hand free. He was holding a pair of scaly, yellow feet. Dangling upside down, hissing and clucking with furious aggression, was a creature that looked like a plucked rooster that had been crossbred with a lizard. Its leathery wings flapped wildly, and its tail, a long, spiny serpent, whipped through the air.
"Meet Nugget," Echo introduced breathlessly, tightening his grip on the thrashing legs.
Pandemonium erupted in the stands.
"A Cockatrice!" someone screamed, scrambling back over their chair.
"I thought they were killed off long ago!" another shouted, clutching their chest.
"You!" a stern-faced witch pointed an accusing finger at Echo. "You didn't make one, did you? That is a Class XXXXX beast!"
"I didn't make it!" Echo yelled over the screeching of the bird-lizard. "It was entirely an accident! It was created by... a person who shall remain anonymous." He shot a quick, subtle glance toward the back of the room, ensuring Hagrid wouldn't be implicated even if his "accident" defense failed. "The chicken's egg was already days from hatching when it happened. I didn't even know it was a Cockatrice, or what a Cockatrice was, until after it hatched."
He glared at the terrified officials. "And I probably would have known if the Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them book had any actual information in it. For a long time, I thought Newt Scamander had simply forgotten to include the information or was incompetent. But now?" He looked pointedly at the crowd. "Now I think they were censored. By you."
"That is preposterous!" a high-ranking official blustered, standing up. "There is plenty of information available on the Cockatrice!"
"Prove it," Echo challenged instantly.
The official sneered and began rifling through a stack of Ministry documents on his desk. He pulled out a file labeled 'Rare Beasts' and flipped through it confidently. Then he slowed down. He flipped back. He turned the page over. His face turned a slow, burning red. The file contained nothing but a general physical description and a large, bold stamp reading "DANGEROUS." He looked up, feeling like an utter fool as the room waited.
"Well?" Echo pressed. "Do you even know how a Cockatrice is born?"
Silence. Not a single hand went up. Not a single voice spoke.
Echo sighed, shaking his head. "And this is the problem with censorship. Omitting anything leads to catastrophe down the line. When something like a Cockatrice is made by accident—and yes, accidents happen—no one knows how it acts, how to handle it, or how to survive it. Ignorance is not safety."
He reached into his robe with his free hand and tossed a sheaf of parchment onto the table. "Luckily, I have thoroughly researched it myself. There is a full behavioral and biological profile, if you want it."
He wrestled Nugget back into a somewhat manageable position. "But you're not here for a lecture. You're here to see the spell in action. Don't worry, Nugget won't harm me or my pets—he knows who feeds him. But," he added ominously, "he hates absolutely everything else that exists in his immediate vicinity. Cockatrices are nasty pieces of work on a good day."
"We know what you are going to do," the Minister said, looking pale. "Just... put the creature away. We will take your word for it."
"Nonsense, seeing is believing!" Echo declared. "Now, observe closely—oops!"
In his enthusiasm, Echo's grip on the scaly legs slipped. Nugget, sensing freedom, gave a mighty flap of his leathery wings and shot into the air. The crowd screamed. The Cockatrice made two rapid, angry circles around the high ceiling, hissing like a steam engine, before locking its deadly eyes on the most important-looking person in the room: the Minister.
With a shriek of predatory delight, Nugget tucked his wings and dove.
"Look out!"
Before the Aurors could raise their wands, before the Minister could dive under his desk, Echo whipped his wand in a sharp, fluid motion. "Placidus Bestia!"
A ripple of soft, lavender light shot from his wand, striking the diving Cockatrice squarely in the chest just feet from the Minister's nose.
The effect was instant. The aggressive screeching cut off, replaced by a soft, confused cluck. Nugget's dive didn't stop, but it lost all its lethal intent. Instead of tearing the Minister's face off, the Cockatrice landed clumsily on the mahogany desk. It ruffled its leathery wings, looked up at the trembling Minister with wide, dull eyes, and let out a gentle bawk. It then began to peck lazily at the corner of a memo, looking for all the world like a barnyard chicken investigating a bug.
The silence in the room was deafening. The Minister, eyes wide, slowly lowered his hands from his face. Tentatively, shaking like a leaf, he reached out. His hand brushed the creature's scaly head. Nugget leaned into the touch, closing its eyes contentedly.
"As you can see," Echo said, his voice cutting through the shock, "this spell makes any creature, no matter how dangerous, as docile as a tame rabbit."
The officials stared, mouths agape, as their leader petted a Class XXXXX killer beast on his own desk.
"Now," Echo said, clapping his hands together, "onto my other spell."
"And now," Echo announced, his voice echoing slightly in the grand office, "for the next demonstration. Watch closely."
He raised his wand again, the tip glowing softly and pulsing. This time, he didn't aim it directly at Nugget. Instead, he pointed it into the empty air a few feet away. A small, hovering ball of light, no larger than a snitch, materialized at his command. It bobbed gently, casting a warm glow.
Nugget, who had been contentedly preening his feathers under the influence of the calming spell, suddenly froze. His four eyes—two on each head—locked onto the floating orb. His pupils dilated. He let out a soft, interested chirp.
Echo slowly moved his wand, guiding the ball of light through the air. Nugget's heads followed it in perfect unison, entranced. As Echo moved the ball off the desk and towards the floor, Nugget scrambled down after it, his movements fluid and unbothered, following the light like a moth to a flame. He trotted over to Echo's feet, his gaze never wavering from the mesmerizing glow.
"This," Echo explained, looking up at the minister and the others, "is the Lure Spell, Ling lux. It works in conjunction with the first Calming Spell. It allows a handler to move a dangerous creature without force, chains, or fear. Think of it as a... watered-down, ethical version of the Imperius Curse, specifically for beasts. They want to follow the light. It taps into their natural curiosity and overrides their territorial instincts."
He canceled the spell, and the ball of light vanished. Nugget blinked, looking around for a moment before settling down at Echo's boots, still perfectly calm.
"And finally," Echo said, his voice dropping to a soothing murmur. He waved his wand in a slow, rhythmic arc over the Cockatrice. "The Sleep Spell. Bestiam Dormire Pone."
A fine, shimmering dust seemed to fall from his wand tip, settling over Nugget. Instantly, the Cockatrice's eyelids began to droop. He let out a long, rattling yawn that exposed his serrated beak, then slumped forward. Within seconds, both heads were tucked under his wings, and soft, rhythmic snoring filled the room.
"Fast asleep," Echo whispered. "Now, this one is tricky. Like the Lure, it must be used with the Calming Spell first, or it won't work properly. A panicked beast fights sleep. A calm one welcomes it."
He gestured to the snoozing monster. "The spell induces a natural sleep cycle. It essentially fast-forwards them to their next rest period. If they usually nap for twenty minutes, they'll sleep for twenty minutes. If they hibernate for the winter... well, you get the idea. And if you use it without the Calming Spell? Any loud noise or touch will wake them up instantly, and they'll be cranky. But with the combination? They're out cold."
"Are there side effects?" an official asked, looking both terrified and fascinated. "How long does the Calming Spell last?"
"Good question," Echo nodded. "The Calming Spell lasts anywhere from a few minutes to a week, depending on the power put into it and the size of the creature. As for consequences..." He grew serious. "These spells tax the creature's nervous system. You shouldn't use the same spell more than once in a row. After the spell ends, you must allow for a twenty-four-hour cool-down period. If you use them too often... well, the theory is that the creature might fall into a coma they never wake up from, or become permanently brain-dead from the constant magical sedation."
He paused, letting that sink in. "It's just a theory, of course. But I'm sure no one here wants to be the one to test it."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. Even Ragnok looked suitably grim.
"Right," Echo said, clapping his hands together softly so as not to wake Nugget. "So we have control. We have movement. We have sedation. But we still need to move them from point A to point B safely."
He reached into his magic satchel once more, rummaging around for a moment before pulling out a simple, polished wooden box. It was small, unassuming, and looked like a small wooden shipping crate.
"Behold," Echo declared, holding it up like a prize. "The Box! Available in several disquietude colors, styles, and sizes."
"And how, exactly," the sickly sweet, high-pitched voice of Dolores Umbridge cut through the room, "is a simple wooden box going to be of any assistance to the Ministry? We are discussing dangerous creatures, Mr. Echo, not storing winter cloaks."
Ragnok, who was standing on the table next to the box to be seen, bared his sharp, gold-capped teeth. "Keep your bleeding bloomers on, woman," the Goblin clerk growled, causing several witches to gasp in scandal. "He's getting to it."
Umbridge opened her mouth to retort, her face flushing an ugly shade of puce, but Minister Minchum held up a weary hand, motioning for her to stay silent. He looked like he was already regretting this meeting.
"As I was saying before the interruption," Echo said, leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on the edge of the heavy mahogany table. "This isn't just a box. It's a specially enchanted transport unit designed to hold and safely move magical creatures. It is nearly unbreakable, except for certain very specific situations."
He tapped the lid. "It's bigger on the inside than the outside—standard Undetectable Extension Charm work, but reinforced by goblin metalwork. This allows a creature to move, stretch, and lie down comfortably, rather than being crammed in like a sardine. There's a small, filtered window hole here for air flow and for food to be safely deposited without opening the lid."
Echo traced a rune carved into the side. "Most importantly, it has dampening enchantments woven into the wood itself to keep a magical beast's unique abilities from being used or leaking out. No fire breath melting the lock, no teleportation, no allure. It can be shrunk for easy carry, enlarged for loading, and locked with a variety of complex spells."
A wizard with a monocle raised his hand tentatively. "You mentioned 'unique situations' where the box is not unbreakable. Could you elaborate?"
"Right," Echo nodded. "Safety feature. If some idiot takes a box meant for a Niffler—small size—and tries to use an Enlargement Charm on it to fit a Hippogriff, the box's internal geometry won't accept the conflicting magic for very long. The enlargement won't stick permanently, and the box will attempt to return to its original, normal size."
"But..." the wizard frowned, "if the box shrinks back down with a Hippogriff inside, wouldn't the creature be crushed to death?"
"No," Echo said simply. "The box is designed to fail safe. If the internal pressure exceeds the Extension Charm's capacity, the wood will shatter outward. The box breaks, and the creature breaks free unharmed."
"I see," the wizard murmured, looking slightly pale at the thought of a Hippogriff suddenly exploding out of a crate in the middle of transport.
"What happens if you use a potion on the box?" another witch asked, peering at the wood grain. "To reinforce it, perhaps?"
"Don't," Echo said immediately.
The witch bristled. "Well, I don't see why not, if we were to use a Strengthening Solution or—"
"Don't," Echo cut her off, his voice dropping to a serious, deadpan tone. He leaned forward, staring her directly in the eyes. "Just... don't."
The room fell silent. The way he said it suggested consequences far worse than a broken box, perhaps involving explosions or something turning inside out that shouldn't be. The witch slowly lowered her hand, deciding not to press her luck.
"And regarding the dampening field," a wizard from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures spoke up. "How can we be sure it actually restrains a creature's magical abilities? We can't just take your word for it."
"Fair point," Echo agreed, standing up and stretching his arms. "I suppose a demonstration is in order."
He looked down at the box on the table. "I would use Nugget, but he's currently asleep, and he gets cranky if I wake him up for show-and-tell. So, I'll need a different test subject."
A wave of palpable dread washed over the room. The Minister gripped the arms of his chair. Umbridge looked like she wanted to hide under the table. Every Ministry official froze, their eyes locked on Echo's hand, terrified of what nightmare the boy was going to pull out into the meeting hall this time.
He closed his eyes, the air in the room suddenly growing heavy and static-charged. Echo reached out with his mind, past the Ministry wards, past the miles, locking onto a specific, fiery signature he knew well. He pulled.
CRACK!
The sound was like a cannon blast, shaking the very foundations of the courtroom. In the center of the room, displacing a massive volume of air and sending papers flying like confetti, a nightmare materialized. It was immense, covered in black scales, with a spiked tail that thrashed dangerously close to the front row of desks. Its yellow eyes burned with predatory malice, and smoke drifted from its nostrils.
"Behold," Echo announced, spreading his arms wide as if introducing a new toaster. "A dragon."
Pandemonium erupted instantly.
"DRAGON!" a witch in the back screamed, scrambling over her desk.
"AURORS! WE NEED AURORS!" Barty Crouch Sr. bellowed, drawing his wand with a trembling hand.
Dolores Umbridge let out a high-pitched squeak and ducked under her desk, her pink cardigan vanishing from view.
The Hungarian Horntail, confused and cramped in the strange environment, let out a deafening roar that rattled the teeth of everyone present. It reared back, its spikes scraping the high ceiling.
"SILENCE!" Ragnok roared, his goblin voice amplified magically to boom over the screams. "STOP SCREAMING, YOU COWARDS! IT IS UNDER CONTROL!"
Echo, looking completely unbothered by the apex predator breathing down his neck, stepped off his crate. "Relax, everyone," he called out, his voice calm and soothing. "He's perfectly calm. Aren't you, big guy?"
He walked right up to the beast. The Ministry officials watched in horrified silence, expecting the boy to be incinerated. Instead, Echo reached up and fearlessly scratched the dragon under its spiky chin.
"Who's a good boy?" Echo cooed, his tone affectionate. "You are! Yes, you are!"
To the shock of the assembly, the terrifying Hungarian Horntail let out a low, thrumming purr. It leaned into Echo's hand, closing its eyes and looking for all the world like an oversized, scaly kitten.
"He's a sweetheart," Echo told the stunned room. "Now, onto the demonstration."
He turned back to the wooden crate he had been standing on. He pointed his wand at it. "Engorgio!"
The crate swelled rapidly, expanding outward and upward until it was a massive shipping container, easily as tall as the dragon itself. Echo walked over to the side, undoing a latch and swinging the heavy door open. From his magic satchel, he pulled out a massive, raw shank of beef, the scent of blood filling the air.
"Dinner time!" Echo called out, tossing the meat into the box's dark interior. He turned to the dragon and clicked his tongue. "Go on! Get it!"
The Horntail's eyes snapped open. It scented the meat and, with a clumsy, eager shuffle, squeezed itself into the enlarged box, its spiked tail disappearing inside with a final swish. Echo slammed the door shut and tapped the lock with his wand.
"Colloportus!"
The lock clicked with a magically amplified sound of finality. Echo patted the side of the box. "Now, this isn't just a cage," he explained to the breathless officials, who were slowly peering out from behind their desks. "It's a luxury transport unit. Observe."
He pointed to a shuttered opening on the side. He slid it back, revealing a magical window. The Horntail's massive head popped into view, looking out curiously, munching on the beef. It looked content, not stressed.
"Comfortable, secure, and with a view," Echo said. "But that's not the best part. Ragnok, if you would?"
The Goblin clerk stepped forward. He and Echo walked to opposite ends of the massive container. They grabbed the small iron handles.
"On three," Echo said. "One, two, three."
With no visible effort, the boy and the goblin lifted the multi-ton box containing a full-grown dragon as if it were made of styrofoam. They hefted it a few inches off the ground, swung it gently back and forth, and set it down with a feather-light tap.
"Feather-light charms woven into the grain," Echo explained, dusting off his hands. "Extremely light. One wizard could transport a herd of Hippogriffs in their pocket."
"And finally," Echo continued, his expression turning serious, "the safety features. As you all know, any dragon worth their salt can breathe fire. It's a bit of a hazard during transport. But while inside this box..."
He turned to the window where the dragon was still chewing. He pointed his wand directly at the beast's nose.
"Incendio!" Echo commanded, using one of his dragon's spells as a command for the Beast to unleash its fiery weapon.
Inside the box, the Horntail's throat glowed orange. It opened its mouth to unleash a torrent of flame... but nothing happened. It coughed, looked confused, and tried again. A tiny puff of harmless soot drifted out, but not a single spark. The officials gasped, bracing for the heat, then slowly relaxed as they realized they weren't burning.
"Magical dampening wards," Echo declared, turning back to the Minister with a smug grin. "No fire, no acid, no magic. Just a big, heavy lizard in a box. We call it the 'Beast-B-Gone' crate."
The courtroom exploded into frantic whispering.
"Did you see that?"
"No fire! Not a spark!"
"And he lifted it! With one hand!"
"Do you think it's safe? Really safe?"
"It seems too good to be true..."
The monocled wizard cleared his throat loudly, silencing his neighbors. "Mr. Echo," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "While impressive, I must ask about the long-term stability. What if the enlargement charm fails mid-transport? Or the dampening field fluctuates?"
Echo leaned against the massive crate, looking bored. "The enlargement charm isn't anchored to the physical structure of the box. It will hold for as long as the wood holds and the charm is refreshed. However," he added, a mischievous glint in his eye, "if you leave it alone without recharging the rune every hour, it will eventually revert. Slowly. Over the course of about an hour. If there's a creature inside when that happens... well, the box will simply shatter around them. Messy for the box, fine for the beast."
He gestured to the small window hole. "And before you ask about the 'safety' of this little opening—yes, if you are an absolute idiot and stick your arm inside a box containing a hungry Manticore, you will likely pull back a stump. Go ahead, make it a game. See how much limb you can keep."
The wizard paled.
"Clearly, I'm being sarcastic," Echo drawled, rolling his eyes. "Use common sense. Use a metal hook to feed dangerous creatures. Use a spyglass to peer inside if you're that worried. It's a window, not an invitation for a handshake."
"What about escape?" another official piped up. "What if we put a small creature, like a Niffler, into a dragon-sized box? Surely it could squeeze out through the air holes?"
Echo stared at the man for a long, uncomfortable moment. "Then don't put a Niffler in a dragon box," he said slowly, as if speaking to a toddler. "Use the Niffler box for the Niffler. Use the dragon box for the dragon. It's really not that complicated."
More whispering broke out, a mix of awe and skepticism. Finally, Minister Minchum raised his hands for silence.
"Enough!" he boomed. The room fell quiet. He turned his gaze to Echo, his expression calculating. "Mr. Echo... this is all very impressive. But the Ministry operates on a budget. We cannot afford to replace our entire transport infrastructure with expensive, custom-made enchanted artifacts. What is the cost per unit?"
Echo shrugged. "For materials? Anywhere from five to twenty Galleons."
A shockwave went through the room. Jaws dropped.
"Five to twenty?" a witch gasped. "Don't you mean five hundred to two thousand?"
"No," Echo said flatly. "Five to twenty. Depending on the size. Wood, hinges, nails, and basic runic carving tools. Labor costs are extra, obviously—I didn't factor that in, since I made this one myself in an afternoon. But the materials are cheap."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rolled-up scroll. "I also drew up the blueprints. Detailed instructions on how to construct and enchant each size variation. They must be followed exactly—inch for inch, rune for rune—or the magic won't hold, and the box will fail. But if your craftsmen are competent, it's straightforward work."
He tossed the scroll onto the Minister's desk. Minchum picked it up as if it were made of gold.
"And the spells?" Minchum asked, his voice hushed. "The calming spell? The lure? The sleep spell? How difficult are they to teach? We would need to retrain our entire workforce."
"Super easy," Echo scoffed. "Barely an inconvenience. I taught a group of first-years the basics in a week. Well," he amended, "the ones who actually talk to me without screaming. Even a squib could probably manage the wand movements if they tried hard enough. Your 'expert' handlers should be able to master them over a lunch break."
The courtroom exploded into chaos.
"Five Galleons?! Impossible!"
"Lunch break?! He insults our entire profession!"
"But if it works... the savings!"
"We could revolutionize the Department!"
Minister Minchum slammed his gavel down, the sharp crack cutting through the din. "Silence!" he roared. "Order! I will have an order!" The officials reluctantly quieted down, though the frantic whispering continued. Minchum turned back to Echo, rubbing his temples as if warding off a migraine. "Mr. Echo," he said, his voice strained. "This is... a lot to process. Your proposals are radical. Your methods are... unconventional. And your pets are terrifying. The Wizengamot needs to deliberate. Privately." He gestured to the heavy double doors. "Please step outside. Take your goblin associate with you. And for the love of Merlin, take your creatures."
Echo nodded, his expression serene. "Of course, Minister."
He tucked the sleeping Nugget securely under one arm. With his free hand, he pointed his wand at the massive crate. He undid the latch and swung the door open. Inside, the Hungarian Horntail looked up, a piece of beef hanging from its mouth.
"Party's over, big guy," Echo said softly. He focused his mind, visualizing the rocky crag in Romania where he had first found the beast. He pushed with his magic.
CRACK!
The box was empty. The dragon was gone, returned to its home range in an instant. Echo tapped the crate with his wand.
"Reducio!"
The massive container shrank rapidly, collapsing in on itself until it was once again a small, unassuming wooden box. Echo scooped it up and dropped it back into his satchel. With a polite nod to the assembly—and a wink at a fuming Umbridge—he turned and strode out of the room, Ragnok following close behind. Outside in the corridor, the silence was heavy. Echo leaned against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor. Ragnok sat beside him on a bench, his legs swinging slightly.
They waited. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Then forty. Echo entertained himself by playing a silent hand-clapping game with Shimmer, the Demiguise, who had reappeared on his knee. Ragnok busied himself with a stack of parchment he had produced from thin air, muttering about interest rates. Finally, after an hour and fifteen minutes, the heavy double doors creaked open. The young wizard in lime-green robes peeked out, looking even more terrified than before.
"Mr. Echo?" he squeaked. "The Minister will see you now. Alone."
Echo stood up, dusting off his robes. He looked at Ragnok. The goblin didn't look up from his ledger.
"Go on," Ragnok grunted. "I will wait here. If they try anything funny, scream. I secretly brought my axe."
Echo grinned. "You're the best, Ragnok."
He walked back into the courtroom. The atmosphere had changed. The frantic energy was gone, replaced by a heavy, solemn silence. The officials looked exhausted. Minchum looked like he had aged ten years.
"Mr. Echo," the Minister said, his voice grave. "Please. Step forward."
Echo stepped back onto his crate, facing the Minister.
"We have deliberated," Minchum began, interlacing his fingers on the desk before him. "And we have reviewed your... unique proposal. We are prepared to move forward with testing your methods. However, before we proceed, there is one question the Wizengamot wishes to ask."
Echo raised an eyebrow. "Shoot."
"What do you want?" Minchum asked simply.
Echo blinked. "Excuse me?"
"What do you want from us?" Minchum elaborated, his gaze intense. "In exchange for what we can only describe as a small miracle. Your solutions... they are elegant. Effective. Affordable. They do not solve every problem the Ministry faces—Merlin knows we have enough of those—but they will lessen our debts by a significant margin and potentially revolutionize our Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."
He paused, his expression hardening slightly. "However, let me be clear: your withdrawal from the Triwizard Tournament is still out of the question. The contract stands."
Echo let out a long, melodramatic groan, throwing his head back. "Of course it does. Why would anything ever be easy? Fine. Keep me in your death trap." He straightened up, his face serious. "But since you asked... I do have two conditions. Two small things."
"Name them," Minchum said.
Echo held up one finger. "First: pass the Beast Freedom Act. Immediately. No committees, no 'further review', no dilly-dallying. I want a complete and total ban on the use and creation of Beast Control Collars. No exceptions for research, no grandfather clauses for existing stock. Illegal. Period." He held up a second finger. "Second: this ban applies to everyone on British soil. That means visiting dignitaries, international tournaments, traveling circuses—everyone. If other countries can't or won't comply, they get turned away at the border, or they accept the new terms. And all existing blueprints? Destroyed. Or locked away in the Department of Mysteries so deep they rot before anyone sees them again. I want my new system and tools implemented within the month."
Minchum nodded slowly. "That is... agreeable. Given the savings and the safety improvements, pushing the legislation through under the guise of 'emergency reform' is within my power. We can do that with relative ease."
He leaned forward. "But what about dividends?"
Echo frowned. "Dividends?"
"Payment, Mr. Echo," Minchum said. "How much do you want to sell this to us for? You hold the intellectual property rights to the spells and the box design. You could demand a licensing fee for every unit built, a royalty for every creature transported. Name your price."
Echo stared at him for a moment, processing the offer. He looked at the greedy gleam in some officials' eyes, the calculating stares of others. He thought about gold. He thought about power.
Then he shrugged. "Nothing."
A stunned silence fell over the room.
"I beg your pardon?" Minchum asked, certain he had misheard.
"Nothing," Echo repeated firmly. "I want nothing at all. Zero Galleons. No royalties. No fees."
"But... why?" Minchum sputtered, genuinely baffled. "This is worth millions! Why wouldn't you want anything for this?"
Echo sighed, leaning his elbows on the podium. "If you really want to pay me back," he said quietly, "then just give credit where it's due. State clearly that I am the creator of the spells, the box, and the bill. Put my name on the patent."
He looked around the room, meeting the eyes of every witch and wizard present. "And apart from that? Share this. Share it with the French Ministry, the American MACUSA, and the Asian councils. Give it to every wizarding government you can find so they can implement it too."
"You want us to... give away a strategic advantage?" Minchum asked, incredulous. "Why?"
Echo looked down at his hands for a moment, then back up at the Minister. His expression was old, far older than his thirteen years. "Because," Echo said softly, "even though you witches and wizards think you run this world, think you are oh-so-much greater than the Muggles with your wands and your towers... at the end of the day, you're all just human. And humans don't rule this world. We just live in it." He gestured vaguely around him, encompassing the Ministry, the country, the planet. "And we've lived very selfishly. Very destructively. We treat everything that isn't us as a resource or a threat."
He paused, his voice gaining strength. "We only have one world, Minister. If we're not going to love it, the absolute least we can do is respect it. Respect the other forms of life that call it home just as much as we do. Because who are we to determine who is better or worse? A dragon? A goblin? A boy? A Minister?" Echo shook his head. "We were all born from nothing. And one day, we will all return to that same nothing. The only thing that matters in between is how we treated the things that shared the journey with us."
The Minister stared at Echo, his mouth slightly open, a strange mix of emotions playing across his face—confusion, surprise, and perhaps a flicker of genuine respect. But before he could respond, a shrill, girlish voice cut through the solemn atmosphere like a rusty saw.
"Mr. Echo," Umbridge simpered, smoothing her pink cardigan with a look of pure disdain. "Your little speech is very touching, I'm sure. Very... quaint. But you speak of destruction and disrespect as if the Ministry is some sort of villainous entity. When, exactly, has the Ministry ever acted with such disregard for magical life? We are the protectors of order, after all."
Echo slowly turned his head to look at her. His serene expression vanished, replaced by a cold, hard stare that made Umbridge shrink back in her seat.
"When?" Echo repeated, his voice dangerously low. "When has the Ministry failed? Dolores, I could stand here until I graduate from Hogwarts, listing the Ministry's sins. Corruption, negligence, prejudice... take your pick. But for simplicity's sake, let's stick to the topic at hand. Let's look at your track record with magical creatures."
He reached into his satchel again. This time, he didn't struggle. He pulled out a black folder, thick and heavy, and dropped it onto the podium. It landed with a wet, heavy plop, like a dead fish hitting the deck.
"This," Echo said, tapping the folder, "is a list of magical species that have gone extinct under the Ministry's direct supervision. Since your founding."
He flipped it open.
"The Golden Snidget," he read aloud. "Hunted to near extinction for sport in Quidditch matches, sanctioned by early Ministry officials who enjoyed the spectacle. Only saved by a sanctuary established by a private citizen, not the government."
He flipped a page.
"The Dodo—or Diricawl, as we know it. While Muggles believe they hunted it to extinction, the Ministry's negligence in protecting its habitats from Muggle encroachment led to massive population declines. You barely managed to hide the survivors."
He flipped again, faster now.
"The Glumbumble of the Scottish Highlands. Wiped out by unchecked potion ingredient harvesting in the 1800s. The Ministry issued permits for it."
"The Lesser Spotted Griffin. Hunted to extinction because they were considered 'pests' by wealthy landowners. The Ministry did nothing to stop it."
He looked up, his eyes burning. "And that's just here. In the UK. In your recorded history. If I were to compile the failures of every wizarding government across the globe?"
He slammed the folder shut. "The number is one hundred and eighty-nine. One hundred and eighty-nine unique, beautiful species of magical creatures, gone forever. Erased from existence. And that's just the animals. I haven't even started on the plants."
The room was dead silent.
"That includes two entire species of dragons," Echo continued relentlessly. "And a unique subspecies of unicorn that once lived in the forests of India. Gone. Because of greed. Because of ignorance. Because of humans. Because of you."
"And don't even get me started on the 'conservation' efforts you claim to be proud of," Echo sneered. "The Romanian Longhorn, for instance. You claim their numbers are stable. You claim the breeding program is a success." He shuddered visibly, a look of genuine revulsion crossing his face. "Stable? You are inbreeding them so grossly to keep the numbers up that they are undergoing... pug-ification."
"That is a lie!" a wizard from the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures shouted, standing up, his face red. "The Longhorn population is thriving! They are healthy, majestic beasts!"
"Are they?" Echo asked softly.
He reached into his satchel and pulled out two long, rolled-up scrolls. With a flick of his wand, he sent one soaring into the air. It unrolled with a snap, hanging suspended by magic. It displayed a moving painting of a magnificent dragon: sleek, powerful, with long, elegant horns and a noble snout.
"This," Echo said, pointing, "is a Romanian Longhorn from less than a hundred years ago. A true king of the skies."
He threw the second scroll into the air next to it. It unrolled to reveal a creature that was... wrong. It had bulging, watery eyes that looked in different directions. Its body was squat and barrel-shaped. Its nose was snubbed and pushed into its face, its breathing audible even in the painting as a wheeze. Its wings were smaller, its legs stumpy and bowed.
"And this," Echo said, his voice dripping with disgust, "is a 'prize-winning' Longhorn born last month in your Ministry-sanctioned reservation."
Several officials reeled back in their seats, horror dawning on their faces as they looked between the two images. The contrast was sickening.
"That's not conservation," Echo spat. "That's torture. You're turning apex predators into genetic monstrosities so that you can tick a box on a form and say 'species saved'. It's pathetic."
He looked back at Umbridge, who was pale and silent.
"So don't ask me when the Ministry has failed, Dolores," Echo said quietly. "Ask yourself when you're going to stop failing."
He turned back to the Minister, his shoulders slumping slightly as the adrenaline faded. He suddenly felt very tired.
"We have a duty," Echo said softly. "To the world. To the things that can't speak for themselves. And if we fail in that duty... then we don't deserve the magic we wield."
Minister Minchum stared at him for a long, long time. The silence stretched, heavy and profound. Finally, he nodded. A slow, solemn nod of understanding.
"Very well, Mr. Echo," he said quietly. "Your terms are accepted. The legislation will pass. The blueprints will be distributed freely. And your name will be on every patent."
Echo paused, his hand on the door handle. He turned back, his expression serious. "Actually, Minister... there is one last thing."
Minister Minchum looked up from his papers, a flicker of apprehension crossing his face. "Yes, Mr. Echo? What is it now?"
"The Forbidden Forest," Echo said, his voice hard. "It's becoming a dumping ground. Poachers, exotic pet owners who get bored, even—dare I say it—Ministry departments looking for a quick fix. They're releasing creatures into the forest that have no business being in Scotland. It's destroying the local ecosystem. Native species are being pushed out, food chains are collapsing, and frankly, it's dangerous."
He took a step back toward the podium. "Something has to be done. Stricter border controls on imports, harsher penalties for abandonment... I don't care how you do it, but the influx of invasive species needs to stop. The forest can't accommodate them."
Minchum sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Mr. Echo, while I appreciate your concern, surely you are exaggerating? A few escaped pets hardly constitute an ecological crisis. What exactly have you found in there?"
The monocled wizard, perhaps feeling brave or just foolish, let out a nervous chuckle. "Oh, come now, Mr. Echo. Surely you're being dramatic. What did you find? A stray Puffskein? A lost Kneazle? Perhaps a... purple toad?"
Several other officials chuckled, the tension breaking slightly.
Echo stared at the man. His expression didn't change. He didn't blink. He just stared until the chuckles died down into an uncomfortable silence.
Echo didn't answer with words. He reached into his robes and pulled out his wand. A cold, determined look settled in his eyes.
"Short answer. A," he said sharply, flicking his wand.
CRACK!
A human-sized monkey-like creature with scales and an indent at the top of its head materialized on the floor, clicking its beak menacingly. A Kappa, native to Japan.
"Whole," Echo continued, slashing his wand again.
WHOOSH!
A brightly colored, feathered serpent coiled into existence next to the spider, hissing and flaring its hood. An Occamy, native to India and the Far East.
"Fucking," he snarled, stabbing his wand through the air.
THUMP!
A large, snake-like creature with horns and a gem in its forehead landed with a heavy thud, slithering and hissing. A Horned Serpent, native to the many freshwater rivers and lakes of North America.
"Lot," Echo finished, pointing his wand at the ceiling.
SCREECH!
A terrifying, winged creature with a toothy pelican head swooped down, landing on the railing of the jury box. A Snallygaster, also from North America.
The courtroom was in uproar. Witches screamed, wizards scrambled for cover, and Umbridge had fainted dead away. The four invasive beasts hissed and snarled at the terrified officials, held back only by Echo's invisible barrier of will.
"None of these belong here!" Echo shouted over the chaos. "And this isn't even half of what I've seen! Do you understand now? Or do I need to summon the Runespoor I found in my second year?"
Minister Minchum, pale as a sheet and cowering behind his desk, waved a frantic white handkerchief. "Alright! Alright! We understand! We will look into it! Immediately! Just... please! Send them away!"
Echo nodded, satisfied. With a sweeping motion of his wand, he vanished the creatures, sending them back to the safety of his sanctuary or their native lands. The courtroom fell into a stunned, trembling silence.
"Thank you, Minister," Echo said calmly, pocketing his wand. "I look forward to seeing those new policies."
The Minister of Magic picked up his gavel, weighing it in his hand. "We have much work to do. Dismissed."
Echo turned and walked out of the heavy double doors, leaving the traumatized government of magical Britain in his wake. He had won the battle, but the war for the wild was far from over. And he had a Transfiguration exam on Monday. In the hallway, Ragnok looked up from his ledger, raising a bushy eyebrow.
"Everything going well?" the goblin asked.
"Peachy," Echo replied, adjusting his bag. "Let's go get some ice cream. I'm starving."
"So," Ragnok said as they walked down the corridor towards the lifts, "about that twenty Galleon estimate..."
"Material costs only," Echo grinned, patting his pocket where Sniffles was currently napping on a bed of stolen Galleons. "I never said anything about labor."
Ragnok cackled, a dry, raspy sound. "You'll make a fine goblin yet, boy. A fine goblin indeed."