Echo was woken up from a dreamless sleep by someone roughly shaking him! He opened his heavy eyelids to see his roommate, Severus, shaking him like a rag doll.
"Huh-wha?" He groggily said, half dead.
"For the love of Merlin, I thought you were dead," Snape said in an irritated tone.
Echo got up, rubbing his eyes and asking, "What's with all the shaking?"
Snape huffed and told him while grabbing a bathrobe, "Since you're new, I thought I'd at least do the simple courtesy of waking you up before breakfast. You didn't eat anything yesterday, and also you smell like a pig, so go wash yourself and then put yourself into your proper attire before class starts."
"Okay…..thanks…..I guess?" Echo replied, confused by the mixed signals of his words and actions.
Echo got up to go and do as Snape told him, but he quickly realized there was a problem. First, he had no idea where the bathroom was, and second, he had no idea how to bathe himself! Sure, he understood the concept of getting in water to clean, but that's how far his knowledge went!
In his first life, he probably did know how to bathe himself, but once he went to the hospital, the nurses always bathed him. He had forgotten all of that stuff, especially when his condition got worse and he was practically catatonic. So he decided just to follow Snape and see what he did. After all, monkeys see, monkeys do.
So he followed the ever-so-moody boy to the Slytherin bathroom. When he peeked his head in, he saw that it was a large space divided into two parts, one with a large bath and several showers covered in stalls, and the other had sinks, mirrors, and toilets. He saw Snape sitting in the large tub before getting out and going into one of the stalls, taking note of his bathing suit being the only thing worn.
Echo took that into his brain and produced a towel and bathrobe, went into one of the changing stalls, stripped down into his provided bathing suit, and sank into the tub. It was hot and bubbly, a word he had never known before. It was almost too much to get in. He'd put one toe in and then jump out. But he soon got used to it, and once he got the feeling for the water, he sank right in and let out the first sigh of relief he had felt in a long time! He could feel the bubbles and hot water pull away the sweat, filth, and stink from his body, and he submerged himself above his head in relaxation. Only to quickly realize he couldn't breathe in water, and promptly burst to the surface, coughing!
Once he could feel his lungs again, he saw Snape leave the shower stall, wrapped himself in his bathrobe, and left. Echo quickly followed him, wrapping himself up before grabbing his clothes and speed walking behind him. Once they got back to their room, Echo watched as Servers went behind a changing curtain and took his clothes off the bed beside it. He and Echo were the only two in the room, so he didn't mind stripping down to a towel to copy him.
He really couldn't make anything out in the barely visible silhouette he cast. Echo almost wanted to try to look around the curtains to copy his movements, but that was quickly thwarted as the object of his study caught him.
Severus quickly pushed aside the curtains with his wand and stared down at the younger boy in his pants and white button-up, glaring at him, irritated. Echo jumped in fright at this and just stood there like a deer in headlights.
"What are you doing?" He asked in a demand, but got no answers before asking further, "Are you trying to sneak a peek?"
Echo was shocked by his thought process and tried to deny it, telling him, "Wha-? No no! I don't swing that way…..at least….I don't think I do." He trailed off before thinking about it.
But Severus didn't allow him, as he irritably stated, "Then why are you trying to watch me change?"
"Because….because…..I don't know how." Echo finally admitted while looking at the ground.
"What?", A shocked Severus asked in bafflement.
"I said I don't know how!" Echo yelled at him, eyes closed and fist clenched in anger and embarrassment, while stomping his foot.
Severus put up his hands in defense and told him, "I heard you for the first time. What I meant was that I was simply surprised. Did your parents not teach you how to dress?" Echo said nothing at first as Severus took note of his state of cleanliness and asked him, "And from the looks of it, how to wash and groom yourself?"
Echo's embarrassed expression twisted into one of sour anger as he replied, looking at the ground while clenching his hand on his wrist, "No….they never taught me anything."
Severus sighs and says, "Okay, look, here's the deal. Later today, after school, I'll show you how to bathe and groom yourself properly, and I'll show you how to dress in your school robes. We don't need you to give Slytherin a bad name. BUT only this one time, understand?", Echo rapidly and happily nodded at this. Severus grunted and said, "Good, at least I won't have to tell you how to wipe your own bum." At this, Echo forcefully turns his gaze to the left as sweat drips down his forehead. Severus realizes what this means and says in equal parts disgust and exasperation, "Oh, you gotta be kidding me."
After that, Snape goes step by step on how he should put on clothes, in what order, and more specifically, how to wear his school robes. Echo listens carefully and does everything that the boy tells him. He's clearly aggravated having to explain this to someone like an even younger child, but he knew he would only have to do this once.
Once Echo had succeeded in dressing himself for the first time, the two of them exited their rooms and went over to the commons room, where many of the other Slytherin students were milling about. Echo followed at Snape's heels like a lost puppy, and just as the two were about to leave, three people stopped them. Two ugly ones, and a blond, pretty one with long hair that Echo almost mistook for a girl until he spoke.
"Well, we'll if it isn't the new first year," said the tall, older, blonde-haired boy, staring down at him with stormy gray eyes.
"Who are you?", Echo asked with a tilt of his head.
The blond looked surprised by his question and demanded, "You don't know? How could you not know?!"
Echo sighs and rolls his eyes while saying, "Listen, Goldie Locks, I just found out this place existed less than a day ago. So forgive me for not knowing literally everything!"
The boy makes a humph sound in his throat, and says back, "Well since you are an idiot, I might as well educate you. I am Lucius Malfo!", There was a small ahem beside him, and his face dropped as he introduced his two ugly friends in an unpleasant tone, "Oh and these are my friends, Crabbe and Goyle."
Echo narrows his eyes at him for a long while and asks, "And?"
Lucius looks at him with both anger and shock as he explains, "And?! I am a member of the most esteemed pureblood Wizarding families in all of England!"
"Uhhhhhhhhh." Echo trails off, confused and uncaring of what he was saying.
Lucius sighs and shakes his head while telling him, "And I'm also your Head Boy of Slytherin."
Echo looked at Severus and asked, "What does that mean?"
"He's in charge of all grades in Slytherin below him. He brings us to classes, keeps us in formation, prevents us from getting in trouble, and other things of that nature," Severus explained in a bored tone.
"So… he's basically a class president?" Echo summed up.
"In essence."
"Well, I didn't vote for him. I demand a recount."
"The professors and the actual House Boy decide that," Severus said the last part while glaring at Lucius.
"I demand the professors have a recount." Echo retorted.
"It's set in stone until I graduate or they choose someone else in the next year, and they certainly won't. Also, you should think quite carefully about who you should show respect to." Lucius said to him with a slightly threatening tone and slitted a slight smirk.
Echo just looked at him in exasperation and replied, "Sorry, but I don't really make it a habit to respect or kiss butt to someone who looks like the spokesperson for the Maybelline line of male hair care products."
Lucius growled at this before taking on an unusually calm demeanor and telling him in a vague tone, "So be it. But so that you know." Echo narrowed his eyes at this. "I heard that you lost that Guinea pig of yours. I'm so sorry to hear that," he told him in a mocking tone.
Echo looked at him, confused, then walked back to his room to check, while Lucius stood there with a sly grin with his two sidekicks. He fully expected the boy to come running out in a panic, but was weirdly surprised to see him walk back casually.
"Oh, yeah. I guess he is gone. It did seem a bit quieter." Echo commented while shoving his hand in his pockets.
Lucius looked even more confused by this reaction and asked, "You…guess?"
"I mean….what do I have to say? Boohoo? I really didn't care about it at all," Echo told him, shrugging.
"The Sorting Hat was right about you," Lucius said under his breath.
Looking impatient, Echo gruffly asked, "Are we done? I just realized I haven't eaten anything in over two days, and I'm really hungry!"
Without letting him answer, Echo barged through the three of them and followed Severus out of the Common rooms. Leaving the three boys to stare at him, gobsmacked by his treatment of them and his attitude. Once out of earshot and sight, the three conversed with one another as they watched him leave.
"That kid is a mystery.", said Crabbe.
"And rude too.", spoke Goyle.
Lucius waved them off and told them, "Don't worry about it. He just needs a bit of….persuasion and then he'll be at my feet, just like the rest."
"Except Snape.", Crabbe commented, earning an irate glare from Lucius, before doubling back and saying, "Sorry."
"Also, what the heck do we do with this guinea pig?" Goyle asked while taking the small rodent out of his robes.
"I don't know. Sell it to one of the Hufflepuff kids or Professor Hagrid. There's no reason for us to have it anymore," Lucius said dismissively.
"Can I practice that spell with it?" Crabbe asked excitedly.
Lucius smiles at this question and tells him discreetly, "Fine, but make sure you aren't seen. We should have the three Unforgivables perfected before we leave and join Lord Voldemort's ranks, but that doesn't mean we should be hasty."
Great Hall
Echo entered the Great Hall, his stomach rumbling in protest. The sight of the massive tables laden with every imaginable breakfast food was almost overwhelming. He instinctively headed towards the Slytherin table, still trailing slightly behind Severus Snape, who had already begun to fill his plate with toast and eggs.
"Finally," Echo muttered to himself, grabbing a plate and piling it high with pancakes, bacon, and sausages. He ate quickly, almost inhaling the food, as if afraid it would disappear. The silence at the Slytherin table was palpable, broken only by the clinking of cutlery and the occasional low murmur from distant tables. No one seemed interested in conversation, a stark contrast to the boisterous Gryffindors across the hall.
Once his immediate hunger was sated, Echo slowed down, taking in his surroundings more fully. The ceiling, he noticed, was enchanted to look like the sky outside, mirroring the clear morning light. It was a detail he'd missed in his anxious rush yesterday. He watched as students from other houses chatted and laughed, some even throwing food at each other. A small pang of something he couldn't quite identify—perhaps a fleeting sense of loneliness or just mild curiosity—hit him. He quickly dismissed it. He was used to being alone.
Snape, who had finished eating and was now quietly reading a small, leather-bound book, didn't seem to notice Echo's internal observations. He was entirely absorbed in his text, occasionally making a note on a small piece of parchment. Echo briefly considered trying to talk to him again, but the memory of their last interaction and Snape's evident disinterest deterred him.
Suddenly, a loud hoot echoed through the hall, and a flurry of owls swooped down from the ceiling, delivering the morning post. Letters, newspapers, and parcels fluttered down onto the tables. Echo watched, fascinated, as a large, tawny owl landed gracefully in front of a Gryffindor student, holding a small, brown package.
He didn't expect anything for himself, of course. Who would send him anything? He barely existed in this world, let alone had anyone who knew he was here. So, he wasn't surprised when no owl descended for him. He was, however, surprised when a small, scruffy-looking barn owl, quite unlike the majestic creatures he'd just seen, landed clumsily on the Slytherin table directly in front of him, almost knocking over his goblet of pumpkin juice.
The owl held a rather crumpled, official-looking envelope in its beak. Echo, baffled, carefully took the letter, and the owl, with an indignant hoot, ruffled its feathers and flew off, almost crashing into the enchanted ceiling.
"What's that?" Snape asked, finally looking up from his book, a flicker of curiosity in his usually impassive eyes.
Echo turned the envelope over. It was thick, made of heavy parchment, and sealed with an unfamiliar crest. "I don't know," he replied, tearing it open. Inside, he found a neatly folded letter and a small, official-looking pamphlet.
He unfolded the letter first. It was written in elegant, cursive handwriting, and as he read the first few lines, his eyes widened slightly.
"Dear Mr. Echo," it began. "We are writing to inform you of your official class schedule for the academic year 1969-1970 at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed you will find your detailed timetable and a list of required texts for each subject. We look forward to your attendance and wish you a most productive year."
It was signed by "Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress."
Echo stared at the letter, then at the pamphlet. He hadn't even thought about classes. He just assumed he'd be… doing magic? Training? The reality of actual schooling settled over him like a heavy cloak.
"A class schedule?" Snape asked, leaning slightly closer to get a better look.
Echo handed him the letter and the pamphlet. "Yeah. Looks like we have actual classes."
Snape took them, his eyes quickly scanning the documents. "Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, History of Magic, Astronomy, Defense Against the Dark Arts..." he mumbled, listing the subjects. "Standard first-year curriculum."
Echo peered over his shoulder. "What's... Herbology? And Astronomy? Are we going to be planting stuff and looking at stars? This is a magic school!"
Snape raised an eyebrow, a hint of disdain in his voice. "Magic doesn't just appear from thin air, Echo. These subjects are fundamental to understanding and controlling it. Herbology involves magical plants and their properties, which are crucial for Potions. Astronomy helps us understand celestial influences on magic, particularly Divination and Charms."
Echo grunted, still unconvinced. "Sounds like a lot of work for a bunch of... waving sticks around." he then looked at the sheet again and asked, "What's this one? Care of Magical Creatures?"
Snape rolled his eyes and ignored his question before returning the schedule. "I have to get you to Potions first. Professor Cleen will expect punctuality. He doesn't tolerate tardiness."
Echo sighed. "Great. Another person who's going to yell at me." He pushed his plate away, a sudden feeling of dread creeping in. This was going to be a long day. Then a thought crossed his mind, and he asked, "Wait, why are you helping me?"
"The professor will chaperone you on your first day so you don't get lost, seeing how new you are to everything—even the most simple and fundamental thing," Snape explained without looking at him.
"That's the nicest way anyone has ever called me an idiot." Echo retorted after glaring at the older boy.
Potions Class
Echo and Severus made their way through the winding corridors of Hogwarts, following the flow of other first-year students heading to their respective classes. The castle, which had seemed overwhelming and terrifying just yesterday, now felt slightly less imposing, though still a labyrinth of endless passages and echoing stone. Severus walked with purpose, occasionally glancing back to ensure Echo wasn't lagging too far behind.
The Potions classroom was located deep within the dungeons. It was a chilly, dimly lit chamber filled with the cloying aroma of various ingredients—some sweet, some pungent, and others downright nauseating. Cauldrons of various sizes bubbled gently on long wooden tables, and shelves lined the walls, stacked high with jars of bizarre and unidentifiable components.
Professor Cleen, a thin, stern-faced man with slicked-back black hair and a perpetually displeased expression, stood at the front of the classroom. His voice was a low, sibilant hiss that commanded immediate attention.
"Welcome, first years," Professor Cleen began, his gaze sweeping over the nervous students. "You are here to learn the subtle art of potion-making. It is a delicate and precise science, one that requires absolute focus and meticulous attention to detail. Sloppiness, carelessness, or, Merlin forbid, incompetence will not be tolerated."
He paused, letting his words sink in. His eyes seemed to linger on Echo for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable in their dark depths, before moving on.
"Today," Professor Cleen continued, "we will be brewing a simple Potion of Healing. It is a fundamental concoction, designed to mend minor cuts and bruises. The ingredients are listed on the board."
Echo looked up at the blackboard, which magically displayed a list of ingredients and step-by-step instructions. It seemed straightforward enough: powdered dried nettles, crushed snake fangs, a drop of mandrake sap, and a few other obscure items.
"You will work individually," Professor Cleen announced, "and I expect perfect results. Any student who fails to produce a satisfactory potion will face… consequences." A shiver went through the class.
Echo found an empty cauldron at a table near the back and began to gather his ingredients. He tried to recall Snape's earlier advice about precision, but his mind still felt a little foggy from his sleepless nights. He carefully measured out the powdered nettles, then moved on to the snake fangs. As he crushed them with his mortar and pestle, a wave of dizziness swept over him. The room seemed to tilt, and the sharp scent of the fangs became overwhelmingly potent. He swayed, almost dropping the pestle.
"Echo, are you quite alright?" Professor Cleen's surprisingly close voice startled him. He hadn't noticed the Professor teaching.
"Just… a little lightheaded," Echo mumbled, trying to steady himself.
Professor Cleen peered at him intently, his eyes narrowed. "You did not sleep last night, did you, boy?" It wasn't a question.
Echo flinched, surprised by the professor's perception. "How did you...?"
"Your eyes are bloodshot, your posture is slumped, and you reek of stale air and nervous energy," Professor Cleen stated flatly. "Lack of sleep is a severe impediment to potion-making. It dulls the senses and impairs judgment. You will find yourself at a distinct disadvantage." He then leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "And you will find yourself in detention if you do not complete this potion to my satisfaction."
He straightened up and moved on, leaving Echo feeling even more pressured. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his head, and resumed crushing the snake fangs. He tried to follow the instructions precisely, but his hands trembled slightly, and his focus wavered. He added the mandrake sap, then stirred the concoction clockwise exactly seven times, as instructed.
As he added the final ingredient—a sprig of dittany—the potion in his cauldron began to glow a sickly greenish-yellow instead of the vibrant emerald green it was supposed to be. A faint, acrid smoke rose from it, and a bubbling sound, far more aggressive than the gentle simmer of his classmates' cauldrons, started.
Professor Cleen, who had been circling the room, stopped directly behind Echo's cauldron. He stared grimly at the bubbling, foul-smelling liquid.
"Mr. Echo," he said, his voice dangerously low. "What, precisely, have you created?"
Echo swallowed hard. "A Potion of Healing, Professor."
Professor Cleen prodded the potion with his wand. It hissed menacingly. "This, Mr. Echo, is not a Potion of Healing. This appears to be a highly unstable concoction that could, at best, cause a nasty rash, and at worst, induce spontaneous combustion."
A few students nearby gasped.
"But I followed the instructions!" Echo protested, though his voice sounded weak even to his own ears.
"Evidently, you did not follow them precisely enough," Professor Cleen retorted, his gaze sharp. "Your lack of rest has clearly impacted your ability to concentrate. This will not do. You will remain after class and rewrite the entire chapter on fundamental potion ingredients, paying particular attention to their properties and reactions. And you will not touch a cauldron again until you have demonstrated a clear understanding of the material."
Echo's shoulders slumped. His first class, and he was already in detention. This was going to be a long year indeed.
History of Magic
The next class was History of Magic, held in a dusty, ancient classroom on the second floor. Echo dreaded it already, primarily because Professor Binn, the instructor, was a ghost—not just any ghost, but a particularly monotonous one whose lectures were rumored to lull even the most energetic students into a deep slumber. Echo slumped into a seat at the back. Professor Binn, a translucent figure floating above a cluttered desk, began his lecture on the Goblin Rebellions of the 17th century. His voice was a thin, reedy drone, and within minutes, Echo felt his eyelids growing heavy. He tried to fight it, pinching himself and even digging his nails into his palm, but the combination of the professor's, the stuffy air, and his own exhaustion from the previous night proved too powerful. Before he knew it, his head hit the desk with a soft thud, and he was out cold. He woke with a start to a sharp rap on the desk. Professor Binn, his translucent form hovering directly over Echo's face, looked even more displeased than Professor Cleen.
"Mr. Echo," the ghost intoned, his voice devoid of any warmth. "While I understand the historical significance of the Goblin Rebellions can be… weighty… I hardly expected a student to use my lecture as an opportunity for slumber."
Echo blinked, disoriented. "Uh… sorry, Professor, I didn't mean to."
"Indeed," Professor Binn replied, his spectral eyes narrowing. "Perhaps a comprehensive essay on the socio-economic impact of the 1612 Goblin Rebellion will serve as a suitable wake-up call. Due tomorrow morning."
Echo groaned inwardly. Another assignment, another consequence. This was getting ridiculous.
Charms Class
Charms class was a stark contrast to the dreary dungeon of Potions and the somber History of Magic classroom. It was held in a bright, airy classroom on the third floor, filled with colorful diagrams of intricate wand movements and incantations. Professor Flitwick, a tiny, excitable wizard who had to stand on a stack of books to see over his podium, beamed at the class.
"Welcome, young witches and wizards, to Charms!" he squeaked, his voice surprisingly robust for his size. "Here, you will learn the art of enchanting objects, summoning items, and illuminating your way! Today, we begin with the simplest, yet most fundamental, of charms: the Levitation Charm! Wingardium Leviosa!"
He demonstrated with a flourish, and a feather on his desk gracefully floated into the air. The class watched, wide-eyed and eager.
"Now, everyone, repeat after me: Wingardium Leviosa! Remember the wand movement: swish and flick! And don't forget the pronunciation! The 'gar' is long and hard!"
Echo, still feeling the lingering effects of his sleepless night, found himself struggling. He tried to mimic Professor Flitwick's precise wand movement, but his hand felt clumsy, and his flick lacked the necessary snap. When he attempted the incantation, it came out as a mumbled, garbled mess. If that didnt help, then his wand, the crooked piece of black bark, didnt even engage the proper magical effect. It was almost like it wasn't working at all, and he was waving around a weird stick like some child! Then again…he was a child. Beside him, some random first year, with an air of effortless concentration, managed to levitate his feather on the first try. It hovered steadily above his desk, a small testament to his growing magical prowess.
"Excellent, Mr. Wimmple, excellent!" Professor Flitwick chirped, bustling over to admire Severus's feather.
Echo gritted his teeth and tried again. "Wingardium Leviosa!" he barked, flailing his wand. Instead of levitating, his feather shot sideways and slammed into the wall with a soft thwack, then bounced off and landed in a student's hair. The student shrieked.
Professor Flitwick hurried over, his smile faltering. "Oh dear, Mr. Echo. A little too much… enthusiasm, perhaps?" He gently removed the feather from the student's hair, apologizing profusely. "The Levitation Charm requires finesse, precision, and a clear mind. It seems your magic is… somewhat unruly today."
Echo clenched his fist around his wand. "Unruly? It's just a feather!"
"Even a feather," Professor Flitwick said patiently, "can be a challenge if one's magical control is underdeveloped. Perhaps you could stay after class, and we can go over the wand movements more slowly?"
Echo sighed. Another detention. Or at least, remedial lessons that felt suspiciously like detention. He was quickly racking up a reputation, and not the good kind.
Herbology Class
Echo trudged to Herbology class, a sense of weary resignation settling over him. It was held in one of the Hogwarts greenhouses, a vast, steamy structure filled with exotic and often unsettling plants. Professor Bloom, a kindly-looking witch with dirt under her fingernails and a perpetually cheerful disposition, greeted the class with a wide smile.
"Welcome, class, to Herbology!" she chirped, her voice as bright as the sunlight filtering through the glass panes. "Today, we'll be learning about Puffapods! They're wonderful little plants, but they require a gentle touch and careful handling, as they can release a rather potent-smelling fluid if startled!"
She demonstrated, carefully repotting a small, pulsating plant that resembled a giant green bean pod. As she finished, a small puff of yellowish gas escaped the pod, and she chuckled. "See? I'm a little startled, but no harm done!"
Echo, however, was already feeling a prickle of unease. He wasn't a fan of plants, especially not the ones that seemed to have a mind of their own. He was given a Puffapod and a small trowel and instructed to repot it with the same gentle care Professor Bloom had demonstrated. He tried his best, but his hands felt stiff, and the plant seemed to resist his touch. As he carefully lifted it from its old pot, his fingers brushed against one of its fleshy, sensitive tendrils. The Puffapod immediately bristled, its surface rippling violently. Before Echo could react, it let out a loud, wet splat, and a thick, yellowish, extremely foul-smelling fluid erupted from it, coating his face and the front of his robes. A collective groan went through the class, and several students pinched their noses. Professor Bloom, however, rushed over, her cheerful demeanor barely wavering.
"Oh dear, Mr. Echo! A bit of a… spirited reaction from your Puffapod, wouldn't you say?" she said, her voice laced with an attempt at humor that didn't quite land. She dabbed at his face with a handkerchief that immediately turned yellow and smelled even worse. "It seems your… approach to plants is a tad too robust. Perhaps you could spend some time after class cleaning out the Mandrake pots? It'll give you a chance to work on your gentle touch."
Echo could only nod, gagging slightly at the persistent stench. Another detention. At this rate, he'd be spending more time in detention than in actual classes.
Astronomy Class
As evening fell, Echo found himself shivering on the highest Astronomy Tower, clutching his telescope. Professor Starlit, a dreamy-looking wizard with a long, flowing beard and eyes that seemed to gaze constantly at distant galaxies, began his lecture on the constellations.
"Tonight, class, we observe the majestic Orion," Professor Starlit murmured, gesturing with his wand towards the vast expanse of the night sky. "Its bright stars have guided sailors and inspired poets for millennia. Note the distinct belt, the shimmering sword…"
Echo, however, was miserable. The wind whipped around him, and the cold seeped into his bones. He fumbled with his telescope, trying to adjust the focus, but his fingers were numb. His vision blurred, and the stars seemed to dance erratically. He yawned widely, a silent, frustrated sob building in his chest.
"Mr. Echo," Professor Starlit's voice cut through the stillness. "Are you quite well? Your… enthusiasm for the celestial wonders appears somewhat diminished."
"Just cold, Professor," Echo mumbled, rubbing his arms.
"Indeed," Professor Starlit replied, his eyes still fixed on the stars. "Perhaps a lack of proper attire? Or perhaps… a lack of sleep again?" He turned his gaze to Echo, a knowing look in his eyes. "The cosmos demands clarity of mind, Mr. Echo. A clouded gaze will miss the subtle dance of the planets. You will find that an accurately charted constellation requires meticulous attention. Perhaps you could spend some time in the library, charting the positions of the major constellations for the next month? Due by next week's class."
Echo sighed. Another assignment. Another task to pile onto his growing list of failures. He was tired, he was hungry, and he was covered in reeking plant fluid. This magical world was turning out to be far more tedious and unpleasant than he could have ever imagined.
Later that evening, after being thoroughly cleaned and dressed by Severus (who tutted and sighed throughout the entire process, but did it nonetheless), Echo found himself back in the Slytherin common room. He avoided eye contact with the other students, especially Lucius Malfoy, who seemed to be watching him with a knowing smirk. He retreated to his bed, pulled out his notebook, and began to write, his frustration and exhaustion pouring onto the page. He wrote about Professor Cleen's stern gaze and the explosive potion. He wrote about Professor Link's droning voice and the essay he now had to write. He wrote about Professor Flitwick's disappointed face and the untamed feather. He wrote about the disgusting Puffapod fluid and Professor Starlit's calm, yet demanding, assignment.
He finished with: "This is impossible. Every class is a disaster. Every teacher hates me. I'm cursed, literally, and now I'm failing at everything. Maybe I should just run away. Where would I even go? What's the point? I'm going to die here anyway."