It was the beginning of the school year, a time when the castle still hummed with the eager, slightly anxious energy of new beginnings. For Echo, however, it was a dull thrum against a backdrop of absolute nothingness. He sat in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, perched on his stool, a picture of detached indifference. Professor Cleen, a stern man with a perpetually furrowed brow, paced before the class, explaining the nuances of the Patronus Charm. Echo listened, or rather, processed the information, without a flicker of interest. The words were just sounds, the concepts just data points. His black hair, a flat, unchanging grey, reflected his internal state—a canvas devoid of color.
The classroom buzzed with the usual assortment of students. Some were making exaggerated, whispered jokes to others, who snorted with silent laughter. One student meticulously took notes, her brow furrowed in concentration. Another, hunched over his desk, occasionally shot venomous glances at jokesters, but even his usual simmering animosity seemed muted, a distant echo in Echo's perception.
Professor Cleen demonstrated the wand movement, a graceful swirl, and then uttered the incantation: "Expecto Patronum!" A shimmering, ethereal shield of light burst from his wand, a ghostly, majestic falcon that soared through the classroom before dissipating. The class gasped, murmuring with awe, but Echo felt nothing. He understood the mechanics of awe, the physiological responses it elicited, but the emotion itself was alien.
"Now, remember, class," Professor Cleen said, his voice crisp. The Patronus Charm is pure, positive energy. It requires a powerful, happy memory—one that can block out all despair." He looked around the room, his gaze sweeping over each student. "This will be vital in your encounters with Dementors and Leathfold, should you ever face them." He paused, his eyes lingering on Echo for a fraction longer than anyone else.
A few students shifted uncomfortably, remembering the unsettling events that had unfolded during the break. Echo, however, remained utterly still. When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of class, the usual rush for the door commenced. But as Echo gathered his books, Professor Cleen's voice cut through the departing chatter.
"Mr. Echo, if you would, please stay for a moment."
A ripple of suppressed giggles spread through the remaining students. Echo simply blinked. He registered their amusement, but it was just another data point. He couldn't care less. Once the classroom emptied, leaving only Echo and Professor Cleen, the silence felt heavy. Cleen regarded Echo with a troubled expression, his fingers drumming lightly on his desk.
"Come with me, Mr. Echo," he finally said, his voice softer than usual. "There's something I wish to discuss with you, outside."
Echo followed, his footsteps making no sound on the polished floor. They exited the castle, the cool autumn air doing little to stir any sensation within him. Professor Cleen led him away from the bustling courtyards, past the Quidditch pitch, and towards an open clearing near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The trees, dark and imposing even in daylight, loomed in the distance.
Echo stopped, his hollow eyes scanning the clearing. "Why are we here, Professor?" he asked, his voice flat, devoid of curiosity or impatience.
Professor Cleen turned, his expression grave. "Mr. Echo," he began, his gaze piercing, "ever since your… unfortunate encounter with the Dementor this summer, your demeanor has… changed." He paused, searching for the right words. "You are… detached. Emotionless. It's as if a part of you has been stripped away."
Echo offered no comment. He knew. He simply didn't care.
"This is not healthy, Mr. Echo," Cleen continued, his voice laced with genuine concern. "The Dementor's kiss is a horrific thing, but even a prolonged exposure can leave a lingering effect. This vast emptiness, as you've described it to the Headmaster, needs to be filled. And I believe the Patronus Charm is the key."
Echo raised an eyebrow, a flicker of something almost like confusion stirring in the depths of his eyes. "I used the charm, Professor. To break its initial hold, albeit a weak one, but it worked."
"Indeed, it did," Cleen acknowledged. "But that was a mere wisp, a faint silver shield. What you need, Mr. Echo, is a full, corporeal Patronus. A powerful manifestation of pure joy, of happiness so potent it can banish this void within you." He unholstered his wand, his gaze firm. "Observe."
With a determined flick of his wrist and a clear, resonant "Expecto Patronum!" Professor Cleen once again conjured his majestic, shimmering falcon. This time, it soared with even greater power, circling the clearing, its ethereal wings beating silently, radiating a palpable warmth and light that seemed to push back against the encroaching shadows of the forest. The air in the clearing felt lighter, the chill receding, replaced by a faint, hopeful warmth.
"You see, Mr. Echo?" Cleen said, his voice filled with quiet conviction, as the falcon dissolved into sparkling motes of light. "This is what you must strive for. This is how you will fight back against the emptiness." He looked at Echo, his eyes unwavering. "Do you understand?"
Echo stared at the spot where the Patronus had vanished. He understood the concept. He understood the process. But the feeling… that was still beyond his grasp.
"I understand the concept, Professor," Echo said, his voice as flat as ever, his grey hair utterly still. "But what exactly do you want from me?"
Cleen sighed, running a hand over his brow. "I want you to try, Mr. Echo. I want you to try to cast the Patronus Charm at full power. Or, even better, a full corporeal one."
Echo's brow furrowed slightly, a rare flicker of something almost akin to a negative emotion stirring within the void. "I can't," he said, his voice devoid of conviction; it was simply a statement of fact.
"You can, Mr. Echo," Cleen countered, his voice firm. "Dumbledore himself said that while the Dementor did take much, it didn't take everything. You still have positive emotions and memories, locked deep away. You just have to draw on them."
Echo looked down at his wand, which he held tightly in his hand. He gripped it tighter still, his knuckles turning white. "I don't," he said, his voice a low, raspy whisper. They're gone."
"Nonsense, Mr. Echo," Cleen said, a hint of exasperation in his tone. "You're being ridiculous. Just try."
"I can't," Echo repeated, gripping the wand even tighter.
"You can!" Cleen insisted, his voice rising.
"I can't!" Echo yelled, his voice cracking, gripping the wand so hard that the wood bit into his palm, and a thin trickle of blood began to seep from between his fingers.
Cleen, his patience visibly wearing thin, threw his hands up. "Then do it! There's no sense in not trying, Mr. Echo!"
Echo closed his eyes, forcing himself to look inward, deep within himself, searching for a spark, a flicker of light, a single positive memory or emotion. He thought of his old life, before he was spirited away to this one. Nothing. Not a single moment of unadulterated joy. Only pain and anger and regret and sadness, a vast, echoing chasm of negativity. The effort was agonizing, draining what little color remained in his grey hair, leaving it a desolate, dusty white.
He finally opened his eyes, his hollow gaze fixed on Cleen, tears of frustration stinging them. "I have no happy memories!" Echo screamed, his voice raw with a pain that finally broke through his emotional numbness. He raised his wand high into the air, its tip glowing with a malevolent, unholy black light. Calling upon the profound wellspring of negative emotions that was all he could find within himself, he bellowed, "EXPECTO DAEMONEM!"
A thick black energy, swirling like a tornado, erupted from the tip of Echo's wand. It was a mirror image of a Patronus, but reversed, corrupted, and malevolent. Instead of a benevolent animal, a monstrous, dark beast began to coalesce at the top of the vortex. It was large, muscular, with razor-sharp teeth and claws, powerful wings unfurling from its back, and menacing horns curving from its head. Its eyes glowed with an internal, sinister light as it let out a deafening roar that seemed to tear at the fabric of reality. With a chilling pop, three Dementors materialized out of thin air, circling the dark beast and the swirling black tornado in a frenzy of delighted, silent glides.
Professor Cleen stumbled backward, his face paling to an ashen white. His eyes, wide with horror, darted from the monstrous dark beast to the jubilant Dementors, then back to Echo, whose grey hair now blazed with a terrifying, chaotic black. He had seen dark magic before, but never anything so raw, so utterly corrupted.
"Echo, no!" Cleen finally managed to choke out, but his voice was lost in the cacophony.
With a primal scream that echoed through the clearing, Echo threw his wand forward. The swirling black tornado, with the dark beast at its apex and the Dementors circling gleefully, shot out from the wand. It didn't aim for Cleen, but rather tore a path directly into the Forbidden Forest. A terrified yelp, a flash of brown fur – an unlucky deer, caught unaware, was engulfed by the malevolent energy. The black essence enveloped it, and the Dementors, with a horrifying, silent hunger, swarmed, their cloaked forms pressing in. In mere seconds, the deer collapsed, a lifeless husk, its soul utterly consumed.
The dark magic dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind an eerie silence and the still, dead form of the deer. Echo, his face stark white, his black hair flickering wildly with exhaustion, swayed on his feet. The wand clattered from his grasp, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
Professor Cleen, freed from his horrified paralysis, didn't hesitate. He turned and ran, a desperate, gasping flight from the clearing, his heart pounding in his ears, the image of the dark beast and the dead deer seared into his mind. He ran as if his very soul depended on it, leaving Echo a crumpled figure on the forest floor.
Echo awoke to the familiar scent of antiseptic and old linen. His head throbbed, and there was a dull ache behind his eyes. His entire body felt heavy, as if he'd been dragged through a very long, very thorny bush. He blinked, his hollow eyes adjusting to the dim light of the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey's bustling form was nowhere in sight, but he could hear voices—low, urgent whispers coming from beyond the privacy curtains drawn around his bed.
"—utterly irresponsible, Jobel!" Minerva McGonagall's sharp voice, usually so composed, was laced with an undeniable fury. "To leave a student unconscious at the edge of the Forbidden Forest! What were you thinking?"
Echo's black hair, which had been a dull grey, flickered with a faint, agitated blue. He remembered the Patronus lesson, the emptiness, the scream, the dark beast, the Dementors, and the deer.
"You didn't see it, Minerva!" Professor Cleen's voice, usually so steady, was now strained, almost frantic. "You didn't see what he did! That… that thing he summoned!"
Echo shifted slightly, wincing as a muscle in his back protested. He carefully pushed himself up, just enough to catch glimpses of their silhouettes through the gap in the curtains. Minerva, her hands on her hips, was a formidable presence. Cleen, however, looked disheveled, his hair even more ruffled than usual, his face pale in the dim light.
"I saw enough, Jobel," Minerva snapped, her voice still sharp. "I saw an unconscious second-year student, left vulnerable to… to anything that might wander out of those woods!"
"It was not just 'anything,' Minerva!" Cleen insisted, his voice rising with a desperate edge. "He summoned a spell, Minerva! A spell the likes of which I have never seen! It was… it was horrible! Dark! Terrifying!" He took a shaky breath. "He summoned pure darkness, a monster made of shadow and malice. And the Dementors… Minerva, they circled it! Like trained animals, they are their favorite food dangling on a hook! And when he threw that… that thing at a deer… it died, Minerva. Almost as instantly as the Killing Curse. If the strain hadn't knocked Echo out, then I… I would've been next."
A stunned silence followed. Echo, his blue hair flickering with a mixture of shame and something he couldn't quite identify, pulled the blankets closer. He listened, his heart thumping an uncomfortable rhythm against his ribs.
Professor Cleen took a deep breath. His black eyes, usually filled with disdain, were now burning with a fierce, almost prophetic intensity. "That boy." He gestured subtly towards Echo, who was still pretending to sleep behind the curtain. "I don't trust him, Minerva. I had my reservations before, but I don't need to be the Divination teacher to see that boy has darkness in his future. And he will bring it to us. All of us."
Echo's eyes snapped open, a cold sweat plastering his black hair to his forehead, and tears streamed down his temples. He gasped, a ragged sound that tore from his throat, and looked around, disoriented. The familiar, ever-shifting walls of the Room of Requirement loomed around him, silent and vast. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here, only the lingering tendrils of the nightmare. The words, sharp and cruel, echoed in his mind, the stinging pain a fresh wound. That day, he hadn't felt it; his emotions were a distant, unreachable thing. But now, the memory of the spell, the horrifying power he had wielded, twisted in his gut. He buried his face in his hands, sobs wracking his body.
A soft chittering and a gentle nudge brought him back. Shimmer, a faint silver ripple, blinked up at him with large, intelligent eyes, while Sniffles, a tiny, furry ball, poked his head out from under Echo's arm. Echo reached for them, pulling both creatures into a desperate hug. They cuddled into him, their soft fur a comforting warmth against his trembling body, trying to calm him. He hadn't felt it then, the sheer, unadulterated terror of casting that one horrible spell: EXPECTO DAEMONEM. He felt it now, a cold dread that settled deep in his bones. He would never, ever use it again, and he would never again be able to produce a Patronus in any form.