The scent of old parchment and a faint, unsettling tang of something acrid—perhaps a lingering smell from a past, ill-advised experiment—greeted Echo as he entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Professor Cleen, a tall, wiry wizard with sharp, assessing eyes and a perpetual frown etched on his face, stood before the class. Unlike many of the other professors, Cleen had never quite warmed to Echo. He viewed the boy's 'unorthodox' magic with a thinly veiled suspicion, a constant air of watchful distrust that grated on Echo's nerves.
"Welcome, third-years," Professor Cleen's voice was crisp, almost brittle, cutting through the low murmur of student chatter. "This year, the threats we face will be graver, the stakes will be higher. We will move beyond simple disarming charms and rudimentary shields. Today, we begin with a spell designed for confrontation with a Dark Wizard, a spell meant to incapacitate and disorient without causing permanent harm."
He raised his wand, a slender, dark piece of wood, and his voice boomed with sudden authority. "Obruo Stupeo!"
A shimmering wave of purple light erupted from his wand, slamming into a dummy at the front of the room. The dummy wobbled violently, its painted eyes spinning in its head, before it slumped forward, momentarily disoriented.
"A stunning hex, designed to overwhelm the senses and leave an opponent vulnerable," Cleen explained, his gaze sweeping over the students, lingering a fraction too long on Echo. "Now, rise! Clear the floor!"
With a casual flick of his wand, Professor Cleen sent all the tables and chairs scraping across the room, magically pinning themselves against the far wall. Three test dummies, their faces bland and unexpressive, shimmered into existence along the wall opposite the windows.
"You will come up three at a time," Cleen instructed, his voice brooking no argument. "Perform the spell. I expect conviction, and I expect power. This is not a first-year charm, understood?"
The first three students stepped forward nervously, attempting the spell with varying degrees of success. Some managed a weak pulse of purple light, others a mere spark. Then it was Echo's turn, along with two other students. He stepped forward, a familiar knot of apprehension tightening in his stomach. He raised his gnarled wand, took a deep breath, and performed the odd, almost fluid movement that was unique to his magic.
"Obruo Stupeo!" Echo intoned, focusing on the release method he had taught himself, trying to temper the power, to produce the strongest possible effect.
A faint, almost translucent wisp of pale purple smoke drifted from his wand, barely reaching the nearest dummy before dissipating into nothingness. The dummy remained completely unaffected. A few giggles rippled through the class. Echo's blue hair flared with a frustrated orange.
"Again, Mr. Echo," Professor Cleen said, his voice flat, devoid of encouragement.
Echo tried again, and again. Each time, the result was either a pathetic puff of smoke, a weak flicker of light, or nothing at all. The class began to snicker more openly. His hair pulsed with increasing irritation and embarrassment.
"That is quite enough, Mr. Echo," Professor Cleen finally interrupted, his voice sharp. "While it is commendable that you can, at least, attempt the incantation, you are a third-year. We expect at least half the total strength of this spell. Try again, and this time, do not approach it with the trepidation of a first or second-year student."
Echo grunted, a sound of profound self-disgust. His orange hair darkened to an angry, frustrated red. He was sick of this. Sick of being unable to wield his own magic consistently, of being seen as either an unhinged phenomenon or a complete failure. How could he convince the Dark Beast to manifest his magic at a controlled, moderate strength for a simple test, rather than an all-or-nothing explosion?
Then, a voice echoed in his mind, clear as a bell, Salazar Slytherin's words from a time long past: "Let your will guide the magic, as you will soon command your wand." And then, the reminder of his wand's core: basilisk horn. Salazar had told him to use Parseltongue, to command his wand, to forge a connection born of the serpent's tongue.
Echo nodded slowly, a new resolve hardening his features. His red hair, still angry, began to shimmer with a focused blue. He raised his gnarled wand, the basilisk horn core feeling warm in his grip. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let the Parseltongue flow, a low, sibilant hiss that seemed to wrap around the incantation.
"Ssssh-Obruo Ssssh-Stupeo!"
He focused on the "gather and release" method he had taught himself, pushing the familiar burst of energy without asking the Dark Beast for permission, commanding his own physical response. This time, there was no hesitation. A thick, vibrant wave of purple light, far more potent than Cleen's demonstration, erupted from his wand. It slammed into the dummy with incredible force, not merely disorienting it, but practically exploding it. The dummy crumpled, its wooden limbs shattering like dry kindling, a broken pretzel of splintered wood and stuffing.
A collective gasp ripped through the classroom. Several students shrieked, backing away from the pulverized dummy. Professor Cleen, his perpetual frown replaced by an expression of stark, wide-eyed shock, stared at the smoking remnants of the dummy, then at Echo.
"An… an improvement, Mr. Echo," Cleen finally managed, his voice a little hoarse, his eyes still wide. "Indeed. A significant improvement. Demonstrate once more. This time, perhaps… with a little less… enthusiasm."
Echo, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across his face as his blue hair brightened with genuine awe at the power he had just unleashed, nodded. He was impressed. He raised his wand again, feeling the familiar surge, the taste of Parseltongue on his tongue.
"Ssssh-Obruo Ssssh-Stupeo!"
This time, as the Parseltongue left his lips, a dark, primal energy surged through him, an almost joyful roar from the Dark Beast within. His blue hair exploded into a chaotic maelstrom of deep, swirling violet and angry, crackling black. The spell that erupted from his wand was not just purple light; it was a dark, shadowy color of light, a tangible wave of oppressive power that seemed to devour the light around it. It hit the second dummy, and instead of simply stunning it, the shadowy force spread. It seeped into the stone wall behind the dummy, along the section near the windows, causing the ancient magical wards and the castle's structural integrity to become "stunned." With a sickening groan, that entire section of the classroom wall groaned, then crumbled inwards, leaving a gaping, ragged hole where solid stone had been moments before. Daylight, stark and cold, poured into the now exposed classroom.
Screams erupted from the students, a chorus of pure terror. They stumbled backwards, scrambling away from the crumbling wall, their faces pale with shock. Echo stood frozen, his eyes wide, his violet and black hair crackling with the raw, terrifying power he had just unleashed. He stared at the gaping hole, at the stunned, terrified faces of his classmates, and a cold, dawning horror settled in his gut. Professor Cleen, equally stunned, stared at Echo, his jaw hanging open. Shimmer, usually a faint shimmer, solidified fully on Echo's shoulder, his iridescent eyes dulled with alarm as not even his future sight saw this coming. Sniffles, startled by the noise, poked his head out from Echo's pocket, his beady eyes wide and blinking rapidly.
"That… that was new," Echo whispered, his violet and black hair slowly receding into a shocked, pale blue. He looked at the gaping hole in the wall, then at the terrified students, and a wave of panicked guilt washed over him. He hadn't meant to do that. He had only tried to control his magic, not level a section of the classroom.
"I can fix it!" Echo exclaimed, his voice high and frantic. He raised his gnarled wand, his blue hair flaring with desperate determination. The Dark Beast, sensing his urgent need, allowed him a moment of full, unfiltered control.
"Ssssh-Repario!" Echo hissed, focusing all his will on the destroyed section.
A wave of shimmering, golden light, tinged with an almost invisible dark energy, surged from his wand. It enveloped the crumbled wall, and with a soft whirring sound, the stones began to knit themselves back together. The shattered dummy reassembled, its painted eyes blinking as if coming to life. The cracks in the stone vanished, the scorch marks faded, and the entire section of the wall, instead of merely being repaired, shimmered and transformed. The ancient stones took on a fresh, pristine appearance, as if they had just been laid, polished, and restored to their original state. The magic was not just restorative; it was revitalizing, bringing the wall's very essence back to its prime.
The class, which had been in a state of terrified chaos, now fell silent, staring at the perfectly restored wall and the stunned Echo. Professor Cleen, who had watched the entire transformation with an expression of increasing bewilderment, finally found his voice.
"Mr. Echo," he stammered, his eyes wide, "what in Merlin's name...?"
Echo just stared at him, his pale blue hair a reflection of his internal shock. He had merely tried to fix the wall, to undo the damage, but his magic, fueled by the Dark Beast, had gone beyond simple repair. It had… enhanced it. He didn't know what to say.
"At least I didn't use Bombarda, right?" Echo tried, a nervous, high-pitched laugh escaping him. His pale blue hair flickered with a faint, hopeful yellow, desperately trying to lighten the mood.
Professor Cleen merely continued to stare, his face a mask of disbelief. The class remained silent, their faces a mixture of awe and residual fear. It was clear that the "joke" had fallen flatter than the dummy Echo had first conjured.