The Ministry of Magic hummed with its usual frenetic energy the day after Halloween, a stark contrast to the previous night's festivities. Barty Crouch Sr., however, was oblivious to the residual cheer, his stern face illuminated by the flickering gaslight of his office lamp. He sat hunched over his desk, a towering stack of parchment before him, each sheet detailing some minutiae of the Triwizard Tournament. His quill scratched furiously across the page, meticulously cataloging every potential rule infraction and security concern. The incident with Echo and the Goblet of Fire still rankled, a glaring blemish on his otherwise perfectly organized tournament. He would ensure such chaos did not recur.
A soft knock interrupted his grim concentration. "Enter," he barked, not looking up.
A timid-looking junior assistant, barely out of Hogwarts, poked his head around the door. "Mr. Crouch, sir. Someone has requested a meeting with you."
Barty grunted, his quill still moving. "Who is it? I'm exceedingly busy."
"It's... a representative from Gringotts, sir," the assistant stammered, clearly intimidated by Crouch's brusque demeanor.
At the mention of Gringotts, Barty's head snapped up, his eyes widening in alarm. His quill clattered onto the desk, splattering ink across a carefully drafted document. "Gringotts?" he repeated, his voice sharp with a sudden, icy dread. "Why didn't you say so at once? Show them in! No, no, I'll go to them. Where are they?"
The assistant, flustered, pointed a trembling finger down the corridor. "Meeting Room Seven, sir."
Without another word, Barty swept past the young man, his long strides carrying him quickly down the corridor. His mind raced, a thousand anxieties about his family vault, his finances, and any potential scandals swirling through his head. Gringotts representatives rarely visited the Ministry unless there was a grave matter to discuss.
He burst into Meeting Room Seven. The room was sparsely furnished, dominated by a large, polished oak table. Seated at one end was a goblin, his sharp features illuminated by a single, enchanted globe hovering above the table. He was bent over a piece of parchment, his quill scratching with the same focused intensity that Barty himself had exhibited moments ago. He didn't look up as Barty entered.
"Are you Bartemius Crouch Senior?" the goblin asked, his voice a low, guttural rumble, still not raising his gaze from his work.
"I am," Barty replied, somewhat taken aback by the goblin's dismissive demeanor. He straightened his robes, trying to project an air of authority.
The goblin finally put down his quill, its tip gleaming with fresh ink. He looked up, his sharp, intelligent eyes slightly narrowed, fixing on Barty. "I am Ragnok, representing Gringotts Wizarding Bank."
Barty didn't waste a second. "Ragnok. Is there something amiss with my family's vault? My accounts? Every coin accounted for? Has anything been... touched?" His voice was laced with barely concealed panic.
Ragnok's expression remained impassive. "No, Mr. Crouch. Your accounts are precisely as they should be. Every coin is accounted for, and no transaction has been made since your last visit three days prior."
Barty let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, the tension draining from his shoulders. "Thank Merlin. Then, what is the nature of this urgent meeting, Ragnok? I was given to understand it was pressing."
Ragnok picked up his quill again, twirling it idly between his fingers, his eyes still fixed on Barty. "I am here, Mr. Crouch, to represent one Mr. Echo regarding his unwanted placement in the Triwizard Tournament."
Barty blinked at Ragnok, his mind struggling to process the goblin's words. "Mr. Echo?" he stammered, his voice laced with disbelief. "You represent… him?"
Ragnok nodded, a flicker of impatience in his sharp eyes. "Indeed, Mr. Crouch. I represent Mr. Echo."
"The little third-year student from Hogwarts?" Barty pressed, a bewildered frown creasing his brow. "The one who… released a wyvern in the Great Hall and then ran off with the Goblet of Fire? That Echo?"
"Yes, Mr. Crouch," Ragnok stated, his voice growing sharper. "The very same. Can we please just get on with this?" Barty opened his mouth, no doubt to ask yet another incredulous clarifying question, but Ragnok cut him off with a guttural growl. "Yes, yes, yes! It is that boy! Now, are you quite finished with your theatrical exclamations, or shall we proceed with the matter at hand?"
Barty, chastened, cleared his throat. "It's just… I didn't expect Mr. Echo to hire a goblin to try to get him out of the tournament. How much is he paying you for this, Ragnok? I assure you, the Ministry's funds are not to be trifled with, and any attempt to—"
Ragnok held up a hand, cutting off Barty's indignant spiel. "He is not paying me, Mr. Crouch. I am doing this as a favor for a friend." As he spoke, he reached into a pocket of his tunic, pulled out a piece of candy corn, and popped it into his mouth, chewing with a surprisingly deliberate air.
Barty stared, utterly dumbfounded. "A… a friend? A human and a goblin as friends?" His voice was a bewildered whisper.
Ragnok swallowed the candy corn, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips. "You forget, Mr. Crouch, that Hogwarts currently employs a half-goblin professor. It is rare, yes, but not entirely out of the ordinary. And now, if we can dispense with your incredulity regarding interspecific friendships, I would like to address the matter of Mr. Echo's unlawful placement in the Triwizard Tournament."
Ragnok leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a fierce, professional intensity. "The Goblet of Fire, while undeniably powerful, is a magical artifact with specific parameters. It has selected an underage wizard, a fact that directly contravenes the established age limit for participation. Furthermore, Mr. Echo, a minor, has explicitly and repeatedly stated that he does not consent to this competition. The contract, while binding, cannot supersede fundamental magical law regarding the protection of minors, nor can it ignore the inherent right of an individual, regardless of age, to refuse participation in a competition that places their life in direct peril. This, Mr. Crouch, is a clear and egregious violation of numerous statutes, both magical and… well, simply decent."
Barty Crouch Sr., regaining a sliver of his composure, interjected, his voice tight with frustration. "Ragnok, with all due respect, my hands are tied. The magic of the Goblet of Fire, as you well know, is ancient and unyielding. Even if I wished to, I cannot simply 'pull' a champion from the tournament. The contract is absolute, irreversible. Once chosen, a champion is bound until the final task."
Ragnok, however, merely scoffed, a dry, dismissive sound. He leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes never leaving Barty's. "Mr. Crouch, let us be clear. Goblins understand magical contracts far better than most, certainly better than the… fleeting understanding of your wizarding kind. We perfected the art of magical contract, mind you, long before your Goblet of Fire was ever crafted, and practically by goblins themselves."
He paused, a deliberate, almost theatrical beat. "Furthermore," Ragnok continued, his voice dropping to a low, guttural growl, "the concept of 'ancient magic' being inherently flawless or eternally unchangeable is a common wizarding fallacy. Magic, no matter how strong, can weaken and wane over the years, or even decay in some cases, thus allowing for loopholes in otherwise airtight provisions to be made. For instance, records show that the locket owned and crafted by Salazar Slytherin once allowed the wearer to tap into ancient magic. Now, it merely sucks away a person's hope, replacing it with fear and illusions. Power diminishes, Mr. Crouch. Even ancient powers."
Barty had nothing to say, his face a mask of stunned silence. The goblin's words, delivered with such unwavering authority, had struck a nerve. Ragnok, observing Barty's discomfiture, continued without mercy.
"I understand, Mr. Crouch, that you, as an individual, cannot simply remove a participant from the competition, nor can you alter the rules of the Goblet's binding until the competition formally ends at the final event near the conclusion of the year. However," Ragnok said, leaning forward again, a predatory glint in his eyes, "you, Bartemius Crouch Senior, as the overseer and rule-binder of the Triwizard Tournament, possess the authority to end the competition entirely."
Barty blinked, his mind struggling to grasp the implication. "End the competition? What do you mean?"
"Precisely that," Ragnok stated, his voice firm. "You can simply declare the current Triwizard Tournament null and void. You can announce that due to unforeseen and unprecedented circumstances – such as the unlawful selection of a minor, and the questionable integrity of the Goblet's ancient magic – the competition will be postponed and moved to the following year. In the interim," he concluded, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips, "you can take the necessary time to re-evaluate and rewire the rules, ensuring such lapses do not occur again." And, more importantly, have the magic of the Goblet itself thoroughly inspected for any further flaws or signs of decay."
Barty Crouch Sr. recoiled, a flush spreading across his face. "End the competition? Ragnok, are you mad? Do you have any idea of the… the implications of such a decision? This tournament isn't merely a school event! It draws attention and revenue from across the United Nations and around the world, including America! It funds the Ministry, benefits businesses small and large, brings immense excitement to the Quidditch World Cup, not to mention how much it helps Gringotts and strengthens relationships with other wizarding governments, especially those currently participating! If I just cancel it now, it would be a colossal financial hit! It would destabilize the entire magical economy for the year, and it would most certainly cost me my job! My entire career would be in ruins!"
Ragnok merely smiled, a slow, predatory curve of his lips. "I realized you might say something to that effect, Mr. Crouch, which is why I discussed this matter at length with my superiors at Gringotts, regarding a deal for you and the Ministry. A deal that would be far more beneficial in the long run than any immediate profits from a questionable, and potentially disastrous, tournament."
Ragnok reached into a small velvet pouch and placed a single ornate key on the table. It gleamed, catching the faint light, etched with intricate goblin runes that seemed to shimmer with ancient power. "Gringotts, Mr. Crouch, is prepared to offer the Ministry a substantial loan, at an exceptionally favorable interest rate, to offset any perceived financial losses from the cancellation of this year's tournament. This loan would not only ensure the stability of your magical economy but also enable significant investment in new, profitable ventures, all managed and advised by Gringotts' most experienced account managers. Think of the long-term gains, Mr. Crouch. A truly robust and diversified economy, rather than one reliant on the whims of a single, antiquated competition."
Barty Crouch Sr. stared at the key, then at Ragnok, his mind reeling. The implications were staggering: financial stability, new ventures, and a career potentially saved and perhaps even enhanced. But there was still the matter of prestige, of tradition.
"And the international relationships?" Barty asked, his voice softer now, a hint of desperation in it. "The other schools? Beauxbatons, Durmstrang… they have traveled so far. This would be an insult to them."
Ragnok merely snorted. "An insult, Mr. Crouch, is to endanger their students in a flawed competition. A cancellation, framed as a necessary measure for their safety and a commitment to future, more secure tournaments, can be spun to your advantage. Gringotts would also be prepared to offer… substantial 'goodwill' gestures to the visiting schools, ensuring their continued cooperation and mollifying any initial disappointment. A gesture, perhaps, in the form of a generous stipend to each school, or even grants for magical research. Think of the positive publicity, Mr. Crouch. The Ministry, championed by Gringotts, is a beacon of responsibility and foresight."
Barty closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could see it, the headlines, the praise, the avoidance of a catastrophic, life-threatening disaster for a student. And Echo… the boy who had caused so much trouble, yet now, inadvertently, had opened the door to a potentially glorious future for the Ministry, and for Barty himself.
Barty Crouch Sr. stammered, his mouth opening and closing, a flurry of unspoken words dying on his lips. His rigid composure, usually so unyielding, had completely fractured under Echo's furious, desperate outburst. He looked at the boy, then at the fallen beasts, then back at the empty space where the Goblet of Fire had been, a profound bewilderment etched on his face. He was a man of rules, of order, and this… this was an unprecedented, chaotic defiance of everything he understood.
Unseen, perched on a high, arched window of the Great Hall, a Jobberknoll sat perfectly still. For a moment, its normally beady, black eyes were a deep, unsettling violet, reflecting the distant, shimmering chaos in the sky. It watched, unblinking, as the drama unfolded below, every sound, every frantic movement, every unspoken emotion registering with chilling clarity.
Miles away, in a secluded corner of Hogwarts, Echo broke the connection with a sharp gasp. His violet eyes, which had been distant and unfocused, snapped back to the present, a mischievous glint replacing the earlier desperation. He turned to his friends, who were now out of their Halloween costumes and back in their normal Hogwarts student robes, gathered in the deserted Great Hall. The Goblet of Fire, miraculously intact, still sat half-embedded in the lawn outside, visible through the massive, splintered oak doors.
"Operation One Bird with Two Stones is underway," Echo announced, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips. His blue hair pulsed with a confident, planning yellow.
Lily, still looking a bit shaken from the earlier events, frowned. "Operation Two Stones and One Bird? What exactly is that, Echo?" she asked, as she began to cast a silencing charm around their small group.
Frank, adding a shimmering protection ward that rippled outwards, sealing them off from any potential eavesdroppers, chimed in, "And isn't the saying 'two birds with one stone'?"
Echo shook his head, his yellow hair flaring with a knowing green. "Not this time, Frank. We're hitting the Goblet on two sides: politically and magically."
Amos nodded, his centaur eyes gleaming with understanding as he wove intricate illusion charms around them, making their presence almost imperceptible. "That explains your connection to the goblins. They know magical contracts better than anyone."
Severus, his dark eyes narrowed in thought, was about to cast a locking charm on the Great Hall doors when they suddenly creaked open. A young woman, whom they had never seen before, stepped inside. She was dressed in simple, unassuming robes, her face plain and her hair a nondescript brown.
"What's up with the new girl?" Amos whispered, his illusion charm momentarily faltering in surprise.
Echo's green hair pulsed with a sudden, brilliant red. "Put the last charms up!" he hissed, his voice urgent. "I'll show you."
Once the final charms were in place, sealing the Great Hall and their presence within it, Echo turned to the new girl. "It's safe now," he said, his voice ringing with a strange authority.
The girl smiled, a slow, knowing grin that seemed to stretch her plain features. A shimmering distortion rippled around her, and then, with a soft *pop, the magical disguise dissolved, revealing her true form: Granny Ethel, the hag, her eyes twinkling with ancient mischief.
Granny Ethel let out a dramatic sigh of relief, her shoulders slumping as the last vestiges of the illusion faded. Her kind, wrinkled face, now back to its natural state, broke into a wide smile. "Oh, that's much better," she said, her voice rich with satisfaction. "Disguises are such a bother, even for a hag of my experience."
Lily, Frank, and Amos stared, their jaws slightly agape, at the spot where the nondescript girl had just been. The transformation had been seamless, swift, and utterly convincing.
"Whoa," Frank breathed. "That was… that was an incredible illusion, Granny Ethel! You looked just like a normal student!"
Amos nodded vigorously, his eyes wide with admiration. "Indeed! I couldn't sense an ounce of magic from her! It was a flawless disguise!"
Lily, however, still looked a little pale. "But… why are you here, Granny Ethel?" she asked, her voice tinged with lingering apprehension. "And how did you even get past the castle's defenses?"
Echo grinned, his yellow hair pulsing with pride. "She's here because she's going to help us, Lil! And as for getting in… well, Granny Ethel has her ways. She's a hag, remember? They're practically made of magic." He then turned to his friends, his expression becoming serious. "Look, I know it's a bit… unconventional. But all magic, no matter how complex, is derived from nature itself. Hags, like Granny Ethel, have studied the magic of nature for centuries. Every charm, every curse, every spell, can be traced back to some fundamental aspect of the natural world, even when it seems to break its own rules."
He paused, glancing at the distant Goblet of Fire, still standing in the great hall. "The Goblet of Fire, for all its ancient power and binding magic, is still fundamentally a product of nature. And nature, as Granny Ethel knows better than anyone, always has its loopholes. It's own internal logic that can be bent, or even, sometimes, undone."
Granny Ethel smiled, a slow, knowing expression that seemed to warm her ancient eyes. "Echo is quite right, my dears," she said, her melodic voice resonating with an almost palpable connection to the earth. "Magic is like a river; it flows, it meanders, it finds its own path. Even when dammed or diverted, there are always currents, always weaknesses. The Goblet of Fire is a powerful dam, yes, but it is not unbreakable. And its waters, though ancient, can still be guided."
She then turned her gaze to Severus, a glint of recognition in her eye. "And you, young man," she said, her voice softening slightly, "you have a mind for understanding the deeper currents of magic, do you not? You understand that even the most rigid structures can have hidden stresses."
Severus, caught off guard, merely gave a terse nod, a flicker of surprise in his dark eyes.
"Exactly," Granny Ethel continued, turning back to the group. "The Goblet's magic binds the champion, yes. But it is also a magic that was designed to choose. And choice, my dears, always implies a certain… flexibility. A path not taken. We are not seeking to break the Goblet, no. We are simply showing that it made a choice outside of its own parameters. And when a choice is made in error, sometimes, the choice itself can be rescinded." She patted Echo's arm gently. "And for that, we need a very specific kind of… persuasion."
Granny Ethel's words hung in the air, a mix of ancient wisdom and pragmatic magic. Lily, Frank, and Amos exchanged uneasy glances, clearly still struggling to reconcile the friendly old woman with the terrifying legends of hags.
"Persuasion?" Lily finally asked, her voice a little strained. "What kind of persuasion, Granny Ethel?"
Granny Ethel chuckled, a sound like dry leaves rustling. "Ah, my dear, the kind that speaks directly to the magic itself. A… a grand demonstration of its own flawed judgment. We shall remind the Goblet of the consequences of its ill-advised choice, and give it a very clear, very public opportunity to correct its error."
Echo, his blue hair pulsing with growing excitement, bounced on the balls of his feet. "And that's where my plan comes in, right, Granny?"
"Precisely, my dear," Granny Ethel confirmed, her eyes twinkling. "A symphony of chaos, delivered with precision and a touch of the dramatic. We must make it abundantly clear to the Goblet that binding you, Echo, is a far greater inconvenience than releasing you."
Severus, who had been listening intently, finally spoke, his voice thoughtful. "So, the aim is to exploit the Goblet's own inherent design. To present it with a scenario where its continued binding of Echo causes a more significant disruption to the magical equilibrium than releasing him would. A logical paradox, in a sense."
"A delightful paradox, indeed," Granny Ethel agreed, her smile widening. "And one that will require a delicate touch and a strong will. Luckily, Echo possesses both in spades, even if he often hides them beneath a layer of… enthusiastic mayhem." She gave Echo a fond pat on the arm, making him blush faintly.
"So, what do we do?" Frank asked with anticipation. "Do we, like,… perform a counter-ritual? Or try to sever the magical bond?"
Granny Ethel shook her head. "No, no, that would be far too messy, and likely disastrous. We are not severing anything. We are merely… politely requesting a re-evaluation of terms. And for that, we need to gather a few more ingredients, and perfect our… presentation." She looked around at the group, her gaze lingering on each of them. "Are you all truly committed to this, my dears? For once, this is not merely a schoolboy prank. This is powerful magic we are influencing, and there will be consequences, regardless of the outcome."
Lily stepped forward, her expression resolute. "We're with Echo, Granny Ethel. All the way."
Amos nodded. "He's our friend. We'll do whatever it takes."
Severus, after a moment's pause, gave another curt nod. "As I said, someone must prevent utter idiocy. And if it means averting a potentially devastating magical backlash from a forced participation, then I am… reluctantly willing."
Echo beamed, his blue hair flaring with a joyful, determined yellow. "Alright, team! Operation One Bird with Two Stones, round two! Let's do this!"
"Lily, my dear, I need a single, freshly bloomed rose from the greenhouses, unblemished by frost or pest," Granny Ethel instructed, her eyes twinkling.
"Frank, a feather from a Streeler's plume, imbued with its shifting colors," Granny Ethel requested.
"Amos, a pinch of dust from the oldest book in the library, a tome whispered to contain forgotten spells," she asked.
Finally, Granny Ethel turned to Severus. "And you, my brooding young man, I require a vial of bottled daylight."
Echo, meanwhile, was instructed to gather remnants of the Great Hall's magic – a sliver of petrified wood from the Whomping Willow, a single, perfectly round pebble from the Black Lake, and a wisp of smoke from the forbidden forest's deepest reaches.
"What?" Echo exclaimed, his blue hair, which had been pulsing with eager yellow, now flickering with confusion. Bottled daylight? Granny Ethel, are you sure about that one? I don't think Hogwarts stocks that in the potion cupboard."
Granny Ethel merely chuckled, a dry, knowing sound. "Indeed, my dear. Bottled daylight. Not for drinking, mind you, but for its essence. It holds the memory of the sun, the purest form of intention. And Severus, with his… particular disposition for the meticulous, is precisely the one to acquire it. Trust me, he knows where to look, even if he doesn't realize it yet."
Severus merely scowled, adjusting his hood. "I shall endeavor to avoid accidental self-incineration, then."
With their tasks assigned, the group dispersed, their determination palpable. Lily glided towards the greenhouses, a small, silver trowel clutched in her hand. Frank set off in search of a Streeler, hoping to avoid its venomous quills. Amos made his way to the library's restricted section, a place where he usually treads with caution. Severus, after a moment of intense thought, headed towards a destination only he knew.
Echo, meanwhile, ventured out towards the splintered Great Hall doors, Sniffles and Shimmer darting ahead, eager for new adventures. He carefully chipped a sliver of petrified wood from the Whomping Willow, the ancient tree seemingly groaning in protest. Next, he made his way to the Black Lake, where, after a bit of searching, he found a perfectly smooth, round pebble nestled amongst the reeds. Finally, with a slight grimace, he made his way to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, coaxing a wisp of smoke from a smoldering, ancient log that had been struck by lightning days prior.
Hours later, as the first hints of dawn painted the sky in soft hues of violet and rose, the group reconvened in the deserted Great Hall, Granny Ethel patiently waiting by the still-embedded Goblet of Fire. One by one, they presented their gathered items.
Lily, her cheeks flushed with exertion, held out a single, dew-kissed rose, its crimson petals unfolding perfectly. "Here, Granny Ethel. From the deepest part of the greenhouse."
Frank, looking a bit scratched but triumphant, presented a shimmering Streeler feather, its colors shifting from emerald to sapphire with every movement. "Managed to get it without getting stung, surprisingly."
Amos, dusted with ancient parchment fragments, gently placed a small pinch of dark, fragrant dust onto a waiting cloth. "The very first edition of 'The Art of Divination through Entrail Reading,' if I'm not mistaken."
Severus, to everyone's utter astonishment, produced a delicate glass vial, sealed with a stopper of pure silver. Inside, a faint, golden luminescence pulsed, like a captured sunrise. "A rather ingenious application of a modified solar absorption charm, combined with a temporal stasis enchantment," he explained, his voice flat, but a subtle hint of pride in his eyes. "Harvested from the highest peak of the astronomy tower at the precise moment of dawn. The purity is… acceptable."
Echo, with a flourish, offered his own collection: the petrified wood, the smooth lake pebble, and the wisp of forest smoke.
Granny Ethel examined each ingredient with a keen, discerning eye, a satisfied smile growing on her face. "Excellent, my dears. Each piece holds a unique resonance, a memory of its origins. Now, for the final touch."
She then instructed them to form a circle around the Goblet of Fire, placing their ingredients carefully on the ground before them. With a deep breath, Granny Ethel began to chant, her voice low and melodic, the ancient words resonating through the Great Hall. Her hands, gnarled and wise, moved in intricate patterns, weaving the ingredients' collected magic into a swirling vortex of energy. The Goblet of Fire, which had been glowing steadily, began to pulse erratically, its flames flickering with uncharacteristic intensity. The air in the Great Hall grew thick with magic, shimmering and humming around them. Echo's blue hair flared with every color imaginable, mirroring the swirling energies. Shimmer, now visible, zipped around Granny Ethel's head, occasionally letting out excited chirps, while Sniffles, roused from his slumber, poked his head out of Echo's robe, his nose twitching frantically. Granny Ethel's chant reached a crescendo, her voice rising to a powerful, almost primal roar. She extended both hands towards the Goblet, a stream of pure, concentrated magic flowing from her palms. The Goblet of Fire let out a deafening ROAR, its flames leaping towards the enchanted ceiling, illuminating the entire hall in a blinding flash of white light.
Then, just as suddenly, it all stopped.
The roaring subsided, the white light faded, and the magical hum dissipated, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The Goblet of Fire, still perched on its pedestal, continued to glow with its steady golden light, unchanged. The magical energy in the air settled, calm and unperturbed. Granny Ethel, her chest heaving, slowly lowered her hands. Her face, etched with lines of exertion, held a single, undeniable emotion: surprise. She looked at the Goblet, then back at the gathered ingredients, then at Echo, a bewildered frown creasing her brow. Echo's blue hair, which had been a vibrant, chaotic rainbow, slowly settled back into a calm, resolute blue. He looked from Granny Ethel to the Goblet, then back again, a growing sense of dread gripping him.
"Granny Ethel?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, dread creeping into his tone. "What…what happened? Did it work?"
Granny Ethel shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips. "No, my dear. It did not." She walked over to the Goblet, her ancient eyes scrutinizing its unblemished surface. "The magic… it is too strong. Or perhaps… too ancient. It resisted. Utterly."
Lily gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Frank growls in frustration. Amos slumped, his shoulders drooping in disappointment. Even Severus, for once, seemed at a loss for words, his head tilted in a rare display of genuine bewilderment.
Echo felt a cold, crushing weight descend upon him. His blue hair, which had just returned to a state of calm, now darkened to a troubled, despondent grey. The hope that had flared so brightly within him, the belief that he could truly escape this nightmare, was slowly, painfully, extinguished.
"So," he said, his voice flat, hollow. "Nothing changed. I'm still… still stuck in the tournament, aren't I?"
Granny Ethel placed a gentle, comforting hand on his arm. "I am so very sorry, my dear. I truly thought… I misjudged its power. The Goblet's binding is more absolute than any natural magic I have encountered."
Echo didn't respond. He simply stared at the unyielding flames of the Goblet of Fire, its golden glow now seeming to mock him. The quiet joy of the Halloween feast, the camaraderie with his friends, the fleeting hope of freedom – it all felt like a distant dream, replaced by the grim reality of his unwanted destiny. The Triwizard Tournament still awaited him. And now, he had run out of options.
A heavy silence filled the Great Hall, broken only by the distant chirping of early morning birds. Echo felt the weight of his friends' gazes, a mix of pity and concern that only deepened his despair. His grey hair seemed to absorb all the light in the room, reflecting his inner turmoil.
"Well," Frank finally said, his voice gruff, trying to break the oppressive quiet. "At least we tried, mate."
Amos nodded, his usually jovial demeanor replaced by a somber one. "Indeed. No one can say you didn't fight it, Echo."
Lily, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm so sorry, Echo. I wish there were something else we could do."
Echo numbly returned her hug, feeling utterly defeated. "It's fine, Lil," he murmured, though his voice was devoid of conviction. "It was a long shot anyway."
Severus, ever practical, cleared his throat. "While the magical binding remains, a cancellation of the tournament by the Ministry is still a possibility. Ragnok's political pressure might yet yield results."
Echo looked up, a faint spark of something, perhaps lingering hope, flickering in his eyes. "You think so, Sev?"
"It is a logical conclusion," Severus replied, adjusting his hood. "The financial implications of a Ministry-wide loan from Gringotts are substantial. Barty Crouch Sr. is a man who values his career above all else. He will be under considerable pressure to find a solution that protects the Ministry's interests, and his own."
Granny Ethel, who had been quietly observing, nodded slowly. "Severus speaks wisely, my dear. The currents of power are not always visible on the surface. While the magic of the Goblet is indeed absolute in its binding, the magic of politics and finance can be equally, if not more, compelling. Your friend Ragnok is a master of those currents."
A tiny, almost imperceptible sliver of hope began to push through Echo's despondency. His grey hair lightened slightly, a faint, almost shy blue peeking through. "So… so there's still a chance?"
"A chance, yes," Granny Ethel confirmed, offering a gentle smile. "But a passive one. For now, my dear, you must prepare. Prepare for the tournament, and prepare for any eventuality. Keep your mind sharp, and your resolve strong."
Echo took a deep, shaky breath. He looked at his friends, their faces still etched with concern but also a renewed sense of quiet determination. He wasn't alone—that much, at least, was clear.
A faint flutter of wings broke the lingering silence. All heads turned as a small, cerulean Jobberknoll, its beady eyes darting nervously, flew into the Great Hall. It held a tightly rolled piece of parchment in its beak, fluttering down to land gracefully on Echo's outstretched hand.
Echo, dressed in his everyday Hogwarts robes, still tinged with the faint blue of lingering hope, brightened to an eager yellow. "Ragnok!" he exclaimed, a sudden surge of excitement making his voice crack. He carefully took the note from the bird, his fingers trembling slightly as he unrolled it.
His eyes scanned the short message, and then, as if struck by an invisible force, his entire being seemed to deflate. The vibrant yellow in his hair vanished, replaced by a dull, hopeless grey that seemed to suck all color from his features. His face, moments ago bright with anticipation, now held a look of utter, crushing defeat.
"Sorry, kid, I tried my best."
Six simple words. Six words that shattered his last bastion of hope into a million helpless pieces.
Lily, seeing the sudden shift, stepped forward, her brow furrowed with concern. "Echo? What is it? What's wrong?"
Frank and Amos exchanged worried glances, and even Severus shifted on the boy. Echo didn't answer. He simply handed the crumpled note to Lily, his hand shaking slightly. His eyes remained fixed on the unyielding Goblet of Fire, its golden glow now an unbearable mockery.
Lily took the note, her eyes quickly devouring the terse message. A small gasp escaped her, and her face paled further. She passed it to Frank, whose face contorted in frustration. Amos read it next, a low, guttural growl rumbling in his chest. Severus, after reading the note, a deeper shadow seemed to fall over his already grim features, but the subtle clenching of his jaw betrayed his own disappointment.
Granny Ethel, her kind face etched with deep sympathy, stepped forward. "I am so very sorry, my dear," she murmured, her voice soft with regret. "I truly am. I tried everything I knew."
Echo shook his head, his voice hollow. "It's fine, Granny Ethel. Really. You tried. That's all anyone could ask." He managed a weak, almost imperceptible smile.
Granny Ethel nodded, a sad understanding in her eyes. "Very well, my dear. I see myself out, then." With a final, sorrowful glance at Echo, she allowed her student disguise to ripple over her once more, transforming into the nondescript young woman in Hogwarts robes. She then turned and quietly slipped out of the Great Hall, leaving them in the desolate silence.
Echo finally sagged onto the nearest bench, the weight of his fate pressing down on him. The fight was over. He was in. Whether he liked it or not. There was no escape.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to push down the overwhelming sense of dread. He looked up at his friends, their faces mirroring his own defeat. "Do any of you know what the first event is?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just… so I can mentally prepare myself."
Amos, his gaze still fixed on the Great Hall doors where Granny Ethel had disappeared, shook his head slowly. "I'm not sure, mate. But… I heard whispers. Something about… dragons."