Weeks bled into a month, each day a slow, agonizing countdown for Echo. The news of dragons for the first task had spread like wildfire, fueling both terror and morbid excitement throughout Hogwarts. Now, the day was finally here. Deep within the Forbidden Forest, a clearing had been transformed. High, ancient trees formed a natural perimeter, giving way to a vast, circular arena. Around its edge, dozens of tents, vibrant in color and varied in size, dotted the landscape. Some were for eager spectators, others for vendors hawking enchanted snacks and Triwizard merchandise. But the largest, most heavily guarded tents were the ones housing the true stars of the event: the captive dragons, one of each kind known in the wizarding world—save for the Hebridean Black, a creature deemed too fiercely territorial even for this spectacle.
Inside one such tent, more spacious and elegantly appointed, the three champions gathered. Barty Crouch Sr., stiff and impeccably robed, stood before them, a velvet bag held rigidly in his hand. Lucian Delacour, the French champion from Beauxbatons, elegant even in his practical dueling robes, tapped a delicate foot with barely concealed impatience. Vanya Krum, the Durmstrang champion, a formidable figure with a brooding gaze, leaned against a tent pole, her arms crossed. And Seraphina Thorne, a Ravenclaw girl and the first Hogwarts champion, stood a little apart, a nervous but determined energy about her.
However, one champion was missing. Echo. He hadn't been present for several minutes, and his absence was already wearing on everyone's patience.
"Monsieur Crouch," Lucian finally began, his voice a silken murmur, though a hint of irritation tightened his lips. "With all due respect, can we not just begin the choosing? This… delay is quite tiresome."
Barty Crouch Sr.'s face, already tight with the stress of the day, grew even sterner. "Absolutely not, Monsieur Delacour. All champions must be present for the selection process. It is in the rules, clearly stipulated in the Triwizard Charter. No exceptions."
A collective groan, low but audible, escaped the three present champions.
Vanya Krum, her deep voice carrying a heavy accent, turned her dark eyes to Seraphina. "This Echo is setting a bad precedent for your school, Thorne. I have heard many things about Hogwarts, but ever since this Echo was chosen as the fourth champion, I have not seen anything respectable."
Seraphina rolled her eyes, a flash of annoyance crossing her face. "Speak for yourself, Krum. No one in the school considers Echo 'a member of the school,' let alone a proper student or champion. So don't take his actions as gospel for the rest of us."
Just then, the tent flaps were violently flung open. Rubeus Hagrid, groundskeeper of Hogwarts, stumbled in, his immense frame filling the entrance. In his arms, held in a surprisingly firm grip, was none other than Echo. The boy was thrashing around, more like a feral kneazle than a person, his limbs flailing, trying desperately to free himself from Hagrid's grasp. His blue hair was a tangled mess, and he was letting out a series of indignant squawks and grunts.
Lucian Delacour gasped, stepping back in alarm, his hand instinctively going to his wand. Seraphina, however, merely rolled her eyes again, a look of irritated exasperation on her face, as if this were a perfectly normal occurrence. Vanya Krum, for her part, stared at the bizarre sight with utter confusion, her brow furrowed.
Finally, with a last, desperate heave, Echo lost steam. He slumped in Hagrid's arms, panting heavily like a dog in exhaustion, his blue hair now a dull, agitated gray.
"Calmed down now, Echo? Got all that excess energy out of yeh?" Hagrid rumbled, his voice surprisingly gentle despite the firm grip he held on the thrashing boy.
Echo didn't respond; he only continued to breathe heavily, his grey hair a visible testament to his agitation.
"Right then," Hagrid continued, slowly lowering Echo to the ground. "I'm lettin' yeh down now, and yeh ain't gonna bolt again, are yeh?"
Just as his feet touched the earth, Echo, who had been feigning exhaustion, bolted. He was a grey blur heading for the tent flaps, but Hagrid was quicker. A massive hand shot out, grabbing Echo by the ankle. The boy was hoisted upside down in an instant, his wild, animalistic thrashing resuming with renewed vigor.
"Hagrid! What is the meaning of this?" Barty Crouch Sr. demanded, his voice sharp with exasperation.
"He were tryin' to hide, Mr. Crouch!" Hagrid explained, grunting with the effort of holding onto the squirming boy. "Been tryin' for hours. Had a few friends helpin' him too, settin' up all sorts of diversions. Had to drag him here, he were resisting so much."
Echo, still upside down, spat, "Even if you dragged me here, I still won't participate!"
"You must participate, Mr. Echo!" Barty insisted, his face a mask of official displeasure.
"Why?" Echo shot back, his voice muffled by his inverted position. "What happens if I don't?"
Barty Crouch Sr. stiffened, adjusting his robes. "If a champion refuses to participate, the magical contract is, well, it's quite… punitive. It is widely understood that the magic of the Goblet is absolute. To defy it would mean, at the very least, a complete draining of one's magical core, rendering them a Squib for life. In more severe cases, depending on the defiance's magnitude and the task's nature, it could even lead to… well, quite fatal consequences. The Goblet extracts its due, Mr. Echo, one way or another. It demands completion."
Lucian Delacour, Seraphina Thorne, and Vanya Krum stared, wide-eyed, at Barty Crouch Sr., utterly shocked by the grim pronouncement. Echo, however, seemed entirely unimpressed.
"So, you don't actually know what happens, right?" Echo challenged, his grey hair flickering with skepticism.
Hagrid, still holding Echo, let out a mournful sigh. "No one's ever not participated, Echo. It's probably best not to find out."
"I'd rather be a statistic!" Echo declared, the words hanging heavy in the tense air. Lucian gasped, Vanya's eyes widened flinched at the thirteen-year-old's pronouncement of preferring death.
"Please, Echo," Hagrid pleaded, his voice thick with genuine concern. "Don't say that. Just… just go through with it. For me?"
Echo looked at Hagrid's earnest, worried face, and after a moment, his thrashing subsided. "Fine," he grumbled, his grey hair softening to a dull blue. "But I'm doing things my way."
Hagrid finally set Echo gently on his feet. Seraphina Thorne immediately leaned over him, a superior smirk on her face. "You're late, Echo."
Echo glared at her, his blue hair flaring with annoyance. "Shove it, brainiac. No one asked for your opinion." He then turned to the other champions, his gaze challenging. "Do either of you have something smart to say?"
Lucian Delacour quickly shook his head, his elegant features reflecting a desire to avoid further conflict. Before Vanya Krum could reply, Shimmer suddenly appeared on Echo's shoulder, his tiny, beating stick held ready, his translucent form shimmering menacingly. For some reason, this bizarre sight, the small demiguise with its weapon, shook the formidable Durmstrang champion just enough to reconsider her words. She said nothing.
"Now that we are all present, may we finally proceed, Mr. Echo?" Barty Crouch Sr. asked, his voice strained with impatience.
Echo merely grunted in response, still glaring at Seraphina Thorne.
Barty, ignoring Echo's surliness, held out the velvet bag to Lucian Delacour. With a flourish, the French champion reached in and pulled out a miniature, intricately carved figure of a dragon. Its scales were dark, almost metallic, and it possessed formidable claws and a powerful, stocky build. "A Ukrainian Ironbelly," Lucian murmured, a flicker of apprehension in his elegant eyes. "Formidable."
Next, Seraphina Thorne drew her dragon. It was a smaller, more graceful figure, with verdant green scales. "A Common Welsh Green," she announced, a hint of relief in her voice, though her grip on the figurine was tight.
Vanya Krum reached into the bag with a powerful hand and pulled out a lean, horned dragon with dark green scales. "Romanian Longhorn," she rumbled, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Finally, Barty Crouch Sr. offered the bag to Echo. With a sigh, Echo plunged his hand in, feeling around before pulling out a small, scarlet figurine. It had smooth, lustrous scales, a fringe of golden spikes around its snouted face, and exceptionally prominent eyes. "A Chinese Fireball," he muttered, holding it up. He squinted at the miniature beast, then at Barty. "So, what's even the point of this event? Are we just… collecting these as souvenirs?"
Barty Crouch Sr. blinked, his jaw dropping slightly. "You… you know nothing of the first task, Mr. Echo?" he asked, his voice laced with utter disbelief. "Do you simply walk into situations without any prior knowledge or preparation?"
Echo shrugged, his blue hair flickering with a confession-like yellow. "Honestly, no. I spent most of my time either plotting elaborate escapes that never worked out or mentally preparing for the inevitable stress they would cause. Neither of which, as you can see, proved effective." He gestured vaguely at his still-intact magical core and his presence in the tent.
Barty pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a frustrated groan. "Very well. The first task, Mr. Echo, is to retrieve a golden egg from a nest guarded by a dragon."
Echo stared blankly for a moment, then his eyes widened. His yellow hair flared with a sudden, panicked red. He spun to face the other champions, his voice rising to a frantic shout. "We're all going to die! You, me, all of us! Dragons are dangerous, normally! Dragons protecting eggs? That's suicide! Start writing your last will and testimony, people!"Lucian Delacour, despite his usual composure, looked distinctly pale. Seraphina Thorne's earlier smirk had vanished, replaced by a look of dawning horror. Even Vanya Krum, for all her formidable presence, had a flicker of unease in her dark eyes.
Barty Crouch Sr. let out another exasperated sigh, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Mr. Echo, while your… dramatic flair is certainly noteworthy, it is highly unproductive. The dragons are formidable, yes, but they are also under the influence of powerful calming charms. And the task is designed to test your courage and magical skill, not to result in fatalities." He then added, almost as an afterthought, "Though I wouldn't recommend being careless, naturally."
Echo, however, was not mollified. His red hair continued to pulse with frantic energy. "Calming charms? Are you serious? Dragons are basically walking, breathing furnaces with a bad temper! You can't 'calm' a dragon when it's protecting its babies! It's instinct! It's biological! It's—"
"Enough, Mr. Echo!" Barty snapped, his patience finally at an end. "You will enter the arena when called, you will retrieve the golden egg, and you will do so with a modicum of dignity. Now, if you'll all excuse me, the first champion is about to be called." He turned sharply and strode out of the tent, leaving the four champions in a stunned, uneasy silence.
Echo slumped against a tent pole, his red hair slowly fading to a worried grey. "I'm telling you, guys, we're goners. Absolute goners. Who thought this was a good idea?"
Seraphina Thorne, finally finding her voice, scoffed, though her tone lacked its usual bite. "You really didn't know about the dragons, did you? You really just walked in here completely clueless."
Echo glared at her, his grey hair flickering with resentment. "What's your point, Thorne? Does knowing about them make them less likely to incinerate you? Because last I checked, even the most well-informed person can still get turned into a pile of ash."
Lucian Delacour, ever the diplomat, interjected. "Perhaps, Mr. Echo, it would be more productive to focus on strategies, oui? What is your plan for acquiring the egg from the Chinese Fireball?"
Echo stared at him blankly. "My plan? My plan was to avoid this entire thing. I haven't even started planning to fight a dragon!" His grey hair pulsed with increasing despair. "I'm going to be dragon food. I can see it now. 'Here lies Echo, a surprisingly tasty third-year who believed in the power of candy corn and befriending goblins. May his ashes fertilize a particularly good crop of pumpkins.'"
Vanya Krum, who had been listening silently, finally spoke, her deep voice cutting through Echo's self-pity. "You have a Chinese Fireball. They are fast, agile, and their fire is bright and searing. But they are also territorial. They will not leave their nest easily." She paused, her dark eyes thoughtful. "Perhaps…"
Echo scoffed, cutting her off abruptly. "If I wanted an opinion I didn't want to hear, I'd go look for Lockheart."
Just then, a voice from outside the tent boomed, "Seraphina Thorne, Hogwarts Champion! Please enter the arena!"
Seraphina, though still pale, straightened her shoulders, gave Echo a final, disdainful look, and walked out, pushing through the tent flaps with a show of bravery she clearly didn't feel.
Vanya Krum, her brow still furrowed, turned to Echo. "What is your problem?" she rumbled, her deep voice laced with genuine irritation.
Echo repeated her question, a humorless laugh escaping him. "My problem? My problem? Look around you, lady! I'm in a contest of death I didn't sign up for, and after exhausting literally all my options, I'm stuck! What exactly do you expect me to be, a ray of sunshine and joy?" His grey hair pulsed with frustration.
Lucian, ever the peacemaker, stepped forward, his hands raised slightly. "But, Monsieur Echo, that is no reason for us not to get along. We are all champions, after all, facing this challenge together."
Echo repeated, "Get along? Get along?" He then surged forward, closing the distance between them and getting as close to their faces as he could, his grey hair flickering with genuine anger. "Let me make this crystal clear for both of you. I am not a champion, and I never will be one for this farce of a competition. That means we are not friends, not allies, not anything. So keep it that way until this bloody tournament ends."
Vanya's eyes narrowed. "I am starting to understand why the people of Hogwarts dislike you so much."
Echo let out another sharp, mirthless laugh. "Dislike? Oh, no, my dear Krum. They all hate my guts, and it's not even my fault! And if you think you know everything about Hogwarts and myself after spending the first few months doing nothing but glaring menacingly from your table, then you're dead wrong. Now everyone hates me even more, and now even all of fucking Hogsmeade will hate my guts, knowing my luck! I'll never be able to get a fresh butterbeer again, or chocolate treats!"
Vanya stared, momentarily taken aback by the venom in his voice. She opened her mouth to retort, but Lucian quickly stepped between them.
"Enough!" Lucian exclaimed, his voice sharper than usual. "This bickering serves no purpose. We have a task before us, and we must focus." He then turned to Echo, a more placating expression on his face. "Monsieur Echo, I understand your frustration, truly. But perhaps a fresh perspective is needed. We are all here, whether we like it or not. Could we not, at the very least, offer each other a modicum of civility?"
Echo snorted, his grey hair still simmering with agitation. "Civility isn't going to save us from a pissed-off dragon, Delacour. And I'm not looking for friends right now. I'm looking for a way to survive." He ran a hand through his hair, the grey deepening to a near-black as a new wave of despair washed over him. "I just… I just don't know what to do. I haven't got a single idea. I can't just fight a dragon!"
Lucian sighed, then his eyes flickered to the miniature Chinese Fireball in Echo's hand. "Perhaps we can think together? What are the Fireball's weaknesses? Its strengths?"
Echo threw the small dragon figurine onto the ground, his grey hair pulsing with deep, conflicted blue. "It's not about that, Delacour! It's not about weaknesses or strengths, or 'strategies' for fighting them!" He raked a hand through his hair, the blue deepening to an almost sorrowful indigo. "I… I love dragons! I love all creatures! How can I hurt something that's just trying to protect its babies? Something that's being forced to try and hurt me, using its own natural instincts, just because some stupid, ancient cup picked me for a bloody competition I never wanted in the first place?" He kicked at the ground, a low, frustrated growl rumbling in his chest. "I can't do it. I just can't."
He suddenly spun on his heel, his face a mask of furious despair. "I hate this school!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the tent, making Lucian and Vanya flinch. "I hate this competition! I hate these students! And I hate this whole damn year!"
With that, Echo stormed towards the tent flaps, shoving them open with a force that nearly ripped them from their moorings. He stomped out, his footsteps heavy and angry.
Just as he was about to disappear from the sight of the coliseum entrance, Vanya's deep voice called out, "Where are you going, Echo?"
Echo paused, turning his head just enough for them to see the furious, desperate glint in his eye. "If I'm going to be stuck doing this regardless," he shot back, his voice thick with defiance, "I'm going to do it palling around and eating food with the only people in this place that still do like me, or go to the Black Lake and complain to my girlfriend while she braids my hair, or both! Both are good!"
"You are not doing that," Vanya stated, her voice deep and resonant, stopping Echo dead in his tracks. Her dark eyes, usually so impassive, now held a flicker of something akin to exasperation. "All champions must remain in the champions' booth to observe the others compete. It is a show of respect."
Echo slowly turned, his grey hair still simmering with defiance. "Oh, really? Is that also in the rulebook that's specifically designed to kill me?" he deadpanned, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"No," Vanya conceded, a hint of frustration in her tone. "But it is expected. It demonstrates sportsmanship among the schools, a sense of unity, which is important for the reputation of our institutions."
Echo let out a humorless laugh, his grey hair pulsing with disdain. "Respectfully, I don't give two shits about your schools. They could burn down with Hogwarts tomorrow, and I wouldn't care one bit."
Before Echo could turn away again, Vanya seized him by the arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "You will join us in the champions' booth," she growled, her voice low and dangerous. "You will not be the reason Durmstrang looks like fools in the eyes of the other wizarding communities."
Echo yanked his arm free, his grey hair flaring to an angry red. "I don't care about making anyone look good, Krum," he snapped, his eyes flashing. "And as for fools, Durmstrang is already looked at like fools. Durmstrang has been whispered behind closed doors for decades, and my chaotic nature is completely unneeded to make you look like idiots."
Vanya's face darkened, her jaw tightening. "Watch your tongue, boy. You know nothing of Durmstrang."
Echo merely laughed, a short, bitter sound. "Oh, I know enough. I know a school that prides itself on dark magic and producing dark wizards, then gets all huffy when someone points out the obvious. Real subtle, Krum. Real subtle."
Lucian, seeing the dangerous turn the conversation was taking, quickly intervened again. "S'il vous plaît, both of you! This is not helping! We must maintain some decorum. We are representatives, after all."
"Decorum?" Echo repeated, his voice laced with venom. "Decorum went out the window the moment that bloody cup spat out my name! And I'm not a representative of anything except myself, and right now, I want to go eat candy corn with my friends and Pip and complain to my girlfriend." He jabbed a finger towards the coliseum entrance. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have important anti-dragon-fighting plans to make that do not involve watching some poor sod get barbecued."
He spun around and, with a final, defiant glare over his shoulder, stomped out of the tent and disappeared from view.
Vanya, with a growl of exasperation, lunged forward, grabbing Echo by his ankle with surprising speed and strength. Before he could react, she yanked him back, pulling him across the grass towards the champion's viewing booth. Echo let out an indignant yelp, digging his fingers into the damp earth, leaving shallow furrows in his wake.
"Let go of me, you overgrown troll!" he shrieked, his grey hair flaring to a furious red. "This is assault! I'm going to report you to the Ministry! I'll tell Dumbledore you're trying to kidnap me!"
Just then, Shimmer, with a furious chitter, materialized from Echo's shoulder, his tiny beating stick appearing in his translucent hand. Pip, his house elf in his tiny green outfit, burst out from Echo's robes. Both creatures, with surprising determination, latched onto Echo's arms, attempting to pull him away from Vanya's unyielding grip. Shimmer's small form shimmered with effort, while Pip braced his tiny feet against the ground, grunting with all he had to pull back. But Vanya was far too strong; she barely seemed to register their attempts, continuing to drag Echo with relentless force.
"Are you coming, Lucian?" Vanya grunted, not even looking back as she steadily pulled Echo.
Lucian, who had been watching the bizarre spectacle with wide, slightly horrified eyes, merely nodded silently and trailed behind them, his usual composure completely rattled.
With a final, strenuous heave, Vanya hoisted Echo upright and shoved him unceremoniously into the champions' viewing booth. Echo stumbled, nearly falling over the railing, his red hair slowly fading to a simmering, defeated grey.
"You don't have to watch," Vanya stated, her voice gruff, as she straightened her robes, seemingly unfazed by the struggle. "You don't even have to make a nice face. Just stand here."
Echo, utterly spent, slumped dramatically over the edge of the railing, his head hanging low. "Fine," he muttered, his voice muffled. "Pip," he called, without looking up, "could you be a dear and go get me a butterbeer? My throat's raw from all that screaming."
Vanya, hands on her hips, turned to the small terrier. "And while you're at it, bring me a firewhisky."
Lucian, still looking somewhat bewildered, managed a small, polite smile. "And if it's not too much trouble, a glass of pumpkin juice for me, please."
Echo whirled around, his grey hair flaring with renewed anger. "Hey!" he yelled, pointing a finger at them. "Pip is my employee, not your servant! You don't make demands on him! You don't ask him for anything!"
Pip, who had been standing attentively, gave Echo a curt little bow, then, with a soft pop, vanished. A moment later, he reappeared, holding a frothy butterbeer in one hand. Echo took it, patting Pip's head with genuine gratitude. "Thank you, Pip."
Pip then, with another soft pop, vanished and reappeared, holding a glass of amber firewhisky for Vanya and a tall glass of pumpkin juice for Lucian. He offered them both a discreet, almost conspiratorial glance, careful not to draw Echo's attention, and then, with a final pop, he was gone again.
Echo, oblivious to Pip's silent service, leaned heavily over the railing of the champions' booth. Below them, the arena stretched out, a vast circular expanse of rough, raised rocky landscape. Beyond this central ring, a sheer drop led to a lower tier where waves of cheering spectators sat in raised booths, their whistles and roars echoing through the clearing. In the middle of this stony expanse, Seraphina Thorne, a small, determined figure, was currently engaged in a desperate dance with a massive, verdant Common Welsh Green dragon. The dragon, its scales shimmering in the dappled sunlight, guarded a clutch of golden eggs, its serpentine neck swaying menacingly as Seraphina darted around, trying to find an opening.
Echo, cradling his butterbeer, found his gaze drawn to the dragon. He'd read about them, of course, in countless books, but none of them, not a single one, did this magnificent creature justice. Its verdant scales, each one a separate, perfectly formed gemstone, glimmered under the faint sunlight that pierced the canopy, shifting from deep emerald to vibrant jade with every subtle movement. It was hornless, with a segmented fin, like a beautiful fan, running the entire length of its head and neck, adding an almost regal air to its serpentine grace. Its long, muscular tail ended in a spear-like tip, whipping through the air with astonishing speed and precision as it lunged at Seraphina. But it was the eyes that truly captivated Echo—two shimmering sapphires, ancient and intelligent, observing the frantic dance before it.
Then Echo noticed something that made him do a genuine spit take. His butterbeer sprayed from his mouth, narrowly missing Lucian, as he stared in horror. Around the creature's elegant neck, among the thick, enchanted chains that bound it to the arena, was a fighting collar. Not a simple restraint, but a device specifically designed to control a creature's mood by pumping magical potions and other potent drugs directly into its bloodstream.
"No!" Echo gasped, dropping his butterbeer cup, which clattered loudly on the booth's wooden floor. He clapped his hands over his mouth, his eyes wide with horror, his grey hair flaring to a sickening, dark purple. "I can't watch! I can't!"
Shimmer, perched on his shoulder, let out a distressed chitter, his translucent hands mimicking Echo's gesture, covering his own tiny eyes.
Vanya, a faint smirk playing on her lips, turned to Echo. "Do you have such a weak constitution, Echo, or do you worry for the safety of your fellow classmate?"
Echo looked at her as if she had just grown a second head. "Are you mad? I couldn't care less if she gets eaten," he shot back, his purple hair still vibrating with raw emotion. "I'm worried about the dragon!" He jabbed a trembling finger at the magnificent creature below. "That's not a calming charm around its neck, Krum! That's a fighting collar! They're pumping it full of potions and drugs! It's illegal!"
Lucian, ever the pragmatist, frowned. "Illegal, Monsieur Echo? Perhaps only for what the Ministry deems illegal, no?"
"That's bull, Delacour!" Echo snarled, his voice thick with fury. "Torturing a magical creature for a spectator sport is illegal, full stop!"
As if on cue, Seraphina Thorne, seeing an opening, activated her magic. A pulse of energy shot from her wand towards the dragon's collar. The verdant Common Welsh Green shrieked, a sound of pure agony, as more powerful drugs coursed through its system. Its sapphire eyes rolled back in its head, and it began to thrash violently, stumbling and weaving like a drunken sailor. With a final, desperate lunge, it doubled over, vomiting profusely onto the rocky arena floor.
The crowd, oblivious to the dragon's suffering, roared its approval. Seraphina, quick as a flash, darted in and snatched the golden egg from beneath the now incapacitated beast.
Echo gasped, a raw, choked sound escaping his throat. The purple in his hair deepened to an almost black, a reflection of the profound anguish gripping him. "No! I can't watch this anymore!" he screamed, his voice cracking with horror. He ripped himself away from the railing and, without a second thought, bolted from the champions' booth, tearing through the tent flaps and disappearing into the bustling crowd, the sounds of his retching echoing behind him.
Vanya Krum watched him go, a flicker of something unreadable in her dark eyes. Lucian Delacour looked genuinely distressed. "Mon Dieu," he murmured, running a hand through his hair. "He truly… he cares for these creatures, does he not?"
Vanya merely grunted, her gaze still fixed on the empty space where Echo had been. "He is a strange one, this Echo."
Seraphina Thorne, meanwhile, returned to the tent, clutching her golden egg, her chest heaving. She looked triumphant but also a little green around the gills. She glanced at the empty spot where Echo had been and then at the retching dragon below. "What was that all about?" she asked, her voice raspy.
"Echo has… a peculiar sensitivity to the well-being of magical creatures," Lucian explained, still looking quite upset. "He was greatly disturbed by the use of the… fighting collar."
Seraphina scoffed, but there was no real conviction in it. "Well, he's probably going to forfeit then. Good. One less person to worry about." She tried to sound uncaring, but her eyes kept flicking towards the still-recovering dragon.
Echo ran blindly, his stomach churning, the image of the suffering dragon seared into his mind. He pushed through the throngs of excited spectators, ignoring their curious glances, until he found himself at the very edge of the Forbidden Forest, far from the noise and revelry of the arena. He collapsed against the trunk of an ancient oak, gasping for air, the bitter taste of bile still in his mouth. Shimmer, still distressed, flew in tight circles around his head, chittering mournfully. Pip, who had reappeared with a concerned look, gently patted Echo's hand.
His hair was still a swirling vortex of dark purple and black, reflecting the profound revulsion and despair that consumed him. He hated it. He hated the tournament, the Ministry, the crowds, and most of all, he hated the thought that he was bound to participate in such a barbaric spectacle.
After several minutes, he slowly regained his composure as the nausea subsided. The anger, however, remained, burning bright within him. He stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes now blazing with a dangerous, determined red.
"They think they can force me to hurt a dragon?" he snarled, his voice low and venomous. "They think they can make me part of this… this torture?" His red hair pulsed with a furious intensity. "They have another thing coming. I will not harm that dragon. Not a single scale."
Pip, ever attentive, reappeared beside him, his tiny green eyes filled with concern. "Master Echo is upset," he squeaked, his voice barely audible. "What is Master Echo going to do? Pip will help, however, Pip can!" Shimmer, landing on Echo's shoulder, chittered in agreement, his tiny stick shimmering with empathetic urgency. Even Sniffles, poking his head out of Echo's robe, let out a soft, sympathetic squeak.
Echo looked at his loyal companions, and a faint, determined blue began to fight its way through the furious red in his hair. "Honestly, Pip, I don't know," he admitted, his voice still tight with anger, but now laced with a new resolve. "I don't have a plan. I'm not going to fight the Chinese Fireball. But what I do know is that I will help it. And I'm going to help all of them. I'm going to help every single one of those dragons, somehow."
Meanwhile, back in the champions' tent, Lucian Delacour was called next. He took a deep breath, adjusted his robes, and with a polite nod to Vanya, stepped into the arena.
He faced a magnificent Ukrainian Ironbelly, its metallic scales gleaming like ancient armor. The dragon roared, a sound that reverberated through the very ground, sending shivers down Lucian's spine. The crowd, sensing the imminent danger, hushed.
Lucian, ever graceful, began to move. He was a blur of motion, casting intricate illusion charms that made him appear in multiple places at once, distracting the mighty beast. He danced around its powerful tail, avoided its blasts of searing fire, and attempted to find an opening to retrieve his egg. He eventually succeeded, using a powerful Confundus Charm to momentarily disorient the dragon, snatching the egg, and retreating with a triumphant, albeit exhausted, bow. The crowd erupted in cheers.
Next was Vanya Krum, facing the lean, horned Romanian Longhorn. She was a woman of action, and her approach was entirely different. With a roar of her own, she conjured a massive, roaring torrent of water, directing it with brutal force at the dragon's face. The Longhorn shrieked, blinded and disoriented by the unexpected assault. As it thrashed, Vanya, with astonishing speed, levitated the golden egg from beneath its belly and quickly exited the arena, her face grim but victorious. The crowd went wild.
Now, only Echo remained.
"Echo, Hogwarts Second Champion! Please enter the arena!"
The booming voice cut through the lingering echoes of the crowd's cheers for Vanya. Echo, still standing outside the champions' tent, took a deep, shaky breath, his red hair simmering with a mixture of fear and determination. He glanced down at Shimmer, who had materialized on his shoulder, his tiny hands clutching at Echo's robes, his translucent form shimmering with distress. Pip stood at his feet, his small hands clasped, his green eyes wide with worry. Sniffles poked his head out of Echo's robe, letting out a soft, anxious squeak.
"I can't take you guys in there," Echo murmured, his voice softer than it had been all day. "It's too dangerous. I don't want you to get hurt."
Shimmer chittered frantically, tugging harder on Echo's robe, his big, black eyes pleading. Pip let out a small, mournful whimper.
Echo knelt, placing a gentle hand on Shimmer's head. "Hey, it's okay. I'll be fine. I promise." He pulled off his robes, the familiar fabric a comforting weight in his hands. "Here," he said, handing them to Shimmer, who immediately clutched them to his chest. Pip and Sniffles huddled close, burying their faces in the soft material. "Hold these for me. Think of them as a security blanket, alright? I'll be back for them."
As he straightened, Shimmer, with a sudden burst of speed, leaped onto Echo's chest, pressing his face against Echo's own. His large, dark eyes, filled with an ancient, knowing wisdom, stared intently into Echo's. For a moment, time seemed to slow. In Shimmer's gaze, Echo saw not just concern, but a fleeting glimpse of swirling possibilities, of paths yet to be taken, of moments that might unfold. A spark ignited in Echo's mind. He understood. With a quick, almost imperceptible flick of his wand, Echo channeled his Beast Magic, not to control, but to link. A shimmering, almost invisible thread of magic connected him to Shimmer. For a precious few seconds, the world around Echo blurred, then snapped into sharp focus, revealing faint, almost ghost-like outlines of immediate futures. He saw a dragon's lunge, a plume of fire, a quick sidestep—a cascade of potential movements, each a fraction of a second ahead. The temporary gift of foresight, a brief window into Shimmer's unique ability, flooded his senses.
He pulled away from Shimmer, a new, fierce resolve hardening his features. "Stay safe, guys," he whispered, a silent promise hanging in the air.
Then, with a deep breath, Echo stepped out into the arena.
The crowd's roar hit him like a physical blow, a deafening wave of sound that vibrated through the ground. But Echo barely registered it. His eyes were fixed on the magnificent creature chained in the center of the rocky expanse. It was a Chinese Fireball, and even with the magical link to Shimmer giving him fleeting glimpses of its aggressive intent, Echo gasped aloud, a sound lost in the crowd's din. This was not the monstrous, terrifying beast he had envisioned in his despair. This was a creature of breathtaking, almost ethereal beauty.
Smaller than the other dragons, it was incredibly long and slender, almost serpentine, its body a graceful coil of muscle and sinew. Its scales shimmered with a fiery kaleidoscope of reds, oranges, and golds, as if it had been forged from the heart of a sun. Its neck and tail, disproportionately long even for its length, flowed with an elegant, almost dancer-like grace. Instead of horns, it possessed two magnificent, deer-like antlers that branched elegantly from its head, and its face was almost mammalian, with expressive ears twitching slightly. A ridge of golden-tipped spines ran the entire length of its head, neck, back, and tail, culminating in a dangling, lion-like tuft at the very tip. Even its wings were unique, more like bat wings, vast and leathery, but edged with a fringe of fiery red.
It let out a low, guttural growl, its prominent, intelligent eyes, the color of molten gold, fixed on him. Despite the chains and the fighting collar, which Echo now saw clearly around its neck, pumping its system with anger and confusion, there was a raw, untamed majesty about it that stole his breath.
The crowd roared again, impatient for the action to begin. Echo, however, stood unmoving, his blue hair slowly shifting to a soft, awe-filled green. He was not looking at a foe. He was looking at a masterpiece. And he would not, could not, bring himself to harm it.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, a determined glint replacing the awe. His green hair flickered with purpose. This was not a creature to be fought, but to be understood, to be helped. He raised his wand, not as a weapon, but as a conduit. Extending his arm, Echo focused his Beast Magic, projecting a wave of calming emotions, a silent plea for peace, towards the agitated beast.
The Chinese Fireball, however, was in no state to receive such overtures. The magical drugs coursing through its system, intended to heighten its aggression, only made it more volatile. It let out a deafening roar, a blast of hot air and resentment that ruffled Echo's hair and sent tremors through the arena. The calming magic, potent though it was, seemed to dissipate against the sheer wall of drugged fury. Echo frowned, his green hair darkening to a thoughtful blue. His first plan had failed. The collar was too effective, too insidious. He couldn't soothe a mind so thoroughly poisoned. He needed another approach.
As he pondered, the Chinese Fireball, true to its name, gathered a ball of searing flame in its mouth and spat it directly at Echo. Thanks to Shimmer's fleeting gift of foresight, Echo saw the attack seconds before it happened. He sidestepped with effortless grace, the fireball hissing as it struck the rocky ground precisely where he had been standing. A roar of awe and cheers erupted from the crowd, mistaking his evasion for a display of superior reflexes. The Fireball, its golden eyes narrowed, tried again, launching another fiery projectile. Echo moved again, a blur, avoiding the blast. The crowd roared louder, captivated by the apparent dance between boy and beast. He did this a few more times, each sidestep met with escalating applause, each near-miss fueling the spectators' excitement.
Then, the Chinese Fireball changed tactics. Instead of a concentrated projectile, it opened its magnificent jaws wide, and a continuous stream of white-hot flame spewed forth, engulfing Echo entirely. A collective gasp rippled through the stands, followed by a sudden, shocked silence. The dragon's fire, brilliant and devastating, seemed to consume the space where Echo had been. But as the stream of fire continued, unwavering, a faint outline began to appear within the inferno. Slowly, steadily, the flames dissipated, not fading, but seemingly being drawn inwards. Echo stood there, unburnt, his wand held aloft, its tip glowing with an intense, captured orange. He was absorbing the dragon's fire, using his 'Gather and Release' method to draw the raw energy into his magical core.
The Chinese Fireball, its eyes widening in what seemed like confusion, tried to stop breathing fire, but Echo's absorption was a relentless pull. The stream continued, forced from its mouth, even as the dragon bucked and thrashed, letting out a series of frantic squeaks and squawks. It tried to cut off the flow, to regain control, but the magic was too strong, too demanding. Panic began to flicker in its molten golden eyes as its most potent weapon was being drained against its will. The dragon's magnificent body trembled, its efforts futile.
Finally, the absorption stopped. The flow of fire ceased abruptly, leaving the dragon gasping, its chest heaving. It tried to breathe fire again, a desperate attempt to assert its power, but nothing came out. Not even a wisp of smoke billowed from its snout. The Chinese Fireball, its system ravaged by the collar's drugs and its inherent magic forcibly extracted, stood disoriented and powerless.
Echo knew that trying to soothe the dragon's mind with the collar still active was pointless. He couldn't use an Imperius Curse, not with hundreds of eyes watching, and certainly not on a creature he intended to help. He had to use the Chinese Fireball's own nature against it, not in combat, but in a different, more primal way. Intimidation. Echo raised his wand higher, the captured fire blazing at its tip. With a fluid, almost instinctive motion, he began to spin, weaving the searing flames into an intricate dance. Rings of pure, golden fire twirled around him, leaving scorch marks on the rocky arena floor. He waved the wand, and the fire leapt and coiled, forming elegant, deadly ribbons in the air. The crowd, which had been silent in shock, now erupted in a collective gasp of awe, followed by thunderous applause. This was not a fight, they realized; this was a spectacle, a mesmerizing display of raw, untamed power.
The Chinese Fireball, however, was not cheering. Its molten golden eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and profound understanding. It recognized the display, not as a flirtation, but as a primal warning, a declaration of absolute dominance. The dancing flames, born of its own breath, were now wielded by another, an undeniable statement of power. With a low, desperate whine, the magnificent dragon slowly lowered its long, serpentine body to the ground, its head dipping in submission. It began to back away, abandoning its nest and the clutch of golden eggs, letting out a series of frantic, whimpering cries, as if pleading with Echo to stop, to cease this terrifying exhibition. It gave up.
But Echo wasn't finished. He needed full submission. With a flourish, he further manipulated the fire, forming the trailing rings and hoops into the unmistakable, ethereal head of a dragon, its fiery eyes staring down at the real Fireball. The crowd roared its approval, enthralled by the impossible artistry.
High above, in the headmaster's booth, Albus Dumbledore, usually so composed, watched with growing fear, his blue eyes dark with a chilling recognition. This was no mere fire charm. This was Fiendfyre, a dark and sentient flame that devoured all in its path, a spell of immense destructive power that Echo was unwittingly unleashing. Dumbledore had seen it before, the horrifying potential of such magic, and he knew that if Echo lost control, or allowed the spell to manifest fully, it would consume not just the arena, but potentially the entire Forbidden Forest, and beyond.
Without a moment's hesitation, subtly drawing his wand, Dumbledore cast a powerful, silent counter-charm. A sudden, unseasonal downpour erupted directly over Echo. The water, cold and heavy, cascaded over him, drenching him instantly. With a furious hiss, the Fiendfyre, deprived of its fuel, evaporated into nothingness, leaving behind only the lingering scent of ozone and damp earth. The crowd, which had been roaring its approval moments before, fell dead silent, stunned into shocked incomprehension.
Echo stood, dripping wet, his green hair now plastered to his face, and stared at his soaked body. "What the fuck just happened?" he muttered, his voice echoing in the sudden silence.
The Chinese Fireball, recovering from its momentary disorientation and seeing the interruption, seized the opportunity. With a renewed snarl, it lunged, its massive jaws snapping shut on the air where Echo had just been. But Echo, thanks to Shimmer's fleeting gift, saw the strike before it happened.
His green hair flared to a furious, crackling black. "Protectus!" he hissed, the Parseltongue words resonating with a dark, primal energy. His dark affinity, for once unhindered, surged forth, allowing him to wield it fully. A shield of pure, inky black energy erupted before him, not smooth and polished, but jagged and brutal, covered in hard, needle-sharp spikes.
The dragon, driven by the collar's rage, bit down hard on the shield, heedless of the pain. A sickening crack echoed through the arena as several of its teeth splintered and broke, leaving small, dark puncture marks in its mouth. It reeled back, a pained whine escaping its throat, its golden eyes filled with confusion and fresh fury.
Echo knew he couldn't maintain the shield indefinitely. As the dragon prepared for another strike, its head pulling back for a powerful lunge, he dropped the shield. "Bombarda!" he roared, aiming his wand. The spell didn't just explode in one spot; it traveled along the dragon's body, infusing itself into its scales, before exploding in a tenth of a second, simultaneously across its entire face and neck. The dragon stumbled back, a bewildered, stunned look replacing its aggression, its head shaking as if trying to dislodge an invisible foe.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Echo knew he needed more. He needed raw power. With a flash of his Beast Magic, he apparated, not just moving himself, but simultaneously summoning a towering figure. Just as the dragon recovered and lunged forward again, aiming for another bite, a massive, golden-feathered griffin materialized in mid-air. Godrick, noble and fierce, descended with a mighty squawk, swatting the dragon's face with a clawed forelimb, sending it reeling once more.
Godrick spread his magnificent wings before the stunned dragon, letting out a deafening screech that ripped through the air. The crowd, which had been in a state of stunned silence, now erupted in a wild, ecstatic roar. The Chinese Fireball, already dazed, stared up at the colossal griffin, its molten golden eyes wide with a new kind of fear. Godrick, wings fully extended, was an imposing figure, easily the same size as the Fireball, yet much larger. His golden feathers shimmered, and his piercing eagle eyes fixed on the dragon with unwavering intensity. He let out another guttural screech, a challenge that echoed across the arena.
The Fireball, however, was not easily cowed. Despite its earlier submission to Echo's power, the magic-infused drugs from its collar continued to fuel its aggression. With a frustrated snarl, it coiled its long body, then lunged forward, a blur of red and gold. It snapped its powerful jaws at Godrick's leg, aiming for a vital point. But Godrick was too agile. With a powerful beat of his wings, he ascended, rising just out of reach. The Fireball's teeth clacked shut on empty air. Godrick then descended with terrifying speed, striking the dragon's head with a heavy, armored beak. The Fireball shrieked in pain, momentarily stunned, its elegant antlers rattling.
Echo, watching from the side, knew this wasn't just about winning. It was about getting the wand in the right position to free the collar from the dragon's neck. He raised his wand, his black hair still crackling with dark energy as he waited for the time to strike.
Godrick, with a powerful beat of his wings, attempted to plummet down onto the stunned Fireball, aiming to pin it to the ground. But the dragon, despite its dazed state, was quicker than he anticipated. With a sudden burst of speed, it coiled its slender body and, with a swift, fluid motion, evaded Godrick's dive. As the griffin passed, the Fireball whipped its long tail, lashing out with surprising force and catching Godrick squarely on his feathered side. A screech of pain ripped from the griffin's beak as he stumbled, momentarily thrown off balance.
The two magnificent beasts then faced each other, a raw, primal tension crackling between them. The Chinese Fireball, its golden eyes now burning with renewed fury, reared up on its hind legs, its serpentine body swaying, antlers poised aggressively. Godrick, recovering swiftly, mirrored its stance, his golden feathers bristling, talons flexing. With a guttural roar, they lunged, grabbing each other's forelegs in a brutal, almost wrestling-like embrace. They thrashed about, a whirlwind of scales, feathers, and powerful limbs, each trying to overpower the other, their roars and snarls echoing through the arena.
Echo, seeing Godrick struggling, knew he had to act. His black hair, still crackling with dark energy, flared with renewed purpose. "Stupefy!" he yelled, his wand aimed precisely at the Chinese Fireball's head. A bolt of crimson light shot forth, striking the dragon with enough force to disorient it momentarily. The Fireball, already reeling from Godrick's powerful grip, stumbled, its head shaking as if trying to clear its vision.
"Now, Godrick! Slam it down!" Echo commanded, his voice ringing with urgency.
Godrick, seizing the opportunity, tightened his grip on the dragon's head. With a mighty heave, he raised the struggling Fireball high into the air, its lithe body thrashing wildly. Then, with a roar of pure power, he slammed it, face-first, down onto the unforgiving stone. A sickening CRACK echoed through the arena as the impact sent vibrations through the ground. One of the dragon's elegant, antler-like horns shattered, a shard flying off to clatter on the rocky surface. The Chinese Fireball let out a pained, desperate cry, its body momentarily stilled by the force of the blow.
"Oh, what a devastating blow from the Hogwarts Champion, Echo!" the announcer's voice boomed, his excitement palpable. "The mighty griffin, Godrick, slams the Chinese Fireball to the ground! The dragon is clearly stunned! A decisive move! Echo has a clear path to the golden egg! He could grab it now and claim victory for Hogwarts!"
But Echo didn't move towards the eggs. Instead, his black hair still crackling with dark intent, he sprinted towards Godrick, who held the dazed dragon pinned to the ground. "Hold it tight, Godrick! Don't let go!" Echo yelled, his voice strained with effort.
With the dragon momentarily restrained, Echo pointed his wand at the intricate fighting collar around the Fireball's neck. "Releasio Vinculum!" he chanted, the words snapping with power. A flash of emerald green light erupted from his wand, striking the collar. With a soft click and a puff of acrid smoke, the enchanted chains that secured the device to the dragon's neck dissolved, and the collar itself fell to the ground, lying inert amidst the shattered rock.
The Fireball, feeling the sudden absence of the debilitating magic, let out a deep, shuddering breath as its golden eyes slowly cleared.
"Now, throw it, Godrick!" Echo commanded, leaping onto the griffin's broad, feathered back.
With a final, powerful grunt, Godrick heaved the now unchained dragon. The Fireball, propelled by Godrick's immense strength, flew through the air, breaking free from the heavier arena chains that still bound its limbs. It slammed against the outer wall of the arena, precisely where the spectators' booths began. Many of the onlookers, their cheers turning to terrified screams, scrambled away, convinced the dragon would attack them. But the Fireball, with surprising agility, dug its powerful claws into the stone, clinging precariously to the wall before it could fall. Its molten golden eyes, now free from the haze of the collar, locked onto Echo, who stood defiant on Godrick's back.
"If you want me, come and get me!" Echo yelled, his voice echoing through the now-panicked arena. His black hair flared with a dangerous, challenging red.
Godrick, responding to Echo's silent command, launched himself into the air, his powerful wings beating a thunderous rhythm. With Echo clinging to his back, they soared upwards, leaving the arena floor behind in a blur. The Chinese Fireball, now fully unchained and free of the collar's maddening influence, let out a furious shriek. Its molten golden eyes, burning with a mix of pain, anger, and a surprising flash of cunning, followed Echo's ascent. With a powerful beat of its own vast, fiery-red wings, it detached itself from the arena wall and launched into pursuit, a crimson streak against the pale morning sky.
"Unbelievable, ladies and gentlemen!" the announcer's voice boomed, a mixture of shock and exhilaration in his tone. "Hogwarts Champion Echo, not content with merely retrieving the egg, has now engaged the Chinese Fireball in an aerial chase! And he's riding a griffin! A griffin! What in Merlin's name is he thinking?"
The crowd below erupted, a cacophony of gasps, cheers, and terrified screams. Spectators looked upward, their faces a mixture of awe and sheer terror as the impossible spectacle unfolded above them.
"The Fireball is gaining on them!" the announcer shrieked, his voice cracking with disbelief. "It's a genuine aerial dogfight over the Forbidden Forest! Is this part of the task? Is this allowed? No one knows! Echo is a madman! A suicidal, utterly deranged madman!"
Echo, pressed low against Godrick's feathered back, felt the wind whip past his ears, his black hair streaming behind him like a banner. He risked a glance over his shoulder. The Chinese Fireball, for all its grace on the ground, was astonishingly fast in the air. It was closing the distance, its golden eyes fixed on them with a predatory intensity. A blast of searing fire erupted from its mouth, narrowly missing Godrick's tail feathers.
"Faster, Godrick!" Echo yelled, his voice strained against the wind. "Straight for the castle!"
Godrick, with a powerful beat of his wings, altered his course, soaring towards the familiar silhouette of Hogwarts Castle. Below them, the Forbidden Forest blurred into a tapestry of greens and browns. Echo, clinging tightly, pointed frantically towards the intricate maze of towers, turrets, and spires that crowned the ancient edifice.
"Over the rooftops, Godrick! Through the spires! Try to lose it!" Echo yelled, his voice barely audible above the wind and the thunderous beat of Godrick's wings. He hoped that the dragon, still recovering from the fighting collar and the physical blows, would be disoriented by the abrupt change in terrain, perhaps even crash into one of the many ancient stone structures.
Godrick banked sharply, diving low over the Great Hall, narrowly missing a startled gargoyle. He weaved through the narrow gaps between the astronomy tower and the clock tower, his powerful body an agile blur against the sky. Echo risked a glance back, a flicker of hope stirring in his chest.
But the hope was short-lived.
Instead of faltering, the Chinese Fireball seemed to embrace the new environment with terrifying speed. With a graceful, almost fluid motion, it landed on the slate roofs, scattering along the many twists and turns like a fast-paced serpent. It flowed over the undulating surfaces, scaled steep gables, and darted around chimney stacks with an unnerving ease, its fiery scales a vibrant streak against the dull grey stone. It was as swift and sure-footed on the uneven rooftops as it had been soaring through the open air.
Echo cursed, a frustrated growl escaping his lips. He'd forgotten. Chinese Fireballs were renowned for their incredible agility and speed, both on land and in the air. This wasn't going to be easy.
"Up, Godrick! Go up!" he bellowed, pointing skyward.
Godrick responded instantly, powerful wings churning, ascending steeply into the crisp morning air. The castle, with its frantic, serpentine pursuer, rapidly shrank below them. But the Chinese Fireball, not losing an inch of speed, launched itself back into the sky, a crimson arrow shooting after them. It was gaining. Incredibly, impossibly, it was catching up.
With a final, explosive beat of its wings, the Fireball closed the distance. Before Echo could react, its long, serpentine body coiled around Godrick, binding the griffin in a suffocating embrace. The dragon thrashed violently, its powerful muscles constricting, trying to force them both into a catastrophic plummet. Godrick roared, struggling against the unbreakable grip, his powerful wings beating uselessly. They were falling, spiraling downwards towards the unforgiving castle grounds.
Echo acted fast, his mind a whirlwind of fear and desperate resolve. As they plummeted, he raised his wand, his black hair flaring with dark intent. "Imperio!" he hissed, the Forbidden Curse erupting from his wand and striking the dragon.
For a moment, the Fireball's golden eyes glazed over, its thrashing body momentarily stiffening. The magical compulsion, though fleeting against such a powerful, drugged creature, was enough. Its serpentine coils loosened, its grip slackening just enough for Godrick to let out a mighty roar and, with a powerful burst of strength, wrench himself free.
Godrick beat his wings furiously, pulling out of the dive mere feet from the castle rooftops. They soared upwards once more, Godrick panting, his feathers ruffled and his body aching. Behind them, the Chinese Fireball, its eyes still slightly unfocused from the Imperius Curse, followed sluggishly, no longer with the same aggressive intent, but now under a partial, unwilling compulsion. The narrow fall had left them shaken, but alive, with a half-controlled dragon now trailing them like a bewildered shadow.
As Echo clung to Godrick's back, he pointed frantically towards the familiar oval of the Quidditch Pitch, a green expanse far below, nestled beside the Forbidden Forest. "The Quidditch Pitch, Godrick! Down there!" he yelled, his voice raw.
Godrick dove with a final, powerful surge. They descended in a dizzying spiral, the wind screaming in Echo's ears, the Chinese Fireball a confused but persistent shadow above them. With a powerful beat of his wings, Godrick leveled out, landing gracefully at the far end of the Quidditch Pitch, his talons sinking slightly into the soft grass.
"Stay put, Godrick!" Echo commanded, scrambling off the griffin's back. He turned to face the plummeting dragon in the empty pitch where no eyes were, his black hair flaring with a desperate, determined red. "Here we go," he muttered, taking a deep breath.
The Chinese Fireball, its golden eyes still clouded with the lingering effects of the Imperius Curse and the fighting collar's drugs, plunged towards him, a living, breathing meteor of fury and confusion. Echo braced himself, closing his eyes, and poured every ounce of his Beast Magic into a single, overwhelming wave of calm. It wasn't merely a suggestion; it was an emotional torrent, a desperate attempt to manipulate the dragon's very being, to override the artificial rage and fear that gripped it.
The furious dragon, its instincts screaming for a fight, struggled against the sudden, profound wave of serenity washing over it. The drugs and the Imperius Curse, already muddying its strained mind, created a perfect storm of internal conflict. Instead of dive-bombing, its descent faltered. It braked hard, its vast wings beating frantically against the air, its powerful talons tearing at the grass as it tried to stop. With a screech of protest, it skidded to a halt just inches before Echo, kicking up a shower of turf. Behind Echo, Godrick stood ready, his golden feathers bristling, talons flexed, prepared to launch himself into the fray if needed.
Echo slowly opened his eyes, breathless from the sheer exertion of his magic. The Chinese Fireball stood before him, its serpentine body heaving, its molten golden eyes wide and unfocused, staring at him as if he had just asked it a question regarding the nature of the universe itself. It wasn't angry, nor was it truly calm. It was utterly, profoundly confused.
Confused is good, Echo thought, taking a few shaky breaths. Confused works too.
With the dragon momentarily held in its bewildered trance, Echo raised his wand. "Liberare Vincula!" he chanted, a soft, shimmering light emanating from the tip of his wand. The remaining, heavier chains that still bound the dragon's limbs, anchoring it to the tournament's demands, shimmered, weakened, and then fell away with a series of dull clangs, landing heavily on the grass.
The Chinese Fireball, now entirely free, looked down at its unchained limbs, then back at Echo, its confusion deepening. Echo then performed a series of rapid, intricate wand movements. "Sanare Bestia!" he murmured, his voice laced with his Beast Magic. A gentle, emerald green light enveloped the dragon. Instantly, its torn scales regrew, shimmering anew. Deep cuts and bruises vanished, its powerful claws and vast, fiery wings mended themselves, and its splintered teeth reappeared, pearly white and sharp. Even its one missing, elegant, antler-like horn had grown back, perfectly formed, leaving the dragon even more bewildered. It shook its head, as if trying to process the impossible.
Then, with a final, desperate resolve, Echo decided on one last, daring move—a move that could either seal his connection with the dragon or get him killed. He de-summoned Godrick, sending the magnificent griffin back to wherever he had come from in the Forbidden Forest with a silent flick of his mind. Godrick vanished in a flash of golden light, leaving Echo utterly alone before the colossal dragon.
Echo then deliberately dropped his wand onto the grass in front of the beast, letting it clatter to the ground, a clear sign of surrender and trust. He turned his head slightly, averting his gaze, and slowly extended his right arm, palm open, towards the dragon's snout.
The Chinese Fireball watched him, its newly healed golden eyes still wide with confusion, but now with a flicker of something else—curiosity, perhaps, or a nascent understanding. Ever so slowly, cautiously, the magnificent dragon lowered its head. It brought its smooth, almost mammalian nose towards Echo's outstretched hand, not with aggression, but with a hesitant, almost delicate touch. It placed its nose gently against his palm, and then, mirroring Echo's earlier concentration, it closed its own molten golden eyes.
Echo's eyes fluttered open, meeting the dragon's still-confused but no longer aggressive gaze. He moved his hand slowly and carefully from his nose, sliding it along the smooth, fiery scales until his palm rested gently on the side of its face. With a feather-light touch, he began to stroke the magnificent creature, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of its jaw. The dragon's golden eyes, wide and unblinking, watched his every movement, a low rumble vibrating in its chest.
With his free hand, Echo made a swift, almost imperceptible swiping motion with two fingers in the air, a silent command from his Beast Magic. The subtle, magical thread of the Imperius Curse, still lingering around the dragon, snapped and dissolved, freeing its mind from the last vestiges of forced obedience.
Still petting the dragon with one hand, Echo carefully reached into his magic satchel, his fingers brushing against various pouches and compartments until they closed around a small, clear vial. He pulled off the cork with his teeth, a soft pop echoing in the sudden silence, and brought the potion to the dragon's snout. The Chinese Fireball, as if instinctively understanding, lowered its head and delicately licked at the clear, shimmering liquid. It drank easily, its long, slender tongue lapping up the entire concoction.
Almost immediately, a visible ripple passed through the dragon's body. Its muscles relaxed, its scales seemed to glow with a healthier luster, and the last traces of the collar's malevolent influence vanished. A soft, contented snort escaped its nostrils, a sound of pure relief and well-being.
Echo smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that reached his eyes. His black hair softened, a gentle, warm blue flowing through it. "Glad you're feeling better," he murmured, his voice soft and sincere, still stroking the dragon's face. The Chinese Fireball leaned into his touch, its golden eyes now clear and bright, reflecting a nascent trust and gratitude.
Just then, a colossal roar, followed by a collective gasp from the distant crowd, ripped through the air, reminding Echo of the ongoing tournament. His head snapped towards the sound, his blue hair darkening to a troubled grey. The other dragons. The other magnificent creatures, still chained, still suffering under the insidious influence of those fighting collars. He couldn't just bring this Fireball back. They'd only shackle it again, pump it full of those vile potions, force it into another barbaric dance. He looked at the free, healed dragon before him, its golden eyes now clear and understanding.
"You have to go," Echo said, his voice quiet but firm. "Go. Fly away. Be free."
The Chinese Fireball tilted its head, a low rumble in its chest, its eyes never leaving his. It didn't move.
Echo's frustration began to mount. "Go!" he urged, a little more sharply, waving his hand in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. "You can't stay here. They'll just put the collar back on you."
Still, the dragon stood its ground, a stubborn, almost pleading look in its intelligent eyes.
"GO!" Echo bellowed, his voice cracking with anger and desperation. He waved his arms wildly, trying to seem as threatening as possible. The dragon flinched, its body tensing, and let out a surprised, almost wounded roar, a blast of hot air hitting Echo's face.
Echo froze, his arms dropping to his sides. He took a shaky breath, the anger draining from him, replaced by a profound, raw ache. He looked at the beautiful creature, at the trust and confusion in its eyes, and his resolve crumbled.
"Please," he whispered, his voice barely audible, thick with unshed tears. "Please, just go. You have to leave. Fly free. Don't let them catch you again."
The Chinese Fireball watched him, its golden eyes reading the pleading, the desperation, the genuine sorrow in his gaze. Slowly, carefully, it turned its long, serpentine body. It took a few hesitant steps, then paused, looking back at Echo one last time, a silent question in its gaze. Echo merely nodded, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek.
With a powerful beat of its vast, fiery-red wings, the Chinese Fireball launched itself into the sky. It circled once, a magnificent streak of crimson against the pale dawn, then soared away, vanishing over the distant treeline of the Forbidden Forest, leaving Echo alone in the quiet expanse of the Quidditch Pitch.
Echo, utterly drained, fell to his knees on the soft grass, gasping for breath. A wave of profound relief washed over him, momentarily eclipsing the exhaustion. The task was done. He had done it.
With a soft pop, Pip appeared beside him, Shimmer and Sniffles clinging to his small frame. The three creatures, chittering and squeaking with relief and excitement, launched themselves at Echo. He tumbled backward onto the grass with a grunt, a small pile of boys and beasts tangled together.
"I'm Glad to see you guys, too," Echo chuckled. His voice was still a little shaky, but a genuine smile finally graced his lips.
"Mr. Echo, okay?" Pip squeaked, his green eyes wide with concern as he patted Echo's cheek with a tiny hand.
Echo sat up, gently disentangling himself from the affectionate pile. "I'm fine, Pip, just a bit shaken up." He ran a hand through his now calm, blue hair, pushing it out of his eyes.
He looked back towards the distant arena, the faint roar of the crowd still audible—no doubt an uproar. They had just witnessed a champion essentially free a dragon and then perform a vanishing act. His blue hair darkened slightly, and a renewed sense of purpose filled him.
"My job is far from over, though," Echo said, his gaze fixed on the arena. "I still have to free the other dragons."
"Pip will help Mr. Echo!" Pip declared, puffing out his tiny chest. Shimmer chittered emphatically, his tiny stick shimmering with determination, while Sniffles let out a determined squeak, nudging Echo's hand.
Echo smiled, a genuine warmth spreading through him. "Thanks, guys. I knew I could count on you." He took his robes from Shimmer, who had been clutching them tightly, and quickly put them back on. "Alright, Pip. Apparate us back to the event site. Time for phase two."