Echo paced the deserted corridors of Hogwarts, his blue hair a frustrated, agitated tangle. He walked through empty classrooms, peered into dusty alcoves, and even checked the shadowy corners of the Great Hall, calling out softly, "Pip? Pip, where are you?" But there was no reply, no faint pop, no whisper of a small voice. The silence of the castle felt oppressive, each empty space a testament to his harsh words. He had searched high and low, from the dungeons to the Astronomy Tower, his heart sinking with every failed attempt. The guilt gnawed at him, a bitter taste in his mouth. He imagined Pip, cowering somewhere, utterly alone, believing he had truly displeased his "master."
He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair, which had dulled to a worried grey. "Pip, please," he muttered to the empty air, "I didn't mean it. Just… show yourself."
A sudden, booming voice directly behind him made him jump, nearly sending him through the nearest wall. His grey hair flared a shocked, electric blue.
"Echo! There ye are, lad! Been lookin' all over for ya!"
Echo spun around, his heart pounding, to see Hagrid, larger than life, standing just a few feet away. The half-giant's face was wreathed in a familiar, if slightly concerned, smile, and he held a brightly coloured, slightly squashed-looking birdcage in one enormous hand.
"Hagrid!" Echo exclaimed, trying to steady his breathing. "You nearly gave me a heart attack! What do you want?"
Hagrid shifted his weight, his gaze unusually direct. "Well, Echo, I heard a little birdy whisperin' that there's a new hag moved into the Forbidden Forest. Somewhere deep in, it is." He paused, his brow furrowing. "And knowin' how these things usually go, lad, I figured you'd be involved somehow."
Echo sighed, his blue hair settling into a resigned black. "Yeah, I am. She's… a friend. Granny Ethel. What about it?"
Hagrid's eyes, usually so full of warmth, widened with an almost childlike wonder. "A friend? A real, live hag? Bless my soul! I've never met a hag before, not properly, anyway. Always just heard stories, y'know. The kind what give yeh the shivers." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Could… could yeh introduce me, Echo? Just for a bit? I reckon it'd be somethin' to tell the grandkids, eh?"
Echo blinked, the request so utterly Hagrid that it almost knocked the wind out of him. "Hagrid, I'm kind of busy right now. I'm… I'm trying to find Pip."
Hagrid's face fell, his enthusiasm dimming. "Ah, but Echo, lad, it'd be a grand adventure! Just for a little while? Please, Echo? I've always wanted to meet one, really have." His enormous eyes pleaded, earnest and unwavering.
Echo ran a hand over his black hair, a groan escaping his lips. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Hagrid," he muttered, shaking his head. "I can never say no to you, can I?"
Hagrid's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Yer the best, Echo, yeh really are!" With a bellow of delight, he enveloped Echo in a bone-crushing bear hug that lifted him clear off his feet. Echo felt the air leave his lungs in a painful rush, his head pressed uncomfortably against Hagrid's scratchy waistcoat, smelling faintly of damp earth and some unidentifiable forest creature.
After what felt like an eternity, Hagrid finally released him, setting him back on his feet with a gentle thump. Echo gasped for air, massaging his bruised ribs. His black hair, though still agitated, pulsed with a reluctant affection.
"Alright, alright, you big oaf," Echo wheezed, still catching his breath. "I'll take you to meet Granny Ethel. But she usually naps in the afternoon. So, meet me by your hut, later this afternoon, say around… three? And don't scare her, she's… sensitive."
Hagrid beamed, rubbing his hands together. "Three it is, Echo! You won't regret it, lad! This is gonna be grand, just grand!"
Echo, with Shimmer the demiguise perched comfortably on his shoulder and Sniffles the Niffler, a barely perceptible bulge in his robes pocket, met Hagrid by his hut later that afternoon. His blue hair was still a soft, contemplative shade, though a flicker of amusement touched it as he saw what Hagrid was carrying.
"Hagrid," Echo began, his voice laced with surprise, "what in Merlin's name is that?"
Hagrid beamed, carefully cradling a monstrous bouquet of wildflowers, herbs, and what looked suspiciously like glowing mushrooms. The arrangement was easily twice the size of Echo himself, and a faint, earthy aroma wafted from it. "Just a little housewarming gift for Granny Ethel, lad! To welcome her to the neighborhood, like. Don't yeh think she'll like it?"
Echo chuckled, shaking his head. "She'll love it, Hagrid. She absolutely will."
They set off into the Forbidden Forest, the massive bouquet rustling softly as Hagrid navigated the familiar, winding paths. The dappled sunlight filtered through the ancient canopy, casting long, shifting shadows.
Suddenly, a gruff voice echoed from the dense undergrowth ahead. "Don't move!"
Echo's blue hair flared a furious, agitated red. His hand instinctively went to his wand, drawing it in a flash. Convinced it was another group of poachers, he whirled around, his voice a primal scream. "You can have the creatures of this forest when you pry them from my cold, dead hands!"
He froze mid-sentence, his wand pointed at a small group of figures emerging from the trees. Leading them was Alastor Moody, his magical eye whirring, his gnarled staff planted firmly on the ground. Beside him stood a much younger, but no less imposing, Kingsley Shacklebolt, his expression serious with a few other unnamed aurars. All the Aurors, their wands at the ready, flanked them.
Echo let out a deep, shuddering sigh of relief, his red hair slowly softening to a more relieved blue. "Oh, thank Merlin," he breathed, lowering his wand. "It's just you lot. I was almost about to commit a homicide."
Kingsley Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow, his gaze unwavering. "You sound rather casual about that, Mr. Echo. Why?"
Echo shrugged, trying to project an air of nonchalance, though his blue hair flickered with a hint of nervousness. "No reason, just… a long day."
Moody grunted, his magical eye fixing on Echo, then sweeping over Hagrid and his enormous floral offering. "What are you two doing in the Forbidden Forest?" he rasped, his voice devoid of humor.
Hagrid, ever jovial, even in the face of two stern Aurors, merely grinned. "Well, I reckon we could ask yeh the same question, Alastor!"
Alastor Moody's magical eye whirred and clicked, a mechanical whirring that seemed to vibrate with his irritation. His voice, a gravelly growl, cut through the tense quiet of the Forbidden Forest clearing. "We're here on official Ministry business, none of your concern, so you should head out while we deal with the problem." He cast a suspicious glance between Hagrid's towering form and Echo's more diminutive, but no less intriguing, presence.
Echo, ever the master of understatement, muttered under his breath to Hagrid, "What else is new?" His eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, held a flicker of resignation. He'd dealt with the Ministry's heavy-handed approach countless times.
Kingsley Shacklebolt, his face a mask of official gravity, stepped forward; the rich purple of his Auror robes was a stark contrast to the dappled greens and browns of the ancient trees. "A hag has been spotted in the Forbidden Forest, and we've been sent to deal with it." His gaze, usually calm and reassuring, was now firm and unyielding, fixed on Echo.
Before Echo could even begin to concoct an elaborate excuse or attempt to subtly misdirect the Aurors away from the general vicinity of where his beloved Granny Ethel was likely tending her mushroom patch, Hagrid's booming voice shattered the delicate balance of the moment. "That's nonsense, that is!" he bellowed, his brow furrowed with indignation. "Echo brought the hag here, and she's completely peaceful! Wouldn't hurt a fly, she wouldn't!"
A stunned silence descended upon the clearing. The other Aurors, who had been positioning themselves cautiously, froze. Their eyes, wide with disbelief, flicked from Hagrid to Echo, then back again. Echo, for his part, stared at Hagrid, his jaw slowly dropping. Hagrid, realizing the catastrophic blunder he'd just made, clapped a massive hand to his forehead with a thud that echoed through the trees. "Oh, blast it all," he mumbled, his face reddening. "I shouldn't have said that, should I?"
Echo let out a deeply stressed groan, burying his face in his hands. Even Shimmer, the iridescent sprite perched on his shoulder, shimmered with an almost visible exasperation, a tiny sigh escaping her ethereal form.
Kingsley's eyes, previously narrowed in professional concern, now sharpened into a piercing stare that could bore holes through granite. "Echo, you willingly brought a hag to the Forbidden Forest? Do you realize what kind of trouble that can land you in?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "Do you even know what Hags are all about, the danger they pose?"
Echo pulled his hands away from his face, groaning again, this time directly at Kingsley. "If you go on about that whole stigma about hags eating children," he warned, his voice laced with a genuine threat, "I swear, I'll use a hex I created on you."
Hagrid's eyes, still wide with a mix of remorse and wonder, lit up at this new piece of information. "You created a hex, Echo?" he rumbled, momentarily forgetting the gravity of the situation.
"I call it the Big Tongue Hex," Echo explained, a dangerous glint entering his eyes, a glint that suggested he was already mentally picturing the spell's effects on Kingsley. "Makes a tongue swell up to three times its normal size. Makes casting spells utterly impossible." He even made a little gesture with his hands, indicating the exaggerated size.
Kingsley, despite himself, muttered under his breath, "I'll have to ask him to learn that spell." The thought of a powerful and annoying opponent silenced by such a simple, yet humiliating, hex clearly held some appeal.
Alastor Moody, however, was not swayed by the humor. His magical eye fixed on Echo with an unwavering intensity. "Regardless," he growled, "hags are dangerous creatures. They belong on the other side of a Ministry warrant, not as houseguests in a forbidden forest."
Hagrid, ever the champion of misunderstood creatures, immediately argued, "They're sentient beings, Alastor, not mindless monsters! Just because some of 'em are a bit... rough around the edges, doesn't mean they're all bad."
Echo rolled his eyes, a clear sign of his dwindling patience. "Look, if you won't see reason, if you insist on clinging to those outdated, prejudiced notions, then fine." He threw his hands up in a gesture of defeat, but there was a mischievous glint back in his eyes now. "I'll take you to meet her. And then, I'll show you that she's no threat whatsoever." He started walking deeper into the forest, leaving the Aurors no choice but to follow, their expressions a mix of suspicion, apprehension, and a growing sense of bewildered curiosity.
The little group followed Echo deeper into the ancient woods, the air growing heavier with the scent of damp earth and moss. The Aurors, their wands still loosely gripped, exchanged uneasy glances, clearly expecting a confrontation. Hagrid, however, bounced along, his massive bouquet still clutched in his hand, a look of pure excitement on his face.
"Here," Echo announced, stopping abruptly in a small clearing. His blue hair flickered with confusion. "This is it. This is where her hut is."
But there was nothing there. The clearing was empty, save for a few moss-covered boulders and a scattering of fallen leaves. The babbling brook still flowed nearby, its gentle gurgle the only sound that broke the silence.
Hagrid frowned, his excitement replaced by bewilderment. "But Echo, lad," he rumbled, his voice heavy with disappointment, "there's nothin' here! Where's yer hag friend's cottage?"
Echo stared at the empty space, his blue hair shifting to a puzzled grey. "It… it was here," he insisted, running a hand through his hair. "Just a few days ago. A little cottage, made of branches and moss. Smoke was coming from the chimney. I… I don't understand. It's just… gone."
Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped forward, his wand held out, a faint ripple of magic emanating from its tip. He swept it across the clearing, his eyes narrowed in concentration. "No illusion charms, Mr. Echo," he stated, his voice firm. "No trace of any concealment. If there was a structure here, it's genuinely not here now."
One of the other Aurors, a young woman with sharp features, offered cautiously, "Perhaps she simply packed up and left, sir? Hags are known for their nomadic tendencies."
Echo shook his head, his grey hair flickering with frustration. "She just moved in a few weeks ago! Why would she leave now? And without a trace?"
Just then, a low, groaning rumble vibrated through the ground beneath their feet, growing steadily louder. The trees around them began to sway, not with wind, but with an unseen force. The Aurors instinctively tensed, their wands rising, their faces grim. Hagrid, however, merely looked around with a kind of childlike awe.
Then, through the dense treeline, a dark, shadowy mass began to emerge. It was the cottage, the small, crooked hut, but it was no longer nestled on the ground. It was walking. On enormous, gnarled chicken legs, thick and powerful, that lifted it high above the undergrowth, tearing through the smaller trees and pushing aside ancient ferns with a ponderous, creaking gait. Smoke still curled lazily from its stone chimney, and the faint, earthy scent of ancient magic and brewing herbs grew stronger with every colossal step.
Echo stared, his jaw literally dropping. His grey hair erupted into a vibrant, dazzling blue, sparkling with pure, unadulterated wonder. "Oh, wow," he breathed, his voice barely a whisper. "Oh, wow, that is… that is the coolest thing I have ever seen in my entire life!"
The walking house lumbered forward, its chicken legs settling into the exact spot Echo had indicated the clearing had been. With another deep groan, the legs retracted, and the moss-covered, gnarled-branch cottage settled gently back onto the earth, seamlessly rooting itself into the ground. It looked exactly as it had before—a normal, albeit slightly crooked, hut.
Echo, completely captivated, started walking casually toward it, a wide, awe-struck grin on his face. He reached the wooden door and began to rap on it rapidly, calling out, "Granny Ethel! Granny Ethel, are you in there? That was amazing!"
As he continued to pound, he noticed something new beside the door: a small, intricately carved bell made of dark wood and twisted roots. Shimmer, sensing his distraction, reached out a shimmering, ethereal hand and rang the bell with a delicate chime. Echo paused, then continued his enthusiastic shouts of "Granny Ethel! Granny Ethel!"
The Aurors, however, had retreated a few steps, their faces pale, their wands firmly raised. "Echo, are you mad?" Kingsley hissed, his voice tight with alarm. "You can't just walk up to a walking, sentient house! What if it's a trap? What if she's hostile?"
Hagrid, though still wide-eyed at the sight of the walking hut, waved a dismissive hand. "Don't yeh worry, lads," he rumbled, though a nervous tremor in his voice belied his words. "Echo knows what he's doin'. He's friends with her!"
Echo, still pounding on the door, merely shouted back over his shoulder, his voice filled with a cheerful lack of concern, "No, I don't! I just lack any sense of self-preservation!"
The door creaked open, revealing Ethel, her face wreathed in a warm, toothless smile. She looked exactly as Echo remembered, her patchwork apron surprisingly clean, a wisp of smoke still clinging to her grey hair. Her ancient eyes, however, sparkled with an added, mischievous glint.
"Well, bless my withered heart, if it isn't my favorite grandchild!" she cackled, reaching out a gnarled hand to roughly pinch Echo's cheek, her grip surprisingly strong. "And what a commotion you've brought to my humble abode! And Shimmer, my dear! And little Sniffles, too!" she added, her eyes twinkling as she spotted the iridescent sprite and the barely perceptible bulge in Echo's robes.
"Granny Ethel!" Echo said, pulling away from her surprisingly strong grip. His blue hair shimmered with a nervous energy. "I came to introduce you to someone!"
Ethel's ancient eyes blinked, a rare flicker of surprise crossing her face. She peered past Echo, her gaze falling upon the towering figure of Hagrid, who was now slowly approaching, still clutching his enormous, rustling bouquet.
"Well, bless my… my stars," Ethel muttered, her voice losing a touch of its usual cackle. "He's… a large one, isn't he?"
Hagrid, beaming, finally reached the threshold of the cottage. "How do, ma'am?" he rumbled, his voice gentle despite its volume.
"Granny Ethel, this is Rubus Hagrid," Echo said, gesturing between them. "Hagrid, this is Granny Ethel. She's… a friend."
"A pleasure to meet you, Granny Ethel," Hagrid said, extending the monstrous bouquet. "Just a little somethin' to welcome yeh to the neighborhood, like. Hope yeh like 'em."
Ethel took the bouquet, her gnarled hands almost disappearing among the vibrant colors and glowing mushrooms. A genuine, unadulterated smile spread across her wrinkled face. "Oh, my dear boy! These are… these are magnificent! Thank you, Hagrid, truly. No one's ever given old Ethel such a lovely welcome." Her eyes, twinkling with genuine warmth, fixed on Hagrid. "You have a good heart, Hagrid. A very good heart." Then, her gaze sharpened, moving beyond Hagrid to the group of Aurors still standing in a respectful, if wary, distance away. Her smile vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stare. "And who," she asked, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl, "are these… interlopers?"
Echo waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, them? They're not with us, Granny Ethel. Just a bunch of busybodies from the Ministry. They think you're a menace or something." His blue hair flickered with exasperated orange.
Moody, however, stepped forward, his magical eye whirring as it fixed on Ethel. "Alastor Moody, ma'am, Auror with the Ministry of Magic," he rasped, his voice cutting through the air. "We're here on official business regarding a reported hag presence in the Forbidden Forest."
Ethel let out a cackle, a dry, rustling sound that made the Aurors visibly flinch. "Busy-bodies?" she repeated, her eyes twinkling as she looked at Echo, then at the stern faces of the Aurors. "Why, little sprout, you do underestimate the sheer, delightful tediousness of these particular busy-bodies. They're not just busy-bodies; they're official busy-bodies. The kind with parchment and rules and very, very dull spells." She then turned her gaze back to Moody, her eyes narrowing. "Now then, official busy-bodies, state your purpose. And make it quick. Old Ethel has a cauldron to stir and a nap to catch."
Moody, seemingly unfazed by her sarcasm, replied, "We have received reports of a hag establishing residence in this forest, ma'am. We are here to assess the threat you pose and, if necessary, ensure you comply with Ministry regulations regarding magical beings."
Ethel rolled her ancient eyes with such profound theatricality that it almost looked painful. "Threat?" she scoffed, a plume of smoke escaping her nostrils. "If old Ethel wanted to cause trouble, if she wanted to 'threaten' anyone, do you honestly think I would still be sitting here, politely chatting?" She gestured around the clearing with a gnarled hand. "If I intended harm, you wouldn't be standing, you wouldn't be breathing, and your pretty little wands would be firewood. I'm no threat. If I wanted to do something, I would have done it by now."
"Perhaps," one of the younger Aurors, a nervous-looking man with a fidgety wand hand, stammered, "perhaps you were biding your time, ma'am. Perhaps… perhaps even fattening up the boy to… to eat him." His gaze flickered nervously to Echo, then back to Ethel.
Kingsley Shacklebolt, however, interjected, a slight frown on his face. "That seems unlikely. The hag had just called him 'grandchild.' Hags do not typically consume their own kin."
Hagrid, ever eager to defend his new friend, rumbled, "Aye, that's right! 'Grandchild' is just a term of endearment, like, for folks she's fond of. Means she likes 'im!"
Echo, who had been listening to the exchange with a mixture of exasperation and morbid curiosity, suddenly remembered the Auror's accusation. He looked down at his stomach, then, with a worried frown, lifted the bottom of his robes. His eyes widened. He had indeed become a bit soft around the middle, a product of too many chocolate candies, butterbeers, and too little exercise in recent days. A genuine whimper escaped him.
Hagrid, seeing Echo's distress, immediately knelt, his massive hand gently patting Echo's stomach. "Nah, lad, that's just a bit o' good livin', that is! Nothin' to worry yer head about!"
Ethel, however, let out a booming laugh that shook the very branches of the surrounding trees. "Oh, little sprout! Don't you worry your pretty little head about a bit of padding! It only means you're well-loved and well-fed! And besides," she added, her eyes glinting mischievously at the young Auror, "if I were to eat a child, I'd choose one that puts up more of a fight! This one here," she gestured at Echo, whose face had gone a profound crimson, "would probably just complain about the chewing."
Even Moody let out a low, gravelly chuckle, a surprisingly human sound that quickly died down. Kingsley, however, still looked stern. "Regardless, ma'am," he said, his voice firm, "we still have regulations to uphold. We need to ascertain your intentions here. Are you simply passing through, or do you intend to make permanent residence?"
Ethel scoffed, rolling her eyes again. "Permanent residence? Dearie, for a hag, 'permanent' is a relative term. I settle where the earth calls me, and I move when the winds whisper of new paths. For now, this spot suits old Ethel just fine. It's got good roots, good herbs, and occasionally, good company." She winked at Echo and Hagrid. "And as for my intentions, they are as pure as any wizard's gold, though perhaps a little more… earthy. I stir my cauldrons, I tend my garden, and I offer counsel to those foolish enough to seek it."
Kingsley stepped forward again, his expression unwavering. "Ma'am, with all due respect, your intentions are not the issue here. The simple fact is you are a hag, and you are residing in too close proximity to Hogwarts. Especially with the new school year approaching, you are still perceived as a threat to the students' safety, regardless of your personal assurances."
Echo, his blue hair flashing with exasperation, stepped in front of Ethel. "That's ridiculous! She's not a threat! Look at her Kneazles!" He reached into the open door of the cottage, grabbing a surprisingly rotund, fluffy orange cat that looked more like a small, indignant pillow with eyes. He held it up. "These are absolute units! Complete heckin' chonkers! Do these look like the Kneazles of a hag who's planning to terrorize anyone?"
The Aurors, however, merely looked at the fat Kneazle with unconvinced expressions. Their wands were still held loosely, ready for action.
Ethel, her eyes narrowing, let out a low, dangerous chuckle. "Oh, you wish to see what a threat looks like, do you, little busy-bodies?" She snapped her gnarled fingers with a sharp crack that echoed through the clearing.
Immediately, the Aurors' wands began to grow. They elongated, thickened, and twisted, their wooden surfaces becoming gnarled and rough. Small, leafy branches sprouted, rapidly enveloping the Aurors, pinning their arms to their sides. Kingsley and the others struggled, their faces contorted with alarm, but the wands, now resembling small, sentient trees, held them fast.
Moody, his magical eye whirring furiously, finally broke the silence. "How… how did you do that?" he rasped, struggling against the wooden confines.
Ethel smiled, a chilling, toothless grin. "I know the language of trees better than you know the name of the wood your wands are crafted from, old man. Like I said, if I wanted to be a threat, I'd make it known. And even if I did decide to eat a child, it definitely wouldn't be Echo here. He'd probably just complain about the chewing." She paused, her gaze sweeping over the struggling Aurors. "The only reason hags act so aggressively is because nosy witches and wizards are always coming into their neck of the woods, breaking into their homes, taking their stuff, and expecting just to get away with it. It would be a different story if they simply asked and gave payment, but no, all witches and wizards apparently can't be bothered with the simplest acts of respect." She looked at Echo, her eyes softening. "I'd gladly help with small matters for a simple 'please' and 'thank you.' The only wizard that's been polite and kind to me and asks for next to nothing is Echo, and he brings treats and flowers and visits me for talks."
With another wave of her gnarled hands, the oversized wands instantly shrank, returning to their normal size. The Aurors stumbled back, rubbing their arms, their faces a mixture of fear and profound embarrassment.
Ethel fixed them with a stern, unwavering glare. "Now," she growled, her voice holding an undeniable edge of ancient power, "I mean no trouble. So get lost."
Kingsley Shacklebolt, his face still a blend of lingering fear and professional duty, nodded stiffly. "Very well, ma'am. We will indeed 'get lost' and make our report to the Ministry." He turned to his fellow Aurors, a silent command in his gaze, and they began to back away slowly, their wands still at the ready, but now lowered.
Ethel let out a final, dismissive sniff, gathered her monstrous bouquet closer, and began to turn towards her hut, her back to the retreating Aurors.
"Looks like we'll have to find our trail elsewhere," Moody griped, his voice a low rumble, his magical eye whirring as he watched Ethel.
Ethel paused, half-turned, a suspicious glint in her ancient eyes. "And what, pray tell, does that mean, busy-body?"
Moody sighed, running a hand over his scarred face. "The real reason we were sent out here, hag, wasn't just because of some 'reported presence.' A significant magical anomaly emanating from this sector of the forest was detected. We found traces of your unique magic nearby and connected the dots from there. Thought you might be the cause."
Ethel groaned, a sound of profound exasperation. "If that's all, then you could have saved yourselves and old Ethel a great deal of bother. I could give you something to find this 'anomaly' of yours fast, given you pay me properly."
Kingsley and a few of the Aurors immediately reached into their robes, pulling out various coin purses and beginning to count out Galleons.
Ethel waved a dismissive hand. "No need for your shiny, clinking coin. Old Ethel has no use for such baubles."
Before any of the Aurors could offer an alternative form of payment, Echo stepped forward, holding the rotund, fluffy orange Kneazle, the one he had earlier referred to as an "absolute unit," comfortably under his arm. "I can pay, Granny Ethel," he said, his blue hair sparkling with a new idea. He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a small, oddly shaped rock, smooth and dark, with a faint, almost iridescent sheen. "I found this in the woods," he explained, holding it up. "It kinda looks like a tiny horse, doesn't it? I was planning to give it to my girlfriend."
The Aurors exchanged bewildered glances. A rock? As payment for a hag's arcane services? They clearly thought Echo had finally lost his mind.
Ethel, however, eyed the rock, then Echo, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her face. She reached out, her gnarled fingers gently taking the stone from his hand. "A horse, you say?" she mused, turning it over in her palm, her eyes gleaming with genuine pleasure. "And for your… 'girlfriend'? Very well, little sprout. This will do just fine." She gave the stone a tender pat, then vanished into her cottage with a soft creak of the door.
Kingsley, utterly baffled, turned to Echo. "Echo," he said, his voice laced with disbelief, "how on earth were you able to pay her with… with a strangely shaped rock?"
Echo shrugged, gently stroking the fat Kneazle still cradled in his arm. "Because, Kingsley," he explained patiently, his blue hair shifting to a wise, knowing black, "it's not about the monetary value of the object. It's about the gift's intent, its personal significance, and the connection it represents. That rock, to me, represented a budding affection, a quiet promise of something more. To Granny Ethel, who deals in ancient magic and natural bonds, that kind of sentiment, that raw, human connection, is far more valuable than any amount of gold. It's a genuine offering, a piece of honest emotion. And besides," he added, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "who wouldn't want a rock that looks like a tiny horse? It's adorable!"
The cottage door creaked open again, and Ethel emerged, not with a cauldron or a spell book, but with a large, gnarled stick, roughly shaped like a Y. Its surface was smooth from age, and it seemed to hum with a faint, almost imperceptible energy. She held it out to Moody, her ancient eyes twinkling.
"Here, busy-body," she grunted, pushing the stick into his hand.
The Aurors, including Kingsley, stared at the stick, then at Ethel, then back at the stick, their faces etched with profound confusion. It looked like nothing more than a glorified divining rod.
Ethel let out an exasperated sigh. "Do I really have to explain how this works, little sprouts? It's not rocket science."
Echo, however, practically vibrated with excitement, his blue hair sparkling. "I know!" he exclaimed, stepping forward, his eyes bright with a sudden, wild guess. "You stick it in the ground, right? And then you put spider webs between the two prongs, and then you spray it with morning dew, and when the sun hits it just right, the reflection of a rainbow will show us the way to the anomaly!" He finished with a flourish, immensely pleased with his imaginative deduction.
The Aurors exchanged even more bewildered glances, as if such an elaborate, fantastical method was something they might actually be expected to understand.
Ethel, however, merely cackled, a dry, rustling sound. "Oh, little sprout, you do have a vivid imagination! A good guess, a very good guess indeed. But it's far simpler than that." She then looked at the confused Aurors. "You hold the prongs, busy-bodies, and it will jiggle towards the anomaly, like a dowsing rod for magic. Now, go on, get a move on! Old Ethel has tea time with some more polite folk."
Kingsley took the stick from Moody, who seemed disinclined to touch it further than necessary, and held the two prongs as instructed. Almost immediately, the gnarled stick began to hum, vibrating gently in his hands. Then, with a sudden, decisive lurch, it tugged him towards the east, deeper into the dense, ancient woods. The Aurors, exchanging another round of perplexed glances, fell into step behind him, their initial suspicion slowly giving way to a grudging acceptance of the hag's unorthodox methods.
Echo watched them go, a faint smile playing on his lips. His blue hair shimmered with quiet satisfaction. He turned back to Ethel, who was already disappearing into the shadowy interior of her cottage.
"Granny Ethel," he said, his voice soft, "thank you."
Ethel poked her head back out, her ancient eyes twinkling. "Think nothing of it, little sprout," she cackled. "Now, come inside, you and the giant, and we'll talk over a cup."
"Tea?" Echo asked, a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes. He exchanged a bewildered glance with Hagrid, who shrugged his massive shoulders, still beaming with an almost childish delight. "Alright, Granny Ethel, tea sounds great."
Hagrid, still clutching his now slightly wilting, but no less enormous, bouquet, ducked his head to squeeze through the low doorway.