In the stadium surrounding the Triwizard Maze, the crowd, already standing and screaming from the violence of the duel, froze. All eyes turned upward.
"Good God, what is that?" shouted a witch from the Ministry box, her voice choked with sheer disbelief.
The massive, black silhouette, wreathed in roaring, churning white fire—Fiendfyre—was unmistakable. It was a dragon, and one of terrifying proportions, descending with an insane, predatory speed.
"A dragon! A rogue dragon!" Bertram Pike's voice shrieked hysterically from his spell. "The champion is under attack by a massive, unidentified dragon! It's covered in… is that Fiendfyre?"
The already volatile atmosphere in the stands snapped into full-blown panic. Shrieks of terror tore through the audience. People began scrambling over benches, abandoning their seats in a desperate, surging wave. Scarlet and gold-cloaked Aurors, who had been hopelessly blocked by the maze's magical barrier, snapped to attention, their wands now aimed not at the maze entrance, but skyward.
"Defensive positions! Form ranks!" shouted a stern-faced Auror Captain, his voice strained. "Non-lethal force only! We must contain the creature! Shields up! Maxima strength!"
Dozens of wizards raised their wands, the air around the stands beginning to shimmer with protective charms as they attempted to establish a perimeter against the impending aerial threat.
Closer to the front of the Hogwarts seating section, a small group of students was already on their feet, staring upward. Lily, her face pale with shock but her eyes fixed on the blazing form, gripped the railing.
"Alice, look," Lily whispered, pointing a trembling finger at the terrifying, fire-coated creature.
Alice looked up, her hand flying to her mouth. "Is that… is that Wick?"
"Oh yeah, that's definitely Wick," Lily confirmed, her voice surprisingly steady, but laced with a fearful certainty.
Frank, standing beside Alice, watched the dragon's terrifying descent. "Things just got really bad if she is here. She would never come to school grounds unless Echo were in extreme, life-threatening danger."
Amos and Peter, who had been standing slightly behind them, whipped their heads toward the group, their faces etched with shock.
"Wait, Echo has a dragon?" Amos demanded, his voice high with disbelief. "And all of you knew this?"
"Oh yeah, you two didn't know that, did you?" Remus interjected smoothly, though his eyes, too, were wide with concern. "Yeah, Echo has a dragon. That's Wick."
Severus, who had been studying the terrifying white flames that coated the dragon, stepped forward, his eyes burning with an intense, dreadful focus. "Never mind that. If Wick is here, then that means Echo is in some existential trouble—and judging by how angry she looks, it's bad. That fire… that's not normal dragon fire. It's Fiendfyre. She's completely unhinged."
Lily could only look back at the shadowy, silent entrance to the maze, her face etched with a sudden, dreadful realization. "Oh, Echo… what's happened to you?"
High above the maze, Wick, a massive, black, fire-coated silhouette, circled the labyrinth. Her gaze, however, was not on the frantic people in the stands, but on the grounds below. The dragon's mind was a single, throbbing pulse of protective rage and murderous intent. She couldn't find Echo yet, but she did see something that made her ancient, reptilian blood boil: the Triwizard Cup.
She remembered all the times throughout the year when Echo would come to her secluded cave—usually to feed her cattle or just for a ride—and express his stress and anger regarding the Cup. He would weep, his young, chaotic magic leaking into her own, describing the sheer anguish and stress the competition was putting him under. He had cried about it to her, his voice broken and defeated. Wick knew that cup. She hated that cup. She hated it more than anything, a symbol of her Ada's torment.
As she flew down, her anger continued to rise, and the malignant Fiendfyre coating her body seemed to respond. The fire shifted its magical signature. Instead of the white-hot consuming flames, a new, darker energy formed at the back of her throat. Wick hovered in the air directly above the Cup's pedestal, and with a guttural, furious exhalation, she blew a stream of absolute black flame onto the Triwizard Cup. This was the dark reflection, the inverse of Expecto Patronum, a spell Echo had once created by accident and which Wick, through their psychic link, could channel: Expecto Daemonem.
The ancient, protective magic within the Cup instantly formed a shimmering golden force field, keeping the artifact safe from the devastating fire. Wick quickly realized she couldn't break the Cup, so she would do the next best thing: destroy the final competition. No one was going to win this cursed game, no matter what. Break the game, break the magic.
She rose slightly, did a tight, furious circle, and breathed a continuous ring of the black Daemonem flame around the Cup, making sure no champion could claim it, even as one of the three remaining champions finally broke through the dense hedges and found the clearing, stopping dead at the sight of the furiously breathing dragon.
Wick rose back into the air, did a high-speed flyby, and breathed a line of the black flame across the nearest section of the hedge, covering it in the dark, unnatural fire. She continued this, flying high before covering another section of the maze, crisscrossing the labyrinth in streaks of pure, destructive black fire. The magically reinforced hedges tried to snuff out the aggressive flames, but the black fire was too volatile. The plants, instead of dousing the curse, only spread the fire faster and further, turning the living labyrinth into a massive, burning grid.
Sensing that the last event was in peril, the Cup's ancient magic tried to attack the dragon, sending a powerful, concentrated magical blast at the creature. But the Fiendfyre that coated Wick instantly shot out, meeting the magical blast in mid-air and eating it up, protecting the dragon entirely. The Cup was at an impasse. It couldn't shoot the dragon down because of the Fiendfyre, and the Fiendfyre couldn't destroy the Cup thanks to its shield. But Wick was free to set the whole thing on fire, and she did.
As usual, the main feature of Expecto Daemonem was activated. Unlike Expecto Patronum, which summons a Specter of light, Expecto Daemonem summons Dementors, not from darkness but from the residual darkness of the flames. From the swirling black fire, dozens of shadowy, cowled figures began to materialize. They rose into the night sky, their rattling breath audible and amplified in the sudden silence. They began to fly around in excitement at the darkness created by the black flames and the rising panic of the crowd, screeching with a cold, desperate joy.
The three other champions—Vanya Krum, Lucian Delacour, and Seraphia Throne—had long since stopped trying to find the Cup. Now, they were trying to escape the rampant black fire and the sudden, terrifying presence of the Dementors.
In the elevated announcer's booth, Barty was bellowing into the microphone. "The event has been compromised! I repeat, the event has been compromised! All spectators are advised to evacuate immediately! Seek shelter in the castle! Professors, Aurors, maintain the perimeter!"
Below, Albus Dumbledore's amplified voice, calm but resonating with absolute command, cut through the din. "Hogwarts students, by my authority, evacuate to the castle immediately for safety! Do not panic! Follow your Prefects!"
The crowd erupted into a chaotic stampede. People began to run away, grabbing friends and family, apparating with loud CRACKS, getting on brooms, or scrambling onto flying creatures. Students began to run, creating a near stampede, as the Dementors, sensing the fresh emotions, flew away from the maze toward the massive concentration of fear.
Professors, Headmasters, Aurors, Barty Crouch, and any competent wizard or witch able to cast a Patronus instantly did so. Dozens of glowing, shimmering, fully formed Specters of light—deer, bears, wolves, and foxes—erupted from the wands of the defenders. They flew toward the encroaching shadows, a line of blazing light holding back the crazed Dementors who shrieked in frustration and hunger. The battle had officially moved from a duel in the maze to a defensive war on the perimeter.
Lily, her heart pounding against her ribs, started to climb over the mahogany railing of the VIP box, intent on dropping the twenty feet to the ground level. Her face was a mask of cold resolve, the terrifying sight of the dragon and the materializing Dementors a furious blur in her periphery.
"Lily, what are you doing!"
Severus's voice was sharp, cutting through the general din of panic. He shot out a hand and grabbed her wrist, his grip surprisingly strong and instantly arresting her movement.
Lily whipped her head around, her emerald eyes blazing with frantic determination. "I'm going to save Echo! He's still in there, Sev!" she shouted over the mounting screams of the crowd. "I saw him go down! We have to go!"
Before Severus could argue, formulate a plan, or even offer the logical suggestion of going to get an Auror, Lily wrenched her arm free. She launched herself over the railing, not bothering with the twenty-foot drop. Instead, she used the tops of the lower box seats as stepping stones, a flash of red hair vaulting over panicking spectators. She hit the ground level, landing in a low crouch amidst the running feet, and immediately darted into the swirling, panicked stampede of the crowd.
"Lily! Wait!" Severus shouted, his voice swallowed instantly by the roaring panic and the surge of bodies that pressed against him. He and the rest of the Marauders were instantly separated, swallowed by the tidal wave of people fleeing toward the castle.
Lily, ignoring the shouts, the flailing arms, and the fear-addled faces, ran full-tilt for the entrance to the maze. She expected to hit the impenetrable red barrier, but as she reached the towering hedge gap, she found the way clear. The red magical bar of pure, ancient magic had indeed snapped, the labyrinth's defenses collapsing as the Cup's full power was diverted to protecting the artifact from Wick's devastating black fire. She didn't hesitate. With a flick of her wand, she cast the Bubble-Head Charm, creating a shimmering sphere of fresh, clean air around her head to guard against the inevitable suffocating fumes of the burning hedges and the noxious fumes of the black flame. She plunged into the gap, drawing a deep breath of the bottled air, and immediately felt the sickening drop in temperature as she entered the chaotic war zone.
The air inside the maze was a swirling, unnatural mix of fire and cold. Lily looked up and saw the terrifying truth: the hedges were covered in patches of malevolent, corrosive black flames that twisted and pulsed with dark energy. High overhead, dozens of cowled figures—Dementors—swooped and shrieked with cold, desperate hunger, drawn by the rampant fear.
Lily's heart hammered, but her focus was absolute. She raised her wand in a trembling hand, channeling every memory of Echo, every moment of friendship and shared laughter, of watching him defy the world with a chaotic grin. "Expecto Patronum!"
A massive, silver, fully-formed doe erupted from the tip of her wand. The Patronus was brilliant and blinding, an ethereal shield of pure light and happiness that instantly charged into the maze. The doe lowered its head and slammed into the nearest group of Dementors, scattering them with a cold, sonic wave of pure light. The shadows shrieked and recoiled from the light, retreating into the maze's darker sections. Lily followed the doe, using the Patronus as a shield against the creeping darkness, running deeper into the burning labyrinth.
In the heart of the clearing, Sekhmet, the Sphinx, finally regained full consciousness. She pushed herself up from the damp, hard-packed earth, her massive lioness body aching from the last, concussive spell. She shook her head, blinking her gorgeous amber eyes against the surreal, nightmarish reality. The clearing was hell. Black flames covered almost every inch of the surrounding hedges, licking at the stone birdbath and the ruined statues. Dementors flew overhead in dozens, their rattling breath audible and cold. The air smelled of burnt metal, ozone, and something anciently malevolent. Above it all, a massive, black dragon, wreathed in white fire, circled and roared.
Did I die? she thought, her human mind briefly overwhelmed by the sheer, devastating spectacle. Did that little wizard send me to the pits of the Underworld?
A rogue, glowing ember from the black flame, volatile and aggressive, landed on her serpentine tail. Sekhmet let out a low, guttural yelp and violently whipped her tail, snuffing the ember out. She wasn't dead, but she would be if she stayed here. The black flame was spreading rapidly.
As she looked around frantically, she heard a high-pitched, pathetic cry of fear. She located the source instantly: huddled together near the mangled wreck of the metal knight were Shimmer, Nugget, and Ballooney. The three small creatures were a terrified, trembling knot, cowering against the cold, metal ruin, whimpering in terror of the surrounding fire and shadows. They were separated from the Sphinx by a small, jagged line of the aggressive black flame. Sekhmet hesitated for only a fraction of a second. She took a running leap, clearing the line of fire with ease. She landed next to the shivering creatures and lowered her massive body.
"Climb aboard, little ones," she growled, her voice a low, soothing sound that mixed human wisdom with feline comfort.
The three creatures didn't hesitate. Shimmer, clutching his beating stick, scurried onto her broad back. Nugget and Ballooney, letting out grateful, scared chirps, immediately burrowed into the thick, protective fur near her shoulders. Sekhmet then turned her head, searching for the strange, chaotic boy. She saw him several feet away, kneeling down on the grass, doubled over, clutching something small and dark to his chest. His body was convulsing in silence, and the frantic, blinding white in his hair was a beacon of pure, raw grief. She tried to move toward him, but a massive, aggressive fireball spat from a newly ignited section of the hedge and exploded directly in her path, blocking off the route.
"Little wizard, little wizard! Echo!" she roared, her voice laced with concern, but the boy didn't react. His pain utterly consumed him.
The fire was closing in fast, and Sekhmet knew she couldn't break through without injuring the children on her back. He was lost to her, for now. She let out a frustrated growl, turning her back on the broken wizard. She had to save these three. No longer bound by the restrictive magic of the maze, she launched herself into a full run, her massive lioness body a blur of speed and power as she sought an exit.
Sekhmet barreled through the flaming, twisting corridors of the maze, following a clear route of pure, instinctual direction. She turned a corner and nearly ran headlong into a small figure running toward her. It was a girl with brilliant red hair, her face pale but focused, a shimmering, silver doe charging ahead of her, keeping the shadows at bay. Lily, seeing the massive lioness creature rushing toward her, instantly raised her wand, but stopped dead. She saw the three familiar, frantic forms clinging to the Sphinx's back.
"Those are Echo's creatures!" Lily shouted, lowering her wand, the relief and shock warring in her voice.
Sekhmet skidded to a halt, her eyes narrowed. "You know the little wizard?"
"He's my friend! I came to rescue him!" Lily gasped, the fresh air of her bubble helping her breathe. "Where is he? Is he okay?"
Sekhmet pointed back with her massive serpentine tail, the movement surprisingly elegant. "Back there. But flames surround him, and that dragon is utterly mad. It's too dangerous, little girl. Where is the exit? I have to get these out."
"Back the way I came," Lily said, her focus already shifting to the path the Sphinx had indicated. "Two quick lefts, then a right, and straight down. It should be clear now, the barrier's gone."
"Thank you," Sekhmet rumbled, and without another word, she turned and launched herself down the corridor, her powerful legs eating up the distance.
Lily watched the massive creature vanish, then turned her full attention to the burning, chaotic depths of the maze. The silver doe Patronus charged ahead, and Lily ran, fueled by pure, desperate determination, toward the heart of the disaster where her friend was broken and alone. Lily ran, the scent of burning foliage and ozone growing stronger with every sharp turn. Her silver doe Patronus cut a clean path through the debris-strewn, burning labyrinth, its light flickering momentarily as Dementors shrieked and recoiled. The heat was becoming unbearable, but the clean bubble of air around her head kept the corrosive fumes from choking her.
She finally burst into the large, central clearing—the site of the duel. The sight before her stole the air from her lungs. The clearing was a wreck: twisted, melted metal, shattered stone, and scorched earth. The high hedge walls were covered in patches of malevolent, corrosive black fire that twisted and pulsed with dark energy. In the center of the carnage, a figure was kneeling in the damp grass, hunched over and clutching something small and dark to his chest. It was Echo.
Lily's breath hitched in a raw, desperate gasp of relief. She started to sprint toward him, her lips already forming his name, ready to drag him to safety. But before she could cover the final distance, she slammed to a halt.
Hovering silently above Echo's bowed head, a mere spectral foot from his bright, white-streaked hair, was a Dementor. It was a terrifying, cowled silhouette, radiating a bone-deep cold that cut through the surrounding heat. Lily's hand instinctively tightened on her wand, the urge to scream "Expecto Patronum!" overwhelming.
Then, she hesitated. She recognized the creature's chilling stillness. It wasn't swooping, wasn't breathing its desperate rattle, and wasn't reaching out its decaying hands. It was merely floating, rigid and silent, its posture oddly defensive. Lily remembered that Echo had possessed the creatures of Azkaban. Echo had claimed a Dementor of his own, a claim he had never explained.
Lily quickly scanned the surrounding air. Dozens of other Dementors, drawn by the rampant fear and the residual darkness of the black flames, swooped high above the clearing. But they kept a wide, unnatural berth from the central Dementor and the boy below it. It was as if this Dementor, his personal entity of despair, was claiming him as its own and protecting him from the others, who would have otherwise descended on him like vultures on a corpse.
Taking a deep, stabilizing breath of the bottled air, Lily carefully lowered her wand. She approached slowly, one cautious step at a time, keeping her massive, silver Patronus right at her heels. The hovering Dementor above Echo's head did not react, its cowled face remaining fixed in the silent space above the boy. It was as if it remembered her, or at least the raw, genuine light of her Patronus, and recognized her as non-threatening.
Lily knelt in the scorched grass just a foot away from Echo. The sheer, overwhelming wave of despair and agony radiating from him was palpable, making her shiver despite the heat. His face was hidden, buried in the crook of his arm, his body still convulsing with silent, raw sobs. His hair, usually a vibrant sign of his volatile magic, was a dull, blinding white—the color of absolute, sterile shock and grief.
"Echo," Lily whispered, her voice tight with urgency, the sound muffled by her Bubble-Head Charm. She reached out a trembling hand and placed it gently on his shoulder. His robes were damp with sweat and tears. "Echo, we have to go. Now. Wick is outside; she's gone completely unhinged. She's throwing black fire everywhere and summoning Dementors. If we don't leave right now, we're going to die."
Echo didn't move for a long, terrible moment. Then, with a slow, agonizing groan of effort, he lifted his head. Lily gasped, her heart clenching. His face was a raw mask of absolute, consuming agony, streaked black with tears and dirt. His eyes, usually a chaotic, shifting color, were wide, red-rimmed, and empty, filled with a profound, crushed defeat. He looked at her, and the raw grief in his expression was worse than any wound.
"Lily…" he choked out, the word barely a rasp. He swallowed hard, then his voice broke completely. "Sniffles…"
Lily's eyes dropped instantly to his hands, which were cradling the small, dark creature against his chest. It was the Niffler, his beloved Sniffles. For a single, fleeting second, she thought the creature was merely asleep, its small, velvet snout tucked in beneath its chin, its tiny claws curled.
"Oh, Sniffles," Lily whispered, a soft wave of relief washing over her. "He's just sleeping, Echo. We can fix him. We'll get him to Pomfrey–"
"He's dead," Echo rasped, the two words cutting through the air with cold, terrible clarity.
The relief vanished, replaced by a terrible, sickening certainty. The pieces of the puzzle clicked into a brutal, final image: the utter despair, the blinding white hair, the protective Dementor, the raw, soul-shattering grief. Lily put a hand over her mouth, muffling a choked sound of horror. She looked at the tiny, inert body, then back at Echo's broken face.
"No," she whispered, the sound thick with denial. "No, Echo. Who did this?"
"James," Echo rasped, the name a cold, raw sound of betrayal and agony. "It was James. He threw him. He made me watch."
Lily stared at him, the revelation striking her with the force of a physical blow. The absolute shock was visible on her face. She knew James. Of course, she knew James. She knew his arrogance, his lack of foresight, his irritating, overblown pranks that sometimes went too far—like levitating Severus upside-down, or hexing a fourth-year for looking at her sideways. But those pranks, for all their cruelty in the moment, were rooted in a chaotic immaturity, never in cold, calculated malice. James was fundamentally a good person with a severe lack of self-awareness. He was an idiot, but not a villain. He was a bully, but he was their bully. Killing a beloved pet in cold blood, making his best friend watch, was not an act of immaturity. It was an act of pure, distilled wickedness.
Lily shook her head, clutching her wand so hard her knuckles were white. "No, Echo," she whispered, tears blurring her vision, unable to reconcile the boy she knew with the monster Echo described. "No, that can't be right. James wouldn't do that. He wouldn't… he wouldn't do that. Would he?"
Echo sniffled hard, the sound grating and terrible in the sudden, quiet wreckage of the clearing. He looked down at the tiny, inert body in his arms, and then back at Lily, his eyes filled with a terrifying, absolute certainty.
"I saw him, Lily," he said, his voice flat and empty. "He was here. He fought me. He killed Sniffles."
The finality in his voice was chilling. Lily wanted to argue, to deny the impossible, but the chaos and the growing heat were undeniable. This was not the time for debate.
"Listen, Echo," she said, her voice dropping to a low, fierce whisper of urgency. She reached out and grasped his arm, pulling slightly. "I know you're broken about this, and you should be, but we have to get out of here first. The fire is spreading. We have to go. You just have to know this: it's not your fault."
Echo paused, the words ringing in the air. He repeated them, his expression shifting from one of crushing sadness to a cold, neutral mask, then to something lethal and infinitely colder.
"It's not my fault," he said, the words a promise more than a statement. He slowly stood up, gently clutching Sniffles's body in one hand, the other hand snapping his wand up from where it had fallen near the destroyed lion statue. "But I know whose fault it is."
The raw, blinding white in his hair instantly faded, replaced by a deep, dark, terrifying maroon—the color of destructive finality and primal vengeance. He didn't look at Lily. He turned and walked, with a slow, deliberate purpose, toward the path entrance. The air around him grew instantly colder. The hovering Dementor, his personal entity of despair, slipped silently from above and began to glide behind him, its cowled head tilted in silent, predatory amusement.
Echo walked almost casually through the burning hedge gap, seemingly impervious to the heat, the maroon in his hair blazing like a murderous beacon. Lily quickly followed after him, sticking close. She could almost assume that he would somehow get them out of there, and she wasn't taking any other chances as the black flames climbed higher and began to consume the entire maze wall.
They made it out of the burning maze. Wick was no longer going crazy, her massive, black body wreathed in the dark, unnatural Fiendfyre. Instead, she flew a controlled, protective circle high over Echo's head, letting out a deep, continuous ROAR of territorial warning into the night air. Echo paused only long enough to confirm his path. His destination was obvious, and his face, set in a mask of implacable fury, made his intent clear: Hogwarts. He would find James and make him pay.
The remaining spectators—students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, and any Hogwarts affiliates too shocked to Apparate—were a churning, desperate mass near the stadium exit. Aurors, cloaked in scarlet and gold, moved through the chaos with practiced, grim efficiency. They cast sweeping, non-verbal Shield Charms to divert flying debris and used powerful, directed Depulso charms to physically herd people toward the massive oak doors of Hogwarts Castle.
"Move! Quickly! No running!" barked an aura, his wand raised as he pushed a group of panicked seventh-years forward.
The Aurors were a line of calm, powerful magic against the rising tide of hysteria. They didn't stop to argue; they contained and directed, their primary objective to secure the non-combatants inside the magically reinforced castle walls. The stands, only moments ago packed with thousands, were now eerily empty, the lingering scent of fear and ozone mixing with the stench of burning foliage.
Three Aurors, moving at a flat-out sprint, raced by the general evacuation, heading directly for the Castle's Medical Wing, supporting the three rescued Champions between them. Vanya Krum, Lucian Delacour, and Seraphina Thorne were pale and shaky, their robes scorched and their faces covered in soot, clearly suffering from shock and minor magical burns.
The small group of remaining Hogwarts students—Remus, Sirius, Peter, Alice, Frank, and Amos—trailed behind the last wave of the crowd, using the retreating bodies as a buffer to avoid being swept into the castle. They stood just at the edge of the grounds, their eyes fixed on the towering, burning spectacle of the maze. The high hedge walls were now fully engulfed in the malevolent black flame, the entire structure a massive, grid-like furnace that pulsed with dark, unnatural light.
"Where are they?" Alice, her voice tight with fear, stressed. She wrung her hands, the heat from the distant fire uncomfortably warm on her skin.
Frank swallowed hard, pulling her close, his eyes wide. "You don't think they got caught up in the flames?"
"If they did, the Aurors would've found them," Amos argued, though his face was just as pale. "They had a sweep team. They'd never leave a champion—or a civilian—behind."
Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets, looking uneasy. "I don't know, they didn't seem so eager to back in for round two when that Sphinx burst out of the maze and made a beeline for the Forbidden Forest."
"Don't say that, you make it sound like they were abandoned to die," Peter instantly snapped, his eyes darting fearfully between Sirius and the burning maze.
Remus shivered, despite the heat. "No way. Wick wouldn't let Echo die by her own flames, and if Lily found him, she'd be fine. They're taking a while longer to get here, yeah. Maybe Echo broke a toe or something and can't walk very well."
Severus, who hadn't taken his eyes from the direction of the maze, finally spoke, his voice low and intense. "I don't want to believe it either, but we have to remember that despite Wick's size, she's not an adult. She's barely four years old. Even if dragons develop faster than any other creature, that's still very young."
"Yeah, she's young but not dumb," Frank argued, glancing at the immense, fiery silhouette that continued to circle overhead.
Severus, trying to distract himself from such an awful thought, turned to the three Marauders. "Speaking of stupid, where is your ringleader?"
Sirius looked like he wanted to get into an argument with Severus until Remus intervened. "James? No clue. Echo asked the same thing."
Suddenly, a voice said from directly behind the group, "Who hath summoned me?"
Everyone whipped around. James Potter was standing there, but he looked completely ruffled and dirty. His outer robe and tie were gone, his normally messy black hair was strewn with cobwebs, and his face and hands were covered with dust. His signature round glasses were crooked on his nose with that same lopsided smile on his face.
"James?" the group chorused in confusion.
"What is going on?" James asked them, looking utterly bewildered by the frantic exodus of the crowd.
"We'd like to know where the heck you were," Sirius demanded, his hands falling to his sides. "You were supposed to help us trick Crouch into thinking Echo was dead with the Draught of Sleeping Death!"
"How'd that go? Did it work?" James asked, wiping dust from his forehead.
Peter winced. "No. I… kinda messed up and ended up explaining everything to Crouch by accident. Echo was forced to participate… again."
"Aw, dang it," James muttered, running a hand through his hair. "We were so close." After a sigh, he asked, "How'd Echo take it?"
"Bad. The event has gone up in flames, literally," Remus said, gesturing vaguely at the towering inferno that was the maze.
James looked over his shoulder. "Huh. I was wondering why everyone is trying to cram themselves into the school." He then frowned. "Wait, why did the event go up in flames? Did Echo set the hedge on fire or something?"
"Or something," Frank confirmed, crossing his arms.
Severus stepped forward, his eyes narrowed. "Never mind that. Where have you been?"
"In a broom closet," James replied simply.
Everyone looked at him weirdly.
"A broom closet?" Sirius repeated, bewildered.
"Yeah. It was a broom closet that Filch either forgot about or never knew existed," James explained, adjusting his glasses. "So there I was in the library returning a book I, uh, borrowed from the Restricted Section, and then everything goes black, and I find myself in that old broom closet. By the way, have any of you seen my robe and tie? I swear I had it on me." James shook his head, then looked back at Frank. "Wait a minute. What did you mean by 'or something?' Did Echo really set the event on fire?"
"At first he tried and failed," Amos said, stepping in. "But then, some hooded figure entered the maze and attacked him. No one knew what happened after the sky announcer was blown out of the sky. But then Wick came out of nowhere, covered in Fiendfyre and began to breathe black flames that summoned Dementors, and Lily ran into the maze to find him."
James stared, his mouth slightly open. "What?! This is crazy! We have to go back and get them! Now Lily and Echo could be in trouble."
Severus's hand shot out and clamped around the back of James's collar shirt, yanking him backward. "Hold it right there, Potter! I want to save Lily and Echo as much as you do, but we need to be smart."
James took a step toward the inferno, his face a mask of frantic determination. "Smart?! We need to take action! The longer we wait, the more likely they are to die!"
Remus stepped in, his voice calm but firm. "Severus has a point, James. The maze is covered in that weird black fire, Dementors are everywhere, and Aurors are surrounding the perimeter, trying to keep them from getting too close to the school. If we just run in, we'll make the problem worse."
Before James could argue further, a deafening, earth-shaking ROAR tore through the air. Everyone froze and looked up to the night sky, where they saw Wick flying overhead at top speed. She made a hard right as she aimed for the castle and nearly crashed into the structure, but managed to catch herself by kicking off the roof of one of the towers. Debris—a torrent of broken stone and ceramic—rained down, pushing everyone further inside. Wick flew out, turned again, and scanned the frantic crowd. When she saw James standing at the edge of the retreating group of teens, she narrowed her eyes and flew low, breathing a line of fire that instantly cut James off from the group and the safety of the castle.
But this fire that Wick breathed wasn't Fiendfyre or Expecto Daemonem; it was Protego Diabolica—a massive, roaring wall of brilliant, deep blue fire that snaked across the ground. People screamed at the dragon's third kind of dark magic fire, and some Aurors on the opposite side of James tried to put out the flames, but couldn't. James was trapped. He simply tried to run in the opposite direction, intending to go the very long way around the flames, when he saw something that made him stop, freeze, feel relief, then terror.
First, he saw Echo coming over a small hill, followed by Lily. He was almost about to call out to them when he saw Echo's Dementor—which James didn't know was Echo's or that Echo had one—gliding silently in the air and behind the boy. As he watched Echo approach, he got a sinking feeling in his gut and a cold fear up his spine. It wasn't from the Dementor, but from Echo himself, as if he were a natural disaster on legs.
Then James saw Wick fly overhead and past Echo. She turned, then nosedived toward the ground. Still, instead of crashing, she landed with a heavy thud and began trailing silently behind Echo, her massive black body wreathed in the dark, unnatural Fiendfyre, with the deep blue Protego Diabolica fire raging on the ground to James's right. Lily was now fully behind in the far background of the scene, either unable or unwilling to get closer.
James knew something was profoundly wrong. The cold malice emanating from the approaching figure was palpable, and it was definitely pointed at him, especially when he saw Wick and Echo get close enough to see their faces. The expression on Echo was far more terrifying than his above-average-sized dragon. A few Aurors, who had no doubt stayed back to handle the Dementors in the maze, began running from behind to take down Wick, but the dragon flicked her tail twice, sending the Aurors flying backward, unconscious, never even turning her head.
James began to back away, but almost forgot about the wall of blue fire blocking him off from any safety. He looked back to see Wick now in shouting distance and Echo in speaking distance. Echo didn't say anything, only staring at James with an expression that made his soul do somersaults—eyes filled with hatred and tears. James had no idea what to do, so he tried to talk, his voice thin and shaky.
"Echo! Thank God you're safe! I'm glad you got out of the maze alive, I—" He couldn't think of anything else to say until he saw the small, still body of Sniffles clutched in Echo's hand. He swallowed hard. "Echo, what… what's wrong with him?"
Echo's expression instantly changed, the mask of cold fury dissolving into a heartbreaking contortion of raw grief and rage. "What's wrong? What's wrong?! You know damn well what's wrong!" Before James could interject that he truly didn't know, Echo screamed, the sound tearing from his throat. "You killed Sniffles!"
James took an instinctive step back, his eyes widening in genuine confusion and shock. "Echo, no! I didn't! I swear! I don't know what you're talking about!"
"LIAR!" Echo screamed, the sound cracking with raw, unbearable grief.
In the next instant, the Dementor that had been hovering silently behind Echo—his own personal entity of despair—shot forward with impossible speed. It lunged over Echo's head, its decaying hands reaching out. Before James could even register the movement, the Dementor's cowl was inches from his face, and its freezing, rotten breath slammed into him. The creature clamped one cold, skeletal hand onto James's cheek and the other onto the side of his head, its hood fixed over his eyes.
A soul-crushing wave of absolute despair and cold slammed into James. He didn't scream; he made a choking, gagging sound as the Dementor began to suck. Every positive memory, every spark of joy, every comforting emotion was ripped from his core. His legs instantly buckled, and he began to collapse, his hands flying up to clutch the creature's cold arm.
A sharp, furious roar cut through the chaos. "JAMES!"
Minerva McGonagall, who had been racing toward the wall of blue flame to coordinate Aurors in its extinguishing, saw the horrifying scene. Without hesitation, she spun on her heel, her face a mask of shock and desperate fear.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
A massive, shimmering, silver tabby cat—her Patronus—erupted from her wand. It charged forward, a brilliant, blinding lance of pure light and happiness. The Patronus slammed into the Dementor with the force of a charging Hippogriff. The creature shrieked, a cold, rattling sound of agonizing pain, and was instantly thrown backward, recoiling from the pure, focused light. It tumbled end over end into the darkness before dissipating entirely.
James fell to his knees, coughing and gagging, his body shaking violently from the psychic violation. The sudden surge of cold and emptiness made him feel hollowed out and sick. He gasped for air, his vision swimming.
Minerva rushed to the edge of the blue fire, her face pale with horror. "Echo, stop this madness!"
Wick, who had been trailing silently, let out a deep, guttural ROAR that shook the very ground. The black dragon took a single, deliberate step toward the wall of fire, the Fiendfyre on her body flaring in menace, a clear, unequivocal threat. Minerva froze, her wand trembling, unable to advance further.
Far behind the raging blue wall, Lily, who had been watching in horror, rushed forward to the fire's edge. "Echo, please! Listen to Professor McGonagall! You have to stop! Whatever happened, we can talk! Stop this now!"
Wick turned her massive, blazing head, her amber eyes locking onto Lily. The dragon let out a low, menacing growl that was amplified by the black fire. It was a clear, final warning. Lily stopped dead, her face going white. James was still on his hands and knees, fighting for breath, when Echo's wand was suddenly and brutally shoved beneath his chin, forcing his head back. Echo's face, close and terrifying, was a contortion of raw, terrifying rage, the deep maroon in his hair blazing.
"I saw you, James! I saw you in the maze!" Echo screamed, his voice raw and thick with a fresh wave of tears and absolute certainty. "You fought me! You hurt my creatures! You had me pinned, you smiled your stupid, evil smile the whole time!" He pressed the wand tip harder against James's throat, forcing him to look up. "You sent Sniffles into the air and slammed him on the ground! I'm not crazy! I wasn't seeing things! I know what I saw! And what I saw was you!"
As Echo yelled the final words, the Dark Beast instantly manifested in his shadow. It surged upward, expanding until it towered, casting a massive, predatory silhouette that stretched high up and along the entire length of the Protego Diabolica fire wall. The Beast's shadow grinned, its terrifying, cruel smile visible on both sides of the blazing blue fire. An ancient, chilling whisper—a sound not heard but felt, a vibration of pure malice—laced the air. Everyone behind the firewall gasped and stumbled backward, clutching their ears, terrified by the glimpse of the malignant entity.
Only Echo could hear the words clearly. "Do it. End him. End the pain."
James, his body trembling, looked into the rage-filled eyes above him. Tears streamed from his own eyes, still raw from the Dementor's attack. He shook his head violently. "Echo, please, I didn't do it! I swear! I wasn't even here! I don't know what you're talking about!" he begged, his voice cracking with genuine terror and despair.
Echo looked down at James, looked into his eyes for a long, terrible moment. He looked deep into them, as if trying to peer directly into his soul, searching for the cold, detached malice he had witnessed in the maze. Everyone—Minerva, Lily, and the other Aurors and students behind the wall of fire—held their breath, terrified of what was about to happen. But then, Echo noticed something. The eyes looking back at him were not the empty, malevolent eyes of the man who had dueled him in the maze. These eyes were wide, bloodshot, and filled with a profound, desperate fear, shock, and—most crucially—truthfulness. James wasn't lying.
The Dark Beast felt Echo falter. Its massive, shadowy grin instantly dropped into a furious frown, and it whispered more harshly: "Do it now. He lies. End it!"
Echo ignored the whisper. With a trembling hand, he turned James's head sharply from the left to the right, examining him. No blood trickled from his ears—a sure sign of the Mandrake's deafening cry. No fresh bruises marred his face or body from Shimmer's beating stick. His hair wasn't swept by the wind of Ballooney's concentrated blasts. There were no fresh scratches from Sniffles's desperate claws. Echo's wand hand, still clutching James's collar, forced him to his feet and spun him around, exposing his back. Echo scanned the area just below the shoulder blade where the Dark Beast had sunk its claws. Nothing. No smoking, raw wounds, no torn fabric, no sign of the near-fatal injury he had inflicted.
Any lingering doubt in Echo's mind was shattered. This couldn't be the same person. Was he truly going crazy?
Echo took a stumbling step back from James, his face no longer contorted with fury, but with a cold, devastating confusion. He barely whispered, his voice broken. "It… it wasn't you."
James slowly turned around, fear still etched deep in his tear-filled eyes. "That's what I've been saying, Echo," he whispered, his voice thick with relief and confusion.
Echo stared at him, tears welling in his own eyes, mingling with the soot and dirt on his cheeks. He sank to his knees, the question tearing from his throat in a raw, anguished cry. "Then who was in the maze? Who was behind the hood? Who was wearing your face?! Who killed my Sniffles?!"
He collapsed fully onto the ground, dropping his wand, and clutched the small, dead Niffler to his chest, sinking into a fit of wracking, agonizing sobs.
All at once, the malevolent, dark magic collapsed. The massive wall of deep blue Protego Diabolica fire shrank instantly, dissolving into nothingness. The massive, shadowy manifestation of the Dark Beast vanished, and the silent, chilling whisper died. The black fire consuming the maze hedges vanished, the dozens of Dementors evaporated with a cold POP, and the malignant white Fiendfyre coating Wick's body disappeared, leaving the massive dragon a shimmering, dark silhouette in the night. With the wall down and the immediate threat gone, James stumbled forward, pushing past the stunned and frozen professors and Aurors.
Wick looked down at the sight of Echo, tiny and broken, clutching the dead Niffler. Her intimidating, massive appearance dissolved. She threw her enormous head back and let loose a final, guttural ROAR, but it was no longer a sound of anger or menace. It was a cry of pure, unadulterated sorrow and agony, so loud and profound that it resonated through the air, causing several people within hearing distance to cover their ears from the volume. It cracked—but did not shatter—the glass of the nearest castle windows, and a palpable wave of overwhelming sorrow washed over everyone who heard it, prompting many to start silently producing tears. When the cry finally stopped, the massive dragon shed large, hot tears that hit the ground with loud, heavy splashes as she lay her immense, scaly head next to Echo, who continued to sob uncontrollably.
Shimmer and Nugget, having left Skehmet after she saved them, and Ballooney, who no doubt flew off in fear, scrambled forward from the shadows, their small bodies covered in soot and their movements sluggish but driven by singular purpose. Shimmer reached Echo first, his large, dark eyes wide with empathetic distress. He gently placed his tiny, comforting hands on Echo's trembling back, letting out soft, distressed whimpers that mirrored the boy's sobs.
Nugget landed beside them, his multicolored feathers ruffled. He nuzzled his snake head gently against Echo's hip, the cold scales a small, familiar comfort against the boy's damp robes, while his chicken head let out a low, mournful cluck. A small circle of shared grief around their broken master.
The crowd of Aurors and professors watched in stunned silence. Minerva McGonagall, tears still streaming down her face from the dragon's grief-stricken cry, took a hesitant step forward, her hand instinctively reaching out to offer comfort, but her voice failed her. James, still on his knees and trembling, stared at the scene, the small, dead Niffler in Echo's arms a visceral weight of guilt he didn't deserve, yet now fully felt. The atmosphere was a thick, volatile cocktail of shock, sorrow, and confusion.
Before anyone could move, speak, or attempt to break the terrible silence, the light in the clearing began to warp. Echo's body, the sobbing boy clutching the dead Niffler, began to shimmer faintly. The raw, desolate gray in his hair pulsed once, then began to fade. Shimmer, the Demiguise clinging to his back, started to lose definition, his silver fur becoming translucent. Nugget, too, began to dematerialize, his feathers turning to shadow. In a sequence that lasted no more than a few silent heartbeats, Echo, Shimmer, and Nugget—the weeping boy and his two grieving, animal companions—flickered and then completely vanished from sight. They did not Apparate with a CRACK; they dissolved into the air, leaving behind only the cold, damp scent of the ravaged earth and the terrifying emptiness where their grief had been. The small hole where Sniffles had fallen remained, a mute testament to the tragedy.
The massive, black dragon, Wick, who had been resting her colossal head next to Echo, instantly lifted her head. Her amber eyes, still wet with unshed tears, scanned the spot where her Ada had been, confirming the vanishing. With a final, sorrowful exhale that ruffled the grass, Wick rose slowly to her full, terrifying height. She opened her enormous, leathery wings—wings that spanned over sixty feet—and with a single, powerful pump, launched herself into the night sky. She did not circle or pause. She flew with powerful, deliberate strokes toward the darkest line of the Forbidden Forest, a massive, silent shadow disappearing into the trees until she was gone.
The remaining spectators—Minerva, James, Lily, and the shocked Aurors—stood in the ruined clearing, surrounded by the remnants of black fire, the silence now deafening and absolute. The only sound was James Potter's ragged, broken gasp. The champions, their creatures, and their immense, chaotic magic were gone, leaving behind only a trail of devastation and the raw, unanswerable question: Who was in the maze?