The morning after Christmas was quiet in the Flamel household. Snow had fallen thick during the night, blanketing the gardens and trees outside in glistening white. From Oliver's bedroom window, the forest looked like something out of a painting, every branch weighed down, every rooftop soft and still.
Oliver sat at the desk by his bed, a notebook open in front of him, though he wasn't writing. His quill tapped nervously against the page. The glow of Nyx's feathers, perched on the headboard, cast faint blue light over his shoulder.
He had hardly slept. Penny's words from the night before spun endlessly in his head: This deserves to be published.
At first, it had filled him with a burst of pride. Someone believed in his writing that much. Someone thought it was worth sharing. But then the doubts began to creep in, each one louder than the last.
He was eleven. What did he know about publishing? And in the wizarding world? There had to be rules, laws, entire ministries that governed things like that. What if he did something wrong? What if they laughed at him?
He sighed, setting the quill down. "Maybe it's better just to keep it in the Muggle world," he muttered.
Nyx tilted her head, her sky-blue eyes glimmering like galaxies. She gave a faint hum, as if scolding him for his doubt.
Oliver frowned. "What? At least there I know how it works. You just… give it to someone who prints books, and people buy them. Easy. Wizards complicate everything."
Nyx gave another hum, softer this time, then flared her wings once before settling again.
Oliver rubbed his forehead. "Yeah. You're probably right. I should at least… ask them."
Breakfast was a cozy affair. Nicolas had set out bread, cheese, and spiced cider, while Penny hummed softly as she arranged fresh holly on the mantel. Oliver sat across from them, pushing a piece of bread around his plate.
"You're quiet," Penny said, looking at him with her usual perceptive warmth.
Oliver hesitated, then took a breath. "I was thinking about what you said yesterday. About publishing."
Nicolas leaned forward slightly. "And?"
Oliver bit his lip. "I thought maybe… just in the Muggle world. It's simpler. I don't know anything about how wizard publishing works. What if it's illegal, or… or dangerous? What if I mess it up?"
For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then Penny laughed—a light, musical laugh that somehow didn't mock him.
"Oh, darling," she said, reaching across to squeeze his hand. "That's not something you need to worry about. You let me handle the wizarding side of things. I've friends in publishing—friends who still owe me favors. Give me permission, and I'll take care of everything."
Oliver blinked. "Everything?"
"Everything," Penny said firmly. "Editing, distribution, the legalities. All you need to do is write."
Oliver's stomach fluttered. "Write?"
"Of course," Penny said, eyes twinkling. "Do you plan to stop at one book?"
Oliver froze. He hadn't expected the question, but the answer was already there, waiting on his tongue. Slowly, he nodded. "I've thought of others. I… I want it to be a series."
Nicolas's brows rose, intrigued. "A series?"
Oliver's words tumbled out in a rush. "The first is about Percy, right? But I was thinking… what if there's more? Like, new adventures. Maybe he goes to the sea, fights monsters there. Or a quest with other demigods. I don't know all the details yet, but I've got ideas. Lots of them."
Penny practically clapped her hands. "Wonderful! You're already thinking ahead. That's the mark of a true author."
Oliver ducked his head, cheeks burning, but a small smile tugged at his lips.
"Well then," Penny said, pulling parchment toward her. "We'll need to move quickly. The sooner I write to my friends, the sooner they can start preparations. Magical editing, printing, enchantments to make the books appealing to wizard readers…" She began jotting furiously, her quill scratching across the page.
Nicolas chuckled, sipping his cider. "You've set her on fire now, Oliver. There will be no stopping her."
Oliver watched in awe as Penny's handwriting filled the parchment with elegant loops. She wrote three letters, each sealed with a flick of her wand, wax dripping perfectly into place. With another gesture, the letters folded into neat origami birds that flapped their wings and zipped out the window into the snowy morning.
"Done," she said with satisfaction. "By this evening, my friends will have your story in their hands. And if they have any sense, they'll fight over who gets to publish it."
Oliver's heart thumped. "Just like that?"
"Just like that," Penny confirmed.
He leaned back in his chair, dazed. Yesterday his book had been something he gave to friends, a gift wrapped in plain brown paper. Today, it was about to take its first steps into the wider world.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. Nicolas returned to his study, humming faintly as he reviewed his own notes, while Penny disappeared into the greenhouse to oversee the herbologists.
Oliver sat in the library, notebook open, quill in hand. For a while he just stared at the blank page, overwhelmed. But then, slowly, words began to trickle out.
Book Two: The Sea of Monsters.
The title looked strange at first, like it didn't belong. But the more he wrote, the more it began to feel real. He sketched a rough map, then jotted names of creatures he'd read about—sirens, cyclopes, sea serpents. His imagination spun new threads, weaving them into the tapestry that had already begun in the first book.
Hours passed unnoticed. Nyx perched nearby, humming softly, as if the scratch of his quill was music she approved of.
By the time Penny called him for lunch, he had filled several pages with messy notes, arrows, and crossed-out words.
Nicolas glanced at his work as Oliver sat down at the table. "Another book?"
Oliver flushed, nodding.
Nicolas smiled faintly. "Good. That means you're not afraid anymore."
Oliver thought about that as he ate. Maybe Nicolas was right. Yesterday he'd been afraid of failing, of doing something wrong. But today, with Penny's letters sent and new words on the page, the fear had less hold on him.
That evening, Penny returned to the sitting room with a wide smile. "Replies already." She held up two letters, sealed with foreign crests. "Both publishers are interested. Very interested."
Oliver gaped. "Already?"
"Word travels fast when Nicolas and I put our names to something," she said with a wink. "And when I described the story—a young boy discovering he is more than he thought, battling gods and monsters—they were intrigued."
Oliver's cheeks went hot. "You… you really told them all that?"
"Of course," Penny said matter-of-factly. "Your words deserve to be read. Both in the wizarding world and the Muggle one. We'll arrange separate contracts—earnings from both streams. You'll be earning your own income before you're even out of your first year at Hogwarts."
Oliver nearly dropped his spoon. "Income?"
Nicolas chuckled. "What did you expect, Oliver? That books are read for free?"
Oliver stammered, "I—I didn't think that far."
"Well, you'll think of it now," Penny said firmly. "Because you're not just a student anymore. You're an author. And that means responsibility—to your readers, and to yourself."
Oliver's head spun. Author. Income. Publishing contracts. It was more than he had dared imagine.
But beneath the whirlwind of nerves, there was a spark of something stronger. Pride. Excitement. Hope.
He glanced at Nyx, who tilted her head, her feathers glowing faintly in approval.
Maybe this was just the beginning.
Later that night, Oliver sat at his desk again, candlelight flickering against the window. His notebook lay open, fresh pages waiting.
He wrote slowly, carefully, each word deliberate:
Book Two: The Sea of Monsters.
Then beneath it: Book Three: The Titan's Curse.
His hand trembled slightly, but he kept writing. Titles. Fragments. Ideas.
Nyx gave a soft cry and hopped closer, brushing her wing against his arm.
Oliver smiled faintly. "Yeah," he whispered. "We're really doing this."