The day of Oliver's return to Lucien Dorièvre's workshop dawned crisp and pale, the Parisian streets still dusted with the remains of last night's snow. The Flamel household stirred earlier than usual; Penny moved briskly about with a kind of nervous energy, while Nicolas hummed in his study, consulting parchment covered in notes Oliver could not decipher.
Oliver dressed in silence, his suitcase tucked carefully at the foot of the bed, Nyx perched above him. She watched with eyes that glowed faintly, her feathers shimmering in the half-light. Ever since she had given her feather, she seemed more alert, as if aware of the significance of what was about to happen.
"You think it's ready for me?" Oliver murmured.
Nyx tilted her head, gave a soft hum, and preened one wing.
Oliver took that as a yes.
The Floo journey to Lucien's workshop seemed quicker this time, though Oliver's nerves made the spin through the emerald flames more disorienting. He stumbled out into the narrow cobbled lane, catching himself against the cold stone wall. Penny steadied him with a smile.
"You'll be fine," she said warmly. "Remember: this isn't something being done to you. It's something you're building with Nyx."
Oliver nodded, though the knot in his stomach didn't quite loosen.
The workshop door creaked open before they knocked. Lucien stood framed in the doorway, silver hair glinting in the winter light, long fingers stained darker than before. His sharp eyes swept over Oliver, then to Nyx, and a thin smile ghosted across his lips.
"You came," he said simply, stepping aside.
Inside, the shop smelled stronger than ever of resin, wood shavings, and faint mineral tang. The workbench had been cleared, save for three objects laid carefully at its center: the carved shaft of ash wood, Nyx's feather bound in a fine silver thread, and the sapphire, glowing faintly with its inner starlight.
Oliver froze at the sight, his breath catching. The wood seemed alive even unfinished, the grain catching the light in subtle ripples. Nyx's feather, dark and tipped in blue, seemed to pulse faintly, as though it remembered its bond to her even off her wing. And the sapphire—it looked impossibly deep, as though he might fall into it if he stared too long.
Lucien gestured to the bench. "These are the makings of your wand. Ash, feather, sapphire. Stronger ingredients I have rarely seen together."
Penny's lips curved in a quiet smile. Nicolas only inclined his head, as though confirming something he had known would happen all along.
Lucien moved with reverence as he arranged the components. He touched each one lightly as he spoke, his voice carrying the cadence of ritual.
"Ash," he began, his silver eyes flicking to Oliver, "is a wood of resilience and purpose. It does not bend to every hand. But when it chooses, it never falters."
His fingers brushed the feather. "Phoenix feather, freely given. The rarest of cores. A gift that binds not just to you, boy, but to the bond you share with her." He inclined his head toward Nyx.
Last, he touched the sapphire. "And this—" His gaze slid briefly to Nicolas. "A crystal of power, kin to the Stone but not its equal. A stabilizer, a reservoir, a beacon. It will make the wand not just strong, but balanced."
Oliver shifted, his heart thudding painfully. "And… now?"
Lucien's lips twitched faintly. "Now, boy, you tell the wand who you are."
Oliver blinked. "Tell it?"
Lucien folded his ink-stained hands together. "A wand is not a stick with magic stuffed into it. It is a mirror. It must know the soul of its wielder, or it will not wake. Place your hands upon the ash, and speak. What do you want this wand to be?"
Oliver's mouth went dry. He looked helplessly at Nicolas and Penny, but they only watched silently, expectant. Nyx gave a low hum, nudging her head closer.
He stepped forward, laying both palms on the ash shaft. It was cool beneath his skin, smoother than he expected. His throat tightened.
What did he want? He thought of the orphanage, the loneliness. He thought of Hogwarts, of Daphne's betrayal, of Ron's sneers. He thought of Harry's hesitant smile, the twins' laughter, Hermione's faith. He thought of Nyx's hum, steady and patient, guiding him through every step.
Finally, he found the words. His voice trembled, but it was steady enough to be heard.
"A wand that makes me more than what I was told I could be," he whispered. "A wand that helps me protect, not just fight."
The air shifted. Nyx gave a clear, ringing cry, her feathers flaring brighter than they ever had in this workshop. The ash beneath Oliver's hands vibrated faintly. The sapphire pulsed with sudden brilliance, threads of light flickering across its depths like tiny stars.
Lucien moved quickly, binding the feather into the split shaft with the silver thread. The thread wrapped itself tighter and tighter, fusing with the wood. The sapphire sank into the base of the handle, its glow diffusing into the grain until it seemed a natural part of the wand rather than an addition.
The workshop hummed with resonance. Tools clattered faintly on shelves, jars rattled, the floorboards groaned. Nyx's cry harmonized with the vibration, filling the room with sound that wasn't quite music but wasn't noise either.
Lucien's eyes gleamed as he worked. "Yes… it listens to him."
Oliver's hands shook, but he didn't let go. His palms tingled as if the wood had grown warm under his skin, almost alive. The smell of sap and ash filled the air, sharper, thicker.
The wand was waking.
"Step back," Lucien commanded softly, though his voice carried authority like a bell. Oliver obeyed, retreating a pace, Nyx hopping back onto his shoulder.
Lucien lifted the wand shaft, the feather now sealed within, the sapphire glimmering faintly. He held it aloft, studying it as though measuring its worth. Then, slowly, deliberately, he extended it to Oliver.
"Take it," he said. "If it accepts you, you will know."
Oliver's mouth went dry. He reached out, fingers trembling, and curled them around the wand's handle.
The effect was immediate.
Warmth surged up his arm—not burning, but flooding him with vitality. It wasn't just heat; it was as though something had recognized him, accepted him, poured its strength into him. His hair flared with streaks of deep blue, shimmering like Nyx's feathers. Sparks erupted from the wand's tip, not chaotic, but graceful arcs of blue-white light that scattered like falling stars.
Nyx spread her wings wide, crying out in triumph. The cry resonated with the sparks, and for a heartbeat, the entire workshop seemed bathed in faint blue starlight.
Oliver gasped, clutching the wand tighter, his chest swelling with something he couldn't name. It felt right. More right than anything had ever felt in his life.
The starlight sparks faded slowly, lingering at the wand's tip in a soft blue glow. Oliver's hand trembled as he clutched the handle tighter, the warmth surging up his arm like a river of living fire. For a heartbeat he thought that was all—that the rush of magic, the light, the bond was the culmination of everything.
Then the air cracked.
A shimmer rippled outward from his chest, bending the very light in the workshop. Before he could draw another breath, Oliver felt himself tear—not painfully, but as if some unseen mirror had fractured and spilled his reflection into the world.
Two figures stood at his sides.
Both were Oliver. Both gripped wands identical to his own. Both moved as he did, breaths syncing, eyes glowing faint sky blue like Nyx's. Their hair shimmered faintly with streaks of dark blue, flickering in rhythm with the hum of the real Nyx perched on his shoulder.
Oliver gasped, but the duplicates gasped with him. He flexed his fingers; they flexed theirs. Sparks flared from each wandtip in perfect harmony, scattering like constellations.
Nyx gave a piercing cry, her wings spreading wide as if to crown the moment. Her glow caught on each of the duplicates, making them shine like fragments of the same star.
Lucien's eyes went wide, his voice breaking its careful calm. "A tri-fold resonance… impossible. I have never—"
The words caught in his throat as the duplicates wavered. The shimmer that birthed them collapsed inward, and in a rush of heat, they folded back into Oliver's chest. He stumbled, breathless, sparks cascading down around him until only he remained.
The wand still pulsed in his hand, steady and alive.
Oliver swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling quickly. "What… what was that?"
Lucien's face was pale, his silver eyes burning with fascination. "An amplification beyond anything I have seen. Cloning, resonance, reflection—your bond with the phoenix magnifies every facet of your being. Even fragments of your essence take shape when the magic surges. But for it to happen spontaneously…" He shook his head. "Unheard of."
Nicolas leaned forward, calm as ever. "Not unheard of. Simply rare. It seems the wand is already amplifying his natural gifts."
Penny's hand covered her mouth, her eyes shining with awe. "Three Olivers at once… imagine what that means for his magic."
Oliver's knees felt shaky, but Nyx's feathers brushed against his cheek, grounding him. The duplicates were gone, but their brief existence had left an impression deep inside him—a sense that his magic wasn't just stronger now. It was vaster.
Lucien composed himself, his tone turning crisp again. "Test it. Small spells first. Let us see how it listens."
Oliver licked his lips and raised the wand. "Lumos."
The response was immediate. A sphere of pale blue light bloomed from the tip, brighter and steadier than any he had ever conjured. It wasn't the weak, flickering glow he remembered; this was pure, shimmering radiance, like Nyx's own starlight made tangible. The room glowed with soft brilliance, the shadows retreating to the far corners.
Penny clapped softly. Nicolas's lips curved in approval.
"Now Nox," Lucien said.
Oliver whispered the word, and the light obeyed, winking out instantly. His chest fluttered—the wand didn't just respond, it anticipated.
He tried again, this time with Wingardium Leviosa. A quill on the workbench lifted smoothly, gliding into the air with no wobble, no strain. It spun once with elegance before hovering precisely where he willed it. Oliver stared in disbelief.
"I've never—" he whispered. "It's never worked like this before."
Lucien's eyes narrowed with awe. "Too fluid for a novice's control. And yet with you, it obeys as if it was made only for your hand."
Oliver lowered the wand, setting the quill gently back down. His hand shook faintly, not from weakness but from the enormity of what he was holding.
Lucien stepped closer, his voice low, edged with warning. "Listen to me, boy. Such harmony is a blessing, but also a curse. A wand like this will amplify your strengths beyond measure. But it will magnify your flaws just as much. If your will wavers, if your intent falters, the wand will not forgive recklessness."
Oliver's throat tightened. He thought of the duplicates, the way his magic had surged uncontrollably. He nodded firmly. "I'll respect it. I promise."
Lucien studied him for a long moment, then inclined his head. "See that you do. This wand is not a servant. It is a partner. Treat it as such, and it will carry you farther than you can imagine."
The tension eased as Penny swept forward, her expression radiant. She cupped Oliver's cheek, brushing back the streaks of dark blue still lingering in his hair. "You've done marvelously, Oliver. You and Nyx together—it's like the wand was destined."
Oliver flushed, ducking his head, though he couldn't keep the small smile from tugging at his lips. Nicolas laid a steady hand on his shoulder. "Guard it well, boy. A wand like this doesn't just last a lifetime—it grows with you."
Nyx hummed low, feathers warm against Oliver's skin, her gaze steady and full of unspoken promise.
As they stepped out into the Parisian air, the cold bit against Oliver's cheeks, but he barely noticed. The wand pulsed faintly in his grip, every thrum matching the beat of his heart.
He glanced at Nyx, whispering softly, "It's not just my wand, is it? It's ours."
Nyx trilled in reply, her feathers flaring faint blue, the glow at the wand's tip pulsing once in perfect harmony with her.
For the first time, Oliver felt not like a boy carrying pieces of himself, but someone whole—woven together by wood, feather, sapphire, and the bond of a phoenix who had chosen him.