The trunk opened with a whisper, its hinges glowing faintly as if even the metal remembered the magic that had been poured into it. Oliver climbed down the enchanted steps with Nick and Penny following behind, Nyx swooping low before taking her perch on a polished rafter.
The boy stopped at the bottom and blinked.
What had once been an empty pocket of space inside the case was now alive with light, order, and possibility. Rows of shelves lined the curved walls, stocked with jars of powdered root, dried herbs, and carefully labeled vials. Brass instruments gleamed faintly in the enchanted lamplight, their dials ticking softly as they measured humidity, temperature, and trace magical particles in the air.
At the center stood two workstations: a polished stone bench for potions, fitted with flame control runes that shimmered when tapped, and a sturdy oak table reinforced with spellwork for alchemical experimentation. To Oliver, it looked less like a workshop and more like a heart—something that would pump ideas and possibilities into the rest of his life.
"Looks tidy enough, don't you think?" Nick asked, tone casual but his eyes warm.
Oliver swallowed hard. He walked toward the oak table, running his fingers across the surface. "It's… it's mine?"
"Yours," Penny confirmed, stepping forward and adjusting one of the crystal lamps until it glowed a softer gold. "You helped carve the runes yourself, remember? And Nicholas nearly burned the bottom half out when he forgot to draw the containment circle first."
Nick cleared his throat, feigning offense. "Purely intentional. I wanted to show him how not to do it."
Oliver laughed, the sound echoing off the walls. It was small, but it filled the room in a way even the lamps couldn't. He pressed his palm against the tabletop, and the oak answered with a faint pulse of warmth, the protective wards recognizing him.
"You'll grow into it," Penny said gently, her hand brushing his shoulder. "Every alchemist needs a place where ideas can breathe. This one will grow with you."
Oliver turned, wide-eyed. "It'll… change?"
Nick's grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Everything here is anchored to you. The stronger your magic, the more responsive the space. If you treat it well, it will keep pace with you."
Nyx swooped down, landing neatly on the potion bench. She gave a low hum that seemed to resonate with the stonework, her feathers scattering faint sparks of midnight blue light. Oliver watched, a grin spreading across his face.
"She likes it," he whispered.
"Then it's truly yours," Penny said with a nod.
They spent the rest of the evening walking Oliver through each section. Penny explained the climate-controlled shelves where volatile ingredients could be stored without losing potency. Nick pointed out the calibration charms etched into the measuring scales, teaching Oliver how to reset them by touch rather than wand. Every corner of the space had been crafted with intention—and Oliver realized, with a deep and quiet pride, that much of that intention had been his.
"This isn't a gift," Nick said finally, leaning on his cane as his voice dropped into something more solemn. "It's a responsibility. What you build here—whether it's genius or folly—will carry your name. That's why you needed to build it with us. To understand it, so it can't become dangerous."
Oliver nodded quickly. "I won't take it for granted. I promise."
Nick's eyes softened, and he shared a look with Penny. "Good lad."
Later that night, after the Flamels had left him to explore the space on his own, Oliver sat cross-legged on the oak table. His guitar leaned against the bench, untouched, while Nyx perched beside him, feathers glowing faintly in the lamplight.
He traced the runes with a fingertip, listening to the faint hum that seemed to respond to him. It felt alive—not like a person, but like soil waiting for seeds.
"I think…" Oliver muttered, half to himself, half to Nyx, "I think I want to show Hagrid. He'd understand this better than anyone."
Nyx tilted her head, sky-blue eyes bright. A soft sound escaped her throat, almost approving.
Oliver chuckled. "Alright then. We'll bring him tomorrow night."
He lay back on the table, staring at the ceiling where enchanted stars shimmered faintly, cast from the crystal lamps. His heart was pounding—not from nerves, but from something else.
This was no longer just a borrowed trunk. It was the beginning of something bigger, something that belonged to him.
And he couldn't wait to share it.
The next night, Oliver paced the floor of the common room, waiting for curfew to sink into silence. Nyx shifted restlessly on his shoulder, her feathers glowing faintly, as if she sensed what he was planning.
When the castle had finally gone still, Oliver slipped his guitar case across his back and headed for the grounds. He met Hagrid by the pumpkin patch, where the half-giant had been finishing up his rounds with Fang.
"Alright there, Oliver?" Hagrid asked, lantern swinging in one massive hand.
Oliver's lips curled into a nervous grin. "I… I've got something to show you. Promise it's worth your time."
Hagrid raised an eyebrow but gestured for him to lead the way. Nyx trilled softly, as though urging them both onward.
Inside the trunk, Hagrid's jaw went slack.
The lantern nearly slipped from his grip as he stepped down into the cavernous workshop. His eyes darted from shelf to shelf, from the glowing crystal lamps to the sturdy benches lined with rune-carved brass.
"Merlin's beard," he muttered. "This… this is in your trunk?"
Oliver nodded, a spark of pride tugging at his chest. "Nick, Penny, and I built it. They wanted me to have a place to work. A safe place."
Hagrid walked in slow circles, his boots echoing against the stone floor. "Safe? This is more'n safe, lad. This is… this is brilliant."
Nyx flew from Oliver's shoulder to perch on the potion bench, letting out a soft hum that resonated through the space. The faint blue glow danced along the runes carved into the stone, making the whole workshop feel alive.
Hagrid leaned close, beard brushing the bench as he studied the reaction. "She's tied to it. Like it's listenin' to her. Never seen nothin' quite like it."
Oliver hesitated, then took a deep breath. "That's… why I wanted to bring you here. I've been thinking. About the unicorns."
At once, Hagrid's expression darkened.
"Aye," he rumbled, scratching Fang's ears absently. "More've been found, poor things. Nothin' natural does that."
Oliver nodded quickly. "That's why I thought—what if they stayed here? Just for a while. Until you can find what's hurting them. They'd be safe. There's space, protections, and…" He trailed off, motioning to the benches and shelves. "It feels alive, Hagrid. Like it'll grow with me. Maybe it could grow to shelter them, too."
For a long moment, Hagrid said nothing. He just stroked his beard, eyes flicking between Oliver and Nyx. Finally, he sighed.
"Yeh've a good heart, Oliver. Better'n most. It's clever, I'll give yeh that. But unicorns ain't just mine to care for. The centaurs, they'd have to agree. And Dumbledore too."
Oliver's shoulders dipped. "I figured."
"But," Hagrid said, placing one enormous hand on the boy's shoulder, "I'll bring it up. Can't hurt to try. An idea like this—" he glanced around again, shaking his head in wonder—"it deserves a fair hearin'."
Over the next few days, Oliver began to tinker. The workshop seemed to almost encourage him, each bench and tool humming faintly when he leaned close, as though it knew what he wanted before he did.
The first project had been simple enough: a linked speaker system. Using a crystal laced with one of Nyx's tears, Oliver found he could transmit sound between paired objects. He tested it by strumming a chord into a microphone and grinned when the same note rang out from a speaker across the room.
"It's like… a conversation over distance," he explained when Penny stopped by to watch. She raised an eyebrow but didn't dismiss him. "You might be onto something," she admitted.
Next came the guitar. He had sketched it weeks ago, a rough imitation of Dimebag Darrell's Dean ML he'd seen in a magazine once. But here, with Nick's guidance and Penny's charmwork, he'd built it: a deep sapphire instrument streaked with faint blue lines, almost as if Nyx's feathers had been etched into the wood.
The true marvel was the wand slot. When Oliver slid his wand into place, the strings shimmered with raw magic. A simple note could ripple through the air like a spell, warping sound into illusions. With concentration, he managed to split himself into three versions—all strumming in perfect harmony.
Nyx had chirped in approval, wings flickering with light.
Oliver grinned to himself, recalling the look on Penny's face when she saw the clones. "It's not… finished," he had admitted. "But it's something."
And in the corner, scattered across parchment, lay the start of another dream: a magical telephone. Blueprints filled with notes and scratched-out runes. He couldn't quite figure out how to stabilize the connection, and every test ended in nothing but static. Still, the idea buzzed in his mind like a restless spark.
A week later, Hagrid returned with news.
"Dumbledore's given his nod," Hagrid said, ducking into the trunk with Fang at his heels. "Said if the centaurs agree, we can move the unicorns for a spell. Didn't even argue, which means he's trustin' yeh, lad."
Oliver blinked, stunned. "He… he said yes?"
Hagrid chuckled. "He said yes. But don't think it'll be simple. Centaurs'll want assurances, and they ain't fond of outsiders meddlin'."
Oliver's grin widened anyway. "That's fine. I'll prove it's safe."
Nyx landed on his shoulder, her wings curling around him like a cloak. Hagrid watched, eyes glinting, and gave a low whistle.
"Never thought I'd see a lad your age makin' plans like this. But maybe… maybe the world's better for it."
Oliver ducked his head, cheeks warm. "I just… want to help."
That night, as he sat cross-legged in the workshop, guitar resting across his knees, Oliver looked around at the benches, the shelves, the glowing lamps.
This wasn't just a lab.
It was the beginning of something larger.
His future, carved into stone and oak and crystal, waiting for him to grow into it.
Nyx hummed, the sound resonating with the workshop's wards.
And Oliver knew: this was only the start.