The last of the students shuffled out of the greenhouse, their chatter fading as they spilled onto the lawn. The air still smelled strongly of damp earth and crushed dittany leaves from the lesson, and the faint echo of a Venomous Tentacula's hiss lingered from the far corner where it had been locked securely in its cage.
Oliver lingered at his workstation, carefully brushing the soil from his hands. He could feel his heart hammering. He'd rehearsed this in his head at least a dozen times during class. Still, walking up to a professor alone, making a request—this wasn't something the boy he had been a few months ago would ever have done. But things had changed. Nyx had changed him, and so had the Flamels, and so had his friends who kept reminding him that he didn't have to stay quiet all the time.
"Mr. Night?" Professor Sprout's voice called from the front of the room, half-buried under the rustle of parchment as she gathered notes. "You're not keeping something alive in there that shouldn't be, are you?"
Oliver startled slightly, then hurried forward. "N-no, Professor. I—uh—I was hoping I could talk to you, if you've got a few minutes."
Sprout paused, adjusting the wide brim of her patched hat. She studied him closely. It wasn't unusual for students to linger after class, but usually they wanted extensions on homework or excuses for trampled mandrakes. Oliver's face, though—nervous, earnest, but determined—didn't look like a boy who wanted to make excuses.
Her tone softened. "All right, lad. Walk with me, then."
Oliver's palms went sweaty as he slung his bag over his shoulder and led her outside. The winter air bit at their cheeks, sharp but not unbearable. He walked a little way down the sloping grass, away from where the other students were still gathered in clumps. Nyx appeared in a quiet flash of dark-blue flame, alighting on his shoulder, her feathers shimmering faintly as if dotted with stars.
Sprout raised her brows. "Always a sight, that bird," she murmured, though there was no edge to it. Only wonder.
Oliver took a steadying breath and knelt to set his suitcase down on the grass. Sprout watched curiously as he flicked the latches, opened it, and let the ladder unfold downward into shadow.
"Well now," she said, tilting her head. "That's no ordinary trunk, is it?"
"I wanted to show you," Oliver said quietly, glancing at her before stepping onto the ladder. "Please—come with me?"
Her lips pursed, but she gave a firm nod. "Lead on, Mr. Night. Let's see what you're hiding down there."
The air inside the suitcase shifted the moment they climbed down—warmer, tinged with the scent of pine and moss. When Professor Sprout's boots touched the ground, she straightened and froze, her eyes going wide.
The forest stretched out before them, trees older and thicker than anything near the castle grounds. A soft stream cut through the middle, glinting silver in the light of floating orbs Oliver had charmed to act as lanterns. Beyond the trees, meadows swayed with tall grass and faint sparkles of magic drifting like fireflies.
And then—hoofbeats.
Professor Sprout gasped aloud as a pair of unicorn foals bounded past, their manes shimmering like liquid pearl. Behind them, the adults followed at a more leisurely pace, their coats glowing faintly as if moonlight clung to their skin.
"My stars," Sprout whispered, clutching at her chest. "Unicorns. In here?"
Oliver nodded, though his throat felt tight. "They're… safer here. Hagrid and Dumbledore agreed. And, um…" He pointed toward the tree line, where two tall figures stood half in shadow. One bore a spear and the other a bow, their equine bodies strong and steady. Caelum and Lyra inclined their heads in solemn greeting.
Professor Sprout pressed a hand to her mouth. "You've built a sanctuary," she breathed. "Merlin's beard, boy, this is… this is beyond anything I've ever seen."
Oliver shifted nervously. "It's not all me. The Flamels helped… and the suitcase came from Newt Scamander. But—Professor—I wanted to ask you for help with something else."
She finally tore her gaze from the unicorns and turned back to him, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Go on, lad."
Oliver led her down a narrow path until they reached a section of empty land. It had been marked off carefully with stakes and string, cleared of rocks, the soil tilled smooth. He crouched to run his hand over it, looking up at her.
"I want to build a greenhouse here," he said softly. "Not just for fun, but… for something bigger. I've been studying alchemy with the Flamels, and there are plants—rare ones—that could be important. For research. For… for future projects."
He hesitated, his words tumbling out. "I've read what I can from the library, but I don't want to make mistakes. I thought… maybe… you could guide me. I know you're busy, but if you ever had time—"
Sprout's eyes had been growing wider with each word, until she finally cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. "Stop right there, Mr. Night. Do you have any idea what you're offering here?"
Oliver froze. "Is it… bad?"
"Bad?" She let out a bark of laughter that made the nearby unicorn foals twitch their ears. "Boy, this is a dream. This space is more than enough—more than I've ever had to work with, and I've been Head of Herbology for decades! You've got perfect soil, water, light, and—Merlin bless us—the chance to grow things thought lost to time. And you're asking me if I'll help?"
Oliver ducked his head, cheeks warm. "So… you'll do it?"
Sprout crouched beside him, her weathered hands brushing the soil. Her expression softened into something motherly. "I'd be honored. After class, after meals, I'll come down here and we'll start drawing up plans. This will be the finest greenhouse in Britain—no, the world."
Oliver's chest swelled, Nyx trilling on his shoulder as if echoing Sprout's excitement.
As they walked back toward the stream, Sprout caught sight of the unicorns again. This time, she noticed the foals nosing at the sparse grass, tugging at blades that offered little nourishment. Her eyes narrowed.
"They'll need more," she murmured.
Oliver blinked. "More?"
"Food," she said firmly, already muttering under her breath. "If they're to thrive here, we'll need to plant wild magical berries—moonberries, perhaps, and silverleaf shrubs. Things they can graze on freely without risk."
She turned to him, her eyes alight. "I'll supply the seeds from my own stores. And we'll plan for crop rotation, soil enrichment, protective flora—Merlin's beard, this place will be self-sustaining within the year!"
Oliver could only stare at her, awe tugging at his lips into a smile. He hadn't dared hope she would be this enthusiastic.
"Thank you," he said simply. And he meant it with his whole heart.
Sprout gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. "You've got vision, boy. More than most adults I've met. Don't you let anyone beat it out of you."
Nyx let out a soft, approving cry, and the unicorns lifted their heads as if in agreement.
Professor Sprout didn't waste a moment once she agreed to help. She set down her satchel on a nearby rock, pulled out a thick roll of parchment, and tapped it with her wand. The scroll snapped open into a gridded sheet that unfurled nearly to the ground, a design board ready for sketches and notes.
"Now then," she said briskly, "if this is to be a true greenhouse, we'll need to consider climate regulation. You've got impressive space here, but it's still contained inside a suitcase. That means it's only as stable as the charms woven into it. Has Mr. Scamander explained how the environment sustains itself?"
Oliver hesitated. "A little. It's mostly self-balancing. Water replenishes from underground streams, light filters in through a mimicry charm that reflects the sun outside. The forest section seems… alive on its own."
Sprout gave a low whistle. "Marvelous. Still, we'll reinforce it. A greenhouse is only as good as the conditions inside. For rare flora, you'll need temperature charms, humidity charms, soil wards—the whole lot. But we'll get there."
Oliver crouched beside her as she began sketching rectangles and circles with rapid strokes, muttering plant names under her breath. He didn't know all of them, but he recognized a few from his late-night reading—basilisk-bane root, phoenix-lily, dragon's-breath orchids. Plants most wizards only ever read about in dusty tomes.
"Those?" he asked, pointing at the orchids.
"Dragon's-breath," Sprout confirmed. "Very temperamental, but their blossoms produce a resin that stabilizes volatile potions. Most potion masters would kill for a steady supply. And phoenix-lily petals—why, they've not been grown properly since the seventeenth century. You've the perfect soil for it here."
Oliver felt a little thrill. Not only would this project help him, it could ripple outward into Hogwarts and beyond.
They walked further, Sprout's eyes darting everywhere. She paused when the unicorn herd drifted close, their coats glowing faintly as they nosed the grass. One of the foals—bolder than the rest—trotted straight up to Oliver and nudged his hand with a soft whicker.
Sprout's breath caught again. "Do you realize what this means, boy? Unicorns, content enough to approach you freely. That's a sign of purity they don't grant easily."
Oliver stroked the foal's nose, warmth blooming in his chest. "I just… I don't want them hurt anymore."
Sprout nodded slowly, her face softening. "There's more to you than meets the eye, Oliver Night. Much more."
The foal bounded back toward its herd, and Sprout shook herself back to business. "Right. We'll plant moonberries along the northern ridge. Silverleaf on the eastern slope. And here—" She jabbed her quill at the parchment—"a line of firemoss to balance the cold pockets. Unicorns adore it."
Oliver leaned in, listening intently. Nyx shifted on his shoulder, her feathers glowing faintly as though reflecting his growing excitement.
As the two of them continued planning, Caelum and Lyra approached from the treeline. The centaurs moved with quiet grace, their expressions solemn but curious. Sprout stiffened slightly at their sudden arrival but didn't flinch away.
"Professor," Oliver said quickly, "these are Caelum and Lyra. They've agreed to stay and watch over the unicorns."
Sprout inclined her head politely. "Then you've my thanks. A sanctuary of this magnitude requires guardians."
Caelum's deep voice rumbled. "The boy shows wisdom beyond his years. It is right that we aid him."
Lyra's gaze swept the tilled soil and the unicorn herd beyond. "What you build here will echo in the future. We will guard it."
Sprout looked between them, clearly impressed. "You've no idea what a gift this is, Oliver. Unicorns, centaurs, and soon enough flora that most wizards believe extinct. This suitcase of yours is fast becoming more than a refuge—it's a living archive."
Oliver swallowed hard, but he felt taller somehow. "That's… what I want. A place where things can be safe. Where they can grow."
They walked the boundary again, Sprout pointing out details Oliver hadn't considered—wind tunnels, root space, pest wards. With every suggestion, Oliver's vision sharpened. He realized how much he'd been guessing before, patching ideas together from books. With her expertise, it became something real.
Finally, as they stopped by the stream, Sprout rolled up her parchment and tucked it under her arm. "Right then. I'll come down after classes tomorrow. We'll begin construction together. I'll bring seeds, tools, and a few charms I've been saving. This will be the finest greenhouse of its kind."
Oliver felt his throat tighten with gratitude. "Thank you, Professor. I don't… I don't know how to say it properly, but—thank you."
Sprout gave him a smile warmer than any he'd seen from her in class. "Say it by putting in the work, lad. By growing what others said was impossible. That'll be thanks enough."
Nyx spread her wings, letting out a ringing cry that seemed to seal the promise. The unicorns answered with a ripple of soft whinnies, and even Caelum inclined his head in approval.
Oliver looked around at the sanctuary—the forest, the herd, the space ready for a greenhouse—and felt something stir deep inside him. For the first time, it wasn't just about survival or proving himself. It was about building. Creating. Leaving something behind that would outlast him.
And with Sprout's guidance, he knew it was possible.