The suitcase opened beneath their feet, and Oliver felt the familiar shift of gravity as though the world had dipped slightly to one side. He had grown used to the sensation by now, the same way he had grown used to Nyx's silent companionship or the steady hum of power from his new wand. The suitcase-world opened around them: the artificial forest with its whispering leaves, the faint glimmer of the unicorn herd grazing at the far end under the watchful eyes of Oreius and Lyra, and the glowing greenhouse that Professor Sprout had already begun to populate.
But tonight, the forest seemed muted, as though waiting for something important to be said.
Madame Maxime stayed at the threshold, her towering frame an unmistakable presence even in the glow of Oliver's enchanted lamps. She folded her arms but kept her eyes sharp on the entrance, serving as their guard while the Flamels guided Oliver deeper into the space. Nicholas and Perenelle did not speak until they reached a quiet clearing where a simple table and three chairs had been set up.
Nyx, who had been flitting around the greenhouse roof moments before, swooped down silently and perched on Oliver's shoulder, her star-flecked feathers brushing his cheek. Her weight steadied him, like she already knew what was coming.
Nicholas set a bundle of parchment on the table, thick and bound by an official French Ministry seal. His wrinkled hands lingered on it, almost reverent, before he gestured for Oliver to sit.
"Mon garçon," Nicholas began, voice low, the weight of centuries in his tone. "It is time we speak about what the world expects of you… and what we hope to give you."
Oliver slid into the chair, feeling the stiffness of the wood beneath him. His heart was steady, but anticipation curled in his chest. He looked at Nyx, who cocked her head, as if urging him to listen carefully.
Perenelle sat opposite him, her sharp eyes softened by the warmth she always reserved for him. "You are more than our student now, Oliver," she said gently. "You are our family. And as our family, there are things you must inherit."
Oliver's brow furrowed. "Inherit?"
Nicholas nudged the parchment forward. The French seal shimmered under the enchanted lantern light. "Over six centuries," he explained, "we have accumulated wealth, properties, vaults of artifacts, collections of magical tomes, and investments spread across both the magical and Muggle worlds. These are not trifles, Oliver. They represent one of the greatest fortunes our world has ever seen. And you are meant to be its heir."
The words landed heavy. Not in a crushing way, but like a door creaking open onto a vast chamber filled with shadows and gold.
Oliver didn't cry, as the old Oliver might have. Instead, his lips parted in surprise, and slowly, almost cautiously, a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. It wasn't cocky. It wasn't forced. It was a true, genuine grin—the kind he rarely let himself wear.
Nicholas and Perenelle glanced at each other. Nicholas chuckled under his breath; Perenelle pressed her hand over her chest as though the sight had touched something deep inside her.
"There it is," she whispered to Nicholas. "Do you see? He's already brighter than half the world of heirs."
Oliver flushed faintly, but he didn't hide his grin. "You mean… all of that? For me?"
"In time," Nicholas corrected, leaning forward with a grandfather's patience. "We cannot simply hand it all to you now. If we did, the world would notice—and the world would not forgive such a fortune being placed in the hands of a boy. They would tear at you, Oliver, try to take what is yours before you are ready to defend it."
Perenelle's voice sharpened with a fierce edge. "We will not see you swallowed by politics before you are grown. So, you will inherit everything, but only when the world has no choice but to accept it. When you have made yourself undeniable."
Oliver's grin lingered, though it shifted into determination. "And until then?"
"Until then," Nicholas said with a sly twinkle, "you remain our grandson in all but parchment. You train. You invent. You live. And when the moment comes, the world will already know your name."
Oliver leaned back, Nyx's feathers brushing against his ear. His grin widened, not with childish glee, but with the sharp pride of someone who finally understood his worth. "I can do that," he said simply.
The Flamels watched him in silence for a moment, pride evident in their lined faces.
But Oliver wasn't finished. He leaned forward suddenly, eyes alight with a spark of inspiration that had been burning since the battle in the Forbidden Corridor. "There's something I need to tell you," he said, voice low but urgent.
Nicholas raised a brow. "Go on."
Oliver tapped his temple. "During the fight with Voldemort, when I activated my eyes… I saw magic differently than before. Not just spells flying through the air, but their… frequencies. Like each person's magic has its own tone, like a song."
Perenelle tilted her head. "Magic as resonance," she murmured.
"Yes," Oliver said eagerly, his words tumbling out now. "That's what's been wrong with my phone project. I could make the crystal resonate, I could transmit sound, but each person's magic runs at a slightly different frequency, so it kept breaking down. But if I can see those frequencies, I can adjust the crystal to match each user. That's how I can bridge the gap."
The Flamels exchanged a look of dawning comprehension.
Oliver sat up straighter, fire in his voice now. "I think I can finish it. The magical telephone. Something that doesn't just record or transmit with a single crystal, but can tune itself to anyone who uses it. I can make this work."
Nicholas smiled slowly, pride glimmering in his eyes. "You've had an epiphany."
Oliver nodded. "This… this won't just be another experiment. This could change everything. People across countries, across continents—even between magical and Muggle-born families. Communication that isn't limited to owls or Floo. A real step forward."
His grin returned, but now it was sharper, almost fierce. "I finished the guitar. I finished the speakers. Those were mine, and I'm proud of them. But this…" He placed his hand flat on the table. "This is the invention that will matter. This is what I'll take pride in as an alchemist."
Perenelle reached across the table, squeezing his hand. Her smile was warm but glistened with something almost maternal. "Mon cher garçon, your pride is well-placed. You have already exceeded what most wizards accomplish in a lifetime. And yet, I suspect you are only beginning."
Nicholas chuckled. "Of course, there is the matter of permits."
Oliver blinked. "Permits?"
Perenelle's smile turned mischievous. "Do you think the Ministry of Magic will simply let a boy wander about constructing devices that rewrite the way our world communicates? Non, Oliver. Bureaucracy will gnash its teeth."
Nicholas leaned back, stroking his beard. "But that is why you have us. In France, our names are older than most nations. The government listens when we speak. If you wish to begin this project, we will ensure the French Ministry grants you every permit you need. Britain will not touch you here."
Oliver's grin broadened into something determined. His voice carried a new steadiness, almost defiant. "Then let's start in France. If Britain wants to sneer, let them. By the time they realize what's happening, it'll be too late."
Nyx chirped approvingly from his shoulder, her sky-blue eyes gleaming like tiny galaxies.
The Flamels both laughed softly at his sudden boldness. Nicholas tapped the stack of parchment. "Then it is settled. You will draft your blueprints. Perenelle and I will handle the ministries. Together, we will see your invention take its first breath."
That night, under the watchful glow of Nyx's feathers and with the Flamels hovering nearby, Oliver laid out his diagrams. His quill scratched furiously, lines crossing parchment as he adjusted runic matrices and crystal resonance calculations. Hours passed like minutes.
By dawn, his grin had not faded. Five prototypes sat neatly on the table, humming faintly with contained magic. Each crystal glowed pale blue—the telltale mark of Nyx's tears embedded within.
Oliver leaned back, chest swelling with pride, exhaustion etched into his face but overwhelmed by determination. "They work," he whispered. "They actually work."
Nicholas and Perenelle stood behind him, gazes locked on the devices. Neither spoke for a moment, reverence hanging in the air. Finally, Perenelle smiled faintly and murmured, "You have done it, Oliver. You have made history."
Nicholas rested a hand on Oliver's shoulder. "Be proud, mon garçon. The world does not yet know it, but tonight it has changed."
Oliver's grin returned, brighter than ever. "Then this is just the beginning."
The five phones hummed faintly on the table, their pale-blue crystals glowing like captured starlight. Oliver leaned forward, elbows on the wood, staring at them with an expression caught between disbelief and fierce pride. They weren't just scraps of parchment diagrams anymore. They were real.
Nicholas bent low, his eyes narrowed, studying the runes etched into the casing. He traced one of the grooves with a fingertip, then nodded in satisfaction. "The matrices are stable," he murmured, voice tinged with admiration. "That alone would be an achievement most artificers would envy."
Perenelle, however, wasn't looking at the runes. Her gaze was fixed on Oliver himself, on the way his lips quirked in a stubborn grin, on the faint spark in his eyes that hadn't dimmed despite the long hours of work. She thought he looked more like a Flamel than he realized—unyielding, inventive, alive with purpose.
Oliver cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "They're not just for show," he said firmly. "They work. I tested them against each other. You tune the crystal by touching it with your wand and pushing a little magic into it—your frequency. Once it's locked, you can dial the code of another crystal, and the resonance bridges."
He lifted one phone and pressed the small dial rune. The crystal shimmered, and across the table, another phone flickered to life. The room filled with the faint echo of his own voice as he spoke into the first.
"See? It's clean. No lag. No distortion."
Nicholas' bushy brows rose. "Remarkable. You've solved the resonance problem entirely."
Oliver grinned wider, that pure, unguarded pride lighting his face. "Nyx helped. During the fight. I saw her resonance through my eyes, and that gave me the idea. Without her, I never would've realized it."
Nyx gave a soft cry from her perch nearby, fluffing her feathers as though basking in the acknowledgment.
Perenelle stepped closer, gently setting her hand on Oliver's shoulder. "Mon cher garçon, do you know what this means? Families separated by oceans, Aurors spread across countries, even scholars working between schools… communication like this could reshape our world."
Oliver leaned back, holding the crystal phone against his chest. "That's why this matters. The guitar, the speakers—they were important. I'm proud of them, but they were mine. This… this belongs to everyone. It could change lives."
Nicholas let out a long hum, rubbing at his chin. "And change often draws fire as much as admiration. The British Ministry will not be pleased."
"I don't care," Oliver said bluntly. The words carried no childish petulance—only iron. "They've already tried to take Nyx from me. They won't take this. If they don't want me to build it in Britain, I'll build it in France. With your help, I can make sure no one stops me."
The Flamels exchanged another look. Perenelle's lips twitched into a smile—half amusement, half maternal pride. Nicholas gave the faintest of chuckles.
"You've grown teeth," he said. "And you're right. France will back this project if we ask. With our names, the Ministry cannot refuse. Britain will gnash and snarl, but by the time they realize what has happened, the devices will already be too widespread."
Oliver's grin sharpened, but he didn't look away from the glowing crystal in his hands. "Then let them snarl."
Perenelle squeezed his shoulder once more before stepping back. "Test them," she said simply. "Let us see the future you're building."
Oliver set the first phone down and reached for a second. He pressed the rune again, and the pair lit up, linked through the resonance. He handed one to Nicholas, keeping the other.
"Say something," Oliver urged.
Nicholas raised a brow but obeyed, murmuring, "Can you hear me, Oliver?"
Oliver's device vibrated softly, and the voice came through, clear and resonant, as though Nicholas were whispering in his ear rather than speaking across the table. Oliver's grin widened further. "Perfect."
Perenelle leaned forward, fascinated. "No echo. No magical distortion. No static…"
Nicholas tested further, muttering phrases in French, Latin, even a spell incantation. Every word came through. He set the phone down slowly, almost reverently. "Incredible."
Oliver, flushed with triumph, grabbed two more phones and passed one to Perenelle. Soon the clearing was alive with overlapping voices—Nicholas speaking into one, Oliver answering from another, Perenelle laughing softly at the absurdity of it all as three-way communication flowed without interruption.
At last, Oliver set them all down again. The table glowed faintly, the crystals pulsing like a heartbeat.
"They're not perfect yet," he admitted. "Right now, the range is limited to maybe a few dozen miles. But I know how to extend it. Nyx's tears make the crystals resonate stronger than anything else I've tried. If I calibrate properly, I think I can make long-distance models—different tiers, depending on how far people want to talk. Local, national, international."
Nicholas' eyes gleamed. "A business model already, eh? You sound more like an alchemist every day."
Oliver chuckled, a low sound filled with pride. "This is just the start."
The Flamels looked at him for a long time. Nicholas, usually cautious with his praise, broke into a rare smile, and Perenelle's eyes shone as though she were watching her own child.
"You are right to be proud," Nicholas said softly. "Not many can look at their work and say with honesty that it will change the world. But you, Oliver—you may say it."
Oliver straightened, chest swelling with determination. For the first time in a long time, he didn't just hope for something better. He knew it was within his reach.
Nyx chirped once more, hopping onto the table and perching beside the glowing phones. Her feathers shimmered faintly, as if she, too, understood the significance of the night.
Oliver looked down at her, then back to the Flamels. His grin held steady. "This is only the beginning."