The air inside Oliver's suitcase still vibrated with a quiet wonder. After the tour, after the awed remarks from the Cannons about the dueling hall and the greenhouse, and after the centaurs had spoken their piece about respecting their space, the group slowly settled back into the wide clearing Oliver had designated as a meeting place. The enchanted lamps glowed with their soft bluish light, a magical dusk falling over the impossible world contained within the small trunk.
The Cannons still wore expressions caught between disbelief and admiration. Most of them had seen incredible magic in their lifetimes—Quidditch fame carried you across continents, after all—but this… this was something else.
One of the beaters, broad-shouldered and still frowning in his gruff way, finally broke the silence.
"So, lad," he said, arms folded across his chest, "earlier you mentioned wanting to… perform. A song, was it? What's that supposed to mean in a place like this? Are you hiding a band in here as well?"
The other players chuckled, but the question was genuine. Their curiosity had been piqued.
Oliver felt his lips curve into a smile—one that was far less sheepish than it would have been a few months ago. "Not a band," he replied evenly, his voice carrying a warmth that silenced some of the teasing. "Just me, my guitar, and something I've been working on. If you don't mind waiting a little, I'll show you."
The laughter faded, replaced by a murmur of interest. Several of the Cannons leaned forward as though expecting him to pull the guitar right out from behind his chair.
Penny, perched gracefully on a bench nearby, arched an eyebrow at him. "Oliver," she said, voice both fond and warning, "you wouldn't dare go through with this without me present, would you?"
Oliver's smile widened, and he shook his head quickly. "Of course not. That's why I need to fetch you properly—and the manager too. Give me a moment."
The manager, who had been off to the side conferring with Nick about training schedules and Quidditch logistics, looked up with some surprise as Oliver approached. "Fetch me?" he asked, bemused. "What for?"
Oliver's eyes gleamed. "Because this is something you'll want to see. I promise."
The man raised a skeptical brow but followed along as Oliver gestured toward the exit of the suitcase. Penny, delighted, practically hopped to her feet. "Good boy," she said, patting Oliver's shoulder. "At least you're learning priorities."
Nick chuckled at her dramatics but said nothing, only exchanging a knowing glance with Oliver.
As Oliver slipped outside the suitcase briefly, Nyx fluttered after him, landing daintily on his shoulder. She had taken to this smaller form with surprising dignity, though the downy softness of her feathers made her look far less fearsome. Her sky-blue eyes blinked at him, as if to say, What's all this about now?
"Trust me," Oliver murmured to her. "You'll like this too."
When they returned inside, the Cannons looked on with thinly veiled impatience, though the undercurrent of excitement was obvious. Even the most hardened veteran among them couldn't resist the curiosity of seeing what this strange boy—who could duel, invent, and fly like a prodigy—might add to his list of talents.
Oliver set down the small case that contained his enchanted speaker system. It had taken him weeks to refine the enchantments, stabilizing the sound with Nyx's crystal resonance so that it would carry evenly without distortion. Carefully, he placed the crystal at the center, tapped the rune-inscribed panel, and watched as the speaker hummed to life with a faint blue glow.
"Just give me a second to set this up," Oliver said, his voice calm though his heart beat faster than any broom dive.
The clearing grew quiet except for the faint crackling hum of magic. Penny clasped her hands together, anticipation glowing in her eyes. The manager, skeptical though he remained, leaned forward with the same wariness one reserved for an untested play.
Oliver picked up his guitar, the one that had been with him since the orphanage, since before Hogwarts, before Nyx, before the Flamels. He checked the strings with practiced fingers, twisting the pegs lightly until each note sang true. The sound echoed cleanly through the suitcase world, bouncing off invisible boundaries and resonating through the crystal speakers with startling clarity.
At the very edge of the forest clearing, a rustle drew his eyes. Unicorns—two, then three, then half a dozen—had poked their heads out of the treeline, ears twitching, manes gleaming faintly in the artificial starlight. Their great dark eyes fixed on Oliver as though they, too, knew something important was about to happen.
Oliver exhaled slowly, letting his fingers rest against the strings. He raised his head, catching Penny's gaze. She gave him a single nod, beaming. Nick folded his arms, a quiet smile tugging at his lips, proud but steady.
"This one," Oliver said, his voice soft but clear enough to carry, "is called Count on Me. I wrote it a while ago, and it's one of the songs that's helped me through a lot of… things. Maybe it'll mean something to you too."
The Cannons shifted, some skeptical, others genuinely intrigued. But no one spoke.
Oliver lowered his head, set his fingers against the frets, and strummed the opening chords.
The sound was clean, warm, and impossibly human in a space that had once been silent stone and wood. The speakers carried it out across the clearing with no distortion, filling every corner with harmony. The unicorns flicked their ears forward, stepping hesitantly closer, their hooves leaving barely a sound on the ground.
The first few measures poured out like a confession, like a memory. Oliver's expression softened into one of focus, the nerves melting away as the rhythm took over.
The Cannons stopped fidgeting. Some leaned back, arms crossed but no longer skeptical, merely listening. Others, younger and less cynical, leaned forward, eyes bright. Penny's gaze was luminous, tears threatening though she kept them at bay, her heart swelling with pride.
Nyx, tiny and radiant on Oliver's shoulder, gave a soft chirp that harmonized faintly with the chords, as though adding her own note to the music.
Oliver didn't notice. He was already lost in the song, the world falling away until only the sound remained.
The clearing hushed around Oliver's chords as though the very air had leaned in to listen. His fingers glided across the strings, each note falling into place with practiced ease, resonant and pure. He didn't have to force the rhythm anymore; it came as naturally as breathing.
The melody rose, steady and confident, carrying a message too deep for words alone. His guitar spoke in the language he had always known best—hope, loyalty, the promise that no one truly had to stand alone.
The Cannons, initially wary, were disarmed within seconds. The beater who had scoffed before found his arms uncrossing, his gaze softening. One of the chasers let her eyes flutter shut, a smile tugging faintly at her lips as the sound washed over her. Another, the keeper with a reputation for bluntness, tapped his foot in time with the beat before realizing and stiffening again, as though embarrassed by his own surrender.
Penny sat perfectly still, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her expression caught between joy and reverence. Nick glanced sideways at her once, the corners of his mouth quirking knowingly. He had seen this before—Oliver's music piercing past her composure, striking straight at her heart.
Nyx, perched proudly on Oliver's shoulder, gave another trill, a crystalline harmony that seemed to dance between the notes of the guitar. The tiny phoenix chick swayed gently, her head dipping with the rhythm as though she, too, felt the song's weight.
The unicorns at the forest's edge edged closer, emboldened now. Their manes shimmered faintly, catching the glow of the enchanted lamps. They lowered their heads, ears forward, listening with a solemnity that made the Cannons glance nervously between them and Oliver, as though witnessing something sacred.
The manager, pragmatic and shrewd, had started the performance with his brow furrowed in skepticism. By the second refrain, though, his features had softened, his arms falling to his sides. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fully caught in the spell of the music.
And Oliver himself—his eyes were half-closed, his expression neither nervous nor proud, but calm. Serene. He played not to impress but to share. This wasn't a demonstration of skill; it was a gift.
The final chords lingered in the air, fading gently into silence. For a moment, no one moved.
Then Penny exhaled a trembling breath and clapped, her hands striking together with fervor. The sound jolted the Cannons out of their reverie, and they joined in hesitantly at first, then with growing enthusiasm. Applause filled the clearing, bouncing off the invisible boundaries of the suitcase world.
"That," muttered the beater who had been so doubtful before, shaking his head, "was bloody beautiful."
"It's more than that," one of the chasers whispered, her eyes still glassy. "It's like… like the sound of someone telling you it'll all be okay."
The keeper grunted, unwilling to voice agreement but unable to hide the approval in his gaze.
Oliver lowered his guitar gently, the smile on his face small but unmistakable. He ducked his head, cheeks warm. "Thanks," he said simply.
Nyx chirped again, hopping down from his shoulder to the head of the guitar, as though claiming it as part of the performance. The unicorns snorted softly, stamping their hooves before retreating gracefully back into the shadows of the forest, their silent blessing given.
Penny rose from her seat, brushing at her eyes though no tears had fallen. She crossed the space between them in quick strides, planting her hands firmly on Oliver's shoulders. "Never—never—let anyone keep you from doing that again," she said fiercely. "Promise me."
Oliver grinned, a flash of humor breaking through the tenderness. "I promise."
Nick approached more slowly, but his smile was wide, his voice steady with pride. "You've managed what most spend their whole lives chasing. You don't just play music, Oliver. You make people feel it."
The Cannons exchanged glances that said more than words. They had come here skeptical, grudgingly humoring the boy because of who accompanied him. Now they looked at him with new respect—not just as a prodigy on a broom, but as someone who carried more than athletic skill.
The manager, ever practical, cleared his throat. "Well," he said roughly, "I don't know the first thing about music, but if you play half as well on a broom as you do with that guitar, the Cannons won't know what hit them."
Laughter rippled through the group, easing the solemnity that had settled. Oliver chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Alright," Nick said at last, his tone decisive. "The boy's shown us enough for today. You've training to do, and he has schoolwork to get back to. Let's not keep either waiting."
The Cannons nodded, slowly dispersing into smaller groups, buzzing with chatter as they headed back toward the exit of the suitcase.
Oliver lingered with Penny, Nick, and the Hogwarts party. He carefully packed away his guitar, switching off the speakers and sliding them back into their case. Nyx fluttered back onto his shoulder, settling into her usual perch with a satisfied chirp.
As they climbed out of the suitcase, the Cannons went one way—to practice—while Oliver and his companions turned toward Hogwarts.
The castle greeted them with its familiar hum of voices and clatter of dishes as they entered the Great Hall. Students were already gathered for dinner, the long tables filled with conversation and laughter.
Oliver slipped into his usual seat near Harry and Hermione, Penny and Nick taking discreet places nearby with the other adults. Though chatter still swirled around the hall, Oliver caught more than a few sideways glances cast his way. Whispers followed too, but for once, they didn't bite.
As the platters of food appeared, Oliver found himself smiling faintly, his stomach growling in earnest now that the performance nerves had passed. He reached for a roll, Nyx pecking curiously at the butter dish before settling again.
The day's weight began to settle over him—practice, invention, family, music—and yet he felt lighter than he had in months.
For the first time, Hogwarts dinner felt not like an obligation, but like coming home.
And above the chatter, Penny's quiet, proud words echoed in his ears: Never let anyone keep you from doing that again.