Oliver sat cross-legged on the stone floor of his workshop inside the suitcase, brow furrowed as his wand tip hovered over a cluster of tiny crystals. The space smelled faintly of melted resin and warm metal, the byproducts of his hours of tinkering. A notebook lay open beside him, filled with sketches, calculations, and lines of crossed-out theories. This wasn't just idle play anymore; this was work, invention—the kind of work that would leave marks on the world if he could get it right.
The five prototypes of his magical phone were scattered across the bench, all variations of the same core design: a slim boxy body shaped from smoothed wood, its heart a glowing shard of crystal infused with a tear of Nyx. The problem wasn't that they didn't work—they did, more beautifully than he could've imagined. The problem was range.
At present, the phones worked across a castle's distance—enough for Hogwarts' vast halls, enough for a village like Hogsmeade. But the moment he tried to reach further, the connection fizzled into static or shattered altogether.
"Frequencies," he muttered, chewing his lip. "It's the frequencies of the magic, shifting between caster and receiver. One spark of disharmony and the sound collapses."
He flicked his wand, coaxing a soft blue light to hover over one of the crystals. It pulsed like a heartbeat. He leaned closer, his eyes shimmering faintly as he activated that ability he'd discovered in the battle with Voldemort—the sight that allowed him to see magic itself. Threads of power wove through the crystal like tiny constellations, each strand twisting slightly out of rhythm when he spoke into the microphone attached.
He smiled faintly despite himself. "Getting closer," he whispered.
Pride swelled in his chest, not the kind that shouted itself to the world, but the quiet, steady sort that kept him grounded. He knew this wasn't ready yet—not by a long stretch—but even knowing where the fault lines were meant progress. The guitar, the speakers, those had been triumphs. This, though… this was going to matter in a way no prank item or performance tool ever could.
The faint crunch of hooves on the soil startled him from his thoughts. He blinked, lifting his gaze. Emerging from the tree-lined edge of the sanctuary's forest were two centaurs: Althea and Theron, the pair who had volunteered to remain when the unicorn herd was relocated. Their figures cut striking silhouettes under the simulated morning sky, the soft golden light catching in Althea's long mane of chestnut hair and the gleam of Theron's darker coat.
"Oliver Night," Theron called, his deep voice carrying the solemn gravity that always seemed to accompany his words. "May we speak with you?"
Oliver quickly set aside his notes and rose to his feet, brushing the dust from his trousers. "Of course. Is something wrong?"
Althea's gaze softened, though her expression remained serious. "Not wrong," she said carefully, "but important." She pressed a hand briefly to her stomach, and for the first time Oliver noticed the subtle fullness there, the way her posture tilted protectively.
His eyes widened. "You're… with child?"
Althea inclined her head. "Yes. It is early still, but certain enough that we must consider where our foal will live, what sky will chart their first years."
Oliver's breath caught. A child. A centaur child, destined to be born here, perhaps to grow up beneath the simulated constellations he had woven into this place. He found himself smiling, unable to help it. "That's… that's incredible. Congratulations."
Theron's stern features softened a little at the boy's genuine joy. "Thank you. It is because of this that we must speak plainly. We wish to remain here, in your sanctuary, and raise our young where danger does not lurk behind every shadow. But…" His eyes grew clouded. "We cannot make this choice alone. Our kind are bound to our tribe. For such a decision, we must present it to our leader."
Oliver nodded without hesitation. "Then we'll go to him together. Whatever you need, I'll stand with you."
Althea blinked at his swift promise. "You would lend your voice in this?"
"Of course." He met her eyes, his voice steadier now than it ever had been when speaking to adults, even magical ones with the weight of centuries in their bearing. "This is your home too. You've both already done so much here, watching over the unicorns, keeping the balance. If you want to stay forever, then… I'll fight for it. It's not just mine to decide—it's all of ours."
Althea's lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. "You speak with a heart older than your years."
Heat crept up Oliver's neck, but he only ducked his head, hiding the grin he couldn't quite contain.
Theron placed a hand over his chest, bowing slightly. "Then it is decided. We will seek the approval of our chieftain. But know this, Oliver Night—your willingness to grant us place and voice honors you among our people already."
Oliver cleared his throat, glancing toward the forest. "We should probably bring some others with us. This isn't something I should do alone."
It wasn't long before he found himself standing at the edge of the suitcase's interior forest, joined now by the people he trusted most: Nicholas and Penny Flamel, calm as ever though their eyes betrayed quiet excitement; Dumbledore, his expression unreadable behind those half-moon spectacles; and Hagrid, practically bouncing on his heels with barely contained enthusiasm. Nyx, in her chick form, perched atop Oliver's shoulder, peeping faintly as if eager to be part of the journey.
"This is quite the errand," Nicholas murmured, adjusting his robes. "A chieftain of centaurs is not lightly swayed."
"They're proud folk," Penny added, but her voice carried the warmth of confidence. "Still, with truth on our side and respect guiding our words, we will not falter."
Dumbledore inclined his head. "It is wise, Oliver, that you did not choose to handle this in secret. Seeking permission honors their customs, and in honoring them, you strengthen the ties you are building."
Oliver shifted slightly, unused still to being praised for his instincts. He only mumbled, "Felt like the right thing to do."
Hagrid clapped a massive hand onto his shoulder, nearly knocking the breath out of him. "Tha's 'cause it is the right thing, lad! Merlin's beard, wait till yeh see the look on the chieftain's face when he sees how happy the unicorns are here. Mark my words, it'll go right."
Oliver smiled faintly, steadying himself under the half-giant's booming cheer. He hoped Hagrid was right.
The trip to the Forbidden Forest felt longer than usual, though Oliver suspected that was only nerves. The shadows between the trees deepened as they walked, the earthy scent of moss and leaf litter filling the air. Every sound—the snap of a twig, the distant hoot of an owl—seemed louder in the heavy silence.
Finally, they reached the clearing where the centaur tribe often gathered. The chieftain, a tall centaur with a silvered mane and eyes sharp as blades, stood waiting. Around him, several others murmured in low voices, clearly having been warned of the visitors' arrival.
Althea and Theron stepped forward first, bowing their heads. "Chieftain Cael," Theron intoned, his voice deep and respectful. "We come with request."
Cael's gaze swept over them, then flicked to Oliver and his companions. "Speak."
Althea's hand drifted again to her stomach. "I carry a foal," she said softly, and a ripple of surprise moved through the gathered centaurs. "We wish to raise our child in the sanctuary Oliver Night has built, where danger is less and the stars still shine upon us. But such a choice is not ours alone. We bring it before you."
Cael's eyes narrowed, shifting to Oliver. "And you, child? What say you to this bold request?"
Oliver swallowed, his heart pounding, but stepped forward. He thought of how much he owed these beings already—their trust, their watchful guardianship of the unicorns, the sense of belonging they'd helped foster in this strange, growing world inside his suitcase.
"They've earned it," he said simply, voice steady despite the tremor in his chest. "This place isn't mine alone. It's theirs too. If they want to stay and raise their child here, I'll do everything I can to make it right for them."
The clearing went silent.
Cael's expression was unreadable, his eyes searching Oliver as though weighing his very soul.
And then, from the shadows, came the gentle sound of hooves—the unicorns, emerging in a gleaming cluster. They stepped into the light, manes shimmering, eyes bright. They gathered behind Althea and Theron, stamping lightly, tossing their heads as though voicing their agreement.
Hagrid let out a choked laugh of wonder. "Blimey… they're choosin' sides!"
Oliver's eyes widened. He hadn't expected the unicorns to step forward at all.
Althea turned slightly, her voice trembling with awe. "They wish it too. They find safety, food, and freedom there. They do not want to leave."
The murmurs of the centaurs swelled.
Oliver could only stare, realizing that what had begun as a single request was rapidly becoming something larger—something that might transform his sanctuary forever.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the snorts and soft whickers of the unicorns as they pressed closer to Althea and Theron. The light from the stars overhead—constellations reflected in the magical canopy above—glimmered against their white coats, giving them an ethereal presence, as if the forest itself was speaking through them.
Chieftain Cael's gaze moved from the pair of centaurs to the unicorn herd, and finally to Oliver. His face was carved from stone, unreadable. "It is no small matter when unicorns take sides," he said at last, his voice low but carrying. "They are creatures of purity. They do not give their approval lightly."
Oliver swallowed, forcing himself to hold the chieftain's stare. His heart hammered, but he didn't look away. He could feel Nyx stirring against his collar, the tiny chick rustling her feathers and letting out a faint melodic chirp, as if adding her own small approval.
Althea spoke again, voice steady. "Cael, we do not ask to abandon our people. We ask to expand them. To raise our young where danger is not constant, where the stars are unclouded, and where hope may grow."
Theron's deep voice followed hers. "We would remain in service to our kin. We will never abandon our duty to watch the skies, to interpret their messages. But the sanctuary allows us to do so without fear that each dawn will be our last."
There were murmurs among the gathered centaurs—some skeptical, others thoughtful. One stepped forward, his dark mane falling across his shoulders. "What of tradition?" he asked sharply. "We have lived in these woods since long before humans built their stone halls. To leave is to betray the ways of our ancestors."
Oliver shifted, unsure if he should speak, but when Cael's piercing eyes slid back to him, he found his voice. "It wouldn't be betrayal," he said carefully. "The sanctuary doesn't erase who you are. It… it gives you space to be more of it. The stars are there. The night sky cycles properly. And I promise, nothing in there will ever stop you from honoring who you are. If anything, you'll be freer to do it—without worrying about monsters or hunters."
His words were quiet, but conviction thrummed through them.
Hagrid gave a sharp nod, rumbling, "He's right, tha' one is. I've seen what Oliver's built with me own eyes. It's safe, clean, proper space fer unicorns an' centaurs alike. Ain't replacin' yer forest—jus' givin' yeh more choices."
Cael regarded them for a long moment, and Oliver could almost feel the weight of centuries in his silence. Finally, the chieftain lifted his head. "You speak boldly, child. Boldly, and with sincerity. That is rare among your kind."
The words didn't feel like an insult. If anything, Oliver thought there was the faintest thread of respect woven into them.
Althea took a step closer, her hand still against her stomach. "If we are allowed to remain, it will not only be for us. Our child will grow under your approval. They will know both the sanctuary and our tribe. They will know balance."
The gathered centaurs shifted, their murmurs softening. Oliver caught a few nods in the crowd, though not all.
Cael raised a hand, silencing them. "I will not decide alone." He turned to the herd behind him. "What say you, my kin?"
There was a pause before voices began to rise, some hesitant, some firm. A few spoke of the danger of humans, the risk of tying their fate to a boy's whims. Others argued that Althea and Theron had always been steadfast, that their desire to raise a child in safety was nothing shameful.
Dumbledore finally stepped forward, his presence radiating calm authority. "If I may," he said gently. "You are right to guard your traditions, Chieftain Cael. They are precious, and not to be discarded lightly. But I have lived long enough to see that tradition, when rigid, can become a cage. Change is frightening, yes—but it can also be the beginning of something greater."
Cael's eyes narrowed slightly, but he did not interrupt.
Nicholas spoke next, his voice calm but firm. "We are not here to take anything from you. Only to give. If your people remain in the sanctuary, it will not be at the cost of your identity—it will be in addition to it. A chance to grow stronger."
Perenelle's warm voice followed, her gaze flicking from Cael to the murmuring crowd. "And it will not be just you. There will be other creatures there—unicorns, certainly, but more as well. Nifflers, bowtruckles, birds of magic. It will be a thriving home, and no one will be diminished by sharing it."
The murmurs rose again. Oliver stood still, his hands clenched, hoping against hope that they were being heard.
Finally, Cael lifted his hand once more. The clearing fell silent. He looked long at Althea, at Theron, at Oliver. Then, slowly, he inclined his head.
"Very well," he said. "Althea and Theron may remain in the sanctuary, and their child may be born beneath its sky. But hear me, Oliver Night." His gaze bore into the boy, sharp and unflinching. "You have taken responsibility for more than yourself. If ever this sanctuary falters—if ever harm comes from it—the fault will rest with you."
Oliver met his eyes, his voice steady despite the weight of the words. "I understand. And I accept."
Cael studied him for a moment longer, then gave a sharp nod. "So be it. You have our approval."
A ripple of relief swept through the clearing. Althea let out a quiet breath, her hand tightening on Theron's arm. He placed his other hand over hers, their gazes meeting in silent promise.
The unicorns stamped and tossed their heads, as though celebrating, their manes catching the faint starlight overhead.
Oliver exhaled, a grin tugging at his lips despite the gravity of the moment. For once, the weight in his chest wasn't from fear—it was from pride.
Perenelle leaned close to him, whispering softly so only he could hear. "That smile of yours… hold onto it, Oliver. It suits you more than you realize."
His grin only widened.
On the walk back, Hagrid was nearly bursting with excitement, chattering about how many creatures could be brought in now. "We'll get nifflers, fer sure—cheeky little things but brilliant fer diggin' tunnels. An' bowtruckles, aye, yeh'll want 'em for yer trees. Oh, an' birds! Loads of 'em, Oliver—phoenixes aside, a place don't feel alive without wings overhead."
Oliver laughed, shaking his head. "One step at a time, Hagrid. But… yeah. That sounds perfect."
Nyx let out a soft trill, as though agreeing.
Behind them, Althea and Theron walked in quiet conversation, their hands brushing occasionally. For the first time since they'd arrived in the sanctuary, they looked utterly at peace.
And Oliver thought to himself, with a warmth spreading through his chest: This is what it's supposed to be. Not just a project. A home.