Oliver sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of his suitcase's laboratory, the world beyond Hogwarts muffled by the enchanted walls that stretched into the endless vaults of his secret domain. A half-finished sketch sprawled across the parchment before him, blotched with ink stains and the faint smell of powdered Sunberry pulp. He had been at this for hours—no, days—chasing the same question that had gnawed at him ever since the Flamels had first shown him fragments of their research on the Philosopher's Stone:
What did it mean for magic to crystallize?
Nick had said it almost offhandedly during one of their long nights of discussion, his voice a calm murmur over tea: sometimes, under the right circumstances, magic hardened. It wasn't merely metaphorical—he had meant it literally. Magic condensed, became matter, became something more enduring than the fleeting sparks most wizards handled in their day-to-day casting. And when it did, that matter resonated. It carried frequency, it hummed in the way a flame hummed when oxygen rushed too quickly through it.
Oliver hadn't been able to let the thought go.
Now, huddled between stacks of failed experiments—crumbled bits of charred fruit, cracked shards of brittle crystal, and a small glass vial still sticky with resin—he stared down at his latest attempt.
The Sunberry.
The fruit was simple, innocuous, its bright amber skin glistening in the lanternlight. To most, it was just another oddity of the magical flora, prized for potions that healed minor cuts and for the sweet tang of its juice. But Oliver had discovered something else, something he hadn't told anyone yet: when he had accidentally spilled its juice into a brewing cauldron, the potion had fizzled with such intensity that it flared into a golden spark. Curious, he had tasted the spillage and nearly choked—because it hadn't been foul at all. It had been sweet. Sweet, and warm, as if sunlight itself had passed down his throat.
Since then, the Sunberry had become his obsession. If crystallization of magic was possible, if resonance could be made visible, why not start with something plentiful, abundant, and—most importantly—safe?
He wiped sweat from his brow, pushed his guitar aside, and drew his wand.
"Alright," he muttered to himself, voice raw from disuse. "One more time. Focus on resonance, not force."
He pressed the wand-tip to the berry, closed his eyes, and whispered a charm meant to coax—not compel—the magical essence out. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a faint shimmer curled across the berry's skin, like sunlight bending across water. He held his breath, eyes widening, and pressed harder.
The shimmer thickened, condensed. The berry began to glow faintly, pulsing in his palm. Oliver's heart thundered. He whispered the incantation again, this time channeling the rhythm of his breathing into the spell. Slowly, carefully, he reached not with brute force but with his awareness—his resonance.
It was working.
The berry's skin hardened, translucence replacing softness, until he held in his hand a jagged lump of golden crystal. Inside, faint wisps of sunlight seemed trapped, flickering against the crystalline walls.
Oliver laughed aloud, his voice echoing across the lab. "Ha! Yes! Finally!"
He turned the crystal over in his hand. It wasn't perfect—its edges were sharp, irregular, its glow faint and uneven—but it was real. He hadn't just preserved the Sunberry's magic; he had transformed it. Tentatively, he nipped a small shard free and popped it into his mouth.
The warmth spread instantly through him, soothing the ache in his chest from long hours hunched over parchment. Not only was the essence preserved—it was amplified.
He had made a healing crystal. And it tasted good.
Oliver threw himself back against the floor, staring up at the ceiling with a grin so wide his cheeks hurt. "Nick is going to lose his mind when he sees this. Penny too."
But beneath the giddy triumph, a shadow lingered. This wasn't his true goal. This was a side product. A sweet, accidental miracle. His real target sat on the table across the room: a small glass vial, sealed with wax, inside which glimmered forty precious drops of Nyx's tears.
Oliver's grin faded. His chest tightened.
Those tears weren't just potion ingredients. They weren't just magic. They were her. His friend. His companion. The being who had chosen him when he was no one. To risk wasting them felt like sacrilege.
But the thought kept circling back: Nyx's essence was the purest magical resonance he had ever known. If there was any material in existence that could crystallize into something transformative, it would be this.
He sat up, legs trembling, and cradled the vial between both hands. The liquid shimmered faintly, constellations winking in and out of its depths. It pulsed in time with his own heartbeat, as though aware of the weight of his decision.
Oliver swallowed hard. "Alright. No more side projects. It's time."
He set the vial down on the etching circle he had drawn hours earlier, carefully reinforced with focus runes. His wand hovered over the wax seal.
He hesitated.
What if it didn't work? What if he wasted all forty drops? What if… what if Nyx resented him for using them?
Nyx, perched in chick form on the edge of the desk, tilted her head. She gave a soft chirp, as though to say, I trust you.
Oliver let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah. Easy for you to say."
He broke the seal.
The tears swirled free, glowing brighter as soon as the stopper left the vial. Oliver whispered the incantation, drawing his resonance outward, matching the rhythm of his breath to the pulse of the tears. For a moment, they shimmered, responding… then fizzled violently, the glow sputtering out like a snuffed flame.
Oliver flinched. His stomach dropped. He tried again. And again. Each time, the tears resisted, their potency far outstripping his ability to stabilize them. His resonance simply wasn't enough.
By the fourth failure, sweat dripped down his temples, his vision blurry. He staggered back, clutching the table for balance, fury threatening to rise.
"Come on, Oliver," he growled. "Think. Think."
He glanced at the guitar leaning against the wall. His sanctuary. His reset button. He picked it up, strummed a soft chord, then another, letting the vibrations fill the room. His fingers moved automatically, coaxing out the melody of a tune he and Penny had once hummed together. The tension eased from his chest. His breathing steadied.
And then—sudden clarity.
He froze mid-chord, eyes snapping to his clone, strumming opposite him.
His clone.
Resonance.
The thought struck like lightning.
He shoved the guitar aside, dispelling the clone with a flick of his hand, and lunged back to the vial. With shaking fingers, he split again—two Olivers, standing side by side. They exchanged a nod, then focused simultaneously on the tears.
The resonance shifted. Subtle at first, then stronger, weaving together in a harmony Oliver could never achieve alone. The tears shimmered, their surface rippling.
"It's working," Oliver whispered. His voice echoed twice, once from each clone.
But it wasn't enough. Not yet. He felt the strain, the imbalance, the missing piece. Gritting his teeth, he forced a third clone into existence. His body screamed, magic tearing at the edges of his mind, but he pushed through.
Three sets of hands. Three voices. Three resonances weaving together.
The vial pulsed, glowing brighter, until the liquid inside thickened, hardened. Crystals began to form at the edges, tiny sapphire shards crawling across the glass like frost. Oliver's vision swam, but he refused to falter.
"Come on," he hissed. "Just a little more—"
The clones vanished with a burst of light, leaving Oliver to collapse against the floor, gasping. He forced his head up, vision blurry, and blinked.
The vial was gone.
In its place, floating above the etching circle, hovered a sphere of sapphire crystal, glowing with constellations.
It was growing.
Oliver's eyes widened as the sphere expanded, swelling beyond the bounds of the circle, its surface smooth and impossibly clear. It swelled past the size of his head, then his torso, until it hovered at nearly three meters in diameter, filling the center of the lab with its light.
The air hummed with energy. The walls of the suitcase reverberated with resonance.
Oliver's jaw dropped. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, could only stare at the impossible creation hanging before him.
Nyx chirped, the sound reverberating in harmony with the crystal, and for the first time Oliver realized—he hadn't just crystallized magic.
He had birthed something entirely new.
Oliver lay on his back for a long while, lungs dragging air into him like he'd just sprinted the length of the Quidditch pitch. His vision swam, black spots flickering at the corners, but no amount of exhaustion could dull the light bathing the room.
The sapphire sphere hovered silently, suspended above the stone floor of his lab. It was so big it forced Oliver's shelves of books and brewing stands into long shadows, its glow bending them like trees around a campfire. The surface of the crystal was impossibly smooth, unblemished, almost liquid, but within, faint shapes shimmered: stars, galaxies, drifting motes of light moving in slow orbit.
"Bloody… hell," Oliver whispered hoarsely.
Nyx, perched at the edge of his desk in her chick form, gave a chirrup that sounded suspiciously like agreement. Her downy feathers glowed faintly, reflecting the sapphire light as if she were born from it. Perhaps she was.
Oliver dragged himself upright, legs trembling, and staggered toward the sphere. He half expected it to shatter the moment he touched it, for the whole miracle to vanish like a dream. But when his palm pressed to its surface, it was solid, humming with a vibration that traveled up his arm and into his bones.
Warmth radiated from it—not heat, but something gentler. It felt like standing too close to the hearth on a winter morning, like sunlight slipping through a frosted windowpane.
Oliver switched on his eyes.
The world shifted at once, magic flaring into sight. Normally, he saw streams of power clinging to objects, hazy outlines of enchantments. But the sapphire… it was something else. Lines spread outward from it in every direction, thin and delicate, like spider silk spun from starlight.
And when he traced them, following their invisible paths through the lab, his stomach flipped.
They connected to the crude prototypes of his phones.
Oliver's knees gave out. He sat heavily on the floor, staring at the faintly glowing threads. The phones had been nothing more than simple experiments—blue crystals etched with runes and infused with Nyx's tears. Limited range, shaky quality, little more than a proof of concept. But the threads proved something bigger.
The sphere wasn't just radiating energy. It was calling. Linking. Resonating with every shard that carried even a fraction of Nyx's essence.
His breath caught. "It's… it's a tower," he muttered. "A bloody… magical tower."
Nyx chirped again, hopping to his shoulder, as though proud of him.
Oliver's mind raced. He staggered up, pacing furiously. "If the phones are linking to this thing, then it's not just an accident. It's resonance. Shared origin—shared frequency. They're all pieces of you, aren't they, Nyx? Your tears, your essence. That's why it works."
The phoenix tilted her head, little star-like glimmers flickering around her for the briefest instant. Oliver's grin widened.
"Okay. Okay. Test it. Prove it."
He grabbed one of the prototypes, a squat device cobbled together from wood and crystal, and pressed his wand against the etching to activate it. The hum of magic answered. His heart pounded as he raised it to his ear.
Nothing.
Of course—he needed another phone to answer. He snatched up a second prototype and thrust it toward Nyx. "Here, hold this. Don't eat it. Don't—just… hold it."
The chick blinked at him but obediently gripped the little device in her talons.
Oliver pressed the rune sequence on his own crystal, heart in his throat. For a long moment, only silence.
Then—
Ring.
The second phone vibrated faintly in Nyx's talons, chiming with a tiny trill of magic. Oliver almost dropped his own. He scrambled to press the receiving rune, and suddenly—
"…ello?"
The voice was grainy, faint, high-pitched—his own voice, echoed back at him from the second device. He had to bite back a laugh, then a scream.
"It works," he whispered. His knees trembled again. "It bloody works."
The sound was far from perfect. It crackled, distorted by static, but it was clearer than any of his prior tests. No matter how he tilted the crystal or where he stood in the lab, the resonance never broke. The threads connecting the phones to the sapphire pulsed faintly each time his voice echoed through, proof of the tether.
He collapsed back into a chair, clutching both phones to his chest, laughter spilling out of him until his throat hurt. "Nick, Penny—you're not going to believe this. No one is going to believe this."
But Oliver knew it wasn't ready. Not yet.
He set both phones down carefully, then approached the sphere again. His eyes narrowed as he studied the pulsing lines. If he wanted to stabilize this—if he wanted it to become more than a miraculous accident—he'd need runes. Focus runes, amplification runes, even translation runes. He remembered Penny scribbling in her journals about ancient glyphs that altered the shape of magic itself. He could adapt those.
The idea nearly bowled him over with excitement.
He scrambled for parchment, sketching diagrams with frantic energy. His hand shook as he drew rune arrays across the outline of the sphere, layering them carefully: one for clarity, one for distance, one for binding frequencies together. At the edge of the page, he scribbled another set of notes, pulled straight from Penny's records: translation.
Oliver's eyes widened. Translation runes. He hadn't thought about it before, but if the phones could be networked—if people across the world could talk—what about language? What about the barriers that divided French from English, or German from Japanese?
If he could bake translation directly into the network…
He stopped, staring at the parchment. His hand trembled, ink blotting the page. This wasn't just communication. It was connection. It was unity.
For a boy who had grown up alone in an orphanage, who had been a mistake to everyone who raised him—suddenly, the idea of giving people a way to hear each other burned brighter than anything else.
His throat tightened. He pushed the feeling down, set his jaw, and reached for his carving tools.
Hours passed. The suitcase filled with the steady scrape of metal on sapphire as Oliver etched the first focus rune into the sphere's surface. Sweat dripped down his face, his hands aching, but the moment the rune was complete, the sphere's hum deepened. The threads to the phones brightened, their pulses steadier.
Oliver grinned through the ache. "Yes. Yes, that's it."
He carved another, then another. By the time he etched the final rune—a small, delicate glyph Penny had once scrawled in her notes—the room vibrated with resonance. He picked up one of the phones again, pressed the rune, and whispered:
"Testing."
The second phone trilled, clearer this time. The voice that answered was crisp, sharp, almost as if someone were speaking directly into his ear.
Oliver nearly dropped it again. "It's… it's perfect."
He laughed until tears blurred his eyes.
But his joy was tempered by exhaustion. His whole body shook, the magical strain of splitting and etching catching up to him. He leaned against the sphere, its hum steadying him like a heartbeat.
Nyx, still perched close, let out a soft cry. Her small wings stretched, brushing his cheek.
Oliver smiled faintly. "This is it, Nyx. The start of something big. Bigger than me. Bigger than Hogwarts. Bigger than… maybe even the Flamels."
The chick chirped, as if she agreed.
His eyelids drooped. He forced them open, scribbling one last note on the parchment: Crystal Network.
And then, slumped against the humming sapphire, Oliver finally let himself drift into a dreamless sleep, still smiling.