The Great Hall was alive with a storm of voices. The kind of chatter that swelled and broke over the tables like the roar of the sea. For once, not even the enchanted ceiling—brilliantly painted in streaks of twilight clouds and a scattering of stars—could outshine the noise below. Everyone, from first years to seventh years, had their eyes fixed on a single figure at the Slytherin table.
Oliver could feel it, too—the weight of every stolen glance, every whispered word ricocheting back at him. He was used to attention now, of course. Nyx perched in her half-grown form atop his head, feathers gleaming faintly with the hint of starlight, always attracted eyes. But this… this was different.
He knew why.
The news had flown faster than a Firebolt. Reports from France had reached Hogwarts within the day: Oliver's invention was already in the hands of witches and wizards across the continent. Rumors said the devices had sold out in hours. Merchants in Paris, Lyon, and Marseille had been mobbed with orders, and already the black-market value of one of the enchanted phones was climbing.
Now the castle buzzed with it.
At the Ravenclaw table, a third-year named Calliope leaned forward so eagerly her glasses almost slipped from her nose. "It's not just a toy. Don't you get it? He's constructed an entirely new magical network. It's… it's like Floo Powder, but with sound and thought structured into resonance. If the runes are stable, he's just rewritten how communication works!"
A fifth-year, taller, with a Prefect's badge gleaming at his chest, nodded slowly. "He might have made the most significant leap in practical magical theory since the development of the Portkey."
Oliver pretended not to listen, his fork idly stirring his shepherd's pie. But he couldn't hide the slight upward twitch of his lips. It was strange hearing people speak about him like that—like he was a scholar, a pioneer, instead of just an eleven-year-old with a Phoenix chick nesting in his hair.
Across the hall, however, the tone was different.
At the Slytherin table, murmurs carried a sharper edge. Draco Malfoy sat with his usual smug composure, but even he spoke quietly, almost conspiratorial.
"Do you see what this means?" Draco muttered to a cluster of Slytherins who leaned in eagerly. "It's not just about communication. This is about exclusivity. If you own one of Night's phones, it's proof. A mark of status. Power. Not everyone will be able to get one—and that's how you'll know who really matters."
Several Slytherins nodded, their faces lit with greedy admiration. Pansy Parkinson twirled a lock of hair between her fingers and smirked. "It would look good in my family's drawing room. Something to show visitors. Everyone would know we had one first."
Draco's pale eyes flicked across the hall toward Oliver. "He'll need allies. Sooner or later, he'll realize who's worthy of his trust. And when he does…" Draco trailed off, his smirk finishing the thought for him.
Meanwhile, Gryffindors buzzed with awe rather than envy. Even the older students, usually too proud to be impressed by a younger year, whispered with genuine respect.
"Did you hear? They say people were lined up outside the shops in France before the sun was even up."
"I heard someone offered ten galleons above market just to be sure they got one before they sold out."
Oliver pushed another bite of food around his plate. He wasn't eating much. He didn't need to—Nyx's steady warmth pressed against his scalp was comforting enough. Her presence anchored him. She chirped softly now and again, as though reminding him not to sink too deep into the background hum of gossip.
Still, even she couldn't drown it all out.
The following evening, after Potions class, Oliver was surprised when Professor Snape stalked past his desk, robes sweeping the stone floor, and snapped, "The Headmaster requires your presence. Now."
Confused, Oliver gathered his books and slipped them into his satchel. Nyx fluttered down to perch across his shoulders, talons light against his robe. He glanced at Snape, who offered no explanation, only a sharp turn toward the door.
By the time Oliver arrived outside the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office, the gargoyle simply moved aside without asking for a password. Oliver froze for a moment. Usually, Dumbledore required one. Today, the path opened as if the headmaster had willed it.
Heart beating faster, Oliver stepped onto the spiraling staircase.
Inside, the office was bathed in amber light from floating candles. Strange, whirring devices clicked and spun quietly on their shelves. Dumbledore sat stiff-backed at his desk, his fingers steepled, eyes not twinkling as they so often did but grim, shadowed with thought.
"Come in, Oliver," Dumbledore said softly, his voice lacking its usual warmth.
Oliver entered, taking the seat opposite. Nyx shifted down from his shoulder to nest on his head again, as though determined to make herself comfortable no matter how tense the atmosphere was.
"I suppose you've heard the talk," Dumbledore began, his voice calm but heavy. "Your invention is… not unnoticed. The French Ministry lauds it as a triumph. Wizarding households clamor for it. Yet here in Britain, the response has been…" He paused. "More cautious."
Oliver blinked. "Cautious?"
"Yes," Dumbledore said quietly. "The Ministry has dispatched Aurors. Their pretense is that they are here to ensure your devices pose no threat to magical security. But you must understand—they come not to protect, but to claim. If they can, they will seize control of your work. That, Oliver, is their aim."
Oliver's stomach flipped. He didn't speak immediately. His mind churned—images of Aurors storming into the Great Hall, demanding his prototypes, tearing apart everything he'd worked on.
Dumbledore leaned forward, his gaze sharp. "I tell you this not to frighten you, but to prepare you. You must hold your ground, Oliver. The truth is that what you've created is beyond them. They fear what they do not control."
For a long moment, Oliver simply breathed, steadying himself. Then he nodded once. "I understand, Professor."
The sound of light footsteps preceded Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel's entrance. They looked every bit the part of his guardians: calm, dignified, carrying an aura of timeless strength. Perenelle's eyes softened as they fell on Oliver.
Nicholas stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Oliver's shoulder. "Listen well, child. You are not alone. Legally, you are under our guardianship, which makes you, by magical law, a French citizen as well as a Hogwarts student. Britain cannot strip this from you so easily."
"But," Perenelle added gently, kneeling so that her gaze met his directly, "we cannot always shield you. If you are to shape the future, you must show the world your voice. Speak for yourself when the moment comes. We will be behind you—but let them see you."
Oliver's lips curved into a faint smile. He wasn't sure if it was courage or recklessness that flickered inside him, but it felt good. Nyx chirped in agreement, wings fluffing as if she, too, approved.
That moment came sooner than Oliver expected.
The doors to the Headmaster's office swung wide with a bang, and in strode a squad of Aurors, boots ringing against the stone floor. Their cloaks bore the insignia of the Ministry, and their expressions were taut with discipline. At their head stood Kingsley Shacklebolt, tall and broad-shouldered, his dark skin catching the candlelight. His presence was commanding, though his eyes were calm, almost reassuring.
Beside him, Nymphadora Tonks entered with a slightly awkward stride, her bubblegum-pink hair shifting shades as she glanced curiously at Oliver and Nyx.
"Headmaster," Kingsley said in his deep voice, bowing slightly. "We are here under orders from the Ministry to inspect and, if necessary, secure the devices constructed by this boy."
Snape, who had remained near the doorway, gave a derisive sniff. "At last. I warned this would happen. Bringing unstable contraptions into the school—"
"Enough," Dumbledore said sharply, cutting across him. His voice cracked like thunder, silencing the room.
The Aurors stood in formation, wands at the ready though not raised. The tension was palpable. Oliver sat very still, his heart hammering, but Nicholas's hand remained steady on his shoulder.
And Tonks—Tonks, who should have been looking at him like a threat—instead tilted her head and gave him a small, lopsided smile. "Don't look so spooked, kid. We're not here to bite."
Oliver blinked at her, and for the first time since the Aurors entered, the knot in his chest loosened just a fraction.
The silence that followed Tonks' words was jarring, almost brittle. Oliver blinked at her, unsure if he'd actually heard right. Something about her tone—casual, almost kind—cut through the heavy tension filling the Headmaster's office. Kingsley's towering frame loomed nearby, his gaze steady but not hostile. It was as if the Aurors had arrived ready for a storm, only to find themselves uncertain whether they truly wanted to unleash it.
Nicholas cleared his throat. "You see? Not everyone comes with hostility. Some are willing to listen."
"Boy," one of the Aurors behind Kingsley muttered sharply, "hand over the devices now and there won't be trouble." His hand twitched toward his wand.
Nyx, still in her half-grown chick form, suddenly gave a sharp, chiming cry. The sound was small, yes, but it thrummed with a strange resonance—like a bell echoing in Oliver's chest. The Auror flinched, stepping back as though startled by the sound alone.
Oliver, heart hammering, lifted his chin. His mouth was dry, but Perenelle's earlier words echoed in his head: Let them see you.
"I can't do that," Oliver said, his voice steadier than he felt. "These aren't just toys to snatch up and hide away in a Ministry vault. They're not weapons. They're meant for everyone—for emergencies, for families, for those who can't afford owls or Floo Powder. They're… they're supposed to help people. Not become another thing the Ministry decides who can and can't use."
The Aurors shifted uncomfortably. One frowned, another scowled—but they didn't speak. Kingsley's eyes lingered on Oliver for a long moment, unreadable.
Tonks, however, smirked faintly, folding her arms. "Well, he's got some spine, I'll give him that. More sense than most adults I've met, too."
Oliver flushed, but he didn't back down.
Professor McGonagall's sharp voice cut across the room. "This is outrageous. Barging into this school, threatening a student—under my watch, no less—when the matter is clearly being overseen by his legal guardians and the Headmaster. You will not lay a hand on Mr. Night or his property."
Snape gave a contemptuous sneer from the corner, but he didn't dare speak against McGonagall in this moment.
Hagrid, who had accompanied Oliver in, puffed out his enormous chest and stepped protectively closer. "Yeh'll not be takin' his things. Lad's worked hard, an' it ain't fer yeh Ministry types ter meddle with!"
Dumbledore finally rose to his feet. He hadn't spoken since his sharp rebuke, but now his presence filled the office entirely. His blue eyes burned with authority.
"Mr. Night's work is not the property of the British Ministry of Magic," Dumbledore said, each word measured. "It falls under international jurisdiction—protected by the guardianship of Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel, recognized alchemists and citizens of France. If the Ministry of Magic in Britain wishes to negotiate, it may do so with proper channels. Not by intimidation, not by force, and certainly not by attempting to confiscate the property of one of my students."
His words hung in the air like a decree. Even the Aurors shifted uncomfortably.
Kingsley bowed his head slightly. "Headmaster, I respect your authority. We are here under orders. But…" He hesitated, glancing at Oliver again, his gaze softer this time. "But I see no threat here. Not in him. Not in this."
One of the Aurors muttered, "Orders are orders."
Kingsley's gaze hardened. "Our orders were to investigate. We have investigated. Unless we see proof of danger, there is no justification for seizing anything."
Tonks snorted. "Besides, if the kid wanted to hurt anyone with these things, he'd have done it by now. Doesn't take a genius to see he's not that type."
The tension began to ease. The Aurors lowered their wands—not fully relaxed, but no longer bristling for a fight. Oliver felt the knot in his stomach unwind, just a little. He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been gripping the edge of his chair until now.
Kingsley inclined his head toward him. "You've done something extraordinary. Just remember—power like this always draws attention, not all of it welcome. Be careful who you trust."
Oliver managed a small, grateful smile. "Thank you."
Tonks winked, her hair flashing briefly to a shade of bright teal. "And don't let them scare you into thinking you've done something wrong. Sometimes being ahead of everyone else just makes you look dangerous. Doesn't mean you are."
Nicholas's eyes twinkled with pride, and Perenelle squeezed Oliver's shoulder gently. "Well said."
The Aurors filed out, Kingsley and Tonks the last to leave, both giving Oliver subtle nods of respect.
When the heavy doors closed behind them, silence settled again. The office felt warmer somehow, less suffocating.
Dumbledore exhaled heavily, lowering himself back into his chair. His gaze softened when it fell on Oliver, though the worry never quite left.
"You handled yourself well, Oliver," he said. "Better than many grown men would have. Yet I must remind you—your invention is not just a marvel. It is a disruption. You have changed the fabric of wizarding communication overnight. The ripples will not stop here."
Oliver nodded, feeling the weight of his words. He'd known it, deep down, but hearing it from Dumbledore made it undeniable.
Perenelle touched Oliver's arm gently. "Do not let fear steal your pride. You have done good, Oliver. That matters most."
For a long moment, Oliver sat quietly, eyes downcast. Then, slowly, he looked up. His voice was quiet, almost hesitant.
"I've been thinking about something," he began. Nyx shifted slightly, as if sensing the importance of his words. "The phones… they're not just for wizards. They don't have to be. With the right adjustments—if I can bridge the resonance difference—they could work for Muggles, too."
The room froze.
Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly, his usually calm expression betraying surprise. Nicholas's brows shot up. Perenelle inhaled sharply. Even McGonagall looked momentarily stunned, her lips parting as though she hadn't expected such a thought to come from someone so young.
Oliver pressed on, his voice firmer now, carrying the quiet determination that had driven him all this way. "It wouldn't just change things for us. It could change things for everyone. Wizards, Muggles… people everywhere could talk instantly, no matter where they are. Emergencies, families, even just friends who can't see each other. It's… it's bigger than us."
For a heartbeat, no one spoke. The only sound was the faint ticking of one of Dumbledore's strange instruments in the corner.
Finally, Nicholas chuckled softly, pride glimmering in his eyes. "You think not as a child, Oliver, but as a visionary. The world may not be ready… but one day, it will be."
Perenelle's smile was gentle, though tinged with worry. "And until then, we will protect you from those who are frightened by such change."
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes shone with something complex—pride, caution, perhaps even hope.
"You may have just spoken aloud the greatest potential of your invention," Dumbledore murmured. "But also the most dangerous. For if the magical world fears you now, Oliver… imagine how they would react if you bridged the gap to the Muggle one."
Oliver didn't flinch. He simply nodded, gaze steady. "Then I'll just have to prove it's worth it."
Nyx gave a soft, chiming trill, as if sealing the promise.
And in that quiet moment, surrounded by guardians, teachers, and the faint glow of candlelight, Oliver Night felt the weight of the future pressing down on him—and for the first time, he smiled into it.