The Chudley Cannons' orange-and-black uniforms were the first thing anyone saw when they stepped out of the shimmering portal leading into Oliver's suitcase. The enchanted field glowed under a perfect blue sky, the grass whispering softly with the hum of layered charmwork that kept the air fresh and cool. Everything shimmered with that faint surreal quality unique to Oliver's inner world—a space born from magic, ingenuity, and a child's stubborn imagination.
"Bloody hell," one of the beaters muttered, staring around. "He's got better turf than the national pitch."
Another elbowed him. "You sure this is inside a suitcase? You're not just daft?"
Oliver grinned from the middle of the field, broom tucked under one arm, hair ruffling slightly in the breeze. "You're standing in my living room, technically. Try not to knock anything over."
That earned a round of laughter, breaking the tension that had hung over the team since the announcement that they'd be training with a student — a student who'd somehow drawn the attention of the most ancient alchemists in existence and a Headmaster who bent more rules than gravity.
The Cannons' captain, Gideon Royston, strode forward with his hands on his hips. He was a broad man with the thick shoulders of a lifelong Keeper and a skeptical squint that seemed permanently etched on his face. "All right, Mister Night," he said, voice carrying across the pitch. "You've got quite the setup. Now, rumor says you can play every position better than our veterans. Care to prove it?"
Oliver shrugged modestly, stepping up to his broom. "Rumors tend to exaggerate. But I'll do my best."
From the stands, Penny clapped her hands together with a delighted squeal. "That's my grandson—oh, look at that form! Nick, he's even better than last week!"
Nicholas smiled faintly, his eyes reflecting the sunlight with quiet pride. "He's learning balance, not just speed. It's starting to click."
Madame Hooch leaned forward, her whistle already in hand though she wasn't refereeing. "You'll want to watch this carefully, Gideon. He's faster than your tracking eyes can manage."
Gideon grunted but waved to his team. "All right, standard drills! Bludger control, scoring, seeking, the works. Let's see what the boy's got."
The first bludger roared to life, spiraling across the air like a metal comet. Oliver was already moving before anyone else reacted, the faint whine of his broom slicing through the air as he twisted into a corkscrew, then sent the bludger rebounding perfectly toward the beater who'd launched it. The impact was so sharp that the man's bat spun out of his hand and clattered to the grass.
The players froze. Oliver hovered, smirking slightly. "Sorry! Reflex."
"Merlin's breath," muttered the captain. "That wasn't a reflex—that was a cannon shot."
One of the chasers, a woman with braided black hair, laughed breathlessly. "Maybe that's why they call us the Cannons—'cause we'll need him to hit anything."
Oliver's smirk softened into something humbler, but the sparkle in his eyes stayed. "I've been practicing."
The drills rolled on, each one pushing him into a different role. As a Keeper, he darted like lightning between the hoops, his reactions impossibly sharp, blocking every single quaffle with fluid grace. Not even the captain's deceptive feints could sneak past him. Every save drew another ripple of astonished murmurs from the team.
Then came the seeker test.
"Let's make it fair," Gideon said, releasing the snitch. "You've got thirty seconds before my seeker joins the chase."
Oliver's grin widened slightly. "I'll only need ten."
"Cocky, are you?" the man retorted, smirking—until Oliver was already gone, his broom streaking forward in a blur of blue light and trailing sparks of Nyx's residual magic. The air rippled with energy as he cut through it, following the faint shimmer of the snitch with unerring precision.
Nine seconds later, he landed gently in front of the stunned team, the golden snitch wriggling between his fingers.
Silence.
Then, pandemonium.
"WHAT—"
"He—how—"
"No seeker's that fast—"
"That wasn't flying, that was teleporting with flair!"
Oliver flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess the broom helps."
Penny clutched her chest, teary-eyed with pride. "Oh, Nick, he's perfect!"
"Perfectly terrifying," Madame Hooch corrected, whistling sharply. "If he's not on your team by next weekend, Gideon, you're dafter than your uniforms."
Gideon finally managed to find his voice. "You're in, boy. Seeker position's yours. We'll make the announcement tomorrow."
A spontaneous cheer erupted among the players. Oliver blinked, a little overwhelmed by the sudden attention. A few of the chasers clapped him on the shoulder, while one of the beaters chuckled, shaking his head. "You sure you're human, kid? Or did your bird enchant you?"
Atop the stands, the tiny chick version of Nyx puffed up indignantly and let out a soft, echoing chirp that reverberated through the air like a miniature bell. The players laughed, enchanted despite themselves.
Oliver just smiled, looking skyward. "Guess we're both a little bit magical."
As practice wound down, the team's energy shifted from skepticism to camaraderie. They began joking with him, pulling him into strategies, laughing at the absurdity of their own drills. Penny brought down a pitcher of enchanted lemonade that refilled itself whenever someone poured a cup, and the air filled with chatter and laughter.
"You know," said Gideon, leaning back on his broom as he hovered lazily near Oliver, "we might actually win one for once."
Oliver laughed softly. "You just needed the right seeker."
"And we got one with his own magical stadium inside a suitcase," the captain said, shaking his head. "Never thought I'd see the day."
Nick, watching from the sidelines, whispered to Penny, "He's becoming what he was meant to be — something that bridges magic and wonder."
Penny squeezed his hand, her eyes bright. "And he's doing it all without losing that smile."
As the sun inside the enchanted world began to sink, casting streaks of gold and lilac across the sky, Oliver rose into the air one last time, just to feel the wind. His broom responded effortlessly, dancing under his control like an extension of himself. The Cannons cheered from below, their doubts finally gone.
And from high above, the faint shimmer of unicorn horns at the edge of the forest caught his attention — a silent, beckoning light waiting for him after practice.
The last echo of laughter from the Cannons faded into the distance as the team packed up their gear, leaving the pitch aglow under the enchanted twilight. The artificial sun dipped behind the forest canopy, turning the leaves a burnished gold before they slowly melted into silver under the rise of stars.
Oliver hovered on his broom at the edge of the clearing, letting the wind tousle his hair. The small weight of Nyx's chick form nestled between his shoulders, soft down warm against his neck. Her faint chirrups echoed quietly—a lullaby in the hush of the forest night.
He was about to head back toward the stands when something glimmered near the tree line.
It wasn't a trick of the light. A faint shimmer of pearly white rippled between the trees—like a handful of starlight caught on a mirror. Then he heard it: the soft, melodic call of a unicorn.
Oliver's grip on his broom tightened. "What's that, Nyx?" he whispered, though he already knew.
The chick lifted her tiny head, let out a curious coo, and the tips of her feathers began to glow faintly, as if in answer.
He descended slowly, feet brushing the grass, and began to walk toward the forest. The unicorn light retreated a little, as if beckoning him deeper. Behind him, the pitch shimmered quietly, the sound of the enchanted stands fading with every step.
The forest was quieter than usual. The air was full of the rich, earthy smell of life. A gentle mist hung between the trees, catching faint traces of silver light. When Oliver reached the clearing, his breath caught in his throat.
Half a dozen unicorns stood there—creatures of such quiet majesty that the world itself seemed to hold its breath around them. Their coats gleamed with shifting hues of pearl and moonlight, their eyes impossibly soft, full of something ancient and kind.
At their center stood the mare who had first accepted his presence months ago, her mane cascading like woven silk. She lowered her head slightly, regarding him with familiarity.
"Hey," Oliver said softly, stepping closer. "You called me?"
The mare pawed the earth once, then turned toward an old tree with a hollowed trunk—a tree clearly tended to by bowtruckles. Its bark shimmered faintly, streaked with traces of magic, the faintest gold veins pulsing beneath the wood.
Curious, Oliver leaned in and peered inside.
He gasped.
The hollow was filled with pale, crystalline horns—unicorn horns that pulsed faintly with stored magic, each one glimmering with warmth rather than the cold purity of a trophy. They looked… alive, as though they had been grown through kindness and time rather than stolen through cruelty.
Oliver looked back at the herd. "You've been… saving these?"
The mare nodded. Two smaller unicorns stepped closer, brushing their muzzles against his arm. He could feel a wave of calm and affection pour into him. Nyx trilled softly, glowing faintly in response to the creatures' quiet power.
"They're for me?" Oliver whispered, stunned.
The mare nodded again.
A quiet laugh escaped him, disbelieving and touched all at once. "You're paying rent?" he teased, shaking his head fondly. "You know you don't have to do that. This place is yours too."
The unicorns blinked slowly, serene, unconcerned with property lines or ownership. They simply wished to give. Oliver knelt beside the hollow and placed his hand over the nearest horn. It was smooth and warm beneath his fingertips, humming faintly with a rhythm that reminded him of Nyx's pulse of starlight.
"I'll take care of them," he promised softly. "And I'll make something that honors you."
The mare whickered quietly, brushing her nose against his shoulder before pulling back. Nyx chirped again, fluttering her small wings, and one of the younger unicorns pawed curiously at her glow, fascinated.
"Maybe," Oliver said, looking around at the peaceful clearing, "I'll make something for you too. Something to keep you safe, in case anything ever happens again."
He gathered three of the horns carefully, wrapping them in a piece of enchanted cloth from his satchel. As he straightened up, he looked back toward the tree. "You know," he said conversationally, "I'm pretty sure you lot are the best tenants a guy could ever ask for."
One of the unicorns flicked its tail, and another nudged him toward the path home. The faintest ripple of laughter escaped him as he followed their silent escort through the forest, their hooves barely making a sound. By the time he stepped back into the open field, the Cannons had already left through the portal, and the enchanted lights of the pitch glowed like floating fireflies above the grass.
Penny and Nick were still there, sitting side by side on the edge of the bleachers, the small chick form of Nyx's mother perched beside them. They turned when they saw Oliver approaching, the bundle in his arms shimmering faintly.
"You look as though the forest itself just paid you tribute," Nicholas said with a knowing smile.
"In a way," Oliver murmured, kneeling beside them and unwrapping the cloth. The unicorn horns shimmered softly, casting dappled light on the boards. "They gave me these. Said I could use them."
Penny's eyes went wide. "Oh, my stars," she whispered. "Do you know how rare it is for unicorns to offer anything willingly, let alone something like this?"
Oliver nodded slowly. "They said it's because they feel at peace here. They like it. Said the forest's good for them."
"That," Nicholas said, tone rich with quiet pride, "is the true mark of a caretaker. Not mastery, not dominion—peace."
Penny smiled and brushed a bit of stray hair from Oliver's forehead. "You have their trust, darling. You've made a sanctuary, not a cage."
Oliver blushed faintly, looking away. "I just… wanted everyone to have a place to breathe."
Nick chuckled, the sound like warm thunder. "That's what makes it extraordinary."
The three of them sat there in companionable silence for a while, watching as the magical stars within the suitcase's sky began to twinkle more brightly. In the far distance, the centaurs' campfires flickered faintly, and the rhythmic sound of hooves against soft earth carried through the night.
Oliver's gaze lingered on the unicorn horns in his lap. Each one felt like a promise. He didn't know yet what he'd make from them—but he knew it would be something that mattered. Something that gave back.
Maybe protective charms for the forest. Maybe conduits for healing spells. Maybe something entirely new.
Nyx chirped again, tiny wings fluttering as she hopped from his shoulder onto his knee. Her feathers glowed faintly in tune with the horns, like two heartbeats syncing. Oliver smiled, brushing a gentle finger over her soft head.
"Looks like we've got work to do," he said quietly.
Above them, the stars of Oliver's enchanted world shifted slightly, as if nodding in agreement