The crowd was still riding the euphoria of the Cannons' victory when the stadium lights dimmed to a low amber glow. A ripple of anticipation coursed through the stands as Oliver disappeared into the locker room, leaving a wake of cheers behind him. No one outside his team and a handful of close supporters knew what was about to happen.
Whispers darted between rows of spectators like flickering candles in a draft. A performance? From a player? The mystery had the crowd buzzing louder than the victory itself.
Down below, Oliver stood before a mirror, his reflection haloed in the faint golden shimmer of the phoenix chick perched proudly on his shoulder. Nyx chirped once—a trill of excitement that mirrored the thundering heartbeat in his chest.
He smiled, taking a deep breath. This wasn't Quidditch anymore. This was something else entirely. A different kind of flight.
"Alright," he murmured to Nyx. "Let's show them what music really sounds like."
The three clones shimmered into existence beside him—identical down to the faint constellation glow in their eyes. Each took a position automatically: one at the drums, another with the bass, the last at the piano. The real Oliver gripped his guitar, the same enchanted one that had followed him through every victory, every discovery. The wand slotted into the neck gleamed faintly, ready to channel whatever emotion came next.
Above the stadium, the magical cameras linked to the phones of thousands began to hover, flickering to life like tiny comets. This would be the first broadcasted magical performance in history.
And as Oliver stepped out of the tunnel and into the spotlight, the world held its breath.
Dumbledore's calm eyes gleamed like polished glass behind his half-moon spectacles. The Flamels sat nearby, hands clasped tightly, both pride and awe etched into their ancient faces. In a far corner, beneath a glamour charm so perfect it fooled even the trained Aurors, Grindelwald sat among the common spectators, his expression unreadable but his heart thundering in his chest.
Oliver took center stage. The lights shifted, painting the field in midnight blue and silver—Nyx's colors.
He leaned toward the enchanted microphone.
"This song," he said, his voice amplified and echoing through the entire stadium and the countless magical screens across Europe, "is called Whatever It Takes. I wrote it for anyone who's ever felt like they had to fight against the world to prove they belong. For those who never gave up."
A hush fell across the crowd. The clones raised their instruments. The guitar hummed, catching a faint shimmer of starlight.
Then Oliver began to sing.
"Falling too fast to prepare for this
Tripping in the world could be dangerous
Everybody circling, it's vulturous
Negative, nepotist…"
The melody swelled, sharp and rhythmic, blending guitar distortion with the clear pulse of the drums. Sparks of blue light burst in sync with every chord.
Hermione's eyes widened. "He sounds—Merlin, he sounds like he was born to do this."
Harry couldn't speak. The energy coming off Oliver wasn't magical in the spellcasting sense—it was something purer, rawer. The magic of self-expression.
Fred and George were on their feet, fists pumping. "That's our mate!" they shouted in unison.
The crowd began to sway, drawn in by the beat. It was visceral, addictive.
"Everybody waiting for the fall of man
Everybody praying for the end of times
Everybody hoping they could be the one
I was born to run, I was born for this…"
As the verse built, faint spectral wings unfurled behind Oliver—manifestations of his magic reacting to his emotion. They shimmered with the same starlight hue as Nyx's flames, scattering tiny motes of light into the night sky.
Nyx trilled from her perch on the amplifier, her feathers flaring bright, casting small beams of white-blue across the field like shooting stars.
Penny gripped Nicholas's arm, tears threatening her eyes. "He's so alive up there, Nick. Look at him—he's flying without leaving the ground."
Nicholas smiled faintly. "A true alchemist doesn't just transform matter, my dear. He transforms the world around him."
"Whip, whip
Run me like a racehorse
Pull me like a ripcord
Break me down and build me up…"
The starlight wings pulsed brighter. Oliver's voice hit every line with deliberate power, and the rhythm carried through the stands like the echo of a thousand heartbeats in sync.
Even the officials from the Bulgarian team, who had come only to monitor the post-match announcements, were leaning forward, utterly captivated.
"Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do whatever it takes…"
Flames began to spiral upward around the stage not burning, but weaving patterns in the air, guided by Nyx's smaller, newborn bursts of phoenix fire. Every plume left glowing trails that shimmered in rhythm to the song.
High above the crowd, one Auror whispered to another, "It's not just music it's spellwork. He's conducting magic through emotion."
The Auror beside him only nodded dumbly, entranced.
"Yeah, take me to the top I'm ready for
Whatever it takes…"
The tempo quickened, his clones perfectly synchronized one keeping time on the drums, one on bass, the other weaving harmony with the piano. The real Oliver was at the center of it all, head thrown back, his guitar glowing brighter with each strum.
Nyx lifted off the amplifier, hovering beside him in a small orbit, her wings painting silver arcs across the night.
Grindelwald hidden among the crowd couldn't help the ghost of a smile curling at his lips. "Born for greatness, my son," he whispered to himself. "A light no darkness could ever claim."
"Always had a fear of being typical
Looking at my body feeling miserable
Always hanging on to the visual
I wanna be invisible…"
The field erupted in waves of magic reacting to the frequencies of Oliver's song. The grass glowed faintly, each blade resonating to his rhythm.
Even the banners fluttering above the stands began to pulse with matching light.
Hermione gasped. "He's syncing the environment's ambient magic… subconsciously."
Dumbledore's eyes crinkled with something between awe and amusement. "Music," he murmured, "the oldest kind of magic there is."
"Looking at my years like a martyrdom
Everybody needs to be a part of 'em
Never be enough, I'm the prodigal son
I was born to run, I was born for this…"
His voice carried, clear and defiant. Every syllable seemed to strike directly into the chests of those listening. Even witches and wizards who didn't understand the language could feel the message in their bones drive, ambition, the will to rise no matter the odds.
And when the chorus returned, it hit like thunder.
"Whip, whip
Run me like a racehorse…"
Nyx soared higher, releasing a cascade of white flame that shimmered like falling snow. Each spark that touched the ground transformed briefly into luminous petals before fading away.
Down in the stands, Gabrielle Delacour clasped her hands together, eyes wide. "He's like the night sky come to life," she whispered. Her sister Fleur nodded silently beside her, equal parts admiration and curiosity still lingering.
"Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins…"
By now, the entire stadium was on its feet. Even those watching through their magical phones across the world could sense the pulse of the performance could see the incandescent magic spilling from the stage.
The cameras caught glimpses of people far and wide:
– In Diagon Alley, wizards huddled around a shop window enchanted to display the stream.
– In France, workers in cafés stopped to stare at their phones.
– At Beauxbatons, students cheered as the sound echoed across the courtyard.
The song became a bridge linking the magical and non-magical, the humble and the mighty.
"Whatever it takes
Yeah, take me to the top I'm ready for
Whatever it takes…"
The music built toward its climax, thunderous and triumphant. Oliver strummed the guitar in powerful, rising waves. His clones followed flawlessly his own magic amplifying their synchronicity until they appeared to be one being playing through four instruments at once.
The fireworks above began to take shape patterns of constellations, phoenixes, and alchemical symbols filling the sky.
"Hypocritical, egotistical
Don't wanna be the parenthetical, hypothetical
Working onto something that I'm proud of, out of the box
An epoxy to the world and the vision we've lost…"
By now, the beat was thundering through the earth itself. Wards around the stadium vibrated like the strings of an unseen harp. Oliver was radiant, a living conduit for the rhythm of creation.
Dumbledore leaned forward, whispering to Penny, "He's not performing a song. He's shaping reality to his tune."
Penny smiled through tears. "And it's beautiful."
"I'm an apostrophe
I'm just a symbol to remind you that there's more to see…"
The phoenix chick sang in harmony a piercing, pure note that spiraled into the clouds. For a moment, every magical creature within miles turned its gaze skyward.
The music surged. The world seemed to hold its breath.
"Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins…"
Oliver's clones vanished one by one in bursts of starlight, leaving only him and Nyx as the final verse rang out. His magic flared, enveloping the field in a soft glow that rippled like waves on the ocean.
He closed his eyes on the final line, voice cracking not from weakness but sheer emotion
"I do what it takes."
Silence.
Utter, spellbound silence.
Then the stadium erupted. The roar was deafening, a wave of pure, unfiltered awe. Thousands of voices screamed his name, chanted, cheered. Some were crying; others simply stood, clapping until their hands hurt.
Dumbledore rose first, followed by Nicholas and Penny, their applause thunderous. Even the Bulgarian players joined in, shaking their heads in disbelief.
Across the world, magical phones broadcasted the same image an eleven-year-old boy standing beneath a rain of phoenix light, smiling as though the universe itself had sung with him.
Grindelwald, still hidden beneath his glamour, whispered hoarsely to himself, "The world will remember that name."
And as Nyx settled back onto Oliver's shoulder, her feathers glowing faintly from the shared magic, the cheers only grew louder.
"Encore! Encore!"
Oliver laughed, brushing the hair from his forehead, sweat and starlight mingling. "I do have one more," he called into the mic, voice warm and steady. "It's not as loud as this one but maybe it's the one I needed to play next."
The crowd roared even louder. And with that promise lingering in the air, the night of Oliver's first world-broadcasted performance came to an end
a night that would be remembered forever as the moment music and magic became one
The crowd's roar was still shaking the stands, echoing against the shimmering dome of magic that enclosed the stadium. Confetti charms exploded into the air, and bright orange streams of light spiraled upward in celebration. The Chudley Cannons had won their first game in years—but all anyone could talk about was Oliver.
He stood at the center of the field, framed by the fading brilliance of his magic. Nyx perched lightly on his shoulder, her small chest puffed up, feathers glinting like starlight reflected off water. She chirped once, as if reminding him to breathe.
Oliver smiled, still catching his breath. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a drumline refusing to end. Sweat ran down his temples, but his eyes gleamed with exhilaration. The guitar still hummed faintly in his hands, alive with the echo of the song that had just shaken the world.
"OLIVER! OLIVER!" the crowd shouted in rhythmic waves. Thousands of witches and wizards were on their feet, clapping, screaming, or simply staring in disbelief. For a moment, Oliver couldn't tell if his legs were trembling from exhaustion or sheer awe at what had just happened.
On the upper platform, Dumbledore watched quietly, one hand over his chest, eyes glimmering behind his half-moon spectacles. His lips curled into a soft, knowing smile. Nicholas and Penny were beside him, both still on their feet—Nicholas clapping calmly, Penny wiping tears that refused to stop.
"Oh, Nick," she breathed, voice trembling with pride. "He's… radiant."
Nicholas nodded slowly. "He's transcending everything we thought possible. Alchemy, music, magic—he's bridging them without even realizing it."
Down below, Harry and Hermione were still frozen in their seats. Hermione had both hands covering her mouth, eyes glassy.
"Did you feel that?" she whispered. "Every word—like the music itself carried the spell."
Harry only nodded, his throat tight. "That's Oliver," he managed. "He doesn't cast spells. He makes them."
Fred and George were halfway up on their seats, shaking their heads and grinning like maniacs.
"Did you see that finish?" George yelled.
"Did I see it?!" Fred hollered. "I felt it! That's our mate—the human meteor!"
Even the Bulgarian players who had lost the match stood along the sidelines applauding. Their captain, a seasoned veteran with silver streaks in his hair, muttered something in disbelief before joining in the applause.
And far from all the cheers, in a shadowed corner of the stands, Grindelwald sat hidden beneath his glamour. The faint smile that curved his lips was neither pride nor envy—it was something quieter, deeper. The reflection of a man seeing his legacy live on in a way he never could have imagined.
He murmured under his breath, "Ariana's fire… and my will. You're everything I couldn't be, my son."
Oliver laughed softly, the sound swallowed by the cheers. He stepped forward and lifted a hand toward the audience. The noise surged again, a tidal wave of adoration that rolled through the stands and out into the sky.
"Thank you," he said into the microphone, voice echoing gently across the pitch. "Really—thank you."
He paused, eyes sweeping across the endless sea of faces. "I… honestly didn't expect that," he continued, smiling with the same open warmth that had captivated the world since the first note. "That was my first performance broadcast everywhere—and, uh, I wasn't sure if anyone would even want to listen. So… thank you for giving me a chance."
The crowd's response was thunderous.
Oliver grinned, rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassed but glowing. The sound of thousands of people cheering his name was overwhelming, but what filled him most wasn't pride—it was joy. Pure, genuine joy.
His teammates had crowded near the stage now, grinning like fools. Their eyes were wide and shining. One of the beaters, still in his uniform, cupped his hands and yelled, "You're a bloody legend, Oliver!"
The others broke into laughter and applause.
Then the chant started again. "Another! Another!"
Oliver blinked, taken aback. The voices multiplied, merging into one massive chorus. "ANOTHER! ANOTHER!"
He looked around, laughing helplessly, shaking his head as if trying to quiet a storm. "You guys really don't get tired, huh?"
Even Dumbledore was smiling now, clapping along with the rest. Nicholas and Penny joined in—the latter cupping her hands to her mouth and shouting down, "Give them what they want, my star!"
Oliver pressed a hand to his chest, grinning up toward the VIP section. "Alright," he called, his voice echoing, "Alright, I hear you!"
The audience cheered even louder, their excitement cresting again like a wave breaking on shore.
He turned toward his team, who were still gathered at the edge of the field. "Guess I'm not done yet," he said with a small laugh.
His captain chuckled, shaking his head. "You've already broken every record on the pitch tonight, kid. What's one more?"
Oliver gave a playful salute before turning back to the crowd. His expression softened now not with exhaustion, but with quiet reflection.
He adjusted the microphone stand, his fingers lingering for a moment on the polished wood of his guitar. The magic in the air was still thick—buzzing, electric—but the energy was shifting. The wildness of the first performance had burned itself out, leaving something gentler behind.
"This next one," he began, voice low but steady, "is different."
The crowd grew silent again, anticipation rippling through the stands.
Oliver smiled faintly, glancing down at Nyx, who chirped and fluttered her wings once in encouragement. "I played that first song for everyone who's ever felt like they had to fight," he continued. "But this next one… this one's for those who just kept going."
The wind swept through the field, carrying his words up into the stands and beyond. The starlight from Nyx's feathers shimmered faintly across the stage, casting soft blue light over Oliver's face.
He lowered his gaze to the guitar, fingers brushing the strings with quiet reverence. The stadium was utterly silent now—the kind of silence that wasn't empty, but full of held breath.
Somewhere in the crowd, Penny pressed a hand to her chest. "He's about to do it again," she whispered to Nicholas.
Nicholas nodded. "Yes," he said softly, pride lacing every word. "But this time… he won't need the fire. Just his heart."
Up in the shadows, Grindelwald leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable, but his eyes glimmering with something like nostalgia.
And as the cameras continued to stream to the world, as every witch and wizard across continents leaned closer to their glowing phones, the boy of starlight stood poised once again in the center of the field.
The night air stilled. Nyx spread her wings.
Oliver's fingers tightened around the guitar's neck.
And just before he strummed the first note he smiled.