The conversation in Dumbledore's office continued, the two most influential figures in British magical society dissecting the data points of the day.
"Yes, Lily Potter," Dumbledore confirmed, his gaze distant, focused on something only he could perceive beyond the window. "She said the baby is due before the end of the month? That timing is… specific. And you say they gave young Anduin a talisman? What sort of magical surge did you perceive?"
"It felt protective, Albus, imbued with the potent, intuitive charm work that only Lily possesses. A powerful magical signature, certainly," McGonagall replied, unconsciously smoothing the cuff of her robes.
"As for young Wilson, he is an enigma. Highly independent. He managed to secure a sizeable sum of Muggle funds, far more than a typical orphan, and he seemed delighted to accept the scholarship as pure financial advantage."
She shook her head slightly, abandoning the ethical dilemma of invading the boy's privacy. "He appears to be far more prepared for life than most eleven-year-olds. He even mentioned alchemy tools and enhancing his rune skills when discussing his purchase plans. He has a plan, Albus, which is more than can be said for many of our graduates."
"Is that so? Alchemy and runes, even before beginning his studies," Dumbledore murmured, his mind already drifting to the pressing weight of the prophecy. "And you mentioned the Longbottoms' child is due soon as well? I wonder… could it be one of them?"
McGonagall's sharp, academic mind seized on his cryptic remark. "What do you mean, one of them? Albus, you are being deliberately vague."
"Oh, nothing of consequence, Minerva. Merely the ramblings of an overly aged Headmaster burdened with too much foresight," Dumbledore deflected smoothly, offering her a tired, sympathetic smile.
"You have had a long day. You must be exhausted. Go and rest. Tomorrow, the Order of the Phoenix convenes in the usual place. We have pressing matters—the Death Eaters are growing relentlessly bold."
McGonagall frowned, the specter of war momentarily overshadowing the promising new student. She knew better than to press Dumbledore when he adopted his air of profound secrecy. "Understood, Albus." She gave a crisp nod and departed, the image of the patrolling Aurors etched into her memory.
Dumbledore remained, the silence in the office broken only by the soft, rhythmic breathing of the sleeping phoenix. He sat motionless, a mastermind calculating the movements of a conflict that was rapidly spiraling out of his control.
The next morning, Anduin executed his exit strategy with the precise economy of a ghost. He said his formal goodbyes to Sister Triss, who dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, and to William, who offered a gruff, slightly worried farewell. He ensured that the farewells were final and convincing, giving no hint of his true destination.
He shouldered his new, lightweight Muggle backpack containing his essential clothes and his large new suitcase filled with spellbooks, robes, the brass cauldron, the spices, and the owl in its sturdy cage. He walked the long, necessary distance from the orphanage back to the familiar, slightly shabby facade of the Leaky Cauldron.
He tapped the correct bricks—three up, two across—with his wand, and stepped through the magically hidden portal.
"Well, hello again, Mr. Wilson," Tom, the friendly, bald proprietor, greeted him from behind the bar. He looked surprised, but not displeased.
"Good day, Mr. Tom. I trust business is steady?"
"Steady as a sinking ship, I'm afraid. The news gets worse every day." Tom's tone shifted when Anduin stated his purpose. "I'm here to secure long-term lodging. I intend to live here until the term begins at Hogwarts."
Tom stared at the eleven-year-old in utter disbelief. "What in the blazes are you saying, son? Live here, alone? Until September? This isn't a summer camp, Mr. Wilson. This is a very volatile, dangerous place right now. I cannot in good conscience agree to this."
"I understand your concerns, Mr. Tom, and I respect your honesty." Anduin placed three Galleons onto the bar top—three times the cost of a week's stay at a modest inn.
"But I must insist. I have my money, and more importantly, my situation as a Muggle-born is, in fact, more dangerous in the Muggle world, where I have no protection and no ability to legally defend myself with magic. I trust the security provided by your establishment and the Aurors more than the anonymity of the Muggle world."
Anduin looked Tom directly in the eye, his dark eyes radiating an unnerving mix of conviction and absolute, calm defiance. "Furthermore, I intend to trust you fully. I believe if I were to assist you with the mundane tasks around the inn, particularly during busy meal hours, my presence would be a net positive. I am quiet, clean, and quite adept at managing logistics."
Tom studied the boy, whose demeanor was that of a seasoned, pragmatic negotiator. It was unsettling. He realized the boy was not easily swayed, and letting him wander back into the unprotected Muggle world felt irresponsible. The Galleons were tempting, and Tom genuinely hadn't had a good assistant in years.
"Look here, Mr. Wilson. I'll agree to your insanity, but under strict, non-negotiable conditions," Tom said, his face screwed up in worry.
"Because work is scarce, I will give you a break on the price. Five Galleons total for a month and a half, until September 1st. You must promise me you will not leave the pub after 8 PM—we have a hard curfew. And you must not cause any trouble."
"No problem, Mr. Tom. I will take care of myself and be a quiet lodger, and I'll even help you with the washing up during the lunch rush." Anduin swiftly paid the required fee, relieved that his gamble on human nature and the allure of money had paid off.
Anduin carried his belongings up to the cramped, slightly dusty room, placing his new owl on the windowsill alongside his single, potted row of spring onions—a little piece of home he refused to leave behind. He then methodically unpacked, prioritizing the segregation of his gear: Muggle clothes, magical robes, and a dedicated corner for his spellbooks and the Ebony Wand.
The room was small, but adequate. Crucially, it provided enough clear floor space for disciplined exercises, though the high-impact striking necessary for his extensive martial arts repertoire—Tongbei Quan, Piguazhang, etc.—was now too noisy and restricted. He would have to adapt.
He had planned it for himself like this:
I wake up at 6 a.m., wash up, and do my morning exercises. The workouts include stretching, standing meditation, aerobic exercise, and 30 minutes of boxing practice.
I had breakfast at 7:30 a.m., then I started reading and practicing magic.
Lunch will be served between 12:00-13:00.
At 1:00 PM, continue learning and practicing spells;
Have dinner at 18:00, then rest or continue practicing the spells according to your situation;
Do boxing, standing meditation and meditation at 8:00 PM;
I washed and went to bed at 21:00.
Help Tom with the housework during meal times and breaks.
Anduin decided to effectively abandon his Muggle identity for the next month and a half. Every waking hour would be dedicated to acquiring and internalizing magical knowledge and physical discipline.
As the clock neared noon, Anduin went downstairs for a much-needed meal. After chatting briefly with Tom, he realized the inn's menu was confined strictly to heavy, bland British pub food. He sighed.
"Mr. Tom," Anduin said, gesturing toward his spice satchel. "With your permission, I would like to introduce some flavor into our dining experience. I would be happy to use my own purchased ingredients and prepare a dish for us both. Consider it compensation for the discount."
Tom, whose diet consisted almost entirely of boiled sausages and bland stew, looked dubious but agreed. Anduin quickly prepared a few simple, savory dishes using his Chinese spices. Tom's eyes widened at the unexpected, complex flavors. The shared meal solidified their bond far more effectively than any conversation.
Finally, the moment arrived. Anduin returned to his room, his mind alert. He opened his textbook to Chapter 1: The Levitation Charm.
His primary focus was not Transfiguration or Potions, which required heavy practical resources and guidance. It was combat-ready magic and the systematic deconstruction of magical theory. He quickly flipped through Standard Spells, Magic Theory, and his vital volume on Dark Forces, annotating every ambiguous passage and critical warning.
The next day, following his strict schedule, Anduin was ready. He stood in the center of the room, the brass cauldron and his spellbooks on the floor nearby. He held the Ebony Wand, the 'Dark Picture,' aloft.
He chose the Levitation Charm as his first formal spell. He already possessed the ability; now he needed to understand the mechanics of channeling it through the wand and the incantation.
He focused on the textbook lying on the table, drew the necessary swish and flick motion with perfect precision, and enunciated the spell with a clear, focused voice.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
The invisible power that had always been inside him surged forward, channeled perfectly through the Ebony conductor. The heavy textbook lifted instantly and effortlessly into the air, hovering with a stability and grace that far surpassed his crude, wandless attempts.
Effortless.
Anduin frowned, analyzing the sensation. "The spell doesn't necessarily grant the power, it provides the structure. My existing 'Strength' acts as the raw power source, and the incantation and wand shape the magic into a stable, directed output. It feels exponentially lighter than my previous attempts. The spell makes the magic far more efficient and sustainable."
He concentrated, dismissing the wand from his thoughts. He attempted his old method—pure will and internal effort—on the floating book. He strained for several minutes, focusing the cold core of his power.
The book did not move. It remained suspended, held only by the Levitation Charm's field, proving utterly immune to his raw, internal 'Strength.'
Anduin stared at the book, then at the wand in his hand. The realization was stark: the raw, self-taught 'Strength' was powerful, but clumsy and easily counter-acted. Wand magic was the perfected, codified system.
My power is the engine, but the spell is the key. To master this world, I must master the spells first.
He smiled, a cold, focused curve of his lips. The true work had begun.
Anduin is now in residence and starting his intense spell-learning schedule. What should be his next learning priority: A simple utility spell (e.g., Lumos) to test precision, or a basic defensive/disarming charm (e.g., Expelliarmus) to address the combat reality?