"Ah, a fascinating question," Charles McKinnon mused, shifting in his seat as the train gathered speed. "I understand the history of this. In the old days, before the International Statute of Secrecy in 1692, wizards were quite cavalier about Muggle exposure.
Students often arrived at Hogwarts in their own fashion—some by riding broomsticks, others using the Floo Network to Hogsmeade. But after the Statute came into force, the chaos and resulting burden on the Ministry became too great. Hence, the creation of this archaic but discreet method of mass transport."
"So, convenience was sacrificed for security," Anduin summarized, nodding. "Understood. We have several hours ahead of us then. Since reading alone might be a bit rude, what shall we do to pass the time?"
"We must play a game!" Charles instantly reverted to childlike enthusiasm. "We could try Wizard Chess, or maybe Gobstones! I'm pretty good at both."
Anduin smiled inwardly. He had the perfect solution for boredom—a game designed for addictive distraction.
"I have something far superior to offer," Anduin announced with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "It is a profoundly mysterious game from a great Eastern country. It is traditionally played by four, but with slight modifications, it can be played with three. It requires strategy, luck, and observation. You will be captivated."
He reached into his expanded trunk and pulled out a small, portable Mahjong set. The tiles were ivory-colored, smooth, and etched with the complex patterns of the Bamboo, Circles, and Character suits, but—crucially—they featured Arabic numerals in the corners for easy international comprehension.
A snag immediately arose. "But we need a table," Vivian pointed out. "We only have these small side trays. And you said your Transfiguration is only mediocre, so you can't conjure one."
Anduin, however, was prepared. He drew his wand, pointed it at the small, fixed side table, and cast a Length-Extending Charm (Extendo). The small table slid and magically extended a central section, providing just enough surface area for their small set.
"There," Anduin declared. "Problem solved."
The three gathered around the extended table. Charles, still gangly, found a large, unused suitcase in the aisle that served as a makeshift seat, ensuring he faced the table equally with Anduin and Vivian.
Anduin began his short, sharp lesson. His previous experience teaching the children at the orphanage proved invaluable; he distilled the complex rules into a concise, easily digestible overview: runs, triples, pairs, and the ultimate goal of "Mahjong."
"It sounds terribly complicated," Vivian complained, inspecting the small, chunky tiles with suspicion. "And are we really going to play with these little blocks for hours?"
"It sounds fascinating!" Charles countered, already arranging his tiles in a neat row. "We have plenty of time, Vivian. Let's try a few practice rounds first."
Under Anduin's patient guidance, the two rapidly picked up the fundamentals. Anduin deliberately played with a measured, encouraging tolerance, allowing his two companions to win early hands to deepen their engagement.
In just over half an hour, the game had clicked. Vivian had won two hands, and Charles one. The initial skepticism was gone, replaced by competitive fervor.
"Ha! I win again!" Vivian cheered, sliding her winning set forward, her earlier reservations completely forgotten.
"This is great! Let's raise the stakes," Charles proposed, his shy exterior dissolving into competitive excitement. "When the snack trolley comes through, the player with the lowest score has to buy treats for everyone!"
"A magnificent idea!" Vivian chimed in, practically vibrating with confidence. "My winning streak is unstoppable!"
Anduin suppressed a hearty laugh. Arrogance after two wins. Excellent. Time for a harsh lesson in humility. He resolved to employ a more competitive strategy in the next round.
Several rounds passed with intense concentration. The compartment was silent save for the rapid clicking of the tiles as they were discarded and drawn.
KNOCK! KNOCK!
The compartment door slid open, revealing the plump, smiling face of the witch selling snacks from a trolley laden with treats.
Anduin swallowed hard, his face darkening with genuine, bewildered frustration. He had intended to teach them a lesson, but the lesson had been brutally returned to him. In the competitive rounds, he had lost virtually every time.
What in the actual hell? Are they secretly master players? I was trying! Are my analytical skills somehow being blocked by this game?
Vivian, in particular, was unnervingly brilliant. It was as if the complicated logic of Mahjong—the probabilistic calculation of discards and draws—had unlocked a competitive fire in her usually scatter-brained personality. She had ruthlessly drawn Anduin's winning tile several times.
"Hurry up, Anduin, you absolute loser!" Vivian chirped, her eyes shining like crescent moons, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. "You owe us a feast!"
"Fine, confound it, how are you two so lucky?" Anduin sighed dramatically, pulling out his wallet. He bought an absurd variety of snacks, including every type of chocolate and multiple packs of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.
The three children immediately launched into the feast.
"Try these!" Charles offered, holding out a handful of the infamous beans.
Anduin, deciding to be a good sport, popped one into his mouth.
Pthh!
He immediately spat it out, clutching his throat and making a horrendous gagging sound. It tasted exactly like dried earwax.
Vivian and Charles howled with cruel, unadulterated childish laughter at his reaction.
Anduin retreated to the relative safety of the Chocolate Frogs. He found the treats palatable, and each came with a collectible card featuring famous historical wizards. The card he drew depicted Hengist of Woodcroft, the rumored founder of the entirely magical village of Hogsmeade.
As the train rattled on, they continued to chat, the snack-fueled energy high. Vivian, despite her competitive ruthlessness, returned to her favorite topic: Pure-Blood Politics and Gossip. Every sentence was laced with family names, scandals, and dramatic pronouncements about the superiority of the Bulstrodes.
Charles, conversely, spoke almost exclusively about Quidditch. He was a fervent evangelist for the wizarding sport, detailing rules, team rosters, and famous, bone-jarring fouls with encyclopedic precision.
Anduin listened, utterly perplexed. Charles described incidents where players were routinely killed or permanently maimed by the high-speed Bludgers—the violent, rogue balls that flew across the pitch.
This is not a sport; it is highly dangerous, high-velocity magical battery. They have the most advanced enchantments and medicine in the world, yet they choose to play a barbaric spectacle on flying broomsticks?
The disconnect between the logical, complex magic he was studying and the inherent primitivism of the magical world's culture—from the slow train to the violent sport—continued to widen.
"The train is finally moving! How long did you say this journey takes?" Anduin asked, his mind snapping back to the ridiculous choice of transport, desperately seeking a practical, magical reason for the agonizing delay.