Shortly thereafter, the Hogwarts Express pulled in with a grand sigh of steam to the chaotic, familiar bustle of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Anduin and Vivian finalized their plan to correspond over the holiday—mostly consisting of Anduin dictating his need for academic information and Vivian agreeing to send highly opinionated letters about French fashion—before disembarking.
After a quick, polite farewell, Vivian was instantly swept away by her impeccably dressed family, leaving Anduin standing alone with his trunk and owl cage.
Just as he was about to secure a standard portkey to get back to the Leaky Cauldron, a flash of motion and a loud, almost raucous voice cut through the platform's thinning crowd.
"Sirius? What brings the renowned Messy King to this overly crowded piece of pavement?" Anduin couldn't help but laugh, recognizing the familiar, roguish silhouette.
Sirius Black, looking deceptively put-together in a worn leather jacket over a thick brown overcoat, his long, dark hair slightly tousled by the journey, strode toward him with a theatrical grin. "Ah, Anduin! I was simply terrified you'd spend the holidays moping alone, contemplating existential dread. Purely coincidentally, I happened to be 'passing by' and thought, why not pick up the young genius? Were you surprised by my paternal generosity?"
"I think you're the one who's afflicted with profound boredom and an acute case of loneliness," Anduin retorted coolly, instantly seeing through the flimsy pretense. "You certainly didn't show up for me out of altruism; you showed up because the idea of a quiet Christmas break horrified you. Don't mistake my interest in your drama for gratitude."
Sirius threw his head back and laughed, a loud, barking sound that turned several nearby heads. "Unbelievable. That's the thanks I get for showing interest in your well-being! By the way, who was that little witch—the brunette who was practically glued to your side as you got off the train? Don't tell me the Slytherin Ghost actually managed to secure a girlfriend in his first term?"
"Did you never converse with the opposite gender during your time at school, Sirius? Why the sudden, childish curiosity?" Anduin countered with a flat stare.
"If you are so desperate for female companionship, I can certainly introduce you to someone: perhaps Madam Pince from the library? She's devoted, focused, and utterly terrifying. Your friends already have children and mortgages, yet you're still alone, a chaotic bachelor floating on the whims of the wind. Isn't that truly ridiculous?"
"Hah! You wound me, you brutal little snake!" Sirius clapped him on the shoulder, completely unoffended. "I am destined to perpetually reside within the flowery garden of female attention, yet no single petal dares to stick! What do you know about true freedom, little brat?"
Anduin's brutal honesty was what Sirius loved; he found the boy's lack of deference intensely refreshing. The two continued their cutting exchange as they made their way toward the station parking.
Anduin followed Sirius to a far corner of the lot, where a sleek, heavy motorcycle with a massive, unwieldy sidecar sat gleaming, utterly out of place among the Muggle vehicles.
"Behold! Isn't she a thing of beauty?" Sirius announced proudly, patting the leather seat. "This is my absolute treasure. I don't let just any old codger ride in my lover here. You, kid, are extremely lucky today." He tossed a slightly scuffed, leather helmet to Anduin.
Anduin eyed the two-wheeled contraption with open skepticism. "You intend to navigate the Muggle motorway, in the middle of a brutal English winter, on this open-air contraption? Are you not concerned that the resulting wind chill will permanently freeze your brain?"
He hated the idea of the bitter, biting cold assaulting him for the duration of the journey, but since Sirius had genuinely made the effort, he reluctantly climbed into the sidecar, his face set in a look of mild disgust.
"What's this? I bring my magnificent winged chariot to collect you, and you still scowl?" Sirius demanded, fumbling with his own helmet strap. "You have no idea, my friend. My 'lover' doesn't just drive on the ground; she can fly, and she can become utterly invisible."
"Ah? An advanced Magical Artifact?" Anduin's disgust evaporated, instantly replaced by the thrill of scientific curiosity. He leaned forward, his hands reaching to examine the metal chassis, preparing to silently cast diagnostic charms to decipher the workings of the invisibility and anti-gravity enchantments.
"Hey! Watch your fingers!" Sirius swatted his hand away. "Don't touch it randomly, you pretentious little thief! You break it, you can't afford to pay for it. Now, tell me your destination and I'll deliver you."
"Diagon Alley. I was planning to check back into the Leaky Cauldron," Anduin replied, reluctantly withdrawing his hand.
Sirius started the engine, a throaty rumble that shook the ground. "The Leaky Cauldron? Are you serious? You plan on spending Christmas alone in a dusty pub? That's truly pathetic, even for a Slytherin Ghost."
He looked at the boy, realizing the fundamental truth: Anduin was an orphan with nowhere to go. A surge of protective, yet chaotic, Gryffindor impulse hit him. "Why don't you come stay at my place? I usually live alone too, and the place is too big. What do you say? Stop being a gloomy hermit for the holidays."
Anduin considered the offer. It meant unrestricted access to his wand for spell practice and potion brewing, and a chance to observe an active member of the Order of the Phoenix. The dinner invitation he was planning to attend came after Christmas anyway. He saw no downside. He nodded curtly. "Very well. I accept your generous, if undoubtedly chaotic, offer. I trust I will not be a bother."
Sirius roared with laughter. "Bother? The only thing you need to worry about is the state of my house. Now, hang on!"
With a thunderous throttle, Sirius sped the motorcycle onto a quiet, deserted street. As they accelerated, the world momentarily blurred, and with a sudden, stomach-lurching lurch, the bike shot into the air.
Immediately, the heavy, biting wind of the late afternoon in December slammed into Anduin. The motorcycle quickly ascended over London, cloaked by a subtle, powerful Invisibility Charm that prevented Muggles from noticing the airborne traffic.
But the cold was immediate and punishing. The wind, already near-freezing, was amplified by the speed, seeming to strip the heat directly from his bones. Anduin lasted only a few minutes before his discomfort overcame his pride.
Focusing his will, he called upon the newly internalized, ambient control of his Levitation Charm. He didn't wave his wand; he simply willed the air to change. A shimmering, perfectly transparent, dome-like barrier of pressurized air and deflected kinetic energy formed silently and invisibly two inches in front of his face and body.
The bone-chilling rush of wind instantly died, replaced by a still, quiet pocket of relative warmth. He sat back, serene, watching Sirius—who was cursing and shivering audibly—grapple with the cold, wondering how the man endured such unnecessary discomfort.
After a dizzying flight and a final, smooth descent, Sirius Black dropped the motorcycle onto a quiet street in a traditional Muggle neighborhood. He parked the magical vehicle in a small, dusty garage attached to a modestly sized, two-story brick villa.
"Welcome, Anduin, to my humble abode!" Sirius announced, throwing his helmet onto the driver's seat. "I ran away from that wretched family mansion when I was sixteen. I bought this place with my inheritance years ago and have been happily living here ever since."
The house was not large—a living room, a fireplace, a kitchen, and a bathroom downstairs, with three bedrooms above, and a small, overgrown courtyard in the back. Modest, perhaps, but Anduin's initial impression was immediately overwhelmed by a powerful, multi-layered assault on his senses.
The instant he stepped over the threshold, a strange, composite smell hit him: stale chimney smoke, old pizza grease, forgotten socks, and a sickly sweet, fermenting odor that he couldn't immediately identify. The house was fully furnished, but the furniture itself was buried in a horrifying landscape of clutter.
The floor was sticky and grey, looking as though it hadn't been cleaned or charmed in months. The dining table was unrecognizable beneath a greasy layer of food crumbs, half-empty mugs, and stacks of unread mail. In the corner, a pile of clothes had clearly been sitting so long that they had begun to form their own peculiar, indigenous ecosystem.
Anduin entered the kitchen, drawn by the strongest source of the foul odor. The sink was a towering nightmare of piled pots, blackened pans, and plates coated in dried, congealed food. Several items, forgotten in the bottom of the sink, were indeed visibly fuzzy with mold.
Sirius, however, seemed entirely unfazed. He peeled off his coat, let it drop unceremoniously to the sticky floor, and collapsed onto the worn, slightly stained sofa with a blissful sigh.
"Ah, home," Sirius said, stretching out contentedly. He looked at the younger boy. "There are two guest rooms upstairs. Pick the one you like. I'll be busy over the next few days, so you'll be self-sufficient. That includes fetching or cooking your own food, of course."
Anduin stared at his mentor, his face utterly blank with shock and disgust. "Good heavens, Sirius. Are you actually a wizard? You possess the power to conjure light, manipulate matter, and bend the laws of reality, yet you never bother to apply a simple, life-saving Scourgify or 'Clean and Fresh' Charm to your domicile? How can you possibly exist in such an environment?"
Sirius waved a dismissive hand, not even opening his eyes. "What's the big fuss? It's comfortable! The most important thing about a house is that it reflects the chaotic freedom of its occupant. Look at me—I'm perfectly at ease. You worry too much about pointless order, Anduin. Order is for sheep; chaos is for free men!"
Anduin couldn't stand it. His fastidiousness, coupled with his newly amplified magical sensitivity, screamed at the oppressive environment. He clenched his jaw, grabbed his bags, and retreated up the creaking staircase.
He entered the first guest room. Mercifully, it was only covered in a deep layer of dust and smelled stale, likely having been undisturbed for years. The floor, the heavy curtains, and the antique writing desk were all blanketed in fine grey grit.
He put down his suitcases and placed the owl cage by the window. He took a deep, preparatory breath, then walked to the window and threw it open, letting the invigorating blast of cold, clean winter air rush in.
He did not reach for his wand. Standing in the center of the dusty room, Anduin focused his refined, ambient magical control. He wasn't casting a charm; he was commanding the immediate environment. With a silent, subtle expansion of his will, he targeted the air currents inside the room and the minute particles resting on every surface.
He pulled the air toward him, creating a powerful, localized cyclonic draft, then commanded the dust and dirt particles to lift into the swirling air. The layer of dust, from the carpet, the bedspread, and the desk, rose in a miniature, grey tornado that swirled rapidly toward the open window.
In a matter of seconds, the room was subjected to a silent, wandless, magically-assisted deep-cleaning. The dust and the stale air were instantly and efficiently ejected into the outside atmosphere, leaving the room pristine, the furniture gleaming, and the air crisp and cold.
Anduin then gently closed the window, nodded once at the immediate, satisfying transformation, and began unpacking his books. He was a Slytherin, yes, but he would not willingly dwell in a pigsty, even if its owner was the King of the Mess. He had a home base, and crucially, he had freedom.