Myrddin awoke to the sound of Artemis screeching and a deep tremble beneath him. The owl flapped violently near the window, her cries sharp and urgent as she fluffed her feathers, agitated. Frost curled out from her wings and misted the corners of the room. At first, he thought it was an earthquake, but it was something else entirely.
The small wooden cabin groaned, stretched, and—before his eyes—began to grow.
The floor beneath him quivered. Books tumbled from the shelf. A mug rolled off the table and shattered. Myrddin stood quickly, heart racing, and reached for his wand.
Outside, birds shrieked and the wind howled unnaturally. But the storm never came. Instead, the walls around him began to creak and stretch. The fireplace elongated. The roof lifted. The cramped corners of his home folded outward like a blooming flower.
He backed into a wall that hadn't been there before.
Within minutes, the small, moss-covered woodland cabin had transformed into a modern, expansive house. Gleaming wood, stone, and glass melded into elegant architecture, a perfect blend of nature and structure nestled in the forest. Large windows allowed light to pour into wide hallways. Warm golden fixtures lit themselves. The air carried the scent of pine and rain.
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Artemis took to the air with a powerful beat of her wings, trailing icy vapor behind her. She flew through the newly vaulted ceiling and into a space that hadn't existed yesterday.
In one corner of what had been his small bedroom, a glass orb grew up from the floor like a mushroom. It shimmered and stretched, forming a vivarium that resembled a snow globe mid-hailstorm. Miniature clouds swirled inside, and lightning arced across frosted skies.
Artemis launched herself from the windowsill with a delighted screech and dove into the stormy sphere. Myrddin watched, eyes wide, as she swooped and whirled within the tempest.
Myrddin approached cautiously. The glass shimmered, cool to the touch, yet his fingers weren't wet or frozen. Inside, Artemis was circling, joyous, dipping in and out of hail and wind. She had found her storm.
It was... perfect.
He stared at it in wonder, then slowly turned to take in the rest of the room. Polished wood floors. A fireplace now etched with faint Celtic runes. Shelves stocked with books he didn't remember owning. A desk positioned before a grand window that overlooked the woods, ink and parchment already arranged.
He swallowed.
It was like the Room of Requirement.
No—not quite. The Room changed to suit immediate needs. This... this house had grown like a tree responding to light. It had anticipated not only his present but his future. It had given Artemis what she needed, and him what he hadn't dared ask for.
"Who built you?" he murmured to the room.
There was no answer.
But somehow, he felt... welcomed.
After a light breakfast in a newly appeared kitchen, Myrddin decided to collect his finished school robes. They were waiting at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, as he'd already been measured yesterday.
He went outside to find the moss-covered stone Portkey McGonagall had left. But it had changed.
The once-humble stone was now a smooth, elevated fountain. A circular opening ran through its center, and cold water flowed steadily from within, like a miniature spring. It reminded him of something from a pirate story—old magic, timeless and elemental.
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As he was about to touch the Portkey, Artemis flew from her vivarium and perched gracefully on his shoulder, her talons cold even through the fabric of his shirt. She gave a low, approving hoot, her eyes fixed on the stone as if she too knew what it meant.
"Coming too, huh?" Myrddin asked, smiling.
She blinked slowly in reply, ice mist curling from her feathers.
He touched the wet rim.
In a heartbeat, they were pulled through space.
A familiar hook-yank sensation tore through his navel, and in the next breath, he stood just outside the Leaky Cauldron.
The old pub looked the same: half-forgotten between a bookshop and a record store, its windows dusty but warm with candlelight.
He stepped inside.
Tom, the barkeep, looked up from polishing glasses. "Back so soon, Mr. Wyltt?"
Myrddin nodded and tilted his head toward Artemis. "Need to collect some things. Could you open the passage?"
Tom gave Artemis a curious glance, noting the frost trailing her feathers, then nodded. "Right this way."
Out in the small, enclosed courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron, Tom walked to the moss-flecked brick wall. He counted bricks with practiced ease, then tapped a specific one—three up and two across.
A rumble sounded, and the bricks began to shift and pull apart, revealing a widening archway into the bustling heart of wizarding London.
Myrddin stepped through into the sunlit cobblestone street, Artemis poised on his shoulder like a queen surveying her domain.
The alley buzzed with morning life. Owls darted overhead, shop signs bobbed and twisted on invisible wires, and excited voices echoed as witches and wizards bustled past.
He made his way quickly to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Artemis still perched like an elegant sentinel.
Inside, the air smelled of starched linen and fresh thread. Madam Malkin, who was helping a girl with chestnut curls into a set of robes, looked up as he entered.
"Mr. Wyltt, good morning! Your robes are nearly finished—just one last fitting."
Before Myrddin could respond, the girl turned. Her brown eyes widened slightly at the sight of him. She was perhaps his age, maybe younger, with a man and woman standing nearby—clearly her parents.
She gave him a slightly nervous smile. "Hello. First time here?"
"Not quite," Myrddin replied politely.
"It's mine," she said quickly. "I mean, we just came through the bricks—Mum almost fainted. And there's a cauldron shop! And flying brooms!"
Myrddin chuckled.
Hermione's parents approached. Her mother gave Artemis a wary look, but her father studied Myrddin himself.
"Excuse me," he said, "but… you're rather tall, aren't you? Hermione said first years are all eleven?"
Myrddin blinked. He was, in fact, noticeably taller than every student he'd seen so far.
Professor McGonagall, who had just entered the shop with few books in her hands, answered for him.
"It is not typical," she said. "But neither is Mr. Wyltt."
"Professor," he greeted with a nod.
They finished the fitting quickly. As the day wound down and he returned to the Leaky Cauldron, a strange realization struck him.
He had no idea how to return home.
McGonagall had brought him through last time. He hadn't thought to ask how to get back. The Portkey had only worked one way.
Panic began to creep in.
But before he could even form a question, he felt a pulse through the soles of his boots—deep, earthen, like a drumbeat in the soil.
From the cracks in the Leaky Cauldron's backyard floor, thick roots erupted, twining around his legs and spiraling upward. Artemis gave a startled hoot as tendrils of green magic encircled her wings.
And then, with no incantation, no wand movement, no warning—they vanished.
The next moment, Myrddin was standing before his home, the trees around it swaying gently, the air crisp and pine-scented.
The house, glowing softly in the twilight, welcomed him without a word.
Artemis took wing and soared into the upper window, disappearing into her storm.
Myrddin exhaled, a slow smile curving his lips.
The house knew him better than he knew himself.