Really it was for the best. The flat that Niki had been living in was not exactly very nice. It was small, cramped, old and dirty. Not that Niki minded, or even seemed to notice, but really, it wasn't the place for someone from his background.
His mother, for one, would be very glad that he was out of there. She worried so about Niki and his odd ways, but didn't say anything. With her husband, Niki's father, in Azkaban, Niki was all that she had.
When the door opened, Braxton on the other side, Niki gave one of his slightly skewed grins. "Hi," he said. In contrast, he was messily dressed, in a black shirt that seemed made for someone twice his size, and black trousers with rips in them. He pushed at the floating trunk to guide it through the door (his owl squwaking once as he did), letting Braxton get the bags.