Should he? No, he shouldn't disturb - but he had to. He approached the woman and what he thought to be her son, and raised his hand, motioning towards them.

The Muggle villages he had been passing through had been particularly unhelpful, and Charlie had to finally admit to himself that he was lost in the Romanian mountains, with nothing to use to guide himself. What did he think, that there would be big signs made especially for him, dragons flying above him? He truly should have taken the offer to be guided, but no, he wanted to explore the area all on his own and refused the offer to have a guide meet him. Thankfully, he recognised the broom the boy had - he'd seen it advertised around stores a few years ago. They wore Muggle clothes, but surely, with that broom and how the little boy held it, they had to be wizards.

"Excuse me, sorry. Do you- do you speak English? I think I'm a bit lost."

The woman stopped in her tracks, and to Charlie's surprise, moved in front of the boy, almost covering him with her wide skirt. Was he that scary-looking that she felt she needed to jump between them?

"You're not from here, are you?" she asked, measuring Charlie from head to toe as she spoke.

"Ah-" The young man ruffled his red hair, and nodded enthusiastically. Wizards. Check. Speaking English. Check. "That's right, ma'am. Right you are indeed, yes - I'm from England. Charlie Weasley, pleased to meet you. I've just been accepted for a post at the Jianu Dragon Sanctuary, and I think I have… I must have gotten lost somewhere on the way."

As he explained, the witch's demeanor changed, and her tone appeared lighthearted, offering him a smile as she spoke.

"You're not far off course, my dear. It's a bit convoluted until you see the river, but I suppose we could walk you there." The witch moved to face the boy, and that's when Charlie saw it. The scar, shaped like a lighting bolt. The rumors of Harry being outside of Britain, of the scar… Charlie thought it impossible, until the witch spoke again. "That alright with you, Harry?"

The boy looked at him quizzically, appearing almost disappointed in Charlie.

"You know who I am." he finally said.

"Harry! You can't-" The witch sighed, pitching the bridge of her nose. "You can't say this. I've told you before…"

"No, it's fine. It's alright. I know you're Harry Potter. But it's fine. I don't want an autograph, or to ask you anything about the-" Charlie stopped that thought in its tracks. If his own parents would have died in the same circumstances, he sure wouldn't want everyone and their mum reminding him. "-or anything. I just want to get to the sanctuary and start my training."

Charlie swore he could see a sliver of a smile on Harry's face as he explained that he wasn't interested in his fame. The boy's demeanor certainly changed in the coming weeks and months, as Harry started visiting the sanctuary and chatting with him, and both him and the witch warmed up to him, which he found helped him tremendously in adjusting to Romania and meeting new wizards and witches. Eventually, Charlie even received an invitation to his and his guardian's house for dinner, which soon enough extended to an invitation to 'come whenever'.

Charlie didn't mind the mountain of questions asked, and answered each as much as he could. He'd learnt early on that Harry's guardian was fully Romanian, and had only a basic knowledge of Hogwarts - she knew the name of the Houses, a few headmasters, and its location. In Harry's eyes, compared to her, Charlie appeared as a trove of knowledge.

"Oh, Gryffindor. My whole family has been sorted there. Oh yeah - you will be starting at Hogwarts in a few months, right?" Harry nodded as a response, and Charlie continued. "I have a little brother who'll start there this coming fall too, Ron's his name. You'd get along." For a moment he thought about Ron, and his family, and remembered the way Harry looked at him the first time, upon realising Charlie immediately guessed who he was.

"You know-... people there will know who you are there. Everyone will."

"I know. I've been to England before. It's… not the best feeling."

"You should visit my family next time you go then. You tell 'em Charlie Weasley sent you, you'll have the time of your life in England, Harry, I promise you."

Harry had always had mixed feelings when it came to his trips to Britain. Back home, he was different, yes, but those around him didn't care. Sure, half of them couldn't pronounce his name right, but they didn't care about his fame.

And he'd rather have it that way.

In Britain, they all knew him. They all wanted to touch him, shake his hand, stare at his forehead, for as long as he could remember his visits. He remembered one time, many years ago, when someone grabbed him a little too hard, and his hand escaped Dochia's grip. The vivid image of Dochia's wand pointed at the poor wizard in broad daylight was burned in his mind to this day. He remembered how the man apologised and bowed, and Disapparated immediately. He remembered, back at the inn, that he asked her if she would have hurt the wizard.

"I suppose so, darling, I suppose I would have, but only if he had hurt you." He remembered her nodding solemnly. He remembered wondering if she'd ever hurt someone, or if she really would hurt someone just for him. He wondered, almost never having seen her mad, how he would feel about that.

"Harry? Harry. Wake up. Come on. We're here."

Harry opened his eyes, and quickly wiped the edge of his mouth off saliva before getting up. He always fell asleep when he was on the train with Dochia. By the time he stretched his legs, the witch had already taken both of their luggages, two enormous trunks, and started exiting the compartment.

Normally, they would pack light when it came to their trips to England, as they would usually only stay for a couple of days. Dochia would quickly go over what they would do - whether it was buying him a broom, books, or visiting all manners of places - or his Muggle relatives. This time, however, she was tight-lipped regarding the details, and no amount of pestering could make her change her mind. In spite of all of this secrecy, Harry guessed that she must have been planning something, especially as his birthday would be in a couple of days.

There was a time when they would go to England just for him to visit his aunt. 'It's important not to sever family connections, Harry.' Dochia would say as soon as he learnt how to complain about their trips to the Dursleys. Try as he might, he couldn't find any sort of connection with them. And as he got older, his visits to his aunt and cousin only became more and more awkward and tense, until he finally asked Dochia if he could stop them altogether.

The more he learnt about his mother, his parents, the more he wanted to know, but his guardian knew only so much, and aunt Petunia was nothing but tight-lipped. Harry knew they went to Hogwarts, and they were sorted in Gryffindor. That his mum was a Muggleborn. And that with her gone, he was the only connection between aunt Petunia and magic.

Harry realised during those painfully awkward last couple of meetings that his aunt really did not want to talk to him, and did not even want to look at him. She would refuse to talk to him about his parents, about his mom, about anything magical. His cousin Dudley got more and more vocal, loud, and rude as he grew, and Harry could find nothing in common with him. So why even meet them?

He wondered sometimes - if the Dursleys were wizards, or if he was a Muggle, would their relationship be different? Harry remembered being small, and sitting on Dochia's lap, 'helping' her write Christmas letters to his aunt, uncle, and cousin. Now he would write his own, yet they would be shorter and shorter as the years would pass, and wondered if he should stop that altogether. Did they even read his letters?

With a small grunt, Harry grabbed one side of his trunk, and helped the witch take it out of the train, before stepping onto the platform himself.

"I wonder what Aunt Petunia'll get me for my birthday." Harry murmured, more to himself.

Every Christmas and birthday, he would get some thing - and 'thing' would be the best way to describe the presents. An old penny, a round pad used for make-up, the eraser nub of a pencil, and those were only the recent-most examples he could think of. Things that would fit in a letter and would cost the least to be sent. Harry figured it must have been out of obligation.

Was this better than not receiving anything? When he was young, he thought that his family just wouldn't gift him anything. Until he managed to read on his own, and didn't need his guardian to read his letters to him anymore. That's when he found out Dochia, through either magic or sleight of hand alone, would carefully remove the 'gifts' without him seeing.

"A toothpick, I suppose." the witch grumbled back, turning to face him. Harry could only see two dark eyes looking back at him, between the wide brimmed hat and the dark hair covering what the hat could not.

Amused by the answer, Harry stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a grey bucket hat he'd bought for himself last year. Once British wizards learnt what he looked like, he couldn't walk anywhere in England without recognition, and while the bucket hat only helped so much, it was better than having the smallest gust of hair blow his fringe away and reveal his scar.

They'd usually stay at the Leaky Cauldron, and it seems this year was no different. He waited outside as Dochia completed the paperwork and paid, and then quickly scuttered behind her, climbing the stairs between her and their levitating trunks. He was in such a hurry to get changed and eat that he almost walked into her as she stopped in front of the door, and handed him a key.

"What's this?"

"Key to your room, dear. That one." Harry could only see her mouth moving under the brimmed hat, and followed her pointed finger to a door with a shiny silver 11 on it. "I'm here." She moved aside after unlocking the door to an adjacent room labelled as number 10.

"Oh."

"You're getting older, Harry. Can't keep sharing a room." she said amused, taking her trunk and pushing the door to her room open. Harry couldn't help but be surprised by her nonchalance, and almost offended, yet he could not figure out by what exactly. "Come on, it's not like you don't have your own room back home."

He did. But England was strange, and grey, and cold, and unwelcoming. And in those nights, when he would wake up in the middle of the night, he would look over to his guardian on the other side of the room. Sometimes she'd be sleeping, wand sticking out from under her pillow, but more often than not she'd be awake, writing in her bed with a parchment propped against her knee, a candle and ink floating by her side.

Harry grabbed his trunk, and took it to his room, closing the door behind him. The room appeared nicer than he remembered last time - however it was as stuffy as always. Ah, he couldn't wait to have a wand, and be able to just wave it and open the windows, as Dochia used to do first thing they'd step in their room. Instead, Harry had to drag his feet to the closest window, struggling with the old lock and swollen wood until he managed to lift it above his head.

"Hey!"

Before he could make another move, an owl had taken its chances and flew in his room, seemingly proud of itself for its feat as it sat onto his trunk, chirping happily. Harry approached it, ready to shoo it outside, yet a glimmer on the bed took his attention for a moment. Hooting happily as he turned his head, the owl arose from the trunk and flew outside, as fast as it first came in.

Harry lifted the envelope with shiny lettering, and couldn't help but feel his chest tighten as he read his name and address written in emerald green. It was just like Charlie described. Holding his breath, he opened it and read it once. And again. And again. He examined and read his acceptance to Hogwarts like it was the most important document he'd ever read in his entire life. And in some ways, it was. This was his parents' school. This was it - he was going to become a full-fledged wizard, walk the same hallways they had. Maybe have the same teachers they did. His hands trembled as he flipped the first page, and read all he needed for the school. Robes, and books, and a telescope - but all of those details paled in comparison to the one thing he'd just been complaining about not having.

A wand.

Finally, his days of getting 'not yet' as an answer to wanting to learn magic were over. This was it. This was it, and he could repeat it a thousand times over. He folded the letter carefully, and placed it back in the envelope with still trembling fingers. He had to calm himself down.

He heard the creak of the door next to him opening, and then a knock.

"Harry? Can you come out for a moment? There's something I need to talk to you about."

"Yeah - yeah." he cleared his voice, and took a breath of air. "There's, uh- me too. That we need to talk about."

"The usual shepherd's pie for yourself, Mr. Potter?"

Floating with excitement, Harry didn't even mind the heads snapping around to catch a look at him as he passed Tom. He'd asked Tom many times before to just call him Harry, but the innkeeper would just shoot him the usual toothless grin, nod, and continue on with the formalities.

He nodded in agreement as he followed Dochia to a table in a corner, and could have sworn Tom gave him a knowing look - of course. After all, Tom surely went to Hogwarts himself. Surely he must have known about the owl. He took a seat, and placed the letter on the table.

"What's that?" Dochia pointed at the envelope quite confused, and Harry slid it closer to her, mouthing to open it. She picked it up and turned to look at the recipient details, eyebrows shooting up as she read on.

Harry watched a smile grow on her face as she read the letter - by now, he had memorised every word by heart.

"This is it, isn't it? This is what you wanted to talk about, yeah? This is it, Harry. All the luck to this new chapter - we should celebrate!" A smile grew on her face as she flipped the letter. "Ah, that's quite a- … quite a number of things you need. Which brings me to what I wanted to talk to you about."

The witch dug through the pockets of her robe, taking out a small, golden key, which she laid onto the envelope. She pushed it towards him, and Harry took it, examining it closely.

"Harry, you know how I try to teach you and tell you as much as I can, yeah?"

"Yeah." Well, apart from magic. He could recall many times he'd asked her to teach him. The other kids back in Romania would be taught magic with or without a wand, even had apprenticeships - Gavril, his good friend back home, started his when he was nine! Yet without Dochia's blessing, not a single witch or wizard back there would teach him a single thing. 'You'll learn at your school, Harry, that's how it works.' was what both her and old Hedda would say.

"Well, there's things that I thought you're a bit too small to be burdened with. But now that you're starting school and all… You know, with your mum and dad gone, they weren't able to have a say in how they wanted you to spend money. That there is the key to their - well, your, vault at Gringotts.

I've told you every now and then your parents had quite a lot of money, yeah? The moment you were born, with the war raging, the moment they could, they left everything to you, Harry. And well, with you going to Hogwarts, I figured this time is best as any to give the key to its rightful owner."

Harry examined the key closely - she'd told him before, but he'd never connected it to Gringotts. No, whenever he'd go there, he had only seen her exchange currency. But then again, perhaps he hadn't noticed…

"Have you ever used it?"

"I suppose you think I've taken your money and I'm giving you the key to an empty vault?"

"What, no- I… I didn't-" He stammered, feeling himself go red.

"I'm joking, Harry." Dochia looked on as two plates floated lightly on the table, and nodded towards Tom. "Can I get a glass of red wine, Tom dear?" she asked, before turning back to Harry. "I have, yes. Kept notes of everything I took. When you're older, I'll give that to you, so you know how much has been there since you were a baby.

Sometimes, when I'd get you presents, I'd put some of their money- '' She stopped for a moment, trying to find her words. "It felt… well, like I would be splitting the costs with them, and it would be like they kind of… gifted you those things. With the interest on it, I wouldn't be surprised if it's not already back to where it was when I took you in.

If you're mindful of what you spend, it's enough to comfortably hold you until you graduate, at least."

He had a hundred questions, and worked to find what was the best one to ask first. Finally, he found it, and asked it as he watched Dochia's glass slowly approach the table. He waited as the witch lifted the glass in mid-air by moving her finger upwards, having it pour half of its contents into Harry's empty glass.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"How would you have felt now if instead of getting you a wand, I'd have said, well, Harry, baby, can't, 'cause when you were this wee, you really wanted to buy a dragon with your pa's money." her voice when speaking in Romanian was less formal and more patronising, mocking in a loving way, and Harry put his head down.

Whenever he'd get a lecture in English, it was for him to learn from his mistakes. When the language flipping would start, it wasn't about that anymore. After all, his favourite answer to any why-question, courtesy of Hedda, was something translated most accurately to 'For idiots to marvel at.'

"I still think many of my problems would have been solved with a dragon." he grinned.