One for me, one for you
Should he? No, he shouldn’t disturb - but he had to. The Muggle villages he had been passing through had been particularly unhelpful, however, and he had admitted to himself several times already that he was lost in the Romanian mountains, with nothing to guide himself after. What did he think, that there would be big signs, 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. Thankfully, he recognised the broom the boy had - he’d seen it advertised around stores a few years ago. They appeared to wear Muggle clothes, but surely, with that broom, they had to be-
“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. Was he that scary-looking that she felt she needed to jump between them? However, she offered him a smile as she spoke, which helped put him at ease.
“You’re not from here, are you?”
“Ah-” The young man ruffled his red hair, and nodded enthusiastically. Wizards. Check. Speaking English. Check. “Yes, ma’am. Right you are indeed, yes - I’m from England. Charlie Weasley, please to meet you. I’ve just been accepted for a post at the Tosci 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 when she spoke again.
“You’re not far off course, 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.”
From that statement on, Charlie swore he could see a sliver of a smile on Harry’s face. His demeanor certainly changed in the coming weeks and months, as Harry started visiting the sanctuary and chatting with him. Eventually, he received an invitation to his and his guardian’s house for dinner, which extended to an invitation to ‘come whenever’.
He didn’t mind the mountain of questions asked, and answered each as much as he could. He’d learnt early on that his 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. 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. 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 see a good time in England, Harry, I promise you.”
***
Harry had always had mixed feelings when it came to his trips to England. 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 much about his fame.
And he’d rather have it that way.
In England, 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 Lena’s grip. The vivid image of Lena’s wand pointed at the poor man, in broad daylight was burned in his mind to this day. He remembered how the man apologized and bowed, and Disapparated immediately. He also 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.
“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 in the train with Lena. 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 stay for a couple of days. Lena would quickly go over what they would do - whether it was buying him a broom, books, or visiting all manners of places. However, this time she was tight-lipped regarding the details, and no amount of pestering could make her change her mind. Harry knew, however, that she must have been planning something, as his birthday would be in a couple of days.
There was a time when they would go to England for him to visit his aunt. ‘It’s important not to sever family connections, Harry’ she would say. Yet he couldn’t find much of a connection with them. As he got older, his visits and talks with his aunt only became awkward and tense, until he asked if he could stop them altogether. He had slowly realized his aunt really did not want to talk to him, and did not even want to look at him. And she would refuse to talk to him about his parents.
The more he learnt about his mother, his parents, the more he wanted to know, but Lena knew only so much, and his aunt was nothing but tight-lipped. He knew they went to Hogwarts, and they were sorted in Gryffindor. That his mum was born from a family of Muggles. And with her now gone, he was the only connection between aunt Petunia and magic.
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 Lena’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. 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 something - and ‘thing’ would be the best way to describe the presents. An old penny, a round pad 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 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 Lena, 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 Lena completed the paperwork and paid, and then quickly scuttered behind her, walking between her and their trunks. He almost walked into her as she stopped in front of one door, and she handed him a key.
“What’s this?”
“Key to your room, pui. That one.” Harry could only see her lips 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 a room labeled as 10.
“Oh.”
“You’re getting older, Harry. Can’t keep sharing a room.” she said, taking her trunk and pushing the door to her room open. “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. Instead, Harry dragged 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. Need to talk about.”