Harry watched the giant Welsh flag, with it's roaring red dragon emblazoned fierce and proud, snap back at them with the wind, over the drawbridge of the entrance gate, as though waving a Prince back to his throne. Which, of course, it pretty much was. Harry stirred at that, his heart thrumming gently beneath his ribs. He had never had a home to call his own ... not since Riddle had destroyed his parents and the life they'd begun to build for them all ... but this country was starting to feel an awful lot like one.