Pomona found Felix behind the tree where they had picnicked.
He had not truly hidden somewhere she could not find him. It was just that his back looked as though he had suffered some tremendous grievance.
Poverty meant he could not simply spend money on whatever he wanted like rich children did. Like some little street tyrant, he used the power of his Obscurus to steal what he wanted. That was why little pickpockets like Ivan looked afraid whenever they mentioned him, while also thinking he was a monster.
What he feared was the immigration officers. His mother had warned him not to make too much trouble, or they would be deported.
Those Muggle police were no match for an Obscurus, yet they bound him like iron chains around an elephant's legs, leaving him unable to break free.
Now he felt that someone had taken an interest in his power, so he could use money to settle everything like the rich did.
Perhaps that had loosened the chains binding the elephant, especially out here in the wilderness, where there was no need to worry about cameras or witnesses.
That Muggle farmer had been lucky. He had nearly lost his life over a few strawberries. Compared to Felix, even Voldemort seemed "stable."
Pomona had not yet figured out how to tell a thirteen-year-old child that he had a terminal illness and did not have many years left to live.
Nor had Pomona met Felix's mother. How could she tell her that, because of her own mistakes, Felix only had a few years left to live?
If she truly loved Felix, that guilt and self-reproach would kill her. Their whole family had come to Britain only to fail to achieve the better life they had dreamed of.
Yet staying in Romania might