It took a month. It was spring, March, all the snow was gone, and Harry thought now the word he was looking for to describe his time here at Malfoy Manor was humbling. Everything about this place filled him with life again. But, he felt like he was committing a major mistake by allowing this plan to go on; he was legally dead for 42 days now, and though it felt good to be free of his bonds, he had left everyone behind.
The room was kept secret from the house elves, so Harry stayed in there. Narcissa visited several times a day and they talked about her garden and her life. She was a big-name actress as a child, and met Lucius in their fifth year at Hogwarts. She continued acting on and off until Draco was born, and then retired. They even talked about what the plan was for Harry, and came to the conclusion that he'd live by the ocean, as he loved looking out the magicked windows at the waves.
That first week in the room was the toughest; Harry hardly remembered it because of the amount of potions he drank. He didn't drink so many anymore, but he liked a sip before bed to keep his dreams reasonable. He had day-time nightmares in the beginning, and took to chewing on his wrists where he remembered the magical grip that had him in the room in the basement. His hands, also, were bit. He had gripped the horrible snake and led Voldemort to his death, and he could still feel the scales of it. Narcissa made him start washing his hands in the pollen of a nasty-tasting plant when she saw the marks, and she wouldn't let Draco in to see him until the last day before he went back to Hogwarts. She was afraid of what image Harry would leave in her son's mind.
Harry had no idea how or why he got the courage to fulfill his destiny, but he wished he could forget it. Narcissa's potions weren't able to remove the scars; he'll have those until he died or someone with some real magical medical training came along. He thought what Narcissa was doing was the right thing.
All his life, Draco was trying to make Harry wait on him, but now he felt compelled to do the opposite. He waited until Harry talked first, and then he answered everything truthfully until a few minutes later when it was time to go.
"Yes, it's okay if you wear my clothes," the answer to the first thing Harry asked.
Draco kept running a hand through his hair, because it was probably such a strange feeling to be civil with Harry. Harry knew it was a good thing he was taking a Calming Drought, because he couldn't see himself not blowing up, storming off, or breaking down in tears otherwise.
"Yes, I saw Ron. He doesn't look that good, but then, his best friend just died by the hand of the Dark Lord," the second answer.
No one – not a single person or article he'd read – led Harry to believe anyone knew what he'd done to get Ron out of the Manor. Harry found that tightening his hold around himself brought comfort to the idea of having to live with this extra secret.
"I don't know what I'd do to save my best friend; I don't have one."
Harry believed that. Upon eyeing Draco up and down the first time they met while getting fitted for uniforms, he had pegged Draco for the type to make friends but not to have them. Draco would sacrifice himself only for family. In many ways, that's no different than what Harry did for Ron to get him out of the Manor. Harry wouldn't take back what he did, but again, he wished he could forget it.
And the last thing Draco said before he left – spoken with truth and with sorrow, "Yes, I promise. I'll be nice to your friends from now on."
That late March day, shortly before Harry was going to be removed from the country to a place safe for him where he could remain a secret, Narcissa brought him the morning paper. It featured an article about the Weasleys inheriting Harry's fortune. Harry made Mr. and Mrs. Weasley his beneficiaries when he was thirteen, during the weeks he stayed at Diagon Alley before school started. He never told them because he didn't want them to worry about his early death.
Harry read about how shocked they were to see the documents, receive his fortune, and inherit the Unplotable property in London that was the once most ancient and noble house of Black. He felt a great wave of happiness for them, but at the same time he now knew that if they ever found out he was alive they would feel inclined to give him his fortune back, and he didn't want that at all.
There was a photograph of them in front of Gringotts bank. They were all there – all nine of them – and they were hugging each other and looking quite distraught. Narcissa conjured a picture frame and put the clipping of the picture within it, and Harry put it in his suitcase of clothes and food he'd be taking with him.
"Are you ready to go?" Narcissa asked.
Harry looked around the garden that was his home, and he nodded.
"Then let's go. I want to have you in Lithuania by midnight."
Harry smiled at her. She reminded him of his aunt a lot sometimes.