1
Lucius dies a year after Narcissa. Draco flies out in May, doesn't even look at Harry except to ask them not to talk about it, not to ask questions. Harry nods and tries to pretend at normal, sticks a pumpkin and some rice into the oily cauldron and waits for magic to turn it all into croquettes. Watches the door. Waits for Draco.
Harry sends owls that also pretend at being fine: updates about alterations to the croquette recipe as summer squash comes in, details on the process used to remove poison from the roadside elderflowers. As weeks slither agonizingly by, Harry starts sending joking challenges: I have a Snitch: come and take it from me. And, I miss you but I'm still going to kick your ass when you come to tomorrow's match, you know. Draco doesn't come to the match. Harry can't tell if the owls are reaching Draco, but they return without their letters, so Harry just sends more. It takes a few weeks for the gash in Harry's side to heal enough that they can putter around on their own, and a few weeks more before they can really stand up and stretch fully, arms up, feet planted and wide. Stronger. Draco sends a Happy birthday. by owl and three weeks later Harry reads a Knockturn Reporter article about Borgin & Burkes reopening, with Draco the official owner. It's not quite Draco-having-signed-up-as-Defense-teacher but it's still alarming, and Harry can't tell if it's because Draco wanted to, or felt they had to, or felt like they had no other choice, and assumes it's all three under a rancid coating of "Harry wasn't there to help with this shit".
Fuck it. Harry uses their stretching time every day to pack, the little bit they can lift at a time. It takes two minutes before they're winded, the half-healed stomach wound sharp and sickening, thudding out of sync with their pulse. Then, three minutes; then, five. It takes another two months of doing this every day before the bags are full. Harry clears out the major trash piles in case the Muggle landlord checks in while they're away, and leaves a number at the desk for a cell phone they check every so often, just in case; the stomach wound, still aching but healed enough that Harry can take the Travel-Safe and Breathe-Free potions to protect against the C-plague and Muggle flu, is a fixed point in their proprioceptive awareness. Little blue healing sparks, too small to be visible under their layers, work steadily on carrying oxygen to the slowly-knitting muscle. Harry hoists the bags out onto the stoop and calls the Knight Bus.