Title: For The Sake of Memory
Author: Winter Darkblade
Summary: Draco's hiding out after the Final Battle, and Harry, beaten and an inch from death, stumbles upon him. But, Harry's victory required one of his most precious possessions: his memory. Eventual DMHP
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or it's characters, nor do I claim to know what will happen in the 7th book. They belong to the lovely Miss J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 1: Life Debt

He ran for what seems like hours. The thuds of his footsteps was driving him mad as his brain screamed at him, calling him a weakling, a coward. How dare he run away! What would his father have said?

All regard for what his parents would think evaporated from his mind as he first laid eyes on the creature they called the 'Dark Lord'. The hideous beast with those blood red eyes chilled his normally cold skin to the bone and beyond. That's when he ran. Ran with everything he had, ignoring the shouts coming from the brat of a Weasly, calling him a coward.

Much like the voices within himself.

His long blond hair was decorated with bits of leaves and twigs, but he ignored them, focusing on the path on which he seemed to be taking. He didn't care where it led…as long as it took him away from that….thing.

The snapping of a twig behind him caused him to turn and look fearfully, which in turn led to him sprawled not moments later on the ground, gasping for air. He stayed that way for a long time, panting on the ground, to weak to stand on his own. What that Weasle would say if he saw him like this. But the Weasle wasn't around now. In fact, he was already dead, probably along with that Mudblood and stupid Potter, who had stayed to take on the Dark Lord. And involuntary shudder ran through him at the mere thought of the name.

Eventually, he lifted his head and scrambled to his feet, stumbling a few feet forward before he noticed a small shack in front of him. He stood there for a moment, dazed, before the sound of another snapping twig startled him into action. He moved forward, slowly, painfully – there was a sharp pain along his leg that he hadn't noticed before now. He made it to the door and threw it open, not really caring if there was anyone inside yet.

The flat was the most miserable thing he had ever seen. The floor was bare, save for a thin layer of dust, and there were only a few miserable pieces of furniture. A desk sat on one corner, an empty inkwell resting on one edge, and a small, rickety-looking chair sat at a small table, which held a small, dust-covered plate and a similarly shrouded, peweter goblet. No silverware was visible. A wretched bed was set up in the corner, a person-shaped indent in the center of it, along with a few stains along the matress.

The young boy scowled as he shut the door, and leaned gently against it, trying to steady his breathing. With shaking steps, he moved forward, flinching as moonlight spilled across his face through a hole in the roof. What a miserable life this place promised; for now, it was all he had. Desperatly, he made it to the tiny cupboard, fumbling through the emptiness in search of something to eat. All he found, however, was a collection of mouse droppings.

With a heavy sigh, he sank down onto the bed dejectedly, and silver eyes stared blankly around the room. In the morning, when he had regained his energy, he would set out again, and try and find something to eat. His stomach gave an angry growl, and he groaned softly. The search was futile in the dark, so instead, he collapsed back onto the bed. He coughed a bit at the dust that filled his lungs but it settled right back down again where it had been. He tried to ignore the scent of the bed and he let his eyes close gently. Best to try and get some sleep now, before things started to get worse.

He had just fallen asleep when he heard something thump against the door. A dark chill ripped through his body, and he stifled a groan as any movement of his leg send pain from toe to head. He bit back a cry of pain as he swung his feet down and fumbled for his wand.

"Who's there?" he croaked, his throat itching from being dry. There was no response. He lifted his want to be level with the door. "Who's there? Don't make me blast you." The threat sounded a bit empty, but the person outside didn't need to know that. The boy frowned, and advanced slowly towards the door. "I'm going to count to three…."

Another, heavier thump came from the door, knocking a bit of dust from the frame. The boy scruntched up his eyes to keep the dust from them as he slowly counted to three in his mind. He reached for the handle, and as he took another breath, threw the door wide.

Unfortunatly, it didn't quite work how he planned. His wand was pointed at empty air, and a heavy weight fell fast onto his feet. He gasped as pain shot through his leg at the shock, and he stared downwards.

There, at his feet, was his archnemesis.

Harry Potter, bleeding from numerous cuts, bruised all over his body, and looking as decrepid as the building into which he had stumbled. The blond scowled and glared at him.

"Potter," he spat, glaring at him. "Get off my foot." He jabbed him gently. The Boy Who Lived didn't move. In fact, he didn't even acknowledge that the blond had kicked him. Instead, he gave a tiny whimper. Silver eyes narrowed dangerously. "You're tesing my patience, Potter. Get off!" Using a bit of the little energy he had, he kicked harder, managing to dislonge the brunet from his foot. The young man scowled dangerously and covered a wince as pain raced through his foot again.

"Damn you, Potter," he hissed. The other boy lay very still on the ground. Silver eyes rolled. "Knock it off, this isn't bloody funny any more." Still, no movement. "I'm not carrying you, you know. You can just lay there for all I care." With that, the thin 17-year-old stalked over to the bed and laid back down with a huff and a small twinge of pain.

It was nearly ten minutes before the teen looked back up at the body in the doorway. He sighed and fell back against the matress again, his mind running over the pros and cons of leaving him there or moving him out of the doorway so he would stop letting cold air in.

Finally, the thought of having Harry Potter indebted to him for life caused him to move from the bed and stagger over to when the boy lay on the ground. He glowered impressively over the boy for a moment, savoring the glorious power he held over his nemesis' life, then knelt beside him. Sliding an arm around the brunet's back, and the other around his front, he hefted his rival's limp body onto his shoulder. For a Seeker, Harry was awfully heavy.

The blond half-carried, half-dragged the unconcious boy to the rickety bed and dumped him down, breathing heavily. He sighed darkly and lifted the boy's legs onto the bed and rearranging his limbs. What a pain. Figures, a spoiled brat like Potter would go and get himself nearly killed, then rely on the one person that wanted nothing more than for him to disappear to keep him alive. The former Slytherin Seeker glared down at the boy for a moment, then felt his forehead. Even his cold skin warmed at the heat that emminated from Potter's body. The blond flinched slightly, and withdrew his hand. His eyes lingered a moment on the scar that cut into his head, before he tore his eyes away to more important business.

He checked the boy over with his eyes, noting every cut and every bruise. They would have to be treated, but then again, the blond had no idea what to do with himself. He had never had to heal anything in his life: that's what Madame Pomfry was for, or the family Doctor. He stared blankly at the shredded body before him, before sliding his own tatterd cloak from his shoulders. Using his teeth he ripped the fine black cloth into strips, both large and small. He pulled the Slytherin patch off the breast of the cloak, running a thin finger over the snake for a moment, before tucking it into his pocket.

He knelt beside the bed a moment, and stared at Harry Potter's face, as if looking at him would make him wake up, and thus remove all responsibility from the boy. However, after 10 minutes of staring, he took a deep breath and prepared himself for this humiliating act.

Working as gently and quickly as he could, he lifted Potter from the bed and pulled off the outer cloak. He dropped it on the ground to be used as more bandages if he needed to, then set about removing the sweater. Figures that Potter would go storming into battle in his school uniform. The tie came next; that would be used, most likely, so he set it in the small pile of black bandages he had. Finally, he reached the shirt, and with trembling hands set to work on the buttons. He peeled the bloodstained white garment from the body of the Boy Who Lived, and winced at the minuscule but deep cuts that lined his torso. He shook his head and began to work, wrapping the largest bandages around his stomach and chest, then tied the smaller ones around the cuts on his arms. He gently wrapped the boy's hands, tying them so that when he woke, he wouldn't feel any discomfort, nor loss of circulation. Once that was done, he took another deep breath and moved downwards.

He started with the boy's shoes, pulling them off as gently and slowly as he could. Next came the socks, which were gold and scarlet: Gryffindor colors. Potter certainly had House Pride. With a soft snort, he set the socks down next to the cloak he had pulled off, and returned to his patient. Next were the pants. The blond really rather not touch these, but it was necessary. With gentle fingers, he undid the belt and pulled it out from underneath the unconcious boy. He set it down softly beside him, then sighed gently. His knowing fingers deftly undid the button at the edge of the boy's trousers, then he slid his hands down the brunet's hips, dragging the fabric with them. He folded them and set them aside; he'd put them back on when he was finished. As he glanced back up at his charge, he shook his head. 'Gryffindor underwear, Potter?' he thought incredulously. 'The socks I understand, but underwear?' He sighed softly and left those on. No way would he ever touch his archnemesis there. It certainly was not something to do.

He gently lifted each leg and wrapped the makeshift bandages around them. There were a few deep gashes just under his knees, and they received extra bandages. When he was finished, he slid lifted the pants and slid each leg individually into them, as gentle as he could possibly be. He rocked back on his heels and plopped down onto the floor of the shack with a small wince of pain. Time to tend his own wounds, now that Potter was taken care of.

He rolled his pant leg up, and winced at the sight. Blood caked a gash as long as his forearm that ran down his leg, ending just above his ankle. He took a piece of his robe and spit into it, scowling as he rubbed at the blood, which fell off in chunks, pulling hair with it in the process. He bit his lip until it bled as he continued to wipe away the crusted blood. Then, he dragged the last remaining bandages – the Gryffindor tie being one of them – around his leg. He sighed wearily and scrambled slowly to his feet. He heard his knees pop, as well as a few bones in his back, and he let out a long breath in response.

His gaze fell on the sleeping young man in front of him, and he froze for a moment. He certainly couldn't sleep in a chair; and he had come first, so he should have the bed! But Potter couldn't be moved. It would only reopen the wounds and that would cause more problems. So, the blond decided on the chair. He moved stiffly towards the small armchair, and sunk into it, hearing the seat springs pop as he did so. The corners of his lips twitched into a dark smirk, then he leaned back into the chair.

"You owe me big, Potter," he growled out, before his silver eyes fluttered shut and he drifted into a light and tortured sleep.

A/N: Trying to keep Draco as much in character as I possibly can. And yes, before any of you ask, I never used his name in this chapter. But don't worry, it'll show up in the next chapter, I promise. This one seems to drag a little bit (had to go into semi detail about the wrapping of the wounds), but the others will pick up eventually. And I totally ship DH, so it's really hard for my to control my silly fangirl fetishes. If you like it, please review and tell me so. This is my first HP fic, so it's eating me inside. R&R! Oh, and if you're wondering where Ron and Hermione are, it'll be explained in later chapters. Promise!

Your Lovely Authoress,
-Winter