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So, here was the challenge:
( from Mikiri's Revenge on ff.net )
"Harry ran away after Dumbledore made him go to the Dursleys' over the winter holidays during fifth year. Snape finds him beat up in an alleyway near the Leaky Cauldron. With help from the Malfoys, he nurses Harry back to health. Draco overhears Ron and Hermione arguing about reporting to Dumbledore about Harry. So when Dumbledore forces Harry back to the Dursleys' over the Summer Draco comes in his animagus form (whatever you want) as pet to help Harry. Pairings either Snape/Harry or Draco/Harry
-Props: Bombs, Poison, Drills, Giant Squid, Whomping Willow
-Quotes: "I'm sorry Harry, but its for the greater good." (Must be used as first line)
"For Gods sake, he tried to murder me, how the bloody hell do you think I feel?!" (Harry)
"So I look like a greasy bat, is that why everyone hates me?" (Snape)
"Does it explode?" "No." "Then I don't want to make it." (Draco, Harry, Draco)
"Isn't He a pretty little (insert Draco's animagus form here). Oh yes he is!" (Harry?)"
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"I'm sorry, Harry, but it is for the greater good."
"But why can't I stay at the Burrow? Or even here? Why is it that I'm suddenly so in danger?"
"I'm afraid I cannot explain at the present. I'm sorry, Harry, but this is how it must be."
His head was pounding. He could still vaguely feel the dried blood on his scalp; funny, he'd thought his head had gone numb several hours ago. He winced, thinking of how the blood had surely fused itself with his already messy hair. That was going to be a right b***h to get out. He took himself through his normal checklist - what hurt? His head. His right upper arm and left wrist. His right side. He couldn't feel one leg. Okay, why exactly were they hurting? He'd taken a blow to the head. He tried to remember what had went on, hoping he had a concussion, but that proving he remembered. He'd been thrown against the wall, then caught himself with his left hand when he had fallen. Someone had kicked him in the ribs. He couldn't quite remember what had happened to his leg, everything was starting to get fuzzy. He checked his motor functions next. Starting with his right hand, he moved each finger, then wrist. He gingerly moved his elbow, taking note of the shock of pain that moved through his arm from his shoulder. Next was his left hand. His wrist was definitely broken. Keeping his eyes shut as they had been, he tried to wiggle his toes in his shoes. The sudden pins-and-needles feeling filled him with joy, even as he grimaced. His leg was only asleep, not hurt. He worked on that for a while, coaxing the leg awake. Knowing he couldn't put it off any longer, he gently rolled his head a bit. The pounding turned into a searing hurt, but his neck was fine, if a bit cramped. He would have sighed, if his broken ribs would have let him breathe properly.

He opened his eyes, and all his other senses suddenly jumped at him. He was shivering, cold, wet. He thought he was blind for a moment, for all he saw was black all around him. He was distracted, though, by a putrid smell, and he realised he wasn't blind - he was in a dumpster. His train of thought stopped for a moment. They left him in a dumpster. For some reason, that thought was funny to him. It was like those movies where the kid gets beaten up and thrown into a dumpster, just like this. When you watch those movies, you don't think that actually happens anymore, but here he was. The smell was getting to him, though, and he forced his aching and broken body to get up and push the lid open. The sudden light did nothing for his headache, but his eyes slowly adjusted. His world was a blur, and he had already climbed out of the garbage heap before he realised that he'd lost his glasses. The raven-haired boy sighed, 'It's not like I'd be able to find them anyway,' he thought. Funny how he needed to be able to see in order to ever find his glasses. He went though another list in his head. He didn't recognize where he was, and had a feeling he wouldn't have even if he could actually see his surroundings. Before he could think of what would come next in that list, his stomach interrupted his thoughts. He'd forgotten when he'd last eaten. Was it the day before last? It didn't matter, anyway, but it was probably best he know. He sifted through his more mundane thoughts, trying to come up with a time frame. With a jolt, he realised it had been just last night. Last night. It seemed like it had been weeks, with everything that had happened...

His emerald green eyes shut tightly to halt the memories. The list. He needed a list. Ignoring his stomach, he returned to his earlier thoughts. He was stranded somewhere in what he hoped to be London, with no money, several broken bones, a head injury, and he was blind as a bat. Not to mention he probably looked like the living dead. If only he had a cell phone, but then, who would he call? He didn't know Mrs. Figg's phone number, or any of his friends'. He almost threw up as another memory hit him, 'You're a wizard, Harry.' He wasn't sure what had brought that memory up, but it made him realise something awful. His wand was missing. Not only was it missing, it was gone. Uncle Vernon had taken it at the start of summer, and he hadn't seen it since. The Boy Who Lived sat on the filthy ground near a dumpster in an alley in God-knows-where, realising that every hope of getting out of this mess was gone. Gone, along with the only thing that had kept him safe in this world. Harry Potter's last thought before he passed out was the smug thought that Vernon Dursley had failed to kill him, even if the streets might.

Wet. Wet and cold. What was wet and cold that was touching his face? Before his mind could become awake enough to figure it out, something licked his chin. He shot upright, suddenly very awake. Where was he? Oh, right, the Dursleys had beat him up and ditched him somewhere. Harry looked around him, thankfull to still be in the same dead-end alley he'd passed out in. He jumped as a growl reminded him of his new companion. Apparently, this was the dog's territory, and it looked like it was ready to fight for it. All matted brown fur and vicious teeth, it looked like it had muscle, unlike many of the street mutts he'd seen. What was that stuff around its mouth, though?

Oh, bugger.

Harry ran for the opening of the alley, despite the sudden protests of his stomach and aching limbs. At least the headache was gone. He could hear the dog's nails scraping along the pavement behind him; no one was out to help him, not this late at night. He doubted they would have helped anyway. He could barely make out some boarded-up buildings as he ran by, his lungs burning and chest blazing. A bark told him the dog was still chasing him. Being chased by a rabid dog in the Wrong Side of what he supposed to be Muggle London. All part of the Glamorous Lifestyle of Harry Potter. He couldn't tell how many blocks he'd run, and he couldn't keep track of how many turns he'd made. He just ran for his life. He could hear the dog catching up. His body wasn't strong enough to keep him ahead, 'No.' a voice in his head told him, 'You really want to go like this? You've beaten Voldemort five times, and you can't outrun a mangy mutt? '. He ran faster. He stopped thinking entirely, put all of his energy to his legs. The buildings were flying by, now, and he wasn't running any longer. He was flying. He was on his Firebolt, and the pavement dropped away from his feet as he got higher and higher. Faster, now, faster, until everything was whizzing by in blurs and he couldn't tell if he was still in the city, or if he'd reached the countryside, or - his foot got caught, sending him tumbling down a drop off into a creek. All at once, his senses came back. The roar of the small stream, the smell of wet plantlife; the burning in his chest. And the sight of the dog, standing just above him, near the tree root he'd tripped on. He'd made it to the outskirts of the city already? The dog bent down, ready to join him in the stream so it could attack. Harry winced, as there was no way he could stand now, let alone attempt to outrun it again. He heard a yelp, and looked up in time to see the beast get hit with a bolt of red light. Red light. He knew that meant something, something important. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what. A man was standing by the tree now, looking down at him. Harry squinted, but he couldn't make out anything other than a black blur. Was this his saviour? The man - he thought it was a man - carfully climbed down the small hill and walked over to him. Any other time, Harry would have shrunk away. He wondered why he didn't, when this stranger started checking his injuries. When Harry couldn't find the answer, he brought up a list in his head. He fought when people were trying to kill him, but this man obviously wasn't trying to do that. It was definitely a man; Harry could feel the strong, but careful grip one calloused hand was holding his right arm with. Why wasn't Harry more afraid? The List told him he should be - this man was a stranger. Strangers never helped someone like him - except, they did. How many times had he dropped something, or gotten hurt, only to be helped by total strangers, simply because he was Harry Potter? Maybe that was why. It still didn't make much sense to him, but he went with it. His head hurt too much to think more.

The man finished whatever he had been doing with his arm, and spoke to him. Harry realised his head was buzzing too loud to hear him, "Wha'?" he hated how soft and weak his voice came out, but he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't get enough breath for it.
"Is your head okay?"
Oh. He started to nod, but immediately got dizzy, so he settled for another wheezed reply, "Yeah, think so." The man moved to his ribs, and Harry pondered again. Hadn't he heard that voice somewhere? He wasn't sure. He saw the man pull something out from his coat, a stick. A stick...Harry gasped as reality hit him. Not a stick, a wand! This man was a wizard! Remembering the flash of red light, Harry mentally kicked himself. Of course he's a wizard, idiot. You are, too. Harry could feel his ribs painfully setting themselves as the man cast healing charms on him.

------tbc?

eek Thanks! I wrote that while I was on a Harry Potter kick ( OCD ), and now I'm on a Criminal Minds kick, so I'm not sure if it will be continued anytime soon. I'll be working on it at some point, though!

Thanks for the input! With the Harry Potter series, there isn't too much character development that goes on, so I like to tinker with it just a bit - I got the idea for the "list thing" from a friend at school. She makes lists of, well, everything. I just figured that, since we know Harry's developed 'survival instincts' from dealing with the Dursleys and just life in general, that making mental lists would become a habbit. After Dudley beats him up, go through a list: what hurts, why, how to fix it, etc. Just an idea I thought was interesting.

As for forgetting he's a wizard, it wasn't a big moment. It was kind of like "where's that pencil - oh, DUH, it's sitting on the desk in front of me", if that makes any sense. Just a little brainfart, while his racing mind catches up with him.

I completely understand about the pairing. I'm going to try very hard to make it believable, when it comes into play ( though I'm not sure which pairing it will be yet sweatdrop )

Yeah...it'll probably be Draco/Harry. xD

@cell phones: Agh, I totally forgot about that. gonk Thanks!

Thanks! Yes, haha, I'm American - I'll have to look into the proper slang terms ( thanks for the tip ). The time frame and proper lingo keep getting me, it seems >-<
As for the Dursleys, they've starved him before, which in my opinion, is worse than beating him up. I just used that as the basis - it will ( if I continue it ) be explained later in the story.
I'll see what I can do to make the 'list thing' flow better.

Me too xd