Harry tried to chew his food slowly, to remain some sort of semblance of calm, collected and just eating the Welcome Feast like everyone else. It was an easier charade here. Here at Hogwarts. Here at home. Not to imply that his stay with the Weasley's wasn't wonderful. The rambunctious crowd kept him constantly entertained and Mrs. Weasley heaped enough servings on to his plate to satisfy Hagrid (servings which Ron gratefully finished for him when Molly turned her back). Being surrounded by people who actually liked you was always a welcome change to Privet Drive. Unfortunately the unrelenting noise of nine Weasley kept Harry on edge. At the Dursley's, Harry had only ever known two volumes; cold silence or violent rage. Needless to say, he preferred the silence. It seemed ridiculous for him to feel as if he would come to harm while at the Burrow, but old habits die heard. Harry had known little but self-preservation for the first eleven years if his life. Not even the comforts of Hogwarts had yet to break him of his constant vigilance. After all, even under the protection of Dumbledore, Harry's life had been threatened every year since he began attending the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Even now, during the Welcome Feast, Harry was cognizant of all his surroundings. He was well aware that a large breakfast would be served here tomorrow, but Harry had memorized the placement of the easiest food items to stow away. When no one was looking he would wrap up the leftovers to keep in his nightstand. From there he would bring some light snacks with him to class or to practice. None of his room mates ever noticed his constant supply of food, which suited Harry just fine. Not that he would ever consider not sharing if asked, but over a decade of malnourishment left Harry suspicious of his next meal.

Harry was also more than aware that the Professors seemed thoroughly agitated. He surveyed the High Table's occupants and took a mental note that most of them were checking their watches or shooting glares of anticipation at Dumbledore, who sat as calmly as ever. He catalogued their out of the ordinary behavior. Not even Snape would actually strike a student, Harry was ever aware of adult temperament.

Lastly Harry noticed Draco Malfoy. The blonde's usual air of confidence seemed shaken, noticeable by no one else, not even the Slytherins. Also unnoticed by his housemates was Draco's odd new habit of putting as little weight onto his right arm as possible.

Sprained thought Harry That is definitely a sprained wrist. Harry was sure about it. He knew more than enough about sprained appendages. There was nothing he could do about it now though. Dumbledore was standing to give a speech and Harry was interested to learn what had been making the professors so irritable, but before the Professor's waved away their meal, Harry snuck a few bread rolls into his pocket.

*_*_*_*_*

"Bugger off, Potter" Draco heard the door close and the footsteps draw near. Apparently his Malfoy drawl and cold demeanor had loss some of its effectiveness. He would have to work on that.

"If you didn't want to see me, you wouldn't have come here." Harry was right, but in no way did that mean Draco had to concede. He lifted himself off the plush red couch, careful to use only his left hand, and stood almost toe to toe, gray to green eye with his childhood nemesis.

"Must I remind you yet again that I discovered this room first? That I have a right to come here regardless of what fancy you have built in your head about mewanting to see you." Draco held his stare until Harry dropped his gaze. For a moment Draco thought perhaps his words may have penetrated the Gryffindor's arrogant shell, until he realized that Potter was just staring at his swollen, right wrist.

"It's sprained." Harry stated.

"No"

"He did that, didn't he?"

"No"

"How long ago?"

Draco sighed. There's no use in lying.

"The day before yesterday. He said I was being snarky at Flourish and Blotts. I told him I wasn't. He pushed me down the Grand Staircase, well he dragged me over to it first and POTTER! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!? I am FINE!" Draco pulled his arm away, but it was too late. A cool sensation ran through his once throbbing wrist as the swelling began to lessen.

"You wouldn't stand a chance in Quidditich against me with a wrist the size of a quaffle," Harry looked up with a small smile across his face, "I was just evening the playing field. It wouldn't be a victory if I won unfairly."

"I'll let you know Potter," Draco tried to sneer, but the already triumphant look on Harry's face caused him to smirk instead, "that I could beat you with both wrists tied behind my back"

"You should try that method…Malfoy, because the whole two free hands and a pricy broom strategy has yet to work."

Draco feigned insulted as he sat back down on the couch but looked up and grinned.

"No, everything healed naturally at the Weasley's. I ended my stay in Little Whinging fairly early this year and mostly unscathed. Just a few bruises here and there. Oh, and Dudley may have cracked one of my ribs the day I got back, right here," Harry gestured to his left side, "but nothing more than that."

"A cracked rib? Do you want me to check it out?" Draco reached for Harry's robe. It bothered him how flippantly Harry referred to his injuries. Harry quickly pulled away from Draco's hands.

"Harry. Ribs don't heal well on their own. Just let me…"

"No."

Draco sighed. Harry was hard to argue with, but poorly mended ribs were harder to fix.

"Harry…" Draco kept his voice coolly Slytherin, "let me tell you what is going to happen. As you know, we are in a Wizarding school, which is a hazard to anyone's health. At some point this year you are going to fall of your broomstick, or have a potions accident, or get attacked by a reincarnate of You-Know-Who while trying to save the world. Regardless of how it happens you will end up in the Hospital Wing and Madame Pompfry will notice that you have an un-magically mended rib and then she will detain you in hideous pajamas with ugly blue stripes until she gets a sufficient explanation out of you."

Draco took a deep breathe, "or you could just let me check out the rib for you and heal it if it hasn't done so on it's own. You won't even have to take off your shirt." Harry shifted uncomfortably on the couch, his vibrant green eyes studying his work weathered hands.

"Well," the Brunette whispered. Draco leaned in to listen, "Well, maybe it wasn't a rib. Maybe it could have been a few. Maybe the injury might have been agitated and I tried to heal myself Draco, really I did but…" but Draco's finger was already up, cutting Harry off.

"I know," and Draco did know. Harry couldn't heal himself. "Out of the robe and arms up." Harry shrugged off his robe and paused. After a deep breathe he unbuttoned his outer shirt leaving on only a light one made of cotton. Draco slowly scooted forward and placed his hands on Harry's sides as Harry lifted his own arms. Being as gentle as possible Draco felt along Harry's ribcage. Regardless of his light touch, Harry still flinched and screwed his eyes shut. Dismay poured over Draco's countenance that even this caused such a reaction from the brave Gryffindor.

Draco knew that to anyone else this would look strange, but it wasn't like that. This is how it had been for years. There was a familiar feeling to methodically checking Harry's body for injuries caused over the summer. Draco's finger tips counted one, two, three ribs that had been cracked and that had yes healed, but not perfectly, leaving ridges where there ought not be. He also noticed that regardless of Harry's stay at the burrow, the boy lacked the normal amount of fat for a young man. Lastly Draco's fingers strayed partially on to Harry's back where he could feel the raised, scarred skin. Draco could picture the white and pink lines that crossed The-Boy-Who-Lived's body. The scars were probably invisible now though, Harry almost always kept them under a dillusionment charm.

"Don't. Please." A small whimper had escaped Harry's lips and Draco was brought back to reality as he quickly retracted his hands.

Draco cleared his throat, "There were three ribs cracked. The bones didn't heal completely straight, but…Osseo Rection. Does that feel better?" Harry nodded dolefully as Draco put away his wand.

Embarrassed silence filled the room as the two boys shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

"So…disappointed you can't enter the TriWizard Cup?" Draco chuckled at the sudden scowl he received from Harry. "What? Don't you want eternal glory?"

"Shove it, Draco." But Harry's voice was light, "No, I'm glad there is an age limit. Now no one can expect me to compete. Ron's dead disappointed though."

"Of course the Weasel is disappointed. Just think what five hundred galleons could…" but Draco never finished the sentence. Harry was on his feet, hands clenched. Draco always forgot how sensitive these loyal Gryffindors could be about their friendships, especially Harry. Malfoy's don't apologize so he did his best to convey a sorry look.

Harry sighed, "Speaking of Ron, he's probably wondering where I am" and he turned towards the door. Draco didn't stop him, but before leaving Harry glanced back.

"I know we both have an image to uphold, but you can try not being so nasty."

"You can try not being so noble." Harry sighed and Draco knew nothing outside of this room would change, not his year.

"Potter. I'll see you soon?" Harry just waved without turning around and the door closed.

Draco laid back down on the couch and let his mind wander to their first encounter here.