Harry groggily woke up in a sunlit bed. His leg, now wrapped in magical bandages, throbs faintly from the recent Quidditch accident. The faint sound of Madam Pomfrey bustling about in the background creates a calm, sterile atmosphere, contrasting with the chaos of the match.

Harry blinks a few times, adjusting to the light, and then hears a sharp voice cutting through the silence.

“Well, well, Potter. Managed to make a complete fool of yourself again, I see.”

Harry turns his head and is surprised to see Draco Malfoy standing at the foot of his bed, arms crossed and wearing his usual sneer. His Slytherin robes are slightly disheveled, as if he came in a hurry.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” Harry groans, propping himself up slightly despite the ache in his leg.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just came to see if it’s true that even the Chosen One can’t stay on a broom properly,” Draco retorts, though his voice lacks its usual venom. He avoids Harry’s gaze, glancing instead at the bandages on Harry’s leg.

Harry narrows his eyes, recognizing something unusual in Draco’s demeanor. “You’re worried about me.”

Draco’s head snaps up, his cheeks tinging pink. “Worried? Don’t be ridiculous, Potter. I just wanted to confirm how pathetic you are with my own eyes. Merlin knows you’ve given Gryffindor enough points through sheer stupidity.”

Harry smirks faintly. “You rushed here, didn’t you? You’re not even good at pretending you don’t care.”

Draco scowls, but the sharpness of his expression softens for a fleeting moment. “I didn’t rush. I was... passing by.” He pauses, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “You’re insufferable, Potter.”