"What is your name?"

Michael Corner, dark-haired, bright-eyed, fit as a fiddle—puts his cup of tea down. "You already know my name," he says. He points to them each in turn: "Draco Malfoy. Michael Corner. We went to Hogwarts together."

"You are the one Harry Potter took to bed last night, correct?"

Michael Corner cracks a smile, looking bloody proud of himself. "Sure was."

"Has Harry Potter ever expressed a dislike of your company or your person?"

Now Michael Corner looks less proud, more confused. "What kind of 'best mate talk' is this? I don't think so, Malfoy. I dunno. Didn't like me too much when I was dating the Weasley girl back in Hogwarts."

That's… a half strike? A half strike.

"Have you ever treated Harry Potter distastefully in the past?"

"Dunno. Not that I remember." Michael Corner is grinning now. "Are you practicing to be an Auror? I hate to break it to you, but Muggle-Wizard university is not where you want to be, mate."

"Have you ever harmed Harry Potter emotionally in the past?"

"Dated his girl the one time," Michael says, and then considers. "Actually, also dated his ex-girlfriend. We traded spots. But it doesn't seem like he holds it against me, if you know what I mean."

"Have you ever harmed Harry Potter physically in the past?"

"No." Michael seems very sure. "You know he's too good of a fighter. Could anyone beat him in class?"

"Are you a wizard?"

"Oh, come on, Malfoy."

"Do you engage with and-or make use of Dark Magic, and-or have you engaged with and-or made use of Dark Magic in the past?"

"Hmm," Michael Corner says, now grinning even wider. "Let me think real hard on that one. Have I ever engaged with Dark Magic? While the Second War with Voldemort was happening all around me?"

That qualifies as an answer. It is not, however, a strike, since Michael doesn't say he used it.

"Did you fight in the war?"

Michael's expression subsides. "Yeah."

"Which side?"

"Are you kidding?"

That also qualifies as an answer. Or, rather, the look he's giving Draco—one of horror—is an answer.

"Do you have any ill intentions towards Harry Potter?"

"No."

"Have you had any ill intentions towards Harry Potter in the past?"

"No. Actually—I was dead jealous when he started dating Ginny Weasley. Would've taken her off him if I could, but she had her mind made up. Is that an ill intention?"

Not really.

"Do you consider yourself to have a strong moral compass?"

The grin returns. Again. "Merlin's fucking tits, Malfoy, I'm shagging him and dating him a bit, not getting married."

"Do you consider yourself to have a strong—"

"Sure, I do. I mean, I risked my life fighting…" Michael Corner's eyes flick to Draco's wrist. "I mean. Nevermind. Yeah, I think I do."

Draco swallows and sits back, finishing off the last of his tea. "Alright. You have two half-strikes, which is one strike. Two strikes and you'd be out."

"I think it's three, Malfoy."

"Not with me."

Michael's giving him an odd look. "You've gotta work on your friendly talk from the best mate," he says. "That was an interrogation."

"Sure, goodbye." Draco has a procedure, and it's really the most efficient way to go about things anyway.

Michael Corner: One strike.

Harry's out on the field, playing "soccer," a Muggle sport, when Draco gets back to their dorm after the "interrogation," as it were. The Boyfriend Check.

When Harry comes back, Draco is studying. Harry is sweaty. His hair sticks up even more, and his breath is heavy and his skin shines. It's bloody distracting.

"He's changed since school," Draco says, looking quickly back down. Harry's stripping off his shirt. Draco can hear Harry wandering closer to where Draco is laying on his bed. "Do you like him?"

Harry's shucking off his trousers now. When they started rooming together, they'd been careful to keep it behind closed doors. They'd even taken turns changing in the bathroom.

Now they just pull their clothes off around each other all the time.

It's not good.

"I didn't know you knew him in school," Harry's saying. He's walking past Draco's bed—in the corner of his eye, Draco can see Harry's bare calves, a light speckling of dirt on them from the soccer.

Draco drags his eyes away again, back to Muggle Innovation: the invention of the telephone, he reads, the invention of the telephone… "Not well, but he seemed more talkative than I remember."

Harry's voice is amused. "Maybe because you were asking him questions. He said it was like you were investigating my murder."

"He's your new boyfriend," Draco says defensively. "I have to make sure… I have to make sure he's alright."

Harry hums. "Yeah, he's alright. I like him." And then, unnecessarily, "I'm going to take a shower." He closes the bathroom door.

Harry doesn't sound flustered or urgent or in love or anything. He sounds kind of lukewarm.

He always does with his new boyfriends. Sort of… curious. Trying them on like trying on new shirts. Over the two years, they've been attending this college, Harry's already garnered a reputation as being kind of a player—but the most genuine kind.

He just jumps around, trying out options. Enjoying himself.

And boy, are there options.

Half the people here are wizards, and hardly anyone will pass up the chance to date Harry Potter for a couple of weeks. (Coincidentally, these fans are the people Harry's least likely to date.)

The other half are Muggles exempt from the Statute of Secrecy—mostly siblings of Muggleborn Wizards. They've only heard of Harry Potter in passing, second-hand.

But Harry himself does the job himself when his reputation isn't there, Draco thinks, as Harry steps out of the shower not ten minutes later, drying his hair with his towel. And not wearing a towel around his waist.

He's fit.

He's bright and genuine and funny.

And he's got a roommate who doesn't mind Harry bringing boys or girls back, so long as they firmly magic up some curtains and cast all the important privacy charms.

Who wouldn't want a piece?

Anyone would want to date Harry Potter.

Anyone could date Harry Potter.

Harry hasn't been picky.

"What're you staring for?" Harry asks, wiggling his hips jokingly. The way he probably would to Ron: with complete assurance that there's no real physical attraction going on. "What's up?"

Draco shakes his head and looks back down at his textbook, which has fallen shut. He swallows hard. "Do you think you're going to last? You and Corner."

Harry shrugs, frowning faintly. "Maybe. Maybe not. Don't know until you try, right?"

"Mmm. You didn't last very long with anyone else, either, Potter."

"Slut-shaming." Harry's pulling on boxers, and then trousers. "Do I have to? Is it not enough to enjoy the current moment?"

Draco arches an eyebrow. "Did you get that from a therapy book on clearance?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I like it, okay? I like, I dunno, meeting people. Having fun. I've never really… I've always…" He makes a frustrated noise, his head emerging from the collar of his T-shirt, his hands gesturing helplessly. "I've lived my whole life afraid. You know? I have… I have the world now."

Draco's heart tugs. His fingers tighten around his textbook.

This is what he doesn't understand about Harry: the trying out. So many people. Does he really never feel a spark that tells him this is the one, this is the only one?

Because Draco does. Merlin's fucking tits, Draco does.

Harry standing in the middle of the room they share, his wet hair sticking up everywhere, in boxers and a T-shirt, saying I have the world now, that's it. That's the spark. That's the end all be all and Draco knows it, he knows it in his bones.

All of Harry's boyfriends are maybe, maybe, we'll see.

"Watch out, your head is getting even bigger." Draco looks away from Harry. His whole life is looking at Harry or looking away from Harry. Obviously, says a snide voice in his head. But he thinks so much about whether he's looking at Harry. It's like sitting or standing or lying down: a state of being, a situation, a whole-body act.

Harry laughs. "Prat," he says fondly, settling on Draco's bed. "What are you studying for?"

"Muggle Innovations," Draco answers. "It's so unfair that you don't have to take this class."

"I have hands-on experience." Harry peers over his shoulder. Draco's on the same page as he was fifteen minutes ago: the invention of the telephone was a revolutionary force in Muggle history. (Damn Potter and his distracting calves and bare feet and wild hair and bare arse) "Besides, I did a little of Muggle History, in elementary school."

Draco wrinkles his nose. He's heard an excessive amount about "elementary school" from the Muggles here in college, as well as from a few Muggleborn wizards and wizards whose parents decided to send their children to Muggle school before Hogwarts. "Elementary school," he says, as if it feels bitter in his mouth, "I can't believe Muggles send young children off to school! Don't they have a childhood? I can't imagine it."

"'Course not." Harry presses one warm hand to Draco's shoulder as he stands, making his way to his own bed. "Spoilt."

Draco flips back to the beginning of the book, in the earlier years of Muggle history, where it talks about their schools. They'd learn about history and mathematics and all sorts of word things—but not spell things, just spelling. "Was it any good?"

"Better than being at home!" Harry's voice is light, but Draco can see the muscles of his back tense. "I got bullied, but at least it was by other kids and not by my legal guardians, you know?"

Harry says you know as if somehow Draco is supposed to relate to this. No, he doesn't know. He's never been bullied in school. No matter how much he adored his father and wanted to impress him, how much pressure his father later put on him to do as he was told, he was never treated badly by his parents to the same degree that Harry was by his aunt and uncle.

He hates the way Harry says it as if it's normal. Just something you live through.

"And then you started going to Hogwarts," Draco says. And I bullied you, one arsehole for another.

"Yeah," Harry says cheerfully, seemingly unaware of Draco's thoughts, as if that isn't the natural direction for the topic to stray towards. "Say, what do you ask my boyfriends? Michael said you asked questions like you didn't know him at all, even though we all went to Hogwarts together."

Draco just shrugs. "It's just easier to use the same list every time."