AN: Due to popular demand, Harry! On Ice is back and will probably continue every now and then (not that regularly, I have a NaNo to write). It seems we're all a little bit too obsessed with that skating-anime.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
It seemed Harry's thoughts were constantly revolving around one thing for the past few weeks.
First Tom fucking Riddle invaded his personal space waking him up on that unfortunate Sunday morning, declaring that from this day on he'll be his trainer, then Draco fucking Malfoy showed up too, taking the last spare room in his parents' guest house and becoming the most annoying customer they ever had, and lastly - but certainly not leastly - Hermione fucking Granger decided to suggest that fighting for Tom Riddle's patronage in some kind of skating battle would be a great idea. Seriously? He was a an insecure skater, not a gladiator...
Fuck, Harry thought once more, observing Draco's gracefull movements on the ice. How was he supposed to beat him? If only Tom let him use his old routine... Not that he didn't want to challenge himself, he simply had no idea about Eros or whatever Riddle wanted him to express.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, tying his skates. He had another week to find out what exactly Eros was or otherwise he could already pack his things and start searching for a nice apartment on the ocean floor.
"Did you say something?"
Harry turned around sharply, feeling the joints in his neck crack a little.
Of course, it had to be Tom Riddle, sneaking on him as usually. Harry felt his cheeks getting hot all of a sudden. What was wrong with him these days? Someone could think he felt something for this annoying, way too caring and perfectly handsome excuse of a trainer.
Well, maybe he did feel something. Unrestrained embarrassment.
Maybe Tom Riddle was a great skater - the best one out there to be honest - but he was also so weird, unusual to say the least. Harry's heard in the past that great minds were supposed to be a little bit on the odd side, but having one of these great minds within reach for the past few weeks was a little bit too much for him.
It started innocently - Tom wanted him to hold his pet snake. Pet snake. Of course Harry had to think about an entirely different kind of snake, but how could he not, when Tom walked on him when he was taking a relaxing bath - thanks heaven there was so much foam in the tub - wearing nothing but a towel and asking "Wanna hold my snake?". Harry felt his ears burning at the sole memory... Why did he feel so stupid around Tom? He wasn't trying to make Harry uncomfortable, he was simply...
"Are you unwell?" Harry heard his trainer's voice as if it was coming from a distance. "It would be a pity if you couldn't participate in the great games."
Why was he always smiling at him so nicely? Last year Tom didn't even recognize him. Sometimes if felt like a dream, a perfect illusion - seeing his idol every day, talking with him, eating meals together (the last one mostly on Tom's part, because Harry was dieting again), brushing teeth in the same bathroom, because Tom refused to use the one in his own room for whatever reason.
"I-I'm fine," Harry stuttered slightly, cursing himself internally. He was sick of his own... what it was? Shyness? Social anxiety? Endless stupidity?
"So can I assume that you'll show as a perfect Eros this Saturday?" Tom looked at him carefully. "You've found out what it's all about?"
"Sure," the boy shrugged trying to act confidently and looking at his skates once again; unfortunately they were already tied.
"Really?"
Why did his coach sound so surprised? Did he doubt Harry's abilities to express Eros? Well, if he did, he was damn right, because Harry was as seducing as the piece of chicken his mother made for dinner yesterday.
He sighted in resignation. A true skater should be able to portray everything.
Draco flew right before his eyes, so ethereal as if he was a celestial being... How did he do that? In the beginning Draco was probably even more furious when Tom proposed them their routines, but now, a few days before the big unveiling, it was obvious Draco was doing great and he... Well, he was trying to execute the new quad, but the artistic side of his performance was pretty much non existent.
"What what is it about?" It seemed Tom didn't want to give up with the annoying questioning. Harry took his gaze off Draco and realized Tom was practically an inch from his face, studying him carefully.
"Chicken!" Harry practically screamed, jumping back, before he could think about anything better. "It's all about chicken!"
"Chicken?" To Harry's surprise Tom didn't look shocked - he was rather... delighted? "Is it because we ate it together?"
"W-what?! You ate it!" It was very important to make this clarification, before Harry realized his statement didn't sound much better now. "And... no!" He added quickly, running off to join Draco on the rank. Once again his cheeks turned red.
...
It's not about the chicken, Harry thought after finishing his training. The rank was empty and it was so much easier to collect his thoughts now that he was alone, without Draco mocking his jumps and Tom encouraging him after every fall. But it may be about him.
Something in his stomach twisted, but it wasn't unpleasant. He felt... excited. And scared. And stressed out because the show was near. And because everything pointed to an apparent fact: he fell for his coach.