Hi all! I know most of you would prefer a new chapter in MO, but you're getting something new entirely. This is just a little drabble put into my head while reading a different fic and I just had to write it. It's two parts and a short epilogue, but tell me what you think! If enough people like it, I may flesh it out more into a short story.

For now, enjoy, read and review, and I'll hopefully be coming out with a new chapter in MO sometime soon. But I'm still editing, so no promises.

And on with the story!

Part 1

He was five when he decided what he would be. Harry had just come in from working in the backyard and was on his way to the loo to clean up. Uncle Vernon was just sitting down in front of the telly. Harry caught only a glimpse of a male figure wearing a tight, colorful outfit spinning in midair and landing so gracefully on the ice he seemed to be flying. Uncle Vernon muttered something about "queer freaks" and changed the channel to his football game.

But that glimpse enchanted Harry from that moment. He dreamed of being on the ice, spinning and flying and free. He thought that if a queer freak could do it, so could Harry, because he, Harry, was also a freak.

From that moment on, Harry looked for every opportunity to learn more about the sport he saw on the telly. The next time Aunt Petunia went to the local library to get a book on gardening, Harry begged to come with her. She gave in to the argument that it was Harry who would be doing the work anyway, so he might as well have some say in the matter. When they got there, little Harry snuck away to the sports section.

He pulled books off the shelf at random, looking for a cover picture that resembled the man on the ice. Finally, he lifted down a book with a picture on the front of a young man with a long white-blonde ponytail, in the middle of that spinning jump. It was about a man named Victor Nikiforov, a figure skater, who had won dozens of medals and competed in hundreds of competitions. Harry's eyes went wide as he flipped past picture after picture of the same man with ribbons and medals and wearing a huge grin. Time after time, Harry saw that the man emphasized hard work, good exercise, and proper nutrition as key to his success.

Then Harry heard his Aunt Petunia calling. He hurriedly put the book back and rushed back to his aunt's side, a new resolution forming.

After that, Harry paid very close attention in his physical education class at his primary, learning what a proper diet was for an athlete, what were good ways to exercise, and how to stretch properly. Harry worked hard in his class, wanting to get stronger so he could one day be the one on the ice. His cousin's game of Harry Hunting gave him plenty of opportunities to run. He started doing push-ups and sit-ups and curls during long hours in the dark in his cupboard. He snuck away to the library multiple times to look up other types of exercise and proper nutrition. When Aunt Petunia had him cook for them, he made sure to pick healthy but still tasty meals and made a little extra for himself.

He found the skates in a dumpster down a back alley just weeks after he turned six. They were scuffed and obviously used, but they were still sturdy. The blades were still in good condition, too. The skates were a little big, but nothing that couldn't be solved by stuffing a bit of newspaper in the toe. Inside one skate, Harry found a crumpled handwritten training plan. Elated, Harry hurried home. He hid the skates in the shed, where no one ever went besides himself. A few days later, when Uncle Vernon ordered Harry to clean out and organize the shed, Harry did so gladly.

A large scrap of wood he balanced over two wooden boxes of old gardening supplies to make a bench. Two buckets filled with bricks and tied to the ends of an old broomstick made a great weight for his arms and legs. He'd seen pictures of a bench press in one of the books. This was as close as he could get. Harry could even decide how much to lift by adding or removing bricks. An old mat meant to protect one's knees from the dirt while gardening was cleaned up and could be rolled out to do push-ups and sit-ups on. All the tools were stacked against one wall, and in a bare corner, his skates had a place of honor. The training plan Harry tacked to the wall with an old nail.

Harry was determined to follow the training menu. It was hard, though, and the first few times he could barely get halfway through it before his body gave out. But he kept at it, steadily doing more and more until finally, by late autumn, Harry could complete it. Not easily, but he could complete it. And every time it got hard, he would look at his skates and remember the glimpse from the telly and the picture on the book and keep going. And he found himself glad, sometimes, of his baggy, oversized clothes—they hid the muscle he was developing.

But Harry had yet to find a place to practice on the ice. In his frequent trips to the library, Harry had all but memorized all the technical details, the names of every jump and turn and twist known to figure skaters, how performances were scored, even specifications on the costumes to make them attractive but also functional. But Harry had never been on the ice. Until one day, Dudley was invited to a birthday party at a park near the edge of town. Harry had to tag along, because the Dursleys couldn't find a babysitter for him.

It wasn't a typical park. It had the playground, and quite a big one that looked like lots of fun. But there were also two football fields, a jogging path through a wooded area and—the best part—a pond! Since it wasn't winter yet, it wasn't frozen. On the day of the birthday party, a few men were even fishing in it. But Harry was sure that once it got cold enough, he'd be able to skate on it. And the best part was, it was only a few miles away, and Harry was already used to running several miles a day—he'd measured, using an old step counter rescued from a rummage sale over the summer.

So, the first day it was truly cold, sometime in late November, Harry rushed to the park as soon as he could get away. There was ice on the pond, but it wasn't nearly thick enough to support even the weight of Harry's slight form. Disappointed, Harry ran around the park a few times, then returned home. But every day after that when it dropped below zero degrees, Harry hurried to the park. In the second week of December, it was finally solid enough to step on.

Barely able to contain his excitement, Harry put on his skates for the only the second time since he'd discovered them. The newspaper did its job and they fit nicely, once he tightened the laces some. Harry's first few steps on the ice were cautious, and he stayed near the edge. It took him several tries to find his balance. But before long, he was skating confident circles around the edge of the pond. A few minutes later, he was zig-zagging across the ice, turning figure-eights, going forward and backward, flying across the ice like he was born on it!

Cheeks flushed with exhilaration and nose pink from the cold, his jacket long abandoned on the shore, Harry stayed until dark, trying all the moves he knew. Some he did easily, some took a few tries. Finally, Harry was brave enough to try a jump. It was a simple, single toe loop. The easiest jump there was, according to the books he'd read. He missed the landing a few times, earning some nice bruises, but finally, just when he was about to give up, he got it! He jumped up into the air, spun once all the way around, then landed with a steady foot and spun neatly to a stop.

After that, Harry went to the pond almost every day. Sometimes he went early in the morning before school, sometimes he went after—after losing Dudley and his friends—and sometimes he went both times. By the end of January, Harry could land all his single jumps and even some doubles. By Valentine's Day, Harry was confident enough in his Lutz to try a triple. His takeoff was flawless, but he didn't spin fast enough to turn three times. He landed after two and a quarter turns, but he landed very badly, spraining his ankle in the process.

By the time his ankle healed, the ice had melted and the weather had warmed. Disappointed, Harry started searching everywhere for somewhere to practice year-round. In the meantime, he continued his exercise. He started to add to the menu he'd found with his skates, and focused on strengthening his core—because, according to his P. E. teacher, a strong core—which led to good form and good posture—was the foundation of almost every sport.

By the end of May, Harry discovered a flier in the local community center for figure skating classes in a neighboring town, free for all ages (as long as one brought their own skates) beginning the second week of summer vacation. He spent the whole month wondering how to pitch it to his aunt and uncle so they'd allow him to go. When final report cards came in (and Harry's grades were naturally much higher than Dudley's), Harry swapped their report cards. Then, stammering and biting his lip and by all appearances embarrassed and ashamed by his poor performance, begged to take the remedial classes in a nearby town, because it was "the least I can do, after you've given me a roof over my head and a place to sleep and I've been such a burden to you."

Uncle Vernon bought it hook, line, and sinker. Aunt Petunia didn't seem to care either way. So, the second week of summer, with his backpack loaded with both school books and his skates, Harry got a ride with Uncle Vernon to the neighboring town's community center on his way to work in the morning. He'd be picked up on Uncle Vernon's way home from work at night.

This worked out nicely for Harry. The classes were only two hours starting at 1 in the afternoon, but there was plenty to keep him busy during the intervening time. He visited the library, explored the town, and accidentally got a few odd jobs and earned a bit of pocket change. This became Harry's habit for the whole summer. During his free time, he'd spend an hour or so studying whatever caught his fancy at the library, and then he'd wander around town on foot looking for odd jobs. He even got an unofficial job as a bagger at the grocery next to the community center.

He saved nearly every penny, knowing that entering competitions would cost money, and eventually he would need a new pair of skates, and those were expensive. But with the little bit he let himself spend, Harry started building up an all-new wardrobe. It started with training gear, because Dudley's castoffs were hardly suitable to working out. Harry found a newer pair of trainers at a rummage sale that fit with a little room to grow, that replaced the pair from Dudley where the soles were held on with duct tape. Then he bought jogging pants and a t-shirt that fit properly. Then a jacket to wear while running. And it continued from there. By the end of the summer, Harry had a suitable wardrobe all his own, including jeans, shirts, and new socks. Most was still secondhand, but it was still in far better condition than Dudley's hand-me-downs, and best of all, it fit!

When summer ended, so did the classes, but Harry didn't tell his relatives. He insisted he still needed the remedial classes, and that they would continue after school. Uncle Vernon bought it easy, and he was so relieved to get Harry off his hands that he even purchased him a bus pass, to get him to and from the neighboring town without having to rely on a ride from his relatives.

All the people in the neighboring town loved Harry. He'd never kept his home life a secret, and he was ever so polite and soft-spoken that they'd all but adopted him. The lady who ran the skating rink was more than happy to let such a dedicated little athlete train (with appropriate supervision) whenever the ice was unoccupied. And the half a dozen-odd skaters actively training for competitions were more than happy to let him observe their practice, and even offered some pointers. One girl, a teenager named Lynnette, helped Harry choreograph his own programs and pick his music, and even helped him fix his form (one of the few things that really couldn't be learned from a book).

By autumn of his third year of primary, Harry was able to land two of his triple jumps and he was looking for competitions to enter. He finally found one, though it was some distance away. Luckily, Harry had his bus pass, and one of the ladies Harry frequently helped to carry her groceries home had offered to make him a costume, from fabric Harry bought himself with the pocket change he was still saving.

Finally, on the third Saturday of October, Harry rose very early in the morning, dressed in one of his new outfits that consisted of jeans, a long-sleeved black t-shirt, and a faded red hoodie, put on his "new" trainers, packed his backpack with his skates, his costume, and some snacks and some change, and jogged to the bus station about a mile away.

The bus arrived right on time and didn't look twice at the eight-year-old boarding on his own. Harry nervously picked a seat in the middle of the bus and didn't speak for fear of throwing up until they arrived at his destination two hours later. Harry disembarked, walked a few blocks to the rink stadium where the competition would be held, then stood in awe at the size of it. It was still early, and rather unpopulated—the competition wouldn't start until midafternoon. So Harry took the opportunity to warm up, on and off the ice, and mentally prepare himself. He was quite smart and well-read for his age, and quite a bit more mature than others his age. But he was still only eight, and this was the first time he'd ever done something this big on his own.

Around noon, other competitors began to arrive. Some were about his age and came with their entire family. Others came with one parent and a coach, and one boy who looked about twelve came alone. Harry grew nervous again, but reminded himself that he'd been practicing and preparing for this for two years now. He'd be damned if he let this opportunity pass him by because he was too nervous. So he squared his shoulders and listened for his name.

"And next we have Harry Evans, age eight, from Little Whinging, Surry."

Harry swallowed and moved out onto the ice. He'd put Evans as his name on the competition entry form, because if he got famous he didn't want the Dursleys to recognize him right away. And certainly, at this moment, they wouldn't. Harry had slicked back his hair with a significant amount of gel, and he stood tall and straight in the middle of the ice while he waited for his music to start. His costume was soft, the same stretchy material as his hoodie, but form-fitting, showing off the wiry muscles he'd worked so hard to build. Bits of fabric hung by his shoulder blades, ready to fan out behind him like wings as soon as he started moving. The whole costume was in shades of grey and black and brown, like the feathers of a bird of prey. He wanted to express how free he felt, how gliding over the ice felt like flying. He hoped he succeeded.

Harry's music started and he moved smoothly into the beginning of his program. Tentative steps across the ice, careful twirls and turns, gradually gaining speed and confidence. Then his first jump—double loop. Perfect landing. A grin spread across Harry's face. This was easy, this was fun. He twirled across the ice, oblivious to the cheers from the crowd. He was back on his pond, soaring over the ice, having the time of his life. Single Lutz into a double Lutz, a layback and a single axle, another double loop. Flying over the ice, spread-eagle around the perimeter, into a sit-spin and back up into a single salchow. One final circle, spinning around and around and around until finally coming to an abrupt stop, arms spread, fabric wings fluttering behind him, cheeks flushed and shoulders heaving, but the biggest smile on his face. Harry didn't realize that while he skated, his costume shimmered like feathers in the sunlight, a faint glow that could not be attributed to the fluorescent lights over the rink.

Deafening applause suddenly filled the stadium. Harry blinked and looked out at the crowd. Many were on their feet, some were screaming his name. Little girls were begging for him to sign their programs. Even some older people were stomping and clapping like crazy. Harry realized he had just skated a perfect program at eight years old, when every competitor before him, ranging from age seven to age ten, had fallen or stumbled at least once. They'd been good. Harry had been impressed, watching from the side. But he'd been better. Then his score came in: first place! Harry was in first place!

He skated off the ice in a daze. He barely remembered the rest of the program. The twelve-year-old who competed after Harry beat him out of first with more double jumps and thus a higher technical score, but Harry still took second. He proudly wore the red ribbon declaring him second place, holding the trophy high while he stood on the platform. Some people took pictures. A lot of pictures. But Harry was unused to the spotlight and so he slipped away as soon as he could. He avoided autographs and journalists and made his way back to the bus station at about 8 o'clock at night, flushed with pleasure at his success and filled with anticipation for the next competition in a few weeks' time.

After that, the rest of the autumn and winter passed in a blur. He took fourth place at his next competition, which was disappointing, but it meant he moved on once more. The next competition was in London, and Lynnette came with him because she was competing the same day! It was a different competition, because of the different age groups and competition levels, but having a friend there made it so much more fun. Lynnette took third place, but Harry took fifth and wasn't able to continue on. It was a bitter disappointment for Harry, who had gotten his hopes up. Lynnette let him know that one loss wasn't the end, and it could simply turn into determination to work harder next time. So Harry worked harder.

A/N: Shout-out to Eilwynn's Vituperan for putting the idea of Harry as a figure skater into my head. Bonus points if you get the name-drop reference :D