AN: The only point of this story is finding an excuse for not-studying. It makes absolutely no sense (and even less if you haven't seen Yuri! On Ice yet). I hope my Pharmacology teacher likes fanfiction, because it's the only homework I'll be able to show him tomorrow.

Harry! On Ice

"It's never going to work," Harry told himself, hidden in an empty locker room after what was probably his last try at making it in Grand Prix this season. "I'm hopeless."

His mom was trying to reach him on the phone, but he didn't have the heart to talk with her right now. She was rooting for him so hard... Yet he disappointed her... Again.

Tears started streaming down his face and the thought of going back home and seeing all his friends and neighbours hit him. How could he look them in the eye? They were all thinking he would make it big, but even though he was skating for years, nothing seemed to work. During trainings he was so much bettter than publically... What kind of excuse was this even? Honestly, the whole point of skating was for people to see it...

Someone entered the room and Harry tried to hide his miserable face in a towel. It was obviously pointless, because the intruder came up straight to him:

"Why are you even trying?" A blond haired boy asked him mockingly, looking at him haughtily, even though he was younger and shorter. "One should know when to give up," he added, walking towards his locker seeking for his training bag. He left soon after, leaving Harry even more sulky.

Wasn't this Malfoy? Harry heard about him before - the most talented and probably most greedy junior in last few years... Every trainer wanted to coach him, every reporter dreamed about an interview... But Malfoy was strictly guarded by his ballerina-mother and coach-father. No wonder he grew up to be the most promising skater after Tom Riddle.

Riddle... Harry did wonder sometimes what he was lacking and why didn't he achieve the same level as his idol. Riddle was the one who made him interested in skating in first place, but now that he was able to see him every now and then during sporting events, his admiration started to turned into something more uneasy. Harry was never going to be this good.

"Maybe it was never meant to be," he told his reflection, but it did neither agree nor disagree.

...

"Would you like to take a picture with me?"

"No, I didn't mean to..." But it was late and Harry was already standing next to Riddle and his coach, Xenophillius Lovegood, took a shot. "Be sure to tag me on Instagram," the champion added with a smile and proceeded towards the door with the Malfoys.

Harry felt hopeless once again. Tom Riddle didn't even recognize him as another participant.

...

Hermione and Ron, Harry's best friends, were looking at the miserable figure on the rink. Harry returned home for the first time in years and it seemed he was nearly certain that it's time to give up his career. Hermione remembered the first time Harry announced he'd like to be a skater - they were eleven years old and watched World Championship together. It was the first time Tom Riddle got the gold.

"Ron, the music..." Hermione said suddenly, looking at the ice.

"Isn't it...?" Ron seemed equally surprized.

Harry was executing Riddle's winning routine with unexpected ease.

...

"Harry?!" Someone was knocking on his door furiously. What time it was? It seemed he only laid his head down on the pillow... "Harry, what is this supposed to mean?!"

Was it... Minerva McGonagall? No, she would never wake up so early...

"Harry, why is your skating all over internet?" Well, it was Minerva McGonagall after all. No one else would acuse him of something equally stupid. His routine... all over internet? Probably so poeple could laugh at his failed attempt to jump a quadruple? It was an exeptionally spectacular fall.

"Harry?" It was his mom now, speaking in a much softer voice. "Someone wants to see you downstairs, could you hurry up?"

What was wrong with all of them? Why couldn't they let him sleep? He did come home for a reason.

"Harry, you won't regret it." Was it Hermione? Why were they all standing at his door?

His phone buzzed aggressively. Still refusing to open his eyes, he reached for it blindly and guessed it was only a text. Who would message him on a Sunday morning?

You will regret it, Potter.

Conficted information, he thought stupidly and turned away from the door.

His phone buzzed again.

"What now?" It was honeslty too much. Even he was able to loose temper and he was about to do it.

If you want war, you'll have it.

What the heck? Who was sending those weird texts?

The answer came soon enough.

My name is Draco Malfoy and unlike yours, it will be remeber.

Malfoy? That brat from the locker? What was his point...?

Harry look at the door suspiciously. What was going on? All these people trying to wake him up, Malfoy treathening him for some reason...

He heard a noise outside and rose on his elbow. A voice he couldn't quite match with a face spoke gently:

"Let me."

The key clanged on the other side and after a moment the door opened smoothly, letting in some light.

Harry saw his mother and Hermione, Minerva McGonagall was behind them... And in the front, right before his eyes, was an alarmingly familiar man.

"Hello," Tom Riddle greeted him with an amused smile. Harry suddenly regreted sleeping naked since his sixteenth birthday. "I came here to coach you."