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“You’re really tall for a figure skater,” Harry blurted out. He felt his face immediately flush with mortification as his own words echoed in his ears. That… was not what he had meant to say.
The other man stiffened, long fingers tightening on the laces of his skates. He didn’t turn around to look at Harry, but annoyance was written into every lean line of his body. “And you’re really short for a hockey player,” he retorted, irritation lending a rumble to his low voice. He yanked his loosened skate off and set it on the bench beside him.
“How did you know I play hockey?” Harry asked, surprised.
The man twisted in place to shoot him an incredulous look. “You’ve been staying after practice to watch me for weeks,” he said. “You’re not exactly hard to spot, what with all of the—“ he waved a dismissive hand towards the stick and oversized duffel bag of gear that Harry was lugging with him.
“Oh,” said Harry, blushing darker. “Er. Right.”
Harry scratched at his chin, wincing at the stubble he found. He should have shaved when he showered after practice, but until he’d found himself stumbling down the steps in a hurry to talk to the other man before he disappeared again, he hadn’t known he was going to do so. It had been an impulsive decision, his body moving before his mind had caught up. After watching the figure skater practice his routine for the last few weeks, Harry had just… needed to talk to him. To say something, to be more than a shadow in the stands. Now he was mucking it up.
“Guess that’s obvious, then,” he added, fumbling for something to say.
“Obviously,” the other man said dryly. He began to loosen the laces on his other skate. “First time stalking someone, then?”
“I’m not stalking you!” Harry yelped, his voice reaching an embarrassingly high pitch. He thought about his actions over the past few weeks and winced. “Not on purpose, at least?” He offered weakly. There was… yeah, there was not a lot he could say in his defense, was there? ‘Sorry, I’m just awkward and socially inept,’ didn’t really cut it.
“Of course not,” came the mocking reply. The figure skater rose to his feet and twisted in place, stepping over the bench with the same easy grace he showed on the ice. As he padded closer, Harry found himself having to tilt his head back to keep eye contact. Despite being barefoot, the man still loomed almost a full foot over Harry’s own meager stature. “You just like to watch, is that it?”
“Yes?” Harry squeaked, pressing back against the wall as the other man crowded closer. Too close. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he added uncertainly.
“Mmm,” the man said. He smiled, a charming expression that didn’t touch his cold eyes, and Harry felt an electric thrill run through his body as his hair stood on end. The man leaned closer, bracing himself with a hand on the wall next to Harry’s face. This close, Harry could feel the heat radiating from his body. “How much is Dumbledore paying you to spy on my routine?”
Harry’s mind went blank. “Er– what? Who?”
“Not Dumbledore, clearly.” The man murmured. His dark eyes roved across Harry’s face, tracking every minute shift of his expression with predatory interest. “Karkaroff? No. Malfoy? Ah–” he straightened, leaning back with a smirk. “– you recognize that name. I guess that makes sense. Malfoy always liked them pretty.” He cupped Harry’s face with a cold hand, sliding his thumb along the line of his jaw. Harry’s breathing hitched without his consent, and his thoughts went fuzzy. What was happening?
“Why would Draco pay me to watch you?” Harry asked, dazed.
The man froze. “Draco?” He repeated. He dropped his hand and stepped back, frowning. “Not Lucius?”
“Is– is that his dad?” Harry asked, running his fingers along his jaw in unconscious mimicry of the man’s caress. His skin was tingling. “I think we met? Once? Dunno, he usually sends his driver to pick Draco up from practice.”
The man’s face did a complicated thing. He was really handsome up close, Harry thought, fascinated. It had been impossible to tell before, when Harry was sitting up in the stands where nobody could see him– from that distance, Harry had just found himself drawn to the elegance of the skater's form on the ice. Figure skaters weren’t an uncommon sight at the rink, there was only the one skating complex in Little Hangleton, after all, but most of them were amateurs. Not like this man. He danced to the music like it had been made to him, every jump precise and every gesture perfectly crafted to convey as much or as little as he wanted it to. Harry’s attention had been captured, and he had found himself unable to look away as the man had practiced the routine again and again, striving to remove flaws in his performance that were invisible to Harry’s unschooled gaze.
Harry had thought he was beautiful from far away, but from up close, the man was stunning. His eyes were so dark, burning and intent with the force of the personality that shone behind them, and his mouth was lush, curved like he was laughing at a private joke he wasn’t willing to share. His hair was damp with sweat and curled slightly around his brow, but that little imperfection only made him look a little more human, a little more real and approachable. Oh, thought Harry with a start. I guess I really am a bit of a stalker.
“Why were you watching me?” The man asked abruptly, startling Harry out of his guilty spiral.
“I just thought your dancing was beautiful,” Harry said. He adjusted his bag of gear and shuffled his feet awkwardly. His ears were burning. What was he supposed to say? “You’re really, uh, good at it?”
“I know.”
Harry laughed, unable to help himself, at the unabashedly arrogant reply. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said, trying again. “I didn’t mean to stalk you. I just don’t have anywhere to go after practice, so I hang out here a lot and watch other people skate. It took me a bit to realize you’d rented out the arena for privacy, I just thought they were slow customer days.” Harry bit his lip, then shrugged. “By the time I figured it out, I just… loved watching you dance too much to stop,” he added shyly.
“What’s your name?”
“Harry Potter,” Harry answered immediately. “What’s yours?”
“You’ve been watching me skate for weeks, and you don’t know who I am?” The other man asked, his eyebrows slowly raising.
“Should I?” asked Harry, confused.
The man began to laugh. Harry blushed harder.
“Tom,” the man said, grinning in a way that left Harry breathless. “You can call me Tom.”
