Chapter Text
Neither Draco or Hermione had become pairs figure skaters by choice.
For Draco, the truth was made clear to him at age eleven.
“He’s not good enough, I’m sorry Mr. Malfoy,” his coach, Rosier, informed his parents.
Draco stood at his side, shame faced. He was still wearing his tracksuit over his costume, dark green with a few silver accents. His hair was sweaty and falling into his face, while his muscles trembled slightly from the strain he’d put them under.
Once again, he’d placed fourth. It didn’t matter that he’d beaten the ten other boys in his age division, or that he had practiced so hard that he had more bruises than skin, or that he had managed to land all his jumps. All that mattered was that not only had he missed first place, he’d missed the podium entirely. Three other boys had beat him, even though Draco had tried as hard as he could. He hadn't even made any mistakes, hadn't fallen or stumbled. He'd done it as best as he could, and only came in fourth place.
“What are we paying you for then, Rosier?” Father demanded. His white blond hair was tucked into an elegant pony tail, almost glowing against his dark suit. He was angry, there wasn’t a doubt, but his voice was outwardly calm.
Coach Rosier took a deep breath, “Mr. Malfoy, I have the…opportunity to coach another boy, the boy who won this competition. I don’t want to waste my time on someone without potential.”
Draco’s stomach felt like it was somersaulting. Without potential? The words hung in the air, for everyone to hear.
Mother let out a quiet sigh, drawing everyone’s attention to her, “Isn’t he too young to make any decisions about potential? Perhaps he will grow and have an advantageous physique.”
“Mrs. Malfoy, I don’t believe it’s an issue of physique. Draco, however good he is, will not be able to beat other boys in men’s figure skating. Simply, no matter how good he'll become, he'll never be the best. He can stay in the sport if you wish, and he will go far. Perhaps even qualify for the Olympics if you spend enough time and money, but he will never medal.”
Draco wanted to curl up and die right there. Coach Rosier was telling him that he’d never medal, that he could go as far as he wanted, and he would never be good enough. He’d started skating when he was three, competing when he was five. Spent hours upon hours every day, week, month and year, all to get an Olympic gold one day. And at the age of eleven, Coach Rosier was telling him that it was all for nothing.
“He’ll just train harder then,” Mother declared.
“He’s already training hard,” Coach Rosier said. “Please, for his sake, remember the people you always beat when you competed. Remember how you wondered why they even bothered to show up, when you knew they’d never medal? How jealous and depressed they get, year after year as you would improve and they’d stagnate? Do you want that for your son?”
Mother and Father gazed at one another. They were both world champions and Olympic medallists. Mother in women’s and Father in men’s figure skating. They’d risen through the competitive figure skating circuit together, until they’d eventually fallen in love, retired and had him.
Draco, the son of two champion figure skaters, had been expected to succeed beyond their wildest dreams and finally get the Olympic gold in the Malfoy name. And now he had ruined all their dreams at eleven years old.
“What do you suggest then, Rosier?” Father hissed, “Allow him to languish? Push him into speed skating? Let him ruin the Malfoy legacy because he isn’t good enough?”
“No,” Coach Rosier sighed, like he was preparing to say something hard. “But there’s one alternative I believe could work.”
“I want to stay in men’s figure skating,” Draco interrupted, “I can be better!”
“Silence, Draco,” Mother shushed him, “What do you suggest, Rosier?”
“Pairs figure skating,” Rosier said.
Draco scowled at the thought and by the expressions on his parents’ faces, it seemed like they agreed.
Malfoys were champions, but not team players. They won for themselves, only by their own merit and no one else’s.
Figure skating was the epitome of Malfoy excellence; the combination of athletic and artistic ability, the focus of the world on a single person.
Pairs skating meant that Draco’s success relied on another person, and that his success would be shared. Draco hated the idea of it. He’d never be Draco Malfoy, Olympic champion. He’d always be Draco Malfoy and so-and-so, Olympic Champions. The thought made him want to vomit.
“If our son isn’t good enough to succeed at men’s skating, why on earth would that be different in pairs?”
“There’s less competition, to begin with,” Coach Rosier explained, “A higher chance for Draco to succeed. But more importantly, he can partner with a girl better than himself, someone who can propel both of them to the podium.”
Draco felt his eyes tearing up. Not only was he not good enough, he had to switch categories to make it easier for him and to have someone else help him. It was everything a Malfoy wasn’t supposed to do.
Coach Rosier spoke again, “An Olympic gold is an Olympic gold, whether it’s in men’s, or in pairs.”
Father took a deep breath. He looked at Draco and Draco knew that he was a disappointment. “I suppose the rest of the world will be happy enough with a gold from pairs skating.”
The rest of the world, but not the Malfoys. Mother and Father would never see him as good enough.
Draco was going to have to work harder than he ever had to prove it to them that he was.
“Good,” Coach Rosier said, “I’ll put out feelers, see if there’s any good skaters out there that could be a good partner. A coach too.”
“Thank you, Rosier,” Mother said. “We’ll take our leave now, come along Draco.”
Draco numbly followed his parents out the arena, trying his best not to think about the entirety of his life’s work and dreams crashing down around him.
For Hermione Granger, the reality had become evident at eleven years old.
“She has potential, Mrs. Granger, but if she wants to go further in women’s figure skating, she’ll need to have private lessons,” Coach Minerva said.
Hermione sat on the bench, pretending she wasn’t listening as Coach Minerva told her parents the news. There was a ball of excitement in her chest that nearly exploded when Coach said that she had potential, but that little ball deflated completely at the next words.
Private Lessons, the one thing she doubted she could never get.
“Really, private lessons?” Dad said, “Are you sure? I mean, she’s just eleven.”
Coach Minerva sighed, “I started private lessons when I was nine. Many of the girls that compete at national level started younger than that. Even starting at ten is considered late.”
“And how expensive would they be?”
It was the question Hermione was dreading hearing an answer to.
“Well, the cheapest option would be for her to stay primarily in group lessons, and then have one or two private lessons a week. It would be an extra two or three thousand pounds a year, and then there are the costs of competitions, costumes and gym training to consider as well.”
Hermione watched her parent’s expressions fell. Money was the one thing the Grangers never seemed to have quite enough of. They were comfortable enough, living in a small rented flat, occasionally going to out to a restaurant to eat and even paying for small extra-curricular expenses.
But there was a difference between spending a few hundred pounds to get Hermione into bi-weekly group figure skating lessons and spending a few thousand pounds just so that she could compete against other girls and beat them.
“Mom? Dad? I’m happy with just staying in group lessons,” she lied.
Mom smiled, ruffling her curly hair, “What did I do to deserve a girl like you, Hermione?”
“Coach,” Dad said, “You said Hermione had potential, but what do you mean, exactly?”
Coach Minerva smiled at Hermione, “Hermione is, by far, the girl with the most potential at this club. She has it all, the talent, poise and technical skill to succeed internationally, given a few more years of training. I don’t say this lightly, Mr. Granger, but I truly believe that, with the proper training, Hermione could medal at the Olympics for women’s figure skating.”
Hermione felt her breath drop away.
She had always known that she was good, from the first moment she’d stepped on the ice and it felt like she was finally in control of herself. She knew that the other girls knew it too, that they had crowded around her when she was the best, only to distance themselves when she started to get even better and better.
But Coach Minerva thought she could reach the Olympics? Even medal at the Olympics?
It sounded insane, but Hermione knew in her heart of hearts, that it was true. If she got the private lessons, got everything Minerva thought she needed, Hermione could get a gold for women’s figure skating. And she wanted it.
She wanted to prove to the world that Hermione Granger, a nothing girl from nowhere important, daughter of a grocery clerk and a waitress, was a champion.
“She could go to the Olympics?” Mom repeated, stunned.
“With the right training,” Minerva said. “And the costs will only increase as the years go by. Eventually, she might be able to get sponsorships to help with the costs, but not until she’d established internationally.”
Sponsorships? The concept seemed insane.
Mom bit her lip. “That sounds amazing, but we can’t afford it.”
“Sorry Minerva,” Dad said. “It’s true.”
Hermione was about to start crying. How could she keep going in group lessons, watching as girls who weren’t as good as she was, got all the opportunities she wanted desperately to have.
Minerva frowned, “Well, there is one alternative. It’s a stretch, but it might solve the issue of funds.”
“What? I’ll do anything,” Hermione cried out.
Coach Minerva fixed Hermione with her stern gaze, “Anything?”
“Anything.”
“Pairs figure skating,” Coach Minerva said. “She’ll be able to split the costs with her partner. It’ll still be expensive, but if Hermione can prove her ability as Olympic potential, there’s a chance you’ll be able to find a partner willing to pay more than their fair share of the fees to get them the opportunity.”
“But I don’t need a partner,” Hermione interjected. “You said I could get a gold by myself if I wanted to. I don’t want someone whose going to slow me down. Or drop me on my head!”
Mom put a hand on her shoulder, “I know that it doesn’t sound as good as women’s figure skating, but I don’t think we have much of a choice, honey. Do you want to stay in group lessons?”
“Well, no,” Hermione admitted.
“A gold is a gold,” Dad said, “Though I’m also not a fan of the possibility that some boy will be dropping you on your head.”
Hermione sighed, “Okay. I’ll try it.”
“Excellent,” Minerva said, “I’ll see if there’s any potential partners around. A single male pairs skater is a rare thing at this age, but I’m well respected. If there’s one, I’ll find him.”
“Great,” Hermione said, not bothering to hide out put out she was.
“Hermione,” Mom said, kneeling down, “I’m sorry that we can’t afford to send you to the Olympics by ourselves, but you can still reach it, as long as you try to find a partner as hard as you can. It’s not fair, but you’ve never let unfairness get in the way of what you want before, have you?”
Hermione took a deep breath, “Yeah, okay. I’ll do it. I’ll reach the Olympics no matter what it takes.”
As both coaches sent out feelers through the British figure skating world, it felt like fate when Coach Minerva heard that the young Malfoy boy was switching into pairs skating and wasn’t fairing well with finding a new partner.
When Coach Rosier heard of an exceptionally talented girl seeking to switch into pairs, he was quick to add her to the list of potential partners.
That night, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger both resigned themselves to their new fates. Hermione cried herself to sleep, while Draco stayed awake for hours and hours.