cold feet

“Birds flying high… you know how I feel.”

Regulus knows what he’s doing. He knows this choreography better than the back of his hand, and now is his chance to show it to the judges and to everyone watching. Which should be easy enough of a job, considering just how hard he’s been attacking this program every single day. By now, skating this should feel effortless, and he should be able to turn his brain off entirely and just skate.

Except as he steps into his choreography, he can’t stop thinking about his jumping passes. More specifically, what were to happen if he changed them up just a little.

It’s a terrible idea, and he’s well aware it’s a terrible idea. It’s risky, and it’s careless, and he will never hear the end of it from both his mother and Lucius. He decided on these jumping passes months ago, and they are what he’s been practicing; what good would it do for him to change them up now?

Still, he can’t stop imagining the numbers on the protocol sheet as he glides around the ice. He can only imagine what notice the entire figure skating world would be put on if, in his junior competition debut, he managed to break 70 points in the short program. He wants to see the look on the crowd’s faces, on the judges’ faces. He wants his fellow skaters to feel threatened, wants no one here to forget his name or what he manages to do today. And he can’t do that now, with a weak triple-triple combo and a mere double axel.

He’s set to do a triple toe-triple toe—a combination that he can do with ease—but his triple flip felt really good in the warmup, and honestly, he thinks he could pull off a triple flip-triple toe right here. A couple of days ago when he skated for James, he tried a triple loop-triple toe instead, and he was able to land it. Why should a triple flip be any different?

He is, however, supposed to jump a triple flip later in the program, and he can’t be repeating any of his jumps twice. So, I’ll change that to a triple loop instead, Regulus thinks as he takes a couple of crossovers backwards around the ice, setting up for his first jump at last. And then the double axel… I can jump a triple axel, I’m doing it in the free program. Why not here as well?

Regulus makes his decision with a split second left before he is supposed to enter into his jumping combination, finalizing everything within his brain. Triple flip-triple toe first, triple loop second, triple axel third… how hard can that be?

Alright, then. He’ll do it.

Regulus takes a deep breath before turning backwards on his left foot—the entrance that he and Lucius practiced for the toe loop. But instead of switching his balance over to his right side and picking the ice with his left leg, he keeps it on the ice and slams his right toe pick into the ice instead, launching himself up into the air. 

He begins to rotate… once, twice, three times around…

”And I’m feeling good…”

He comes back down to the ice right as the trumpets pick up, perfectly on beat just as he’s been in practice so many times before. And as his skate touches the ice again, he can do nothing but wait.

A moment passes, and he is shocked to find that he is still upright on the ice, having stuck the landing for his triple flip.

He has no time to celebrate, though—he still has the triple toe to tackle in this combination. His left leg swings out and around as he lands, and he does not hesitate to dig his toe pick into the ice, launching himself up and around yet again. 

Everything happens so fast as he gets himself around once, twice, three times, and he barely has time to register what’s happened before holy shit, he’s back on the ice and he’s just landed this combination perfectly. His mouth falls slightly open as he crosses his left leg behind him and continues on with his choreography, allowing himself one moment of pride before he goes for his next jump—a simple triple loop.

Second jump, he tells himself, not that anyone’s counting. This is one of your favorites. You know how to do it well.

And do it well, he will. He steps forward onto his right foot and begins to turn around himself, turning backwards to forwards so many times he loses count. Once he’s determined that he’s done enough consecutive 3-turns to build up the speed for a jump, he goes for it.

He leaps off of the ice so quick that one might miss it if they weren’t paying attention, quickly snapping his left foot down over his right leg as he rotates and rotates. 

He lands the jump without difficulty, sticking his landing position as though this is what he’s practiced all along. Easy, he thinks as he hears the crowd clap for him, smiling softly as he prepares to tackle his third and final jump—the dreaded triple axel. In the second half of the program too, no less.

Thankfully, his next planned element—a simple sit spin, which has always been one of his favorites—allows him a break from jumping, so he has time to ready himself for what he is about to do.

This is nothing. He’s done this jump constantly for the past several months, so constantly that he’s left several practices with his feet bleeding as a result. He knows  what works for the takeoff, knows how to come down and land it without breaking an ankle. He just can’t overthink it, is all. Which is exactly what he is doing right now.

He jumps onto his right foot now, folding his left foot underneath him as he bends into a back tuck spin and holds both arms above his head. And as he does, he tries to clear his mind.

Don’t overthink it, he reminds himself, closing his eyes for just a moment as he pushes out of his spin. Then, his mind finally clear, he opens them. He takes his crossovers around the ice, gliding on his right foot, turning into a bracket…

Then he steps forward onto his left foot, kicking up with his right before snapping into the rotation. Just get three and a half, he wills himself, crossing his arms and legs over each other as tightly as he can. One, two, three, three and a half…

He comes back down much faster than he expects to, and as a result his landing ends up curving tightly in a way that causes him to grit his teeth together. Nonetheless, he hangs onto the landing, which he tells himself is what matters here. Nevermind the fact that if he’d come down just a millisecond earlier, he would surely be laying on the ice right now.

Okay, he thinks, yet again crossing his left foot underneath his right. Okay, your jumps are done. Now it’s just the step sequence and spins. Regulus is about to get one of those out of the way.

The music cuts, and he steps forward at the same time that the key changes, gliding with purpose. At first, he has no difficulty changing edges and direction, just like he’s done in practice. He goes into his first cluster—a rocker into a counter into a bracket—and executes it with ease, allowing the music to carry him.

But as he steps onto his right inside edge and spins around himself, using twizzles to cover the ice, he suddenly finds that he is far too dizzy coming out of them, that he needs to take deeper breaths as he pushes into his next cluster. Bracket, counter… shit, was it a twizzle next?

Regulus goes for the twizzle and nearly stumbles as he gets out of it, but manages to hang on. This is wrong, he thinks suddenly, panic beginning to seep in. He’s never been this exhausted  by the step sequence before… hell, this is supposed to be the easy break in the program. He could do these steps in his sleep if he wanted to. Why is he suddenly forgetting how to skate?

He barely survives his third cluster, crossing over himself as he concludes his step sequence. I’ll be lucky to get a level 4 on that, he thinks miserably, flying into his second to last spin—the required camel spin that all junior men must do. As his left and right leg soar above his head in quick succession and he lands back on the ice with only his right foot to rotate, he finds that he struggles to hold onto the landing out of the butterfly, and he is spinning far slower than he would like to be. By now, he should be on his eighth revolution, completely done with the spin—he’s barely past five rotations. Come on, Reg, he wills himself, but it feels like no use. He is only losing more and more speed, and as the most dramatic section of the music starts, he finds he’s lost about 10 seconds of time. By now he should have been jumping into his final spin, but instead, he is grabbing his left leg and yanking it around himself as he attempts to get any semblance of a level on this spin. As he stands upright again and pushes out of the spin, he wastes no time skating into his final spin—his combination spin.

“And I’m feeling good…”

He’s supposed to jump into his sit spin, getting the credit for a flying entry yet again. But he can’t do it. He knows what will happen if he tries. So instead, he pushes right into the spin, sinking down and down and down. 

One, two, three.

”I feel so good.”

He swings his right foot behind himself as he grabs his free leg and rises into a camel catch spin, praying that somehow he will go faster.

One, two…three.

Now he lets go of his right foot and presses down into the ground as he changes the leg he is spinning on, bending forward and grabbing his left leg with both of his hands before pulling it up over his head. As he pulls upwards, he gains at least a little bit of speed back…. but not nearly enough.

One, two, three—

He suddenly presses too forward on his right foot and loses the edge on his blade, his balance too out of control to maintain the spin. He panics; no, no, no. Not like this. Before he stumbles any more, he’s able to press his left foot onto the ground and save himself from a fall deduction.

There’s a whole moment of choreography he’s supposed to do at the end before settling into his final pose, but he doesn’t have time for it. He gets right down onto one knee and holds his free leg out to his side, staring the judges down as the music ends.

A moment passes in complete silence, Regulus holding his breath.

Then the applause begins, and he at last allows himself to gasp for air as he gets up to his feet. He skates out to center ice, all the while feeling as though his lungs are on fire. His heart beats so fast that he wouldn’t be surprised if it burst out of his chest and onto the floor right now, and his legs hurt far more than they should considering how many times he’s done this program.

All things considered, though, he doesn’t think it went too horribly. He makes sure to thank the judges first, extending his arms above his head before he bows and brings them to his chest. He can’t tell anything from the unreadable, completely neutral expressions on their faces.

He turns around and faces the crowd now, who is still eagerly clapping as he repeats the process of bowing for them. Once he’s done with that, his eyes fall right to the door where he’s supposed to make his exit—and he makes the mistake of looking right at Lucius.

Lucius’s expression is less than enthused, his eyes narrow and his arms crossed over his stomach. Regulus swallows, already knowing what will await him the moment he steps off the ice.

But Barty is already stepping on the ice to prepare for his own free skate, and Regulus can’t avoid it forever. So he makes his way off of the ice, still gasping for air as he completely gives up on acting like his own program didn’t just fucking murder him.

At last he reaches the door. Barty starts to say something as they brush past each other, but whatever it is, Regulus isn’t paying attention. He briefly feels guilty about it—then tells himself he can resolve it once the short program is over for the day.

He keeps his head down as he reaches for his guards and pulls them over his blades, knowing the entire time that Lucius is looming over him. At last, he speaks.

“Good job, Regulus.”

Oh, Regulus thinks. He completely thought that he’d be faced with a lecture right off the bat, so it’s a pleasant surprise when it doesn’t happen. “Thanks,” he says, the words coming out in a barely audible wheeze. Jesus, he’s gassed.

“You did fine,” Lucius says, which throws Regulus off for just a moment. Fine? Not good?

“Thank you,” Regulus repeats, “I—“

But what he’s about to say is cut off by Lucius, whose tone suddenly matches the frustration in his demeanor. “Yeah, no problem,” Lucius replies. “My favorite part was when you did absolutely none of what we’ve been practicing for months and almost derailed your entire program because of it.”

Yeah, Regulus saw that one coming. He grits his teeth together, turning his head away from Lucius as he attempts to defend himself. “I wanted more points,” he says. “I wanted to win this thing.”

“Pushing yourself far beyond your capabilities is not how you do it,” Lucius says. “You did big jumps, sure. But you exhausted yourself in the process. By the end of the program, I’d barely call what you did skating at all.”

Regulus attempts to justify his actions once again, but the harrowing pain in his side as he continues to catch his breath makes him think that maybe Lucius is right. “Sorry,” he mumbles, looking up at him now. “I just thought that—“

”Were you even thinking at all?” Lucius suddenly snaps, causing Regulus to grimace. After a second, Lucius’s expression shifts. “Look, I know it’s tempting. Trust me, I do. But Jesus, these are regional championships. There’s no need to be doing this to yourself right now.”

Before Regulus gets the chance to say anything, Lucius glances down at his phone. He stares for a long time before looking up to Regulus, and that’s when he knows; his score is in.

”How did I score?” Regulus asks after a moment, taking a step towards Lucius and the result displayed on his screen.

Lucius turns his phone around without speaking, and the first thing Regulus notices is his name at the top of the screen, indicating that he’s risen to the top of the standings. Then he looks closer, and the number flashes before Regulus’s eyes: 71.43.

His eyes move down the live results displayed on the website, to the next competitor below him. Anthony Brooks. And then he glances at the score displayed.

60.97.

Over ten points. Regulus has taken the lead, and he’s done it by over ten points.

He wishes he felt better about that—but considering the fact that he nearly killed himself to make it happen, it doesn’t at all seem like a victory. And he can only imagine the talk he will receive from his mother once the short program ends.

Judging from the look on Lucius’s face, his coach doesn’t seem to have any more of a positive outlook on this than he does. Which is completely understandable. Lucius gave him clear instructions, and he failed to follow them.

“Representing the Salazar Figure Skating Club, please welcome Barty Crouch Jr..”

”Well,” Lucius says as the crowd behind them breaks out into applause, “unless Barty has the skate of his life, I think it’s safe to say you won the short program. Let’s hope you have enough energy left for the free skate tomorrow.”

Regulus opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, the music to Barty’s short starts.

Instead of fighting a battle that he knows he will lose, Regulus turns around to face the ice and watches his friend skate.

❅ ❅ ❅

As Regulus aggressively scrubs at his eyes so hard that they sting, he begins to wonder if waterproof eyeliner was the wrong move.

He supposes that he could just leave it on at this point. The water from the locker room sink doesn’t seem to be doing much at all, and he only has a couple more minutes left before the senior women’s event begins. Since he was young, he’s always stayed and watched the senior men and women perform at regionals, but as he’s gotten older the gap between his own event and their event has shrunken significantly. He tries his best not to think about the fact that next year, he’ll likely be skating in the senior men’s event himself. 

Jesus Christ, why won’t this eyeliner come off? The harder Regulus swats at his eyelids, the more it smudges, and yet it won’t just get off of his face completely. It seemed like a good idea to go with his costume—the top being a dark green rhinestoned with silver crystals, and the pants being completely black. But he’s never actually worn eye makeup for a program before, and he’s totally rethinking his idea to do it again tomorrow. His mother would probably know how to get it off, but Regulus would rather avoid seeing her for as long as he can right now.

He did end up taking the lead after Barty’s short, with Barty being in third while he remained steadily in first place. And while he wants to be over the moon about this, he’s beginning to doubt that he can hold up in the free program tomorrow. His entire body aches in a way it never has before, and he still feels like he’s catching his breath. With any luck, he’ll be able to sleep it off and deliver the flawless free he knows he can do. But he’s not sure. And plus, his mom might not let him.

Regulus has already brushed her off right after the short ended, watching as she made a beeline for him as she rushed down the stairs. But Regulus was faster, running into the skaters-only locker room where he’s now remained for the past ten minutes. And he’s made an effort to look as busy as possible, first fixing his mangled hair and now dealing with the most stubborn makeup to ever exist. He’s debating just leaving it on and looking like a raccoon for the remainder of day one when…

”You need makeup remover, Regulus?” says an unfamiliar voice from the corner of the room, causing Regulus to look up at whoever’s just asked. And immediately, he freezes.

Oh, god.

Glancing right back at him is Tom Riddle, the esteemed—or infamous, depending on who you ask—men’s figure skating coach of the midwest. 

For as long as Regulus can remember, he used to coach out of Hogwarts. Sirius trained with him, once upon a long time ago. And then he stopped, and refused to even speak to Regulus about what he’d endured underneath him. Regulus has stayed out of his way ever since, and later found out that he’d been correct to do so. A few months ago, Albus Dumbledore—the head of the rink—fired him over abusive behavior of his students, and so he’d gone to coach somewhere else. Though he and Lucius never acknowledged it, it’s the reason why there was an extra instructor position open for Learn to Skate. The reason why Regulus coaches now. 

Regulus despises him without even needing to know him. And he cannot imagine why Tom feels a need to speak with him. Why Tom already knows who he is, without even asking.

He spends so long just staring that he nearly forgets to reply. But then he remembers that he has to be courteous, that he’s just been offered help and it would be rude to refuse. “Oh, um. Yeah. That would be great, thanks.”

Not even five seconds after Regulus has responded to him, Tom is reaching into the bag beside him and pulling out a package. Regulus realizes after a second that they’re makeup wipes. Tom extends his arm out, offering the pack to him. “Use as many as you want,” he says.

Regulus hates this. He hates even being near him, and hates that he doesn’t know Tom’s intentions. But it’s not like he can just reject the kind gesture of Tom Riddle, the five-time U.S. National Champion, 1992 Olympic Gold Medalist, and coach of many top skaters in the country. That’s practically like Regulus ending his figure skating career before it can even begin.

So he takes the wipes and offers Tom an appreciative smile. “Thanks,” he says. And then he turns to face the mirror, pulling out a wipe and beginning to dab at where the liner’s become smudged underneath his eyes.

To Tom’s credit, whatever brand he’s using works like a charm. Almost immediately the makeup is coming off, and Regulus can’t help but feel immense relief at the fact that he isn’t stuck looking like this forever.

For a moment, it is quiet, Regulus and Tom being the only two in the locker room. Regulus manages after a couple of minutes to get the makeup completely off his face, and is just preparing to throw the wipe away when—

“That was a pretty gutsy move out there,” Tom says, causing Regulus to whip around. 

“Huh?” Regulus asks, not entirely sure of what he’s referring to. Tom is quick to provide him with an answer.

“Changing all of your jumps to get more points. Making the double axel a triple,” Tom states, which nearly makes Regulus freeze. How did he know about my planned program content? As far as Regulus knows, Tom didn’t have any junior men skating in the short… which means he actively went looking for Regulus’s planned content. He’s feeling uneasier by the second. “That’s not an easy feat to pull off,” Tom adds, before Regulus can question him any further.

I didn’t really pull it off, he wants to say, and just refrains from doing so. “Yeah, well, my coach was pissed at me for doing it,” he says instead, which he hopes gets across the message of You shouldn’t be praising my absolute desperation. 

It doesn’t. “Why? You landed everything. You took the lead by over ten points,” Tom shrugs, like he is simply just telling the truth. And… Regulus supposes that he is. What reason does Lucius have to be so angry with him when he has such a strong lead going into the free?

No, Regulus quickly reminds himself, he shouldn’t be thinking like this. At the end of the day, Tom is not his coach, and he definitely doesn’t have Regulus’s best interest in mind. But Regulus still can’t figure out what Tom wants with him.

For a long time, Regulus debates on his response. “Well, let’s see if I can keep it,” he eventually settles on, getting the last of his eyeliner off. He tosses the wipes he’s used into the trash before grabbing the package and approaching Tom, practically shoving it back into his hands. “Thank you,” he says, and prays that Tom will just let him leave.

Tom takes the package back, but seems to draw his hands back as slowly as possible. And much to Regulus’s absolute dread, he speaks again. “Don’t doubt what you can do out there. I wouldn’t be surprised if you landed a quad tomorrow.”

“I‘m not planning on jumping a quad,” he retorts, “but I appreciate it.” This man, he thinks, and his obsession with quads. He knows why Tom is obsessed, of course; after the ‘92 Olympics, quads became a necessity to win in men’s skating, and Tom could never quite stick one clean in competition. So now he forces all of his skaters to do them, to assure that they can win where he couldn’t. And it’s worked; he’s trained some of the most prominent men’s skaters in the entire country. But he’s seen the way that they jump their quads, with their horrific technique that will assure they are retired by twenty. He’d rather jump triples for the rest of his life than ever land a jump so ugly. 

Tom doesn’t seem to take any sort of offense to his comment, simply blinking before continuing. ”Well, I’m excited to see what you do tomorrow either way.” 

Regulus isn’t sure what to say to that, feeling somewhat disgusting for even entertaining this conversation in any sort of capacity. Eventually, he settles on simply nodding. “Thanks,” he says again, because what else can he do?

”Yeah, anytime,” Tom says, rising to his feet. Then, unexpectedly, he claps Regulus on the shoulder, as though they’ve known each other all their lives. He has to fight the urge to flinch away. Tom is far taller than him. It’s no wonder he could never land quads.  “I’ve gotta go get my own skaters warmed up, but it was nice meeting you, Regulus. Heard a lot about you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Regulus responds, though it is far from what he wishes he could say. Do you even remember my brother? He longs to ask, more than anything. He doubts he does. To Tom, he was just another skater that he tossed aside once he was no longer considered a prodigy. Do you remember what you did to him? 

“I’ll see you around,” Tom says. Regulus nods, knowing that he will do everything to ensure the opposite. Then, Tom exits the locker room and closes the door behind him, leaving Regulus alone.

All he can think about are Tom’s words, Tom singing his praises even though he refused to listen to what he was told. Pretty gutsy move, he’d said. Not an easy feat to pull off.

Tom’s right about that, but it doesn’t mean Regulus was completely right in doing so. He landed his jumps, sure—at the cost of everything else in his program looking half decent. Of course Tom praised it; he only sees the value in jumps. Regulus has never been like that. He will not be a skater that only focuses on achieving a certain number of revolutions in the air and doesn’t care about anything else, that doesn’t value the artistry and beauty of this sport. He’s always resolved that if he makes it big in this sport, he will do it properly. He refuses to fall under Tom’s spell, the incredibly deceptive spell that has captured so much of the skating world in its clutches. He knows better. He has to. Otherwise, the twelve years that he’s spent in this sport will have all been for nothing.

He takes a deep breath, and tries to forget that this conversation has ever happened. Tries to erase Tom’s words from his head, so that he will not spend a minute more lingering on them.

When at last he’s cleared it all from his mind, he steps out of the locker room. There is still skating to watch, and eager to witness it, Regulus sets off to join his friends.