Biography: Hi! I live in Colorado, right in the foothills. I have a beautiful horse named Cheyenne; if anyone ever wants to hear more about her I have been known to rattle on about her for hours. Um Not much else about me is interesting…
p Favorite Slash Paring: HP/SS
p E-mail address that you want your reviews sent to: sincepastyahoo.com
p Penname: Thoroughbred
p Fic title: Unlikely Hero
p Summary: When Voldemort goes into hiding in America, Harry is forced to follow him. When the Dark Lord develops a love for the Thoroughbred race horse, Harry sets off to beat him the only way he can, a Match Race.
p Pairing: HP/SS
p Rating: Pg-13
p # Chapters: ???
p Category (romance, drama, angst, humor, horror, etc...): actiony horseyness
p Completed, Yes or No: No
p Disclaimer: If I owned this would I really be posting this online? Okay? I don't own this!!!
p Notes: Italics=thoughts
pA racetrack in the morning is an amazing thing. The early morning sunrays rake across carefully harrowed dirt. Powerful animals soar around the oval, merging into one with their riders, commanding muscle gleaming under polished coats. Dominant athletes that didn't care how much money was at stake, or how many people watched them, athletes that just wanted to run, for the joy of running. Harry sighed; horseracing was a beautifully simple sport. Of course, He reminded himself as shouts brought him back to the real world, Horse racing politics messes all that up. He turned away from the track's morning workouts, back to the meal of eggs and toast he had, courtesy of the track kitchen. He sat in the stands of Churchill Downs, in Louisville, Kentucky. Now, at six in the morning, the stands were nearly deserted, but in a few hours they would be packed for the Kentucky Derby. The mile and a quarter race was probably the most famous race in the world. A large purse and a place in the history books attracted all of the best horses. This year the favorite was a tall black colt named Dark Lord, owned by Serpent's Tongue Stables. He walked out of the stands and showed a guard the pass that would allow him access to the rail, courtesy of the American Ministry of Magic. Settling in on the fence, Harry was much closer to witness Dark Lord's last workout before the big race that afternoon. He wouldn't rule much, just a little canter to get his mind on running. The famous horse was led onto the track. He was big, big and solid black. His wild brown eyes glinted red in the sunlight. It was obvious he was fighting his rider, prancing across the track trying to break free and run. Harry's eyes followed the colt until movement behind him caught Harry's eye. The colt's secretive owner 'Tom Riddle' stood at the rail a furlong (1/8 of a mile) or so down from Harry, who silently thanked anyone who cared to listen for his concealment charms. On top of the appearance altering magic, he had muggle make-up. No one would be able to recognize him. The fast colt finished his canter and was led back to the barn, Harry followed at a safe distance. The high security would make it challenging for most to enter the barn, but once again the badge let Harry by.
p He heard Voldemort speak, "What are Lord's chances today?"
p His trainer, beside him responded, "He's a shoe in, no one else has a chance, unless something unexpected happens, of course," The conversation continued, discussing the rest of the horses in the field.
p When Harry had determined he wouldn't hear anything of use, he looked around. He stood in the lower end area of Serpent's Tongue Stables, where the 'lesser' horses were kept. These horses were the ones who earned their keep in the races and maybe a little more. There were a few that were improving and a few waiting to be sold. He entertained himself by looking at them. There were about ten stalls in this area. Harry walked by them one by one, nothing impressed him. In the six months he had been tracking Voldemort stable he had learned how to judge horses, and could tell that none of these were race horses. With a sigh he glanced in the last stall. This horse made him catch his breath.
p A small black horse, only 15 hands ( a hand is 4 inches), he didn't look like a runner, but his eyes shone brightly to tell any one who pasted he was game. It was the eyes though that held the attention. Unlike other horses, who had blue or brown eyes, these were a emerald green. Harry was still staring at the horse when he hear a voice behind him whisper, "May I help you?"
p Harry smirked, he'd know that voice anywhere, "Is this horse for sale?"
p "Who? Fluke?" Draco looked at the small black horse with disgust.
p "If that's his name," Harry shrugged.
p "Actually," a voice hissed from behind them, "His registered name is 'Unlikely Hero' we call him Fluke because if he does anything right, it's on accident."
p Harry turned to see Voldemort standing there and repeated his question, "Is he for sale?"
p "For the right price." Voldemort smirked.