It was three days after Harry’s little adventure when Hermione and Ron paid the entry fee and walked into the race track, each sporting binoculars and a glamour spell courtesy of the twins. They looked around briefly and made their way out to the grandstands. The track looked run down and the people attending were definitely a little on the rough side. “I hope this one pans out,” said Hermione as she put her hand on her jacket pocket for a reassuring feel of her wand. “Otherwise I’ve no idea where to try next.”

Ron nodded and raised binoculars to his eyes. He’d begun to loose faith in Hermione’s assertion that the boots and breeches Harry had been wearing on the day he escaped were proof that he was working as a jockey. This was the fifth track they had visited. At least it was something to do to keep their minds off Harry’s continued absence. He scanned the riders and their mounts that were circling the saddling enclosure.

“I don’t see him in that bunch,” he said curtly. “Shall we look around for the changing room?” Hermione nodded and they wandered back up the aisle and to the corner of the grandstand closest to the barns and other buildings. Ron inspected the area with his binoculars, carefully looking at each face. His breath caught and he grabbed at Hermione’s shoulder, clumsy in his excitement.

“There he is!” he said in a fierce whisper. He pointed at a small building to their left with several young men lounging against it. One of them was instantly recognizable with his unruly hair and slim build. “It’s him, Hermione! I can’t believe it,” Ron gibbered. He gave her a wide grin then pressed the glasses to his eyes again. “He’s talking to someone, an older man. Maybe he’s going to ride for him.” He looked back at the young woman at his side. “It’ll be wicked to see him ride, won’t it?”

Hermione grabbed Ron’s glasses and with the strap half strangling her boyfriend, used them to see for herself. “Oh, Ron! He looks good. He’s a little thin though.”

Ron snorted. “Okay, Mum.” Hermione gave him a dirty look. “He’s working as a jockey, ‘Mione. Of course he’s thin!” The two smiled broadly at each other. Ron grabbed her around the waist and spun her into the air. “I can’t believe we did it!” They both were laughing hard, attracting the attention of a few annoyed racegoers. With a pair of delighted grins they clasped hands and walked back to their seats in the grandstand. Ron pulled a program out of his pocket and they perused the entries for the next race.

“Hard to say which horse he is riding,” said Hermione. “I’m sure he’s not using his real name. We’ll just have to watch for him.” She sat back in her seat but her excitement kept her from relaxing. They didn’t have long to wait. The announcer came on and began to introduce the jockeys and their mounts for the first race as the horses walked out onto the track. They immediately spotted Harry on number three and nearly fell out of the stands laughing as he was introduced as Ian Granger.

“Granger!” laughed Ron. “I can’t believe he’s going by your name.” He deepened his voice and put on a fake frown, “I’m going to have to ask the boy what his intentions are for you, Miss Granger.”

Hermione giggled and said with a grin, “I always knew Harry was the progressive type but taking my name? How romantic!” She rolled her eyes theatrically. Ron laughed aloud and turned back to the track to watch the horses line up at the start.

“There he is, ‘Mione, next to the brown horse there with the green saddle pad. This is kind of exciting, isn’t it?” Ron said enthusiastically. Hermione nodded and took up her field glasses. She focused on the horse then moved her gaze up to the rider. Harry sat tall, swaying gently with the strides of his mount. He chatted calmly with one of the other riders, unaware of his friends watching. He wore a green silk jacket with a white diagonal slash on it. His helmet had a green cover with a white ball on top.

“He looks good, kind of confident. Oh, they’re at the gate.” Hermione gasped and dropped the glasses as the starter released the field. The horses thundered for the first fence in a straining, churning group. They struggled to catch sight of their friend as the jumpers vied for position in the approach. The crowd groaned as one as one of the horses fell, spilling his jockey onto the turf.

“It’s not Harry,” Ron said quickly as Hermione looked aghast at the fallen jockey. “He’s still in the pack.” She sighed with relief but still watched the fallen boy anxiously until he regained his feet and stalked off after his horse. As she returned her eyes to the race the horses were at the next jump and she watched Harry and his mount take it easily, running steadily with the pack. She lifted her glasses again to see Harry grinning at the jockey nearest him as they thundered toward the next obstacle. She looked at Ron and smirked, “Same old Harry.” He beamed at her in response and put his glasses up to watch the rest of the race.

The pack made its way around the course, closely grouped until they reached the last turn in the back field. As the horses started to tire they began to spread out, the stronger ones taking the lead. Harry and his mount remained steady, galloping easily and taking the jumps out of stride. The young wizard looked poised as he guided the horse surely over the course, his expression determined as he concentrated on the race and the animal beneath him.

Hermione and Ron watched, entranced, as the race progressed. Harry’s horse tucked in and continued to come along strongly. As the leaders hit the ground after the last fence he was among them. There was a scramble and turf flew as they fought for the lead. As the knot of horses crossed the finish it was Harry’s whose neck stretched out to cross the line first. The characteristic fist in the air let them know he had won.

After screaming themselves hoarse Ron and Hermione sat back and looked at each other with identical grins. “Bloody brilliant,” enthused Ron, and Hermione could not find it in her heart to chastise him about his language. Together they basked in the glow of their friend’s accomplishment and watched as he and his horse made their way to the winner’s circle.

A quick flash from a camera and Harry hopped off the horse. The trainer clapped him on the back and the pair exchanged words and smiles. Making his way quickly through the small crowd of happy people who were attending with the horse’s owner Harry moved back to the lineup outside the changing room. With much grinning and friendly punches in the arm the scruffy looking boys fell back into their attitude of studious casualness, waiting impatiently for their chance to ride too. In moments Harry was approached by another trainer and left the area with a quick smile and raised brow over his shoulder for his comrades.

“He’s not listed in the program anymore today,” Hermione mused after studying her copy. “He must substituting for someone who is sick or…something.” She did not want to mention the high probability of injury in their friend’s line of work. It seemed like she needed to knock on wood. Ron gave her a look that said he understood her hesitation.

“Looks like our Harry is a hot commodity today,” observed Ron dryly. He dropped his glasses and turned to face Hermione. She returned his look and leaned back into her seat.

“Yeah.” She suddenly gave him an impish grin. “Shouldn’t we try to cash in on his hot streak?” Ron looked confused so she explained, “We should place a bet on the next horse he rides.”

Ron’s confusion turned to amazement. “I can’t believe the future Head Girl and all around genius of Hogwarts is suggesting this.” He put his hands to his face in mock horror. Hermione smacked him on the top of the head and laughed.

“It’s not like it’s illegal or anything,” she retorted. She quickly explained how to wager and the two walked over to a betting window as they waited for Harry’s substitution to be announced. When the announcer confirmed that he would be in the next race on horse number 5 they stepped up to the window. They put five pounds on him to show and returned to their seats, excitedly clutching the ticket.

Harry brought the obviously tiring horse in for a hard fought second place. He hopped off the heavily breathing horse and tossed the reins and his silks to the stable lad. As the horse was lead away the trainer pressed an envelope into his hands. They conferred for a few moments before shaking hands and moving apart. Harry brushed the mud from his breeches and headed back toward the changing room. The lineup was smaller now as the day neared it’s end.

As they watched him from the stands Harry scrubbed his hair back with his hand and chatted with the boy next to him. “He looks tired,” said Hermione.

“Yeah,” agreed Ron. “Trust Harry to not know when to stop.” They shared a rueful smile and each thought about other times when Harry had refused to admit to being too hurt or tired to continue.

“Some things never change,” added Hermione. They sat back and enjoyed some lunch from the concession stand, using the money they had won on Harry’s last race. Ron’s contented look as he munched on the sandwiches and cakes prompted her to repeat, “Some things never change.” They both laughed and waited patiently for the end of today’s racing.

Hermione was on her way back from getting some soda when she saw the trainer from Harry’s first race talking to three angry looking men. When one of them pushed him back against the wall Hermione ducked behind a pillar to listen and see if Harry’s friend was in trouble. It was too far to hear everything plainly but it was clear the conversation was not amicable.

“…do as…told,” growled the dark haired man who was holding the trainer against the wall.

The trainer struggled a bit in the man’s cruel grip. “I won’t sell out my horses or my owners to the likes of you, Jerry,” he said, his voice carrying well across the aisle. Hermione remembered from the program that the man’s name was Arthur. His bravery reminded her of another Arthur she knew.

One of the men stepped forward and with a speed and viciousness that drew a startled gasp from Hermione, he threw two quick punches to Arthur’s midsection. The man holding him, Jerry, said, “That’s…taste of…you’ll get…cooperate next time.” Before she could draw her wand they released him and faded into the crowd. Arthur sucked in a breath and shakily walked in the opposite direction.

When Hermione slid into her seat with trembling hands and a pale face Ron grabbed her shoulders and said, “What is it? What’s happened?” Hermione described what she had witnessed as Ron clasped her hands reassuringly. “Looks like Harry has found himself another spot of trouble to get involved in. Wonder if he knows what’s going on.” The pair sat back and stared at the track, the idyllic day spoiled by the violent reminder of real life.

When it appeared Harry was ready to call it a day he was approached by another trainer. The man looked at Harry nervously and began talking quickly. Harry nodded a few times and after apparently coming to an agreement they marched off toward the stabling area. The two friends sighed and sat back, resigned to waiting through one more race before they could approach their comrade.

The horse was lead into the saddling area followed by Harry and the trainer. It sidestepped nervously and tossed its head. Foam dripped from its mouth and its sides were already sweat stained. The trainer stood in front of it as he continued to speak to Harry. Suddenly the animal reared up and struck out with his forelegs, dragging the shocked stable lad up into the air. Harry caught a glancing blow in the chest from the horse’s hooves and was driven backward to the turf.

There was a collective gasp from the stands. Harry got up immediately and brushed himself off with shaky hands. He walked up to the horse and quickly swung himself up into the saddle. The trainer stood at his stirrup, looking anxiously at the boy and speaking in rapid spurts. Ron and Hermione saw Harry’s curt dismissal of the man’s concern and watched with trepidation as the horse and rider moved out of the paddock with quick, nervous strides.

“Oh dear,” said Hermione. “That didn’t look good and now you can tell he’s hurting.” She turned to Ron in frustration. “Why does he have to be like that, anyway? Why can’t he admit that he’s been hurt and take a pass for once?”

Ron was silent for a moment, watching Harry ride out to the starting line. “I’ve wondered the same thing,” he said slowly, almost reluctantly. He looked into Hermione’s eyes as if deciding whether or not to continue. Her questioning gaze prompted him to carry on. “I reckon it’s the way those muggles treated him. Never loving him and all that, you know. Anyway, when we were hurt or sick our Mums spoiled us and made us feel better. I reckon when he was sick they probably treated him even worse, complaining about all the trouble or something.” Ron paused then finished his thought. “He probably learned the hard way never to show any weakness. And all this you-know-who business hasn’t helped any.” He shrugged and sat back with a sigh, hugging his field glasses to his chest.

With her mouth slightly agape, Hermione stared at Ron. “That’s the most insightful thing I’ve ever heard you say,” she muttered. Ron smiled and shut her mouth with the tip of his finger against her chin. Together they waited for the race to start and hoped for the best for Harry.

It was not to go well for the Gryffindor in his third trip of the day. The horse reared and paced about before the start and once the race began he continued to give Harry trouble. Bucking several times before the first fence he managed to get the boy loose in the saddle and a wild twist in the air over the jump completed the job. Harry hit the ground hard. He lay on the turf for several moments getting his breath back and hugging his sore chest. Before his friends could panic he was up and walking back toward the stabling area where the horse was already standing docilely as his lad removed the saddle.

Ron and Hermione stood up and made their way back to the parking lot. “How will we meet up with Harry?” Ron asked. Hermione looked around and saw a row of motorcycles parked near the stable.

“Why don’t we wait over by the motorbikes? He’ll have to come out here eventually. I don’t think we can get into the stable area without an invisibility cloak,” she quipped. Ron gave her a smirk and walked over to the cycles.

“I bet this one is his,” he said excitedly. He pointed to a black Triumph that gleamed in the sunlight. It was obviously older than the other bikes but was lovingly maintained. Hermione nodded and looked around at the dispersing crowd, wondering how long it would be before Harry made his appearance.

The crowd thinned out as they waited. Suddenly two men in robes appeared in front of them. White masks hid their faces but they could see their cruel eyes. The taller one pointed a wand at them and barked, “Expelliarmus!” Before the two teens even knew they were being attacked their wands were gone and a binding spell had linked them together at the wrists. The smaller man calmly said, “Finite Incantatem,” and the glamour spells were cancelled.

The first death eater motioned to them to walk away toward the trees that bordered the lot. He spoke, his voice harsh and grating. “What a coup, a ministry official’s brat and a mudblood. Should be able to get some solid ransom for you boy, and you,” he turned to Hermione with an evil leer, “should provide some interesting entertainment.” He laughed as she clung to Ron, tears filling her eyes.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry walked back toward his motorbike, moving a bit stiffly since his crash. A few of the other lads gave him rueful, sympathetic grins which he returned as he walked. He was eager to get back to the cottage and speak to Snape. For the first time since he began riding for Arthur he had sensed dark magic being done at the track. His first reaction was to protect those around him the only way he knew how, by leaving and taking the threat away with him but Snape’s impassioned insistence that he be allowed to help made him decide to return to the cottage instead. He wondered if the foe glass would show anything.

Just before he came around the corner of the barn he sensed a dark magical aura again, this time quite near. He put his back against the wall and snuck a glance at the parking lot. He was horrified to see two death eaters with Ron and Hermione bound between them. The dark wizards were focused on their captive’s fear, drinking it in and anticipating their torture, unaware they had been seen. He stepped back out of sight and tried to focus instead of giving in to the panic that was making his hands sweat and his heart race. In minutes they would have his friends in the cover of the trees. Harry knew he had to do something before the wizards had a chance to take them somewhere he couldn’t find them.

“Time to do what you were born to do, freak,” he muttered as he tried to think, discarding ideas as quickly as he came up with them. Finally he remembered the portkey Snape had given him. In the next second he had it out and with a whispered wingardium leviosa the bottle cap was floating before him. Next he touched it with the tip of his wand and muttered, “Portus.” He moved back out into the open, running toward his friends and their captors with his wand directing the portkey to stay beside him.

When he was within several meters of them he saw Ron glance in his direction. He acted immediately. Swinging his wand and barking out a banishing spell, he flung the bottle cap to Ron and cried, “Catch, Ron!” His friend looked shocked but grabbed the object speeding toward him without question. The second it touched his hand he vanished, taking Hermione with him.

Harry immediately turned to the two death eaters and grinned. “Didn’t expect that, now did you?” he quipped. They both growled and pointed their wands at him, incanting hexes through teeth clenched with fury. As the spells sped toward him Harry was surprised at how composed he felt. He put up a shielding spell and launched a stunning curse at the nearest wizard. It’s because I’m a weapon, he realized as the spells battered his shield and rocked him back. Weapons don’t feel panicky; they just do their jobs. As the first wizard dropped and his next spell glanced off the second wizard’s defense spell Harry put his saturnine thoughts aside and got down to business.

His confidence was shaken as a blasting curse hit him in the back, forcing him forward and opening a bloody gash across his shoulders. Falling painfully onto his hands and knees, Harry watched his wand slide across the damp turf just out of reach. As he turned to face his assailant his expression turned from agonized to shocked. It was Lucius Malfoy.

“How’d you get out of Azkaban, Malfoy?” Harry panted.

With a sinister leer Malfoy replied, “No prison can hold me for long.” His eyes were wide in his gaunt face giving him a manic expression. Harry shrank back from the man, thinking furiously. He needed inspiration, a plan. He looked up at Malfoy who was standing over him in his immaculate robes with his perfectly coiffed hair.

When the idea struck him he acted without hesitation. “Say Malfoy,” said Harry with a leer that would have made Draco proud. “How do you keep your robes so perfect without a house elf?” He laughed, looking up at Lucius to gauge his reaction. It came more swiftly and viciously than he expected. The dark wizard face convulsed with raw hatred as he brought his wand arm back and whipped it up violently across Harry’s face, cutting a gash across his right cheek, up across his nose and narrowly missing his left eye. The force of the blow lifted him up and threw him back a few feet. He landed with a sickening thud right next to his wand. Grabbing the wand he rolled to his right to avoid Malfoy’s curse. Pain lanced across his shoulders as the gash ground into the dirt but he staggered to his feet, firing a severing spell as he rose.

Malfoy blocked the curse but it knocked him back a few feet. Before Malfoy could recover Harry shot a stunning curse at the shorter death eater who he now figured to be Goyle. The man grunted and fell to the ground unconscious. ‘Two down,’ thought Harry as he spun back around to face Malfoy. His count was quickly proven wrong as Crabbe groaned and began to rise. The combatants were distracted by the sound of someone apparating nearby and they waited silently as Snape appeared, black eyes glinting angrily in the sun.

Harry froze and felt his gut clench with indecision. His previous mistrust warred with his newly found respect for Snape. With an angry shake he threw off his hesitation and sent a petrificus totalus spell at Crabbe whose attention was still diverted. He sensed Malfoy gathering his magic to curse him so he threw himself to the left, firing another stunning curse as he went. Both spells missed. As he rolled to a stop with the dust from the parking lot filling his lungs, Harry could hear Snape running toward the fray. He knew he had to do something or Malfoy would have a clear shot at the exposed potions master.

As Malfoy spun and pointed his wand at Snape, Harry lunged at him. Visions of Sirius falling through the veil propelled him with desperate strength into the death eater; he couldn’t let anyone else be killed protecting him. They fell together, tangled in a great jumble of limbs. Harry’s head hit hard against the ground and his vision grayed. Moving sluggishly, he tried to bring his wand into play as Malfoy pulled free and staggered up, shoving Harry onto his back. He blinked up at the dark wizard, trying to clear his vision and arching instinctively from the burning pain of the curse burn on his back.

Harry saw Malfoy’s face twist into a snarl and he tried to move away as the deranged wizard turned his back on Snape and raised his wand but his battered body refused to respond. As Malfoy incanted the cruciatus curse Harry’s world dissolved into agony. It continued for what seemed like forever then suddenly, blissfully, the pain stopped. Harry looked up into the expressionless face of Severus Snape. To his left lay Malfoy, apparently stunned. He dragged in a couple of deep breaths past the cramping muscles in his chest and tried to get his scattered wits to settle down.

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry realized his eyes were closed and with an effort he opened them and looked back at his professor. Snape looked strangely relieved at that and continued. “I have to contact the order. They will get some aurors over here to clean up this mess.” He kicked Malfoy none too gently to emphasize his point. “I shall return momentarily. Stay here.” Snape turned and took a couple of steps before disapparating.

Harry watched numbly then struggled to his feet, his mind still cloudy from the injuries he had sustained. Thoughts flitted through his brain, disjointed and unorganized, but there was one reoccurring theme. ‘This is all your fault. All your fault. You need to finish this. Finish it.’ Snape’s reprimand about not running faded as self-recrimination took over. Sirius’ motorbike looked about a mile away but by determinedly putting one foot in front of the other he made it.

After thanking the gods for electric start Harry drove away. The bike wobbled a bit as his steering was a trifle shaky but he made it out to the road. “Right or left?” he said aloud to himself. With a shrug and a wince for his bruises he gunned the accelerator and headed left. Finding Voldemort couldn’t be too hard, he reasoned, since the bastard was hunting for him with all his resources.