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aenariasbookshelfEven though time is the last thing I've had over the past three months, like the moron that I am I signed up for the Raising Harry ficathon. Three months later, I've finally got something worth posting, even though I get the feeling I'm going to be taking it a lot further than this. It's still in a slightly rough form, so any critical comments are welcome to make the story as good as possible. So without further ado, may I introduce you to the first draft of Quiet Move.
Challenge as given by the ficathon: Sirius and Remus kidnap Harry at age five, and in order to keep him safe have to constantly travel.
My summary of the story: When Sirius breaks out of Azkaban to liberate Harry from the dreadful Dursleys, it's really only the beginning of everything.
Quiet Move: a move that neither checks nor captures and which does not contain any direct threats…This apparently gives Black the greatest freedom of action.
--An Illustrated Dictionary of Chess
Edward R. Brace
Part I
It was strangely appropriate that the day Voldemort was defeated for the final time was a bright, clear, and powerfully sunny day. Unfortunately for Harry Potter, he couldn’t enjoy a lick of it, what with his being clapped up in this interrogation room somewhere in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic.
Granted, he had to admit that showing up in the middle of a brutal battle like an avenging angel in jeans and a t-shirt with a blazing sword in his hand was a bit suspicious, especially since they didn’t know who he was. The shaggy hair, deep tan from spending years under the hot desert sun, and sunglasses had gone a long way to disguising his identity. After a very long and very hard battle culminating in a one on one duel with Voldemort himself, Harry had fulfilled the prophecy he had been living under for all of those years, and could finally let out a huge and well-earned sigh of relief.
So of course it came as a bit of a surprise that as soon as everyone could catch their breath again he was hauled off by some very suspicious people to be asked a few questions.
There was a faint scrabbling coming from his jacket pocket, and Harry prodded at it until things were quiet again. “What a trip,” he sighed. He never had imagined that he would end up here, living the life he did with the people he did, and doing the things he had done. But when one of your childhood dreams comes true, when a man on an amazing flying motorbike comes to take you away from the most unloving guardians ever, you go with it and hang on for the ride.
* * *
After more than four years stuck in that hell hole of a prison, the taste and feel of sand in his mouth was exquisite. Sirius Black raised himself up on weak arms, spat the sand out of his mouth, and got to his feet. If he could make it into the forest by sunrise, he could sleep for the day as Padfoot without being seen.
It was a dream unlike any other he’d ever had that had pulled Sirius out of his dementor-induced stupor. James had appeared to him, telling him that there was no way Harry was happy with those sorry excuses for muggles known as the Dursleys. He’d said to forget about the rat-faced little traitor Peter for the moment, and make sure Harry grew up properly. Harry was going to have a lot to do ahead of him, and there was no one better out there to take care of him than Sirius. As soon as he woke up he began plotting, and not even a week later a rather emaciated Padfoot was slipping through the bars and sneaking past the dementors.
The North Sea was freezing cold, but sheer bloody determination kept him warm and moving forward. As he swam he plotted what he was going to have to do to get Harry. The first step was going to arguably be the hardest—to fake his death. There was a spell that existed to form a simulacrum; they had researched it during their Hogwarts years as a way to fool McGonagall if she ever did a bed check on nights when they knew they weren’t going to be there. It would have been extremely handy on full moon nights, when they were out with…no, it wouldn’t do to go there right now. It was a hard spell, requiring elements of earth, air, fire, water, and a substantial bit of the person being simulated, but Sirius had time and plenty of hair to spare.
The second step to be completed was to get his motorbike back, if he could. From what he remembered Hagrid had last had the bike, so he would start there. Another benefit of having his bike back is that his original wand was stashed in a secret compartment on there. When he’d left Hogwarts and joined the Order he’d gotten a second wand and kept the old one as a spare. The newer one had worked better, but even the old one would be his wand.
Then he’d go and get Harry.
* * *
The black dog watched contentedly from the cover of the forest as the Aurors and other prison officials discovered the body of the escaped and insane prisoner lying prone on the beach. Much to his relief no diagnostic spells were cast, it was just accepted that Sirius Black had drowned during his ill-fated escape from Azkaban. Oh well. Just one more criminal gone from the world they’d probably thought. The dog smiled (as much as a dog can, really) and took off for Hogwarts.
* * *
Somewhere between the coast and Hogwarts Sirius had managed to procure some jeans and a leather jacket, providing quite a good disguise. No one would have expected the now supposedly insane prisoner to clean up so fast and so well, which worked to his advantage. However it was Padfoot that was lurking around the Forbidden Forest, waiting until the time when Hagrid would be off the grounds and he could go find his beloved bike.
It had taken a week, but one Hogsmeade Saturday when Hagrid had left the grounds with Professor McGonagall to get a drink at The Three Broomsticks was the perfect chance to make his move. Sirius slunk out of the forest, staying low to the ground and avoiding any few straggling students. Hmm, it wouldn’t do to break inside right away, until he was sure that Hagrid wasn’t coming back anytime soon. He crept around the back of the hut, nose close to the ground and eyes open.
There was quite a bit of clutter outside the building, from old gardening tools and stacks of firewood, and nothing that bore any resemblance to a motorbike. Padfoot whuffed and walked around to the front of the building. Maybe inside would provide better results. He climbed up the stairs and pushed against the door. A loud bark and the sound of scrabbling paws came from in there, sending Padfoot racing back down the stairs and behind the hut.
Okay, maybe the inside wasn’t such a good idea. Padfoot lay down for a moment, head resting on his paws. He hadn’t thought what he would do if Hagrid didn’t have the bike. The bike was the key to making everything else go easier. Without it…well, he could still go and get Harry, but they wouldn’t have the easy escape route they did with the bike. Sirius wouldn’t have his wand either. Sure, he could steal one, but it wouldn’t work as well, and if he was going to be protecting his godson, he wanted to be as strong as possible.
A passing breeze carried a very distinct and almost out of place scent past his nose. That metallic sweetness was usually associated with motor oil… Padfoot hauled himself to his feet and, nose going in full gear, began sniffing around the base of the cluttered piles. The smell kept getting stronger and stronger until he bumped up against what looked like a waterproofed piece of leather. With a quick glance around Padfoot changed back into Sirius. He crouched down on the ground and untangled the long leather sheet from around one corner. Beneath it was something black, round, and slightly springy—the front wheel of the Shadow. Sirius grinned widely, exhaling in relief.
He looked up at the rest of the bike, covered under the sheet and a myriad of other debris. This was going to be a delicate matter. He basically had to extricate the bike without disturbing the rest of the mess, and all while giving the illusion that the bike was still under there. Oh yes, and it had to be done without magic too. Magic would leave a trace, and he hadn’t worked so hard to fake his death to be caught by a simple wingardium leviosa.
“Okay, if I move this….then put this….wait…all right, this here….oooh, shit, no, not that! Stupid piece of crap…finally, there we go.” The bike was in his hands, and the debris looked like it had hardly moved. A couple of days of weather and Hagrid would never know the difference. Sirius just hoped he had that time.
With another look around to make sure he wouldn’t be seen, Sirius wheeled the bike into the Forbidden Forest. All that was left behind him was the rustling of the trees.
* * *
Finally, finally, finally the bike was ready to fly, his old wand was working better than he could have imagined, and it was time to go and get Harry. It was the middle of a January night, bitterly cold, and no stars visible in the sky this close to civilization. Sirius was parked in an alleyway nearby, a two minute’s walk from the Dursleys’ home. He looked through the small satchel he carried with him, making sure all of the supplies were there: a charmed cloak for Harry to keep him warm while they flew, some food and water, and a map. With the exception of the food, he was amazed the supplies had kept so well stashed inside the Shadow all those years. Sirius had an idea of where they were going to go as soon as Harry was out of the house, and who they were going to see. He just wasn’t sure if that person wanted to see him. However, there was no other choice. Even if Sirius ended up back in jail, he knew Harry would be taken care of.
Sirius took a moment to compose himself, then changed into Padfoot and took off down the street. He ran as fast as he could without raising suspicion, only stopping until he was hidden in the bushes beneath the Dursleys’ front window. If only he could use magic, it would make this mission that much easier. He changed back to Sirius and peeked through the leaves to see if the street was clear. The lights were all out in the windows nearby, and no cars could be heard anywhere. ‘Now or never,’ he thought, and crawled out of the bushes.
He slunk along the ground on his stomach until he came to the front steps, at which point he scaled them quickly and sat down again. Someone sitting down could be rationalized away as part of the bush. Sirius still had to be extremely careful though. Someone working at a door with a muggle lock-pick could not be as easily rationalized. Peter of all people had taught the Marauders to use the lock picks, and looking back Sirius wondered how he could have missed the signs. But there would be time to dwell on Peter later.
With a low click the door opened, and Sirius grinned. He was afraid he was a bit rusty, and while he may not have been able to pick a lock as fast as he did in his teenage years, he was still able to get the door open. Once inside, Sirius discovered that the Dursleys lived in a very boring house. A peek into the living room and up the stairs showed a multitude of pictures of their over-inflated son, but nothing at all of Harry. He wasn’t at all surprised.
Sirius sighed and walked towards the kitchen, taking care not to make any noise. The kitchen was spotless, with nothing out of place. It was an uncomfortable, sterile place. He couldn’t imagine that Harry was at all at home there. However, if Harry said that he wanted to stay with the Dursleys, then he was going to let him. All he wanted was his godson to be happy. He didn’t think though that the key to Harry’s happiness was in Little Whinging.
He turned and walked out of the kitchen, intent on going upstairs to find the lad’s bedroom. The tiny figure standing in the hall made him stop short. There was no doubt at all it was Harry. That messy hair was unmistakable. Directly behind the boy was an open cupboard door, and Sirius knew that it hadn’t been opened before. “Who are you?” Harry asked quietly.
Sirius knelt down to Harry’s level, staying a safe distance away. “My name is Sirius,” he said slowly, trying not to startle Harry. “Do you remember me?”
Harry shook his head. “Should I?”
Sirius couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. “No, not really. It’s been many years since we’ve seen each other, you were only a little baby the last time. I’m your godfather.”
The little boy’s brow wrinkled. “Godfa—what’s that?”
Oh, God, Sirius didn’t want to have to explain this, ever, it would lead to far too many things to talk about. “A godfather is someone your parents picked when you were born to look after you if they can’t.” To his amazement, Harry crept closer.
“You knew my parents? Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon said they died in a car wreck. Can you tell me about them?”
It was the most Sirius had heard come out of Harry’s mouth, and the light in his eyes once his parents were mentioned was amazing. “Yeah, I knew them, and yeah, if you want, I can tell you more about them. But I have something to ask you first. I’d like to take care of you, like your parents wanted me to. I want you to come live with me, but only if you want to.”
“Can I?” he practically yelped. “I promise, I’ll be really good, you won’t even know I’m there.”
The pleading broke Sirius’s heart. He didn’t want to cry, but it was getting dangerously close. “Are you sure?”
Harry nodded, and dashed back to the cupboard. “I just got to get my stuff.”
Sirius followed him and peeked in. It was a tiny little space, with the small cot taking up the majority of space in there. “Is this where you sleep?”
“Yeah. Dudley’s got the second bedroom for all his toys.” Sirius’s eye twitched. No, no magic tonight, even though the Dursleys deserved something truly nasty to happen to them. He watched as Harry stuffed a small blanket, a worn out book, and an old jumper into a backpack that was being held together by more tape than canvas. Even faster, Harry pulled on an old pair of socks and his trainers and topped it all off with a jacket that practically drowned the boy. “Okay, I’m ready!”
Sirius frowned. “Don’t you want to put your day clothes on?”
Harry slowly shook his head. “They’re Dudley’s old things. These won’t fall down better.”
“Okay.” Sirius pulled the cloak out of his own bag, and swung the cloak around Harry’s shoulders, bundling him tight in it. “This should keep you even warmer.” Sirius was amazed with the trust Harry was looking at him with. It was unlike anything he’d ever known, and at that moment swore to do whatever it took to keep Harry safe. “Can I pick you up? We’ll be able to move faster that way.”
Harry nodded, and so Sirius bent down and swept him into his arms. With a nudge of his elbow he closed the cupboard and they walked to the front door. “Now Harry, you need to keep as quiet as possible. We don’t want anyone to see us, all right?”
“Okay.”
Sirius made sure the front door was locked from the inside and pulled it quietly closed as they stepped outside. He pulled the hood of the cloak over Harry’s head, and began to make his way back to the bike. Sirius didn’t breathe as he walked, constantly checking the windows and street to make sure no one was watching them. At one point a car drove by, making Sirius press his back against a tree and clutch Harry even closer. Finally though, they reached the alley with the bike and Sirius could breathe just a bit easier.
He removed the cloak from Harry’s head. “You doing all right, lad?”
“Yep.” Harry looked around and spotted the bike. “Is that yours?”
“Yeah, it is. We’re going to go for a little ride on it.”
Harry wrinkled his brow, deep in thought for a moment, as if something had suddenly occurred to him. “Does—does it fly?”
Sirius couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, it does.”
* * *
Challenge as given by the ficathon: Sirius and Remus kidnap Harry at age five, and in order to keep him safe have to constantly travel.
My summary of the story: When Sirius breaks out of Azkaban to liberate Harry from the dreadful Dursleys, it's really only the beginning of everything.
Quiet Move: a move that neither checks nor captures and which does not contain any direct threats…This apparently gives Black the greatest freedom of action.
--An Illustrated Dictionary of Chess
Edward R. Brace
Part I
It was strangely appropriate that the day Voldemort was defeated for the final time was a bright, clear, and powerfully sunny day. Unfortunately for Harry Potter, he couldn’t enjoy a lick of it, what with his being clapped up in this interrogation room somewhere in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic.
Granted, he had to admit that showing up in the middle of a brutal battle like an avenging angel in jeans and a t-shirt with a blazing sword in his hand was a bit suspicious, especially since they didn’t know who he was. The shaggy hair, deep tan from spending years under the hot desert sun, and sunglasses had gone a long way to disguising his identity. After a very long and very hard battle culminating in a one on one duel with Voldemort himself, Harry had fulfilled the prophecy he had been living under for all of those years, and could finally let out a huge and well-earned sigh of relief.
So of course it came as a bit of a surprise that as soon as everyone could catch their breath again he was hauled off by some very suspicious people to be asked a few questions.
There was a faint scrabbling coming from his jacket pocket, and Harry prodded at it until things were quiet again. “What a trip,” he sighed. He never had imagined that he would end up here, living the life he did with the people he did, and doing the things he had done. But when one of your childhood dreams comes true, when a man on an amazing flying motorbike comes to take you away from the most unloving guardians ever, you go with it and hang on for the ride.
* * *
After more than four years stuck in that hell hole of a prison, the taste and feel of sand in his mouth was exquisite. Sirius Black raised himself up on weak arms, spat the sand out of his mouth, and got to his feet. If he could make it into the forest by sunrise, he could sleep for the day as Padfoot without being seen.
It was a dream unlike any other he’d ever had that had pulled Sirius out of his dementor-induced stupor. James had appeared to him, telling him that there was no way Harry was happy with those sorry excuses for muggles known as the Dursleys. He’d said to forget about the rat-faced little traitor Peter for the moment, and make sure Harry grew up properly. Harry was going to have a lot to do ahead of him, and there was no one better out there to take care of him than Sirius. As soon as he woke up he began plotting, and not even a week later a rather emaciated Padfoot was slipping through the bars and sneaking past the dementors.
The North Sea was freezing cold, but sheer bloody determination kept him warm and moving forward. As he swam he plotted what he was going to have to do to get Harry. The first step was going to arguably be the hardest—to fake his death. There was a spell that existed to form a simulacrum; they had researched it during their Hogwarts years as a way to fool McGonagall if she ever did a bed check on nights when they knew they weren’t going to be there. It would have been extremely handy on full moon nights, when they were out with…no, it wouldn’t do to go there right now. It was a hard spell, requiring elements of earth, air, fire, water, and a substantial bit of the person being simulated, but Sirius had time and plenty of hair to spare.
The second step to be completed was to get his motorbike back, if he could. From what he remembered Hagrid had last had the bike, so he would start there. Another benefit of having his bike back is that his original wand was stashed in a secret compartment on there. When he’d left Hogwarts and joined the Order he’d gotten a second wand and kept the old one as a spare. The newer one had worked better, but even the old one would be his wand.
Then he’d go and get Harry.
* * *
The black dog watched contentedly from the cover of the forest as the Aurors and other prison officials discovered the body of the escaped and insane prisoner lying prone on the beach. Much to his relief no diagnostic spells were cast, it was just accepted that Sirius Black had drowned during his ill-fated escape from Azkaban. Oh well. Just one more criminal gone from the world they’d probably thought. The dog smiled (as much as a dog can, really) and took off for Hogwarts.
* * *
Somewhere between the coast and Hogwarts Sirius had managed to procure some jeans and a leather jacket, providing quite a good disguise. No one would have expected the now supposedly insane prisoner to clean up so fast and so well, which worked to his advantage. However it was Padfoot that was lurking around the Forbidden Forest, waiting until the time when Hagrid would be off the grounds and he could go find his beloved bike.
It had taken a week, but one Hogsmeade Saturday when Hagrid had left the grounds with Professor McGonagall to get a drink at The Three Broomsticks was the perfect chance to make his move. Sirius slunk out of the forest, staying low to the ground and avoiding any few straggling students. Hmm, it wouldn’t do to break inside right away, until he was sure that Hagrid wasn’t coming back anytime soon. He crept around the back of the hut, nose close to the ground and eyes open.
There was quite a bit of clutter outside the building, from old gardening tools and stacks of firewood, and nothing that bore any resemblance to a motorbike. Padfoot whuffed and walked around to the front of the building. Maybe inside would provide better results. He climbed up the stairs and pushed against the door. A loud bark and the sound of scrabbling paws came from in there, sending Padfoot racing back down the stairs and behind the hut.
Okay, maybe the inside wasn’t such a good idea. Padfoot lay down for a moment, head resting on his paws. He hadn’t thought what he would do if Hagrid didn’t have the bike. The bike was the key to making everything else go easier. Without it…well, he could still go and get Harry, but they wouldn’t have the easy escape route they did with the bike. Sirius wouldn’t have his wand either. Sure, he could steal one, but it wouldn’t work as well, and if he was going to be protecting his godson, he wanted to be as strong as possible.
A passing breeze carried a very distinct and almost out of place scent past his nose. That metallic sweetness was usually associated with motor oil… Padfoot hauled himself to his feet and, nose going in full gear, began sniffing around the base of the cluttered piles. The smell kept getting stronger and stronger until he bumped up against what looked like a waterproofed piece of leather. With a quick glance around Padfoot changed back into Sirius. He crouched down on the ground and untangled the long leather sheet from around one corner. Beneath it was something black, round, and slightly springy—the front wheel of the Shadow. Sirius grinned widely, exhaling in relief.
He looked up at the rest of the bike, covered under the sheet and a myriad of other debris. This was going to be a delicate matter. He basically had to extricate the bike without disturbing the rest of the mess, and all while giving the illusion that the bike was still under there. Oh yes, and it had to be done without magic too. Magic would leave a trace, and he hadn’t worked so hard to fake his death to be caught by a simple wingardium leviosa.
“Okay, if I move this….then put this….wait…all right, this here….oooh, shit, no, not that! Stupid piece of crap…finally, there we go.” The bike was in his hands, and the debris looked like it had hardly moved. A couple of days of weather and Hagrid would never know the difference. Sirius just hoped he had that time.
With another look around to make sure he wouldn’t be seen, Sirius wheeled the bike into the Forbidden Forest. All that was left behind him was the rustling of the trees.
* * *
Finally, finally, finally the bike was ready to fly, his old wand was working better than he could have imagined, and it was time to go and get Harry. It was the middle of a January night, bitterly cold, and no stars visible in the sky this close to civilization. Sirius was parked in an alleyway nearby, a two minute’s walk from the Dursleys’ home. He looked through the small satchel he carried with him, making sure all of the supplies were there: a charmed cloak for Harry to keep him warm while they flew, some food and water, and a map. With the exception of the food, he was amazed the supplies had kept so well stashed inside the Shadow all those years. Sirius had an idea of where they were going to go as soon as Harry was out of the house, and who they were going to see. He just wasn’t sure if that person wanted to see him. However, there was no other choice. Even if Sirius ended up back in jail, he knew Harry would be taken care of.
Sirius took a moment to compose himself, then changed into Padfoot and took off down the street. He ran as fast as he could without raising suspicion, only stopping until he was hidden in the bushes beneath the Dursleys’ front window. If only he could use magic, it would make this mission that much easier. He changed back to Sirius and peeked through the leaves to see if the street was clear. The lights were all out in the windows nearby, and no cars could be heard anywhere. ‘Now or never,’ he thought, and crawled out of the bushes.
He slunk along the ground on his stomach until he came to the front steps, at which point he scaled them quickly and sat down again. Someone sitting down could be rationalized away as part of the bush. Sirius still had to be extremely careful though. Someone working at a door with a muggle lock-pick could not be as easily rationalized. Peter of all people had taught the Marauders to use the lock picks, and looking back Sirius wondered how he could have missed the signs. But there would be time to dwell on Peter later.
With a low click the door opened, and Sirius grinned. He was afraid he was a bit rusty, and while he may not have been able to pick a lock as fast as he did in his teenage years, he was still able to get the door open. Once inside, Sirius discovered that the Dursleys lived in a very boring house. A peek into the living room and up the stairs showed a multitude of pictures of their over-inflated son, but nothing at all of Harry. He wasn’t at all surprised.
Sirius sighed and walked towards the kitchen, taking care not to make any noise. The kitchen was spotless, with nothing out of place. It was an uncomfortable, sterile place. He couldn’t imagine that Harry was at all at home there. However, if Harry said that he wanted to stay with the Dursleys, then he was going to let him. All he wanted was his godson to be happy. He didn’t think though that the key to Harry’s happiness was in Little Whinging.
He turned and walked out of the kitchen, intent on going upstairs to find the lad’s bedroom. The tiny figure standing in the hall made him stop short. There was no doubt at all it was Harry. That messy hair was unmistakable. Directly behind the boy was an open cupboard door, and Sirius knew that it hadn’t been opened before. “Who are you?” Harry asked quietly.
Sirius knelt down to Harry’s level, staying a safe distance away. “My name is Sirius,” he said slowly, trying not to startle Harry. “Do you remember me?”
Harry shook his head. “Should I?”
Sirius couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. “No, not really. It’s been many years since we’ve seen each other, you were only a little baby the last time. I’m your godfather.”
The little boy’s brow wrinkled. “Godfa—what’s that?”
Oh, God, Sirius didn’t want to have to explain this, ever, it would lead to far too many things to talk about. “A godfather is someone your parents picked when you were born to look after you if they can’t.” To his amazement, Harry crept closer.
“You knew my parents? Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon said they died in a car wreck. Can you tell me about them?”
It was the most Sirius had heard come out of Harry’s mouth, and the light in his eyes once his parents were mentioned was amazing. “Yeah, I knew them, and yeah, if you want, I can tell you more about them. But I have something to ask you first. I’d like to take care of you, like your parents wanted me to. I want you to come live with me, but only if you want to.”
“Can I?” he practically yelped. “I promise, I’ll be really good, you won’t even know I’m there.”
The pleading broke Sirius’s heart. He didn’t want to cry, but it was getting dangerously close. “Are you sure?”
Harry nodded, and dashed back to the cupboard. “I just got to get my stuff.”
Sirius followed him and peeked in. It was a tiny little space, with the small cot taking up the majority of space in there. “Is this where you sleep?”
“Yeah. Dudley’s got the second bedroom for all his toys.” Sirius’s eye twitched. No, no magic tonight, even though the Dursleys deserved something truly nasty to happen to them. He watched as Harry stuffed a small blanket, a worn out book, and an old jumper into a backpack that was being held together by more tape than canvas. Even faster, Harry pulled on an old pair of socks and his trainers and topped it all off with a jacket that practically drowned the boy. “Okay, I’m ready!”
Sirius frowned. “Don’t you want to put your day clothes on?”
Harry slowly shook his head. “They’re Dudley’s old things. These won’t fall down better.”
“Okay.” Sirius pulled the cloak out of his own bag, and swung the cloak around Harry’s shoulders, bundling him tight in it. “This should keep you even warmer.” Sirius was amazed with the trust Harry was looking at him with. It was unlike anything he’d ever known, and at that moment swore to do whatever it took to keep Harry safe. “Can I pick you up? We’ll be able to move faster that way.”
Harry nodded, and so Sirius bent down and swept him into his arms. With a nudge of his elbow he closed the cupboard and they walked to the front door. “Now Harry, you need to keep as quiet as possible. We don’t want anyone to see us, all right?”
“Okay.”
Sirius made sure the front door was locked from the inside and pulled it quietly closed as they stepped outside. He pulled the hood of the cloak over Harry’s head, and began to make his way back to the bike. Sirius didn’t breathe as he walked, constantly checking the windows and street to make sure no one was watching them. At one point a car drove by, making Sirius press his back against a tree and clutch Harry even closer. Finally though, they reached the alley with the bike and Sirius could breathe just a bit easier.
He removed the cloak from Harry’s head. “You doing all right, lad?”
“Yep.” Harry looked around and spotted the bike. “Is that yours?”
“Yeah, it is. We’re going to go for a little ride on it.”
Harry wrinkled his brow, deep in thought for a moment, as if something had suddenly occurred to him. “Does—does it fly?”
Sirius couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, it does.”
* * *
