Title: Quiet Move
Author: Lola Ravenhill
Summary: When Sirius escapes from Azkaban in 1986 to take Harry from the Dursleys, it's really only the beginning of everything.
Disclaimer: Not mine, obviously. Property of JKR.
Rating: Rated PG-13 for language, just to be on the safe side (2012 update: for now. While I'm not planning anything graphic, I'm not ruling anything out. If anything changes, it'll be listed at the top of the chapter).
Spoiler notes: Anything up through OotP is fair game as it relates to the backgrounds of the main characters. Story started before HBP, so nothing from there. (2012 update: while this story is decidedly AU, and the above statement is still valid at this point in time, I'll most likely end up pulling information from all seven books to create this universe.)
Author's notes 2005: This story is turning out to be far more epic than I had anticipated when I started writing it, and so you have the first part in your hands now. Stay tuned to my livejournal for more to come. :)
Author's notes 2012: The best laid plans, huh? So much for getting this finished in a timely manner…anyway. This story's an old one. I'm talking summer of 2005 here, if my memory isn't failing me (have I really been writing HP fic for that long? Damn…). I rediscovered it the other day though in all of its unfinished glory, and forgotten how much I'd loved the story. Now, I'm hoping to pick up where I left off and finally finish it, seven years later.

It was originally written for the 2005 Raising Harry ficathon, so there are a couple of things here that are standard to stories like that (based off of the original and epic 'Raising Harry' story): Sirius and Remus are bringing Harry up from a younger age than what's seen in the books, and that they're in a relationship. Those two elements are definitely present, so if that's not your thing you may want to stop reading here.

There's currently about eight chapters in existence, so it's not totally incomplete, but there's a lot to go. I'm looking to finish this, however, which is where your input as readers comes in. I have ideas for where I want to take this, and it's already planned out exactly how this is going to end, but there's a lot of middle that's just a giant, gaping hole. So if there's anything you want to see, and elements worked in there, and anywhere you think I'm making a wrong turn, please let me know. Your thoughts help me make this story better, and I can't wait to see where this is going. Thanks for reading – I hope you enjoy it!

Lola

Quiet Move

by Lola Ravenhill

Chapter One

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

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.

A/n: anyone out there familiar with FictionAlley's grammar requirements and is willing to be a beta? While my grammar is quite good (good enough to get me my Master's degree in Creative Writing) we seem to have different beliefs as to what constitutes literary grammar. I'll need to get this story to mesh with their code before posting it on their site, so if anyone's willing to help out, please shoot me a PM! Thank you again for reading!