Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Hold on Tight	By : cls2256 Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Het - Male/Female Views: 7315 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. This fic is for entertainment purposes only!

Chapter List
- 1-one
- 2-two
- 3-three
- 4-four
- 5-five
- 6-six
- 7-seven
- 8-eight
- 9-nine
- 10-ten
- 11-eleven
- 12-twelve
- 13-thirteen
- 14-fourteen
- 15-fifteen
- 16-sixteen
- 17-seventeen
- 18-eighteen
- 19-nineteen
- 20-twenty
- 21-twenty one
- 22-twenty two
- 23-twenty three
- 24-twenty four
- 25-twenty five
- 26-twenty six
- 27-twenty seven
- 28-twenty eight
- 29-Twenty nine
- 4
- 5
- 6
Déjà vu: the feeling that one has lived through the present situation before.

Sirius recalled a fourth year Divination lesson on Déjà vu— the professor at the time (whose name he couldn’t remember due to hardly ever attending his Divination lessons), had spent a whole mind-numbing 45 minutes rambling about this sensation. Much of what was taught he couldn’t recall, (he’d spent most of the lesson shooting spit balls at the back of Remus’s head) but what he could was flashing through his brain at a mile a minute.
His professor had explained that the Divine arts considered Déjà vu precognition— those that experienced it regularly are sensitive to the unseen. Sirius remembered vividly snorting a laugh at this; what a load of horse shit.
Oddly enough, a strange sensation washed over him like a tidal wave as forceful hands patted him down from head to toe. Maybe he would’ve considered this feeling to be déjà vu, had he not known better. It would be impossible for him to call this déjà vu, because he indeed had lived through the present situation before.
The room utilized for prisoner intake was not much larger than a cell, but still had the same damp stone stench as one. File cabinets lined the far wall from floor to ceiling, presumably containing files on every prisoner who’d stepped foot into Azkaban. The room was cold; not quite dementor-effect cold, but chilly enough to be uncomfortable. He’d been in this room before, only one other time, but it remained unchanged from 15 years prior.
The man handling his intake was sharp, concise, and called for no nonsense. Sirius assumed he must be the new prison director, based on his donning of the same robes that Wilson always wore. Aurors Payne, Dawlish, and Williamson were posted around the room, wands in hand, but arms at their sides. If Sirius were to pull any funny business, he would lose— not that he could anyway; Payne had removed his wand from his person during his frisking.
“Strip! Old clothes off, stripes on—”
The man threw a set of striped prison clothes at Sirius. The fabric was paper thin and scratchy, just like he remembered. He changed hesitantly, feeling uncomfortable under the intrusive stare of his audience. Once changed, the man thrusted a plaque into his hands, then pointed to a large X etched onto the stone floor.
“Stand there,” he ordered.
Sirius shuffled over to the X, and looked at the plaque in his hands. It was emblazoned with a prisoner number— the same number he’d had the first time he was here.
“Face me; hold the plaque at your chest,”
Sirius obliged, and the camera flash nearly blinded him.
“Turn to your left,”
He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the spots in his vision.
“Turn to your left,” the man repeated forcefully, slower and with more emphasis.
Sirius turned, and another flash blinded him.
“Turn to your right,”
Another flash. Before he could regain his sight, the plaque was yanked from him, and handcuffs bound his wrists once more
“Let’s go.”
He followed the man silently out of the intake room, looking behind at the Aurors once last time before they turned a corner. At the mouth of a large, cement staircase, they were met by two dementors floating patiently on either side of the steps. Sirius was hit with a subzero cold that made his skin break into goosebumps; he wished he could warm himself by rubbing his upper arms quickly, creating heat from friction, but his handcuffs prevented this.
The dementors followed behind him as Sirius followed the man up several flights of stairs. The floor they’d reached looked extremely familiar; based on the large painted E’s on the walls every few cells, Sirius realized they were in his old cell block.
The prisoners of cell block E (some he recognized, and some he didn’t) jeered at him— hollering his name and laughing maniacally as they walked by. One of the familiar faces was Lucius Malfoy, sneering at Sirius with the upmost disgust though the bars in his cell.
The man he was following seemed unbothered by the presence of the dementors as they continued down the hall. Surely there had to be some sort of protection around him to keep him from feeling the icy dread that Sirius was currently experiencing.
“H— how do they not affect you?” Sirius asked “The dementors, I mean?”
The man looked over his shoulder for a split second, appearing surprised that Sirius had spoken. He took a moment before he answered;
“I’m surprised you don’t know, a veteran here yourself,” he said “It’s the robes,” he added, casually “build in patronus shield.”
They finally stopped at the end of the hall, and his stomach flip flopped— it was his old cell. He’d never forget this room as long as he lived, despite thinking he’d never have to return to it. The man opened the cell door with a flick of his wand, and gestured for Sirius to enter.
“Home sweet home.”
Sirius’s mouth went dry as he looked inside the 9x9 cell, his chest felt as if an elephant was sitting on him, and his voice was an octave higher and constricted as he spoke.
“Not this one; I— I need a different cell— anything— anything but this one—”
“A different one?” The man let out a bark of sardonic laughter “My apologies— you want something larger. perhaps? Maybe with a nice view?” A scowl set in on the man’s stern face. “You think this looks like the goddamn Ritz, Black?!” he barked “Get in.”
Hesitantly, Sirius stepped inside. He flinched as the door slammed shut, echoing against the stone walls.
“Hands out— unless you want to stay in those cuffs,”
Sirius stuck his shaking hands through the meal slot of his cell bars. With a quick wand wave, the cuffs were off; he instinctively rubbed his wrists as he took a step back from the door.
“Sheets are on the bunk, get set up,” the man ordered “names Eugene Terrapin, Director of Azkaban Prison, but you may call me Sir. This prison is my responsibility, and I won’t allow the same bullshit here that Greg Wilson did.”
Terrapin was a tall, painfully thin and weathered man that looked just about as sickly as Remus did once a month; what moon phase was it today, anyhow?
“Go on!” Terrapin snapped, shaking Sirius from his thoughts “Get started on that bunk! You might as well fall in line now, Black— I don’t for see your trial going in your favor.”
Terrapin turned on his heels and disappeared from sight. The dementors did not follow, but instead hovered in front of cell bars, seeming to watch Sirius and stalk him like prey. The cold was unbearable, penetrating deep in his bones. His breath was visible as he turned away from the cloaked creatures, and began unfolding the sheet set on the bottom bunk. The sheets were thick with starch, lacking the softness of the Egyptian cotton he had grown used to at 12 Grimmauld Place. The blanket was scratchy, almost the texture of a scrubbing sponge, and very thin. He’d almost forgotten the lack of comfort here; odd, for him to have forgotten.
He made his bed neatly, attempting to fight off the dreadful feelings that were flooding through him. Sure, he wasn’t exactly peachy in this moment, but he wouldn’t feel nearly as hopeless if his pet dementors would find someone else’s happiness to suck. He needed a clear head to think, to figure out how this happened, to understand why he was thrown back in here after his recent exoneration. It seemed cruel, to take his freedom just mere weeks after giving it back to him. It only seemed fair to him to wave the charges of escaping prison due to his situation.
Sirius leaned back against the cold, cell wall, listening to the crashing of the North Sea against the prison many floors below. The smell of salt water mixed with damp, mildew-y stone made his stomach churn. He began to shiver violently; had he really been able to withstand this terrible cold for 12 years of his life? He didn’t remember it being nearly this bad. He slid down into a seated position, wrapping his arms around himself as he brought his knees to his chest in an attempt to preserve warmth. The dementor numbers outside his cell grew from 2 to 4, swarming his cell door with intense interest. Any last shred of hope he may have had was sucked away by their presence.
Fear set in; he was going to go mad in here. With these demonic-like creatures swarming him, he’d lose his marbles in no time. Last time, the knowledge of his innocence had kept him sane, kept him going until the dementors found another prisoner to swarm and corrupt. This time, however, was different. This time, he wasn’t innocent. He did indeed break out of prison, he did indeed break the law— this time, he was guilty;
And now, he had to answer for it.
Allie pressed gently on the swollen skin around her eyes as she examined herself in the bathroom mirror. She looked and felt terrible; her eyes had nearly swelled shut from crying through the night and the whites of her eyes were pinkish in color from excessive blood flow. She’d tossed and turned for hours the previous night, agonizing over Sirius. Did they take him straight to prison? Or was he locked in a room somewhere at the Ministry, awaiting his fate there?
She splashed her face with cold water, and then adjusted the collar of her server’s uniform shirt with a heavy sigh; returning to work was the last thing she wanted to do today. She would’ve tried to trade days, but there was no one available— the two servers that had claimed to have come down with Spattergroit did indeed test positive at St. Mungo’s.
She made her way down the several stories of stairs at the Burrow slowly; Molly and Arthur had insisted she stay in their second son Charlie’s room last night. She’d taken Harry here after Sirius’s arrest, and broke down in hysterics to the point she could hardly stand. She’d cried herself sick, collapsed in a heap on the kitchen floor as Molly whispered words of solace.
It appeared she was the last one ready this morning— everyone else was already in the kitchen. Molly stood over the stove, frying up pans of scrambled eggs and bacon. The Weasley children and Harry sat around one end of the kitchen table, making idle conversation, as Arthur read the newspaper at the head. The conversations stopped at once the moment she entered the kitchen; she flushed as all eyes landed on her.
“Oh good, Allie, you’re up—“ Molly wiped her hands on her apron and beckoned her to sit at the table “I was about to send Ginny for you. I wanted you to have a spot of breakfast before you go.”
Allie sunk down in a chair next to Arthur as he hastily folded up his newspaper. He tucked it out of sight, but not before Allie caught glimpse of a picture of Sirius, and a bold headline reading:
SIRIUS BLACK: ARRESTED!
“Good morning, Allie,” Arthur said politely, with an easy smile “How’d you sleep?”
“Fine,” she lied “Thank you for letting me stay here last night.”
“Of course dear, it’s our pleasure,” Molly interjected “you are always welcome here.”
Molly placed a large plate of bacon and eggs in front of her. Her stomach rumbled in hunger— she’d been so upset last night she’d forgotten to eat. She wanted to dive in immediately, but held back and waited for the rest of the table to receive their plates. She started slowly, knowing if she shoveled too quickly it would make her sick.
“There’s some coffee in the bronze kettle—” Arthur offered
“No coffee!” Molly snapped “Caffeine is bad for the baby!”
“One cup won’t hurt her, Molly— Allie, would you like some coffee?”
Arthur held up the bronze kettle, offering it to her with a kind expression. She avoided Molly’s piercing gaze, and nodded— she was going to need a pick-me-up to get through her shift.
“Please.”
She sipped on her coffee for a few minutes in silence, half listening to the idle conversations around her. No one seemed to want to bring up Sirius in front of her, but she wished they would. She didn’t like being treated like she was fragile, albeit she questioned if she actually was.
“So, Allie,” Ron asked through a mouthful of bacon. “Will you have to wear school robes like us this year? Or can you wear whatever you like?”
“Oh, I—”
Her brow furrowed as she thought about this— she wasn’t sure what exactly she was expected to wear. She wasn’t exactly going to be sleeping in the dorms— but would she still be considered part of Hufflepuff? Would she be able to use the common room between classes to study or work on homework?
“—I’m not sure…”
“Since you’ve known your OWL scores, do you know what classes you’re taking?” asked Ginny
“Um—“ Allie took a sip of her coffee and swallowed uncomfortably; she felt like the center of attention currently, which was something she didn’t enjoy, nor was she used to. “Just 6^th and 7^th years Potions, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology and Charms...”
“You’re taking both years?” interjected Ron, incredulously “Blimey— Ten classes?! I wouldn’t take on that class load even if—“
Hermione kicked Ron in the shin underneath the table, (“Ow! Bloody hell, ‘Mione!”). Harry chuckled into his napkin, earning him a deadly stare from Hermione as well. Allie couldn’t help but smile.
“Allie will do perfectly fine; each class of each subject will build off of each other,” said Hermione, with a matter of fact tone. “For example, NEWT level Transfiguration courses according to Hogwarts: a History…”
Once everyone had finished breakfast, Allie set off for work. She walked through the tall, golden grass of the Burrow’s grounds to a neighboring field, where she was able to apparate from. Her feet hit the ground next to the Leaky Cauldron’s dumpsters, nearly apparating on top of Jack as he was taking out the trash.
“About time you got here.” He said flatly.
“My shift doesn’t start until 11…” she said softly, scrunching her nose in confusion. He didn’t look at her directly, but Allie could tell he was observing her out of the corner of his eye as he slung trash into the large receptacle. “Would you— um— like some help?— with those…?”
She pointed to the few bags on the ground next to him. He threw another bag inside the dumpster with more than necessary force.
“I got it.”
Allie watched him for a few seconds, wondering if she should help him anyway, or if she should just leave him be. She decided the latter, and entered the Leaky Cauldron through the back door. The moment she stepped inside, an apron was thrown at her from seemingly nowhere, hitting her in the face before falling onto the floor.
“Allie, hurry up!— three servers called off today and it’s a mad house— WHO’S WATCHING THE FRYERS?!— Merlin’s beard—“
Allie picked up the apron and tied it around her waist hastily. “Three more?” she called to Colleen, over the noise of the over bubbling fryers. “Since yesterday?”
“Yes, they’ve all got Spattergroit! WHERE THE HELL IS RUPERT?! I swear, if he’s in the loo again…”
Colleen ran around the kitchen frantically, pulling up fryer baskets containing overly cooked French fries and deep fried toadstools.
“Mum—“
“These are bloody burnt!— RUPERT!”
“Mum—“
“— the whole batch’s got to go—“
“MUM!”
Colleen stopped. “What?”
“If we have Spattergroit spores here, I can’t be here…”
Allie instinctively touched her stomach as Colleen waved her hands impatiently.
“St. Mungo’s sent a disinfection team early this morning— if there were fungal spores, they’re gone now, but it doesn’t change the fact that half the staff is gone. We’re down two cooks, five servers and three maids— I already hired one replacement server; merlin only knows how lucky I got to hire someone on such short notice—regardless, I need you out on the floor now. Alma is stretched thin out there, and Jack is working the bar— the new girl is starting here in a bit, but she can’t obviously be left on her own—“
“I got it,” Allie said softly, nodding, “I’ll get to it.”
Allie walked out into the dining room, and was met with sheer chaos. Her co-worker, Alma, came running by with two trays of plates in her hand, and empty drink glasses levitating behind her.
“Allie— table 6 needs 4 pints of Meade, table 3 is complaining their food is taking too long, and table 15 is ready to order!”
Her shift was turning into one of the busiest and most chaotic days she had ever worked. She glanced at the clock as she wiped the sweat from her brow— she’d really only been here two and a half hours? Doing her job seemed near impossible today— she was forgetting drinks, writing food orders down wrong, and had dropped three separate table’s food into their laps as she served it. She couldn’t focus; her mind was elsewhere.
“Allie!” Colleen barked, gaining her attention. She waved her over to herself and an unfamiliar woman standing by the staircase leading up to the Inn. “This is Lenore, our new waitress— pure luck she stopped in looking for a position yesterday...”
Lenore was one of the most beautiful women Allie had ever seen. There wasn’t a single visible blemish on her smooth olive skin. Her black hair was long and shiny, tied off to the side to keep it out of her way. Her high cheekbones and almond shaped eyes gave her an air of feminine mystery, and her small, petite frame was something to be envious of. Allie felt self-conscious of her tall-by-comparison height; feeling like a clumsy, gangly, and freckle splattered giraffe in her presence. She mentally cursed herself for not attempting to brush her wild mane before knotting in a frizzy bun on top of her head this morning.
“uhm—Hi—“ Allie awkwardly wiggled her fingers in a waving-like fashion “Allie.” She said softly.
She felt heat flood to her face as Lenore nodded to her, and curtsied politely.
“Lenore Khoury,” she said smoothly “pleasure.”
Allie took note in Lenore’s French accent; it wasn’t throaty and harsh like Fleur Delacour’s, but soft and smooth, like running a hand over expensive silk.
“Lenore, you are going to be following Alma, today—“ Colleen pointed at the older, graying woman bobbing around the dining room. “You’ll be in good hands with her.”
“Absolutely, Madame Colleen.”
Lenore smiled politely at both of them, her eyes lingering on Allie for a split second longer than what was comfortable. As Allie watched her turn around and float off gracefully, she decided there was something about Lenore’s demeanor that she found odd— but was she simply looking for excuses not to like her? Of course it’d be easy to dislike someone so pretty, so thin, so poised…
“Ah!”
Allie’s thought process was broken as she felt Colleen seize her arm roughly. “I need to speak with you,” she said through gritted teeth. “upstairs.”
Colleen dragged her up the stairs and into the first open room. She shut the door behind them, a little more forcefully than necessary, making Allie flinch.
“I’ve been getting complaints about you all afternoon,” Colleen snapped irritably “I know it’s busy, but you’re not one to crumble like this— what’s going on with you? Are you tired? Sick? Trying to get me to fire you?”
Allie didn’t answer, but shifted her gaze at the floor. A lump formed in her throat, and all she was able to muster up was a whisper soft apology.
“I’m sorry…”
Colleen sighed, relaxing her posture, but her tone still had a note of frustration and annoyance as she spoke. “Would this have anything to do with Sirius Black’s arrest yesterday?”
Tears stung her eyes as she nodded stiffly. “I can’t get it out of my head— I’m so worried about him…”
Colleen studied her for a moment before speaking. This time, her voice was much softer, calmer— almost sympathetic.
“What will you do if he goes back to prison? About the baby? Your schooling?”
Allie wasn’t able to hold it in any longer. She broke down into wracking sobs, collapsing onto her knees and taking sharp, gasping breaths.
“I— I— d-don’t— don’t know—“
Colleen sunk down to her and wrapped her arms around her tightly. She leaned her head against Allie’s and rubbed her back in a circular motion slowly.
“Sweetheart— shh, it’s ok, shh…”
“Mum, I’m so scared for him— I love him, I can’t lose him—“
She sobbed for a few minutes as Colleen continued drawing circles on her back with the palm of her hand.
“He doesn’t deserve to be there,” She whined “He spent so many years there, he was innocent. He didn’t deserve it. I know you don’t like him, but he is a good man, and I love him.”
A moment or two passed before Colleen spoke.
“I just thought you were going to build a life with Jack,” she sighed “it gave us all a bit of a… well, shock if you will, when you called the wedding off.”
Allie closed her eyes and shook her head bitterly “I’m sorry I am such a disappointment to you.”
“Allison, you are not a disappointment in the slightest,” Colleen paused for a moment, seeming to collect her thoughts before continuing “When I got pregnant with you, I thought I was stuck. Your father and I got married, and then had more kids, and I told myself I was happy. Through all of it, I told myself that I was. Until I realized I wasn’t, and I was staying with him for you and your sibling’s sake,”
Allie blinked a few tears away, shifting to look up at her mother.
“I just want to make sure you don’t feel stuck,” She paused again, taking a breath “I want to make sure this— he— is truly what you want— I don’t want you to end up alone with 6 kids to feed on a small salary like me.”
“Sirius isn’t like dad, he won’t leave me…” Allie wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to ask what she said next; “…Did you know Dad is a Death Eater?”
All color drained from Colleen’s face as her mouth tightened into a thin line.
“I didn’t know, but I can’t say I’m surprised,” Colleen took a deep, shaking breath “Your father sympathized with the idea of a pure-blood society. He was angry that he kept getting passed up for promotions at work once rumors got around about your sister being a— a—“ she stopped for a moment, then waved off the thought “Oh, you know. And once Dirk Cresswell, a muggle born, became Head of the Goblin Liason office in less time than your father had worked at the Ministry, he was outraged— especially when Cresswell let it slip how much his salary was at the Ministry’s Christmas party that year. It was nearly triple your father’s.”
“Flynn told me Dad and you argued about Shannon the night he left...”
“He did—“ Colleen stopped, and look at Allie in surprised “Wait a minute, when did you see Flynn? Is he alright? How is he?”
“He’s a Death Eater also,” Allie began picking at a loose thread at the hem of her skirt. He was at the Ministry the night Volde—“
“Don’t say his name!” Colleen hissed “When did you dare start speaking his name?”
“Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself.”
Colleen scoffed and shook her head, “This is what this man is doing to you?! Making you think you’re this brave rebel who is going to take down the most powerful dark wizard in history? You’ll do nothing but get yourself killed!”
“There are things worth dying for.” Allie whispered.
Colleen’s lip twitched, and her demeanor shifted instantly. She was suddenly very businesslike, stiff;
“Well, I think we ought to get back to it, shouldn’t we?”
“Mum—“
“Alma probably needs help with training Lenore, you should go assist— I can trust the guests will receive spectacular service from here on out?”
Allie opened and closed her mouth a couple times before nodding.
“…Yes ma’am.”
Allie rose slowly, and started towards the door. Once she reached the threshold, Colleen called her name. She stopped and turned back; Colleen had a contemplative expression on her face. After a moment of staring at each other;
“There is a solicitor here in London, the best I hear— his office is charmed to look like an antique’s store on Carnaby Street. He was recommended to me when you were arrested, but I—“ Colleen flushed and she looked down at her feet. “—I couldn’t afford him.”
“Who is it?” Allie asked, furrowing her brow.
“His name is Copernicus Slade— but he doesn’t come cheap, I warn you.”
“I can get the money,” she said quickly. “That’s not a problem.”
Allie turned to exit, but was stopped with Colleen called her name once more.
“Allison—“ firmness returned to her voice as her eyes pierced into Allie’s “I hope you have a legal way of obtaining this money you speak of.”
“Just because I stole one time,” Allie said softly, but tone laced with venom “doesn’t mean I’ll do it again.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures, do they not?”
The odd expression on Colleen’s face made Allie angry. She gritted her teeth as she squeezed her hands into fists so tight her nails were cutting into her palms.
“Let us not forget that it was your children I fed with that stolen money,” Allie hissed “you’re welcome.”
She spun on her heel and marched out of the room, not daring to look back.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Hope you all are enjoying so far!
I made a facebook group, intended for chapter previews, updates on posting schedule, general discussion on the various fics my brain comes up with(current and future), as well as a chance to berate me for my excessive use of the semicolon. Join! lets be friendsssss.
Here's the link! https://www.facebook.com/groups/27489648735/
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Hold on Tight