Hello!

This is a translation of my very first fic. I am currently re-writing it and I decided to put the new version here on ffnet in English. It is not my first language, so please, forgive my mistakes!

Anyway, I hope you'll like it, and if you do, leave a review ! ( ᐛ )و
(Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the work of JK Rowling and does not belong to me, I'm just borrowing the universe and the characters.)

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CHAPTER I - PRELUDE

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Ron Weasley was late. With a hurried step, he crossed the great hall of the Ministry of Magic while adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. At this early hour, the place was already bustling with activity; wizards and witches, workers and visitors alike, were coming and going from all directions. He had to make his way with difficulty to the lifts. In the centre of the Atrium, he walked around the huge golden fountain that had been rebuilt after the War. A peacock-blue ceiling hung over the space, decorated with golden symbols that moved gently to and fro, almost making one forget the sunny June weather. At the far end of the hall, the young man could see the lights of the Aurors' Office on the second floor.

A queue had already formed in the lobby when Ron arrived. He looked up at the large clock floating above the Atrium, its elegant hands pointing to twenty-seven past nine. A sigh escaped his lips and he closed his eyes. It had been a restless night; Rose had woken up several times, which rarely happened to her, and neither he nor Hermione had really been able to get any sleep. Needless to say, it had been a difficult wake-up call. A loud ding announced the arrival of the lift and brought his thoughts back to the present moment. The young man managed to squeeze his way through the colourful crowd of wizards and pressed the button for level two.

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After a short journey, a female voice finally announced "Level Two, Department of Justice" and Ron extricated himself from the cabin just in time before the doors closed. Late as he was, he figured he could make a detour through the Division of Collaboration between Wizards and Muggles, or Divco for short, where Harry worked. This division had been created in the aftermath of the War to facilitate the enforcement of justice for crimes that involved both wizards and muggles. There were a total of five teams of Aurors and five teams of Muggle law enforcement officers, a mixture of police, detectives and prosecutors, spread across the country; all of whom were aware of the existence of the Wizarding World and were bound by the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.

Unlike the Auror's Office, where Ron worked, the Divco was decorated in a very... Muggle way. Once through the large glass door at the entrance to the division, visitors were greeted by a wide, bright corridor, bathed in light thanks to large enchanted windows that offered a view overlooking a modern city centre. Along the corridor were the offices of the various teams working there. The reception desk was manned by Patricia, a middle-aged, plump and friendly witch, the division's secretary. Sitting comfortably in a velvet armchair, she was sipping her morning cup of tea.

"Good morning, Patricia!" Ron greeted her with a smile. His gaze fell on the secretary's jumper, made of apple green angora wool, which clashed perfectly with her flaming red hair. "Interesting choice of colours today," he commented. "It suits you perfectly."

"Always the charmer, Ronald," she giggled, shaking her hand, before pushing a small plate onto the reception desk. "A biscuit?"

"Ah, no thanks. Gotta watch my figure. Say, is Harry here?"

"He's probably in his office," she nodded, picking up some of the cake crumbs that had fallen onto her jumper with the tip of her index finger. "He always comes in very early these days."

"Thanks, Patricia!"

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Ron hurried up the corridor towards the last office. The ringing of a telephone sounded behind one of the closed doors he passed through; because of its constant connection with Muggles, the Divco was the only department in the Ministry where technology could operate without interference from magic. The young man's gaze wandered over the various posters hanging on the walls, posters of Muggle films, photographs of sportsmen and landscapes, as well as a large cork board with various information on it. He was particularly fond of this board, as he always found something interesting to read. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to stop and look at it this morning.

The young Auror finally arrived in front of his friend's office. The open door allowed him to observe the latter without his friend noticing his presence. Harry was alone, hidden behind the monstrous pile of coloured papers that sat on his table. His two colleagues did not seem to have arrived yet, judging by the unoccupied posts beside him. The small room had an aura of chaos and disorder about it, "Yes, but it's an organised mess," Harry always replied when pointed out. The shelves looked as if they would collapse at any moment under the weight of the boxes full of files. In one corner, there was a rack with various items of clothing, to be used for different occasions when going on missions in the Muggle world. The walls were decorated with Quidditch posters, various photos, and a sign that was obviously from a pub front, The Hanging Bat.

Ron knocked on the door three times and Harry looked up sharply. He looked tired, dark circles underlined his green eyes and his complexion was paler than usual. His face lit up, however, when he saw his visitor.

"Ron!" he exclaimed in surprise. "Come on in. What brings you here?"

"Why?" the red-haired Auror replied as he stepped into the room. "Do I necessarily need a reason to come and greet my best friend?"

"On the contrary! It's good to see you! You don't come here as often as you used to."

"I know, I know. Lot of work?" Ron added while eyeing the files on the desk.

"Ugh, you don't say," Harry sighed as he leaned back in his chair before stretching and letting his hands fall back behind his head. "It just goes on and on, it must be that time of year. Every new case seems more urgent than the last. I wish I had some time off."

"You know what they say, crime never takes a break!" Ron laughed as he dodged a flying note that nearly poked his eye out.

"And that's a shame."

"But enough of the small talk, this courtesy visit did have a purpose. I feel like we haven't seen each other in ages and Hermione misses you too. So we wanted to ask you to come over for dinner one of these days."

Between work and family life, Ron couldn't even remember the last time they'd been together for a pub night. He missed his best friend's company and sometimes the latter seemed to be becoming more and more distant towards him and Hermione. He feared that time would eventually drive them apart for good and he wasn't ready to accept that idea.

"Dinner?" Harry repeated, seeming to think the idea over. "Why not? It's been a long time. It'll be good to see you both and be out of the Ministry. How is Hermione, by the way? And Rose?"

"Oh, they're both doing wonderfully. Hermione's busy with the new werewolf laws. And you know her, when she's passionate about something, it's impossible to distratc her away. And I swear Rosie is growing by the minute."

Ron eagerly pulled his wallet from the inside pocket of his Auror robes and took out a picture of his daughter which he handed to his friend.

"Look at her. Can you believe she's already two years old? Time really does fly by!"

"Hm," Harry nodded thoughtfully.

The red-haired Auror retrieved his photo and glanced quickly at his watch. "Wow! I'll have to go if I don't want Robards to give me a hard time. I'll tell you the date later for dinner!"

"No problem."

Ron waved him goodbye and hurried out of the Divco to the Aurors' Office, located on the same floor, but on the other side of the Atrium. He passed quickly under the large golden arches that dominated the Atrium and finally arrived at his destination.

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The young man pushed open the door of the Aurors' Office, greeted by the murmur of conversation from the many offices on either side of a wide ochre corridor. His shoes clacked on the polished floor, which was shimmering with light coming from an enchanted glass roof. He reached the room he shared with his three teammates and entered with a general greeting.

"Finally showing up for work, Weasley?" Olivia Crane greeted him, her Australian accent more pronounced than ever.

Olivia Crane, a beautiful young woman with dark skin and curly hair gathered in a loose bun, was half seated on a corner of her colleague's desk. The latter, Cecilia Morton, appeared to be immersed in reading a report and absentmindedly ran a hand through the strands of her long blonde hair. Ron merely responded to his colleague with a vulgar gesture, which caused her to let out a loud laugh.

The two young women were respectively twenty-seven and twenty-five and had been part of Ron's team since its creation, three years earlier. At twenty-eight, he was the leader and the most experienced, and he had to admit that he considered his team a second family. Its fourth and final member was Desmond Alderson. He was the youngest, just twenty-three years old, and had joined them a few months ago. He was of North African descent, had grown up in the UK and worshipped Ron, Harry and Hermione; becoming an Auror had always been his dream.

"Today's news, Boss!" the latter said cheerfully, handing Ron today's edition of the Daily Prophet.

"Thanks, Desmond. Are there any results from yesterday's match?"

"The Appleby Arrows lost to the Tutshill Tornadoes."

"It was a foregone conclusion," the red-haired Auror sighed. "The Arrows catcher is a complete bumbling fool, a troll would do better than him, and the chasers are no better."

He was about to pour himself a nice cup of coffee while commenting on the sports results when a colleague knocked on the office door. "Weasley, Robards would like to speak to you!" he said before nodding to the rest of the team and disappearing.

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The door to Robards' office was open and his superior motioned for Ron to come and sit down as soon as he saw him.

"Sleeping in now, Weasley?" he asked, though his tone betrayed no reproach.

Gawain Robards had been head of the Auror Office since the end of the war. He was a Wizard with greying hair and kind eyes hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses. He was competent and well liked by his subordinates, despite his sometimes strict air.

"I'm sorry, Chief," the young man apologised, running a tired hand over his face. "We had a difficult night with Rose."

"The joys of being a young parent. I know, it's just a hard time to get through. It'll be over in no time, believe my experience."

"Did you want to see me about something in particular?"

"I wanted to know where you are in your investigation," his superior nodded. "Have you heard from your witness?"

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The investigation Ron and his team had been working on for several months was a real headache. At the request of the Director of the Department of Justice, David Hammond, they had been asked to investigate the activities of Bogdan Vasilyev, a Russian wizarding crime boss who had chosen to set up shop in the UK a few years ago. His organisation covered a wide range of sectors, from drug and potion smuggling, trafficking in magical creatures, corruption of politicians — both Muggle and wizard — to intimidation, terrorism and murder. The man was a real ghost, impossible to locate or even identify his accomplices, and the investigation was going nowhere. Witnesses were hard to find, and those who would be willing to talk were eliminated by Vasilyev's men before they could share their information. There were rumours of corrupt Aurors in the Russian's pay who would facilitate the disappearance of witnesses and the destruction of evidence. However, the internal investigations had so far all ended in failure.

A week earlier, however, luck had smiled on the Aurors and Ron had managed to apprehend a man suspected of dealing in illegal potions. Wilbur Smithers, in his late forties and with an admirable swagger, had confessed to working for Vasilyev. He'd had several run-ins with law enforcement before; he'd always been released, but he'd finally lost the criminal's trust, and even his persuasive skills were no longer of any use. "I fear for my safety and that of my family," he had told the Aurors during his interrogation. "If I become an inconvenient witness, Vasilyev will not hesitate for a moment to silence me for good."

The Office had then agreed to offer protection to the man and his family on the condition that he help them catch the Aurors in Vasilyev's pay. To do this, Ron's team had devised a simple plan: Smithers was to be arrested by the Muggle police and then taken into custody. Vasilyev had spies everywhere, so no doubt the information would circulate quickly. When a wizard identified as such was arrested by Muggles, a transfer request was made either by the prosecutor's office or by the Aurors. The latter would then be sent to collect the prisoner and take him to the Ministry for questioning. "I've heard that one of the prosecutors was dealing with the London crime scene," Smithers had said. "But I don't know what his name is…"

If it turned out that Vasilyev's source was indeed the prosecutor, it would mean that the Aurors sent to transfer him would more than likely be under the Russian's orders. Bogdan Vasilyev paid his allies handsomely, he had a number of Muggle politicians in his pocket as well as judges, lawyers, and other members of the Ministry of Justice; going after the prosecutor would lead nowhere. Taking the Aurors alive was the only solution.

Ron was sure of their plan, because a few months earlier he had been confronted with a similar case. Leonard Mueller had been suspected of the murder of a wealthy wizard heir and the Aurors had been about to arrest him when the Muggle police had beaten them to it. They had come for him at his home on a warrant from the prosecutor for a burglary. The Aurors' Office had finally succeeded in getting the prisoner to interrogate him themselves after tough negotiations, which had been facilitated by the intervention of the Divco. Mueller had indeed left his Muggle cell, but had never arrived at his destination. It was only a few weeks later that Ron had discovered his links to Vasilyev's criminal network.

The young man had no doubt that their way of doing things would remain unchanged. "They'll seize this opportunity to make him disappear, just as they did with Mueller," he had suggested as he reported to Robards. All they'd have to do is put a team of Aurors on surveillance around the Muggle police station to intercept the traitors before they could get to Smithers. A member of the Office would go in a few days beforehand to gather information. He would be the link between the surveillance team and Smithers on d-day. The plan had been approved by management; Smithers had been released under supervision and his family placed under protection.

"At the moment, we're still waiting for news of his arrest," Ron told his superior. "But it won't be long, he's been spotted several times in the same areas selling illegal substances."

"Alright, let me know as soon as you have any news."

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Ron was absent-mindedly reading an article about the sudden popularity of Goblin music among wizards while sipping his cup of hot coffee when an urgent note flew through the half-open door. Desmond rushed to intercept it and caught it, nearly knocking over a wobbly stack of files on Ron's desk in the process. He unfolded it and read it, and his face lit up with a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

"Boss!" he exclaimed as he rushed over to Ron. "It's Smithers! He was arrested early this morning, his transfer to the Ministry has been approved for this afternoon!"

"What?" Olivia blurted out from her desk. "Are you kidding me?!"

"It's about time!" Cecilia commented, getting up at the same time as her colleague.

Both of them approached the young recruit to read the message in turn. The four Aurors looked at each other and Ron felt the adrenaline rush that came with fieldwork; it was one of the reasons why he loved his job. At last, after days of waiting, they could put their plan into action.

"Now, we get ready," he said seriously. "Nothing is to be left to chance."

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At one o'clock, after eating a light lunch, the small team silently put on their intervention uniforms while checking that their stealth and protection spells were in place. They then made their way down the great hall to the Aurors' apparition area, located in a large room behind the chimney corridor. The group appeared in a back alley, not far from the police station where Smithers was. After a final nod, everyone took up their positions, at a different point on the street, so as to leave no blind spots.

Two hours later, Ron was lying uncomfortably on the roof of a building opposite the police station, a pair of magical binoculars in his hands. From his vantage point he could watch the comings and goings of the few passers-by going about their business. The heavy June sun was beating down unusually hard and he wiped his sweaty forehead with a sweep of his hand.

"Any movement?" he asked suddenly, addressing the rest of his team via a communication spell.

"This is Liv, nothing to report on my end."

"Ditto," the clear voice of Cecilia added.

"It's dead calm, Boss," Desmond finished.

Ron let out a sigh, then grabbed his water bottle and took a sip. The temperature seemed to be rising; with a quick flick of his wand, he cast a cooling spell on himself for the fifth time that afternoon.

A few moments later, a man in a black suit came out of the police station. He lit the cigarette he had placed between his lips and then looked up to the roof of the building where Ron was. The latter immediately recognised their undercover agent who, with a stiff and almost imperceptible movement, shook his head to indicate that there was nothing new. The young Auror then glanced at his watch and sighed again. There was not even a breeze to cool the stifling air that made his palms sweat and forced him to readjust his grip on his binoculars regularly.

Suddenly, a movement caught his attention. He saw a black Honda Civic pulling into the street and slowing down at the police station. Ron held his breath as the vehicle stopped in front of the building. Inside, he could clearly make out three figures. Finally.

"I've got a visual!" he said hurriedly. "Several possible suspects. Stand by."

"Copy that!" three voices replied almost simultaneously.

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The front passenger door opened, a man got out and Ron's heart missed a beat. He recognised him immediately. Paul Briggs; he was tall, with brown hair and a nice beard, a pair of sunglasses on his nose. Dressed in a dark T-shirt and jeans, his outfit was perfectly Muggle. He appeared to be in the middle of a heated discussion with the backseat passenger, a small woman with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and an olive complexion. Ron swallowed hard, his throat suddenly very dry. Rosa Lopez, an energetic woman who spoke with her hands, she was probably the most competent witch in the Divco. He remembered that she had a son who was a year older than Rose.

The third passenger, Ron knew exactly who it was, but refused to admit it. An uneasy feeling seized him and turned his insides upside down, a drop of cold sweat slid down his back. His teammates were talking to him, but he wasn't listening, the sound of their urgent voices drowned out by the deafening sound of his erratic heartbeat in his ears.

"Boss, what are the orders?"

"Do we intercept them or not?"

"Weasley! Answer!"

These three were known for getting into all sorts of trouble, but also for their competence and integrity. The Divco Dream Team, who had an unparalleled success rate in their missions and were regularly praised by the head of the Justice Department. The third passenger stepped out, wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and black trousers. He ran a hand through his jet-black hair and closed the car door, a smile stretching his lips as he watched his teammates argue. The third passenger entered the station after Briggs and Lopez, and Ron refused to believe it.

"No... That's impossible, it doesn't make any sense," he muttered frantically, feeling cold in the sweltering heat. It couldn't be him. It had to be a mistake. His friend, his brother...

"... Harry."