I had to re-write a lot in this chapter ^^ So much more work than I expected, but I hope the result is alright.

For the last memory, I was listening to Françoise Hardy's "Mon amie la Rose", which is a song that I love.

As always, thank you for reading! And thank you for the feedback, it's always appreciated :)

(TW: violence and death)

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CHAPTER VII - VIVACE

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The street was deserted. In the morning mist, the first rays of the rising sun were making the orange foliage of the trees glow, and with the cold, their breaths formed little clouds of condensation with each exhale. A shiver ran through Harry's body; he pulled his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders and glanced at Sasha, who was walking with a skip in his step beside him, obviously unaffected by the freezing temperature. The two young men had been out all night celebrating the success of the opening night of the play in which he was the lead. The rest of the cast had left them a few minutes earlier and they were now heading towards Grimmauld Place.

Driven by the remnants of the evening's alcohol and inspired by the beauty of the landscape, Sasha suddenly began to recite a poem.

"Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run…"

The young actor spun around as he recited his verses. At his side, with his hands in his pockets to protect them from the cold, Harry laughed. The genuine joy he felt animated his whole being, warming and comforting him. He was happy and nothing else mattered. Sasha, indefatigable, continued his declamation.

"... Where are the songs of Spring ? Ay, where are they ?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue…"

Suddenly, as they walked along a park, he jumped onto a bench and, raising an arm, turned to Harry, who stopped and looked up at him, still laughing.

"... And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn ;

Hedge-crickets sing ; and now with treble soft

The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft ;

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies !"

Around them, a few early morning passers-by gave them curious glances but the two young men didn't care; the world at that moment no longer existed outside of them. Sasha leaned over, took Harry's face between his two hands and kissed him. When they parted a few moments later, they continued to look at each other with broad smiles, the affection evident in their eyes.

With a heavy heart, Ron wondered when was the last time he'd seen such a happy expression on his best friend's face. In a flurry of colour, he let himself be carried to the next memory.

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The muted music echoed in the semi-dark stairwell, lightly lit by a glowing red neon sign. Harry descended the stairs one by one and arrived at a large black front door, next to which a security guard stood still, his hands folded in front of him. As the Auror approached, the guard stared at him indifferently, then nodded and opened the door. The young man entered.

In the large room of the nightclub, the music was intense. The black light brought out the whiteness of his T-shirt, which contrasted with his dark trousers. On the back wall, a giant screen was showing a variety of colourful images to accompany the DJ's variations, and a compact crowd was moving to the rhythm of the bass, both on the dance floor and on the crowded balconies above it. Combined with the sounds and colours, the overwhelming smells of sweat, alcohol and perfume assaulted the Auror's senses.

He arduously made his way to the bar, narrowly avoiding a waiter carrying a tray of full glasses. When he reached his destination, he waved to the barman and ordered a drink, then leaned against the counter to observe the room, not letting any detail escape his notice. Harry had in mind the face of his target, Randall Blake, an arms-dealing wizard who operated on both the Muggle and magical sides, whom he tried to spot among the revellers.

The Auror was certain that his man was somewhere in the club; he and his team had traced the trail of corpses he had left behind back to him. This was no second-rate petty thug, and the young man wondered for a moment whether he would have been better off waiting for his teammates rather than tailing him himself that night. The stifling heat of the place was beginning to become uncomfortable and he began to tap nervously on the counter when a movement to his side suddenly caught his attention; he turned his head to find a woman, visibly tipsy, trying to wave at him while teasing him with her cleavage. With a forced smile he shook his head, the music too loud to hear anything, and then resumed his observation. As he took a sip of his cocktail, Randall Blake finally appeared, accompanied by another man. Harry hastily put his glass back on the bar and started to move.

The criminal and his acolyte made their way to a doorway loosely concealed under the stairs leading up to the balconies and disappeared. After casting a stealth spell on himself, Harry followed them. The door closed behind him and he found himself in a dark corridor which, like the entrance, was lit by an artificial red light. The sound of the bass was muffled and accompanied his cautious progress. The corridor was longer than it seemed and the young Auror narrowly avoided being spotted several times. At last he saw a door ajar and several voices reached him, though he could not make out the conversations clearly. Silently, he approached.

"... Not me!" one man was saying, his tone betraying anger.

"Not you?" another replied with disdain. "And the merchandise just vanished on its own, perhaps? You knew what would happen if you tried to double-cross us, Blake."

Harry frowned; the voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it.

"You should think twice before coming after me," Blake threatened hastily. "I know exactly how you've managed to spread your influence. I've taken out insurance. If anything were to happen to me, it would be revealed to the press and the Aurors."

"Insurance? Oh, you mean that?"

The sound of something falling to the floor echoed, followed by a surprised exclamation. A moment later a door opened and Harry could hear something being dragged along the floor. The moan of a female voice gave him goosebumps and he moved a little closer to the door to try to get a glimpse of the scene without being detected.

In the centre of the bare room, the trafficker was on his knees, a panicked look painted on his sweaty face, and beside him, with his back to Harry, stood a smartly dressed man. Their attention seemed to be directed to the young brunette woman who laid on the floor opposite them, her hands and feet bound, gagged and her face bruised. She was throwing desperate glances at the criminal.

"No!" the latter begged, trying to rush towards her but being held back by another wizard who forced him to stay put. "Please! Not her!"

Harry could hear the sounds of several other people in the room, but it was impossible for him to see them without opening the door. He leaned forward a little more and shifted his weight onto his other leg.

"Don't hurt her! I beg you, let her go! She has nothing to do with this."

"You probably should have thought about the cost of your ambition, Blake," the man with his back to Harry said condescendingly. "It's a bit late now."

Suddenly the latter raised his head and turned slightly to the side, as if looking at someone outside the Auror's field of vision. His profile came into focus and the young man's eyes widened with horror; of course, he should have recognised that voice immediately. After all, he only knew one person who expressed himself with such disdain and contempt for those he spoke to. Claudius Sternwood nodded, obviously having received the signal he was waiting for, then turned to Randall Blake and raised his wand.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The flash of green light filled the room and was immediately followed by the sound of the body collapsing. The captive woman let out a long, muffled scream. Harry, for his part, could hardly believe what he had witnessed; had he really just seen the Undersecretary of the Department of Justice execute a man in cold blood? His left hand began to shake and he unconsciously held it to his chest. It was absurd, it didn't make any sense…

"What about her?" Sternwood's voice rang out, interrupting the Auror's thoughts. "What do we do with her?"

The sound of a chair being pulled to the floor and slow footsteps sounded.

"She will be perfect for one of our establishments, after a good amnesia spell."

Harry recoiled at the sound of the new voice. The Office. He couldn't stay there, he had to get out of here right now and contact the Office. The Auror spun around and collided violently with a body. A guard, the one who had escorted Blake to this place, had taken advantage of his inattention and slipped behind him without a sound.

"Stupe—"

The man did not give him time to finish his incantation. He grabbed the young man's head and slammed it hard against the wall. Harry's vision blurred and his wand slipped from his hand. The commotion caused by the scene drew two other wizards from the room. One of them rushed to help the guard neutralise the Auror while the other picked up the wand that had rolled away. Once overpowered, Harry was dragged unceremoniously through the door. As he tried to struggle furiously, he was punched in the face and his attempts to escape were cut short. A metallic taste invaded his mouth. The young man was forced to his knees and his hands were restrained behind his back with a restraining spell. As calm finally returned, he raised his head and assessed the situation through his cracked glasses.

To his left, with his blond hair still neatly combed back, arms crossed and a look that exuded disdain and anger, stood Claudius Sternwood. Three other wizards were behind him, dressed in dark robes, their features inexpressive. Blake's corpse laid on the ground a little further away; his face was frozen in a panicked expression, his eyes wide open and totally empty. Beside him was the young woman, whose curled-up body was shaking with sobs and terrified whimpers. From a briefcase at her feet protruded documents, papers and photographs, as well as small vials containing the bluish strands of memories that were locked in them; the insurance the dealer had spoken of?

Finally, opposite Harry, sitting nonchalantly on a chair behind a small metal desk, was David Hammond. The latter tapped his fingers on the table three times, his calculating gaze focused on the Auror, and then stood up slowly.

"Harry Potter," he said simply.

After a brief pause, he walked over to the young man and stopped directly in front of him, scrutinising him with a displeased expression. The young man stared back impetuously, determined not to be intimidated.

"You are definitely a thorn in my side," the Director said in an annoyed tone. "I don't know what to do with you."

Harry's confusion must have shown in his eyes, and a mirthless smile played on Hammond's thin lips. "Ah, I understand your perplexity. You see, this is not the first time you have turned up uninvited, my boy."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"What is it? The third...," the Director glanced at Sternwood, who nodded. "Yes, the third time you've interrupted a personal matter. I must admit, you can sniff out a lead like no other Auror. The proof is, you've managed to find us every time."

Sternwood, leaning against the wall, let out a small laugh with a snort.

"I don't understand," Harry argued hurriedly, gripped by an unpleasant sensation of oppression. "I don't remember—"

"Because I didn't allow you to remember, that's all. But you're far too curious for your own good. Curious and obstinate. And, as I've always said, curiosity is a bad flaw."

The young man felt as if the walls were closing in around him, and the feeling of oppressiveness increased as his thoughts raced through his mind. "You… You erased my memory? How could you? I don't—"

The bright light of the room made it impossible for him to concentrate and he lost his train of thought for a moment. The tremors that had gripped his hand had spread to the rest of his body; he closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing.

"Blake," he said, suddenly raising his head. "He was working for you. You killed him. Why did you do it?" What other crimes had he witnessed before this one? What had he seen before his memories were taken away? The thought of these bastards getting into his mind made him sick to his stomach.

"You seem upset by what you've just seen, and I understand that, but you need to understand one thing. Everything I do, everything I've done in the past, is for the Ministry. For the good of the Magical Society."

"For the good of the Magic Society?" Harry repeated in disbelief. "Associating with arms dealers and drug dealers is for the good of the Wizarding World?"

"You of all people should understand that. We are short of men and resources. I need to make sure I can offer the best possible security to the people. Even if it means forcing the Ministry to give me the means to do so."

"So you take it upon yourself to flood the city with drugs and weapons? You create insecurity because of budgetary concerns? I only see a pathetic excuse to hide the fact that it is purely and simply about gaining power!"

"You're not getting the big picture, Harry," Hammond snapped. "Your narrow mind still has trouble accepting reality. It's a pity you keep coming to the same conclusion."

With an almost resigned air, the latter took out his wand and pointed it at the Auror's head, who unconsciously moved back. With one move, he was going to make him forget everything that had happened. Just like that. The thought was unbearable for Harry and he tried to think as quickly as possible to find a solution despite the panic that clouded his thoughts. However, to his stupefaction, the Director did not follow through.

"You know what?" he said suddenly. "Erasing your memory would only postpone this problem and I'm tired of having this eternal conversation with you. I've asked you many times to work for me, offering you a brilliant career at the Ministry, which you've always refused."

Hammond leaned over and with a sudden gesture grabbed the young man's face with one hand and squeezed it painfully, his features losing all trace of sympathy. "This time I won't ask, Harry," he hissed through his teeth. "Whether you like it or not, you're going to work for me."

"And become your lackey?" the Auror managed to retort, glaring at the Director. "In your bloody dreams!"

"You should think of the wellbeing of your loved ones," his interlocutor said in an almost concerned tone as he tightened his grip on his face a little more. "Your friends, Weasley, Granger, Longbottom… Whose promising careers might be suddenly cut short, or they could fall victim to untimely accidents… And the child, little Teddy Lupin, is it?"

The young man's heart missed a beat. Not Teddy. No one had the right to hurt Teddy. His breath caught in his throat. Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickled down his temples, down his back, down his loins.

"What would happen if rumours of his possible lycanthropy inherited from his father surfaced? He would be seen as a danger and his future at Hogwarts could be in jeopardy…"

Harry had promised himself that he would not be intimidated, but the man's threats were beginning to get to him in spite of himself. The noose that had tightened mercilessly around his chest prevented him from breathing; his anguish would soon reach its peak.

"Aleksandr Vasilyev? What is the life of a criminal's son worth? Do you really think you could hide your secrets from me? I know everything about you."

"I won't let you!" Harry protested in a voice that was shakier than he had hoped. "Shacklebolt—"

"Do you think I am on my own at the Ministry?" Hammond interrupted. "I told you, it's all about connections, and I do have strong ones. I can hurt you, a great deal, Harry. Don't tempt me," he finished coldly.

Finally, he released the Auror's face and stepped back, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his hand. Once he had finished, he put the cloth away and readjusted his outfit.

"But I can also help you. Make you feel better." As he spoke, the Director gestured to one of the guards, who quickly approached. After a low-voiced exchange, the latter took an object from his pocket and handed it to his superior.

"Photosensitivity, shaking, sweating, irritability… Do not think I haven't noticed. You are going through withdrawal, my boy," Hammond said, placing the object on the table for the young man to see.

It was a small vial filled with a shimmering black powder. Astramine. A mixture of poppy powder and Dreamplant root, highly addictive, but at that very moment, Harry could only think of the feeling of pleasure and freedom this substance could give him. Just a little bit. Just a little bit to end this nightmare. His eager gaze was riveted on the vial but in his mind a fierce battle raged between his reason and his feelings.

"Do we have a deal, Harry?" Hammond asked, his smooth voice interrupting the young man's inner conflict.

Slowly, with a defeated look on his face, the latter nodded. The Director then beckoned to Sternwood who uncrossed his arms and approached Harry, grabbing the vial on the desk as he did so. The Undersecretary stood behind him, then bent down and lifted the restraining spell.

"One word to anyone and you'll have to pay the consequences, Potter," he whispered viciously as he thrust the small vial into the Auror's hand.

The scene changed abruptly.

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Harry was running. He couldn't remember when he started running. Perhaps immediately after leaving the nightclub. The impact of his footsteps echoed on the asphalt, breaking the silence of the night. Finally, he stopped. His surroundings seemed familiar, and he realised that he had arrived in front of Sasha's building. The events of the evening played out in a jumbled way in his feverish mind and he leaned against the wall for a moment to catch his breath and try to reorganise his thoughts. His hand slid down his sweaty face and then he began to tap his temple with his palm. He had to pull himself together, by Merlin.

The front door suddenly opened, startling him, and a man stepped out without paying him any attention. The young man took the opportunity to slip into the building before it closed. He hurried through the narrow corridors of the old structure. When he finally found the flat he was looking for, he began to pound on the door, the noise echoing in the deserted hall. After a few minutes, the sound of footsteps was heard, accompanied by a "da, da, I'm coming" and followed by the jangling of keys in the lock. The door opened at last and Sasha's sleepy face appeared.

"Harry?" he croaked with a look of confusion. "Do you know what time it is? What the—?"

The Auror didn't let him finish his sentence and rushed into the flat, which he immediately began to inspect frantically.

"By all the Volkhves, Harry," Sasha muttered, watching him with concern. "Are you all right? What are you doing?"

"Shh," the young man whispered, placing his index finger to his mouth. "They can hear us."

"Who can? Harry— Your face!" the actor exclaimed, coming up to him and touching his cheek with his fingertips.

Harry jerked back and a grimace of pain spread across his face. Without giving him time to protest, Sasha guided him to the sofa and forced him to sit down. "Wait here," he ordered gently.

The young man merely nodded and rubbed his hands nervously over his trousers. Sasha returned a few moments later with a small translucent glass jar and took a seat beside him. Gently, he began to apply the balm to the impressive bruise that decorated Harry's cheekbone and extended under his eye.

"Harry, what happened?"

The latter let out a nervous, almost hysterical laugh, but did not answer.

"Are you high?" Sasha questioned with a hint of irritation. "Damn it, you promised to quit. We had—"

"I did," the Auror argued hastily, shaking his head. "I'll do it. I didn't have a choice. He left me no choice."

"Who did?"

Harry raised his head to the sky and then pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes with a sigh of frustration. A moment later he turned back to his companion. He opened and closed his mouth, several times in a row; his leg twitched nervously.

"Harry, who gave you no choice?"

The young man began to speak. Hesitantly at first. Then, as he detailed the events of the evening, it seemed to lift a weight off his shoulders and his words became more confident. When he mentioned Hammond's name, Sasha frowned thoughtfully.

"Hammond...," he murmured. "I know that name. I'm sure I've heard it somewhere before."

"He's the head of the Department of Magical Justice. His name is often mentioned in the press."

"That could be it. And he wants you to work for him? What does that mean?"

"Using my influence to burnish his reputation, supporting him publicly, obeying his every word and doing his dirty work for him…"

Harry sighed heavily and then fell silent. The two young men sat there without saying a word and the silence stretched on. By then, the day had broken, and the rain that had started to fall was dripping down the windows of the flat. Sasha slipped his hand into Harry's and interlaced their fingers.

"Are you really going to let him do this?" he finally asked.

The Auror looked down and then stared at their joined hands.

"His threats...," he breathed. "If he carries them out, it's not just my life he'll ruin. Ron, Hermione, Teddy, you... He knows my weaknesses and he intends to exploit them." Suddenly he cowered and a groan of frustration passed through his clenched teeth. "I'd like to say he didn't intimidate me, but that would be a lie," he continued, straightening up slightly before letting out a mirthless laugh. "I felt weak. Alone against him, there's nothing I can do. I'm a failed Auror, a good-for-nothing addict who can't handle his anxieties."

Sasha placed a hand on his unscathed cheek and gently turned his face to force the young man to look at him.

"That's not true, Harry. You're excellent Auror, not weak. And you're not alone, I'm here. Your teammates are here, your friends too."

Maybe it was true. Yes, Sasha was right. Harry could count on Ron, his best friend, his brother. They had survived the war together, and so much more. Yes. His mood suddenly changed, as if a switch had been flipped, and a sense of euphoria spread through him as a glimmer of hope came to life in his heart.

"Can I use your fireplace?"

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Harry threw a handful of floo powder as he stated his friend's address, then knelt down in front of it and poked his head into the hearth.

"Ron?" he called. "Are you there?"

The living room was empty and no one answered. Suddenly light footsteps approached and Hermione appeared, in the process of tying her hair, with a rubber band between her teeth, her woollen jumper covering her bare thighs.

"Harry?" she gasped as she saw him. "You're up early! How are you?"

"Fine," he replied evasively. "Is Ron here?"

"He's in the shower. We're due at his parents' for the weekend. Did you want to talk to him? Is this about work?"

All at once, Harry thought of Hammond's threats. Ron, Hermione, the Weasley family, Teddy… Sternwood's voice echoed in his mind; "one word to anyone and you'll have to pay the consequences". If he said anything, he would put them all in danger. Could he really trust anyone? Who knew who else in the Ministry was in the Director's pocket? A wave of nausea swept over him. This was a bad idea, a terrible idea.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, her soft voice catching his attention again. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, everything's fine," he assured her hurriedly. "It's okay, it's not urgent. I'll see him on Monday. I've got to go. Have a good weekend."

Without waiting for her answer, the young man abruptly ended the conversation.

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The memories flowed without Ron having time to prepare for them. He and Padma were standing in front of the fireplace and the next thing they knew they were standing at the front door of the flat, obviously on a different day. Harry, his hair damp from the rain, was carrying a paper bag with some groceries in it. The sleeve of the Daily Prophet was sticking out and the date was on it; January 5th, 2003. The young man knocked once and then turned the handle; the door was unlocked. Surprised to find the room pitch black, he flipped on the light switch and darted to the kitchen.

"Sasha?" he called. "I'm home. I picked up some golubtsy on my way through the Russian market. The Babushka who runs the stall asked about you."

As he spoke, he put the bag of shopping on the table and began to put it away. When he turned his head to look into the living room, he froze and his blood ran cold through his veins. A horrified howl escaped from his throat.

"SASHA!"

Hanging from one of the exposed ceiling beams, the young man's body was motionless. Harry rushed towards him, tripping over the carpet in his haste, and with a wave of his wand, cast a spell to sever the rope around his neck. The Auror caught his companion's lifeless body before it fell to the floor.

"Sasha! Sasha!" he screamed desperately, grabbing his shoulders. "No, no, no, no…"

His face was purple, his lips blue, his eyes bulging and reddening as he stared into nothingness. Harry kept shaking the stiff body as he cried, screaming at him to wake up, to look at him, to come back to him, not to do this, he couldn't do this, he couldn't leave him, he had promised to stay with him. Suddenly hands grabbed him and tried to separate him from the corpse, but he struggled furiously, refusing to let go. His resistance proved futile, and Harry was dragged out of the living room. When he looked up, he realised that his screams had alerted the neighbours, who in turn had called for help.

They could only confirm that Sasha was dead. A paramedic approached Harry, crouched in front of him and tried to ask him questions. However, the Auror was not listening. Sitting on the floor, his eyes blank, he felt that everything around him was blurred, as if he was outside his own body, that what was happening was not real, could not be real. The Muggle police took over from the paramedics and asked him to follow them to the station to record his statement. Over and over again, the officers asked him the same questions. "Did you know him well?", "Was he suicidal?", "Where were you just before it happened?", "Were you the one who found him?", "Did he have a family?" Apathetic, Harry responded only in an automatic, monosyllabic manner. He was finally left alone, sitting in his chair, under the buzzing white light of the neon lights.

It was his fault. It was all his fault. He was weak, unable to protect his loved ones. It always ended the same way. Everyone would eventually abandon him. His parents, Sirius, Remus, Sasha… His fault. With his head in his hands, he began to rock back and forth in his chair. His fault. His fault. The door to the small room he was in suddenly opened and he looked up to find himself facing the satisfied smile of Claudius Sternwood.

"You were warned, Potter," the wizard announced with a falsely sympathetic air. "Every action has consequences." He sat half on the table opposite Harry, crossed his hands over his thighs and looked the young man straight in the eye. "Did you think you could get away with ignoring our warnings? That you could decide to thwart our operations with impunity?"

He laughed, clearly enjoying the pain of his interlocutor, and then leaned towards him. "Listen to me, Potter. This is what's going to happen now: if you want all your little friends to live a long and happy life, you're going to behave." The wizard stepped back without breaking eye contact. "You will continue to carry out your little investigations at the Divco. You will solve them successfully and thank Director Hammond for his guidance and generosity. And if you should happen to meet someone working for us, you will close your eyes and ignore them. Capisce?"

Slowly, without really hearing Sternwood's words, Harry nodded. Deep inside him he felt something break, painfully, permanently, irreversibly.