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CHAPTER IX - CRESCENDO

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"Did he really say that?"

Hermione's tone betrayed her disbelief. When Ron had returned from St. Mungo's, his face pale and serious, he had immediately gone to the kitchen, taken a glass from the cupboard and then a bottle of Firewhisky and poured himself a shot. Under the worried gaze of his companion, he had prepared a second glass and then sat down on the sofa where she joined him and listened to him recount the latest memories he had witnessed. Once he had finished speaking, a brief moment of silence followed. Hermione broke it by standing up abruptly.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" she muttered, biting her thumbnail as she paced the room.

"Who?" Ron asked without really looking up from his glass.

"Him, you, me, all of us!" the young woman exclaimed, raising her arms. "Because he didn't say anything, because we didn't notice!"

"It was a difficult time," the Auror intervened. "We didn't have much free time, between the cases that were going on at the Ministry, George's shop where I was going to help whenever I could, and your internship at the MACUSA…"

Ron knew he was trying to make excuses for himself; he felt guilty and knew he had been a very poor friend.

"He should have talked to us," Hermione said with a hint of reproach in her voice. "We've always stood by him in times of trouble."

"You know him, Mione. Sometimes he has a hard time expressing how he feels. By keeping us in the dark, he must have thought he was protecting us. He probably thought he was doing the right thing."

"Him and his damn hero complex. As if he had to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders… But even if he didn't confide in us, I thought he was going through therapy at the time, wasn't he?"

"Pff, come on," the young man breathed out with a sarcastic laugh. "You know as well as I do that most magipsychiatrists are as good a therapist as Lockhart was a professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts." He paused to take a sip of whisky and then let out a frustrated sound. "But what I don't understand is how he could sink so low, so fast. I'm discovering a side of him I never suspected, never even noticed."

"The war damaged us all, Ron. Probably him more than anyone else. And let's face it, his childhood before Hogwarts wasn't all sunshine and daisies. He started out with a handicap. What he went through afterwards, it would have been enough to make anyone lose their mind… All that suffering, all those deaths…"

A long, sad sigh escaped the young woman's lips and she seemed to lose herself in her thoughts for a moment.

"The theatre!" she suddenly exclaimed, turning sharply to Ron.

"What?" the latter asked, confused by the sudden change of subject.

"He had invited us to the theatre! A Shakespeare play… What was it again?"

Hermione looked at him as if he knew the answer, snapping her thumb against her index finger repeatedly, but he just shook his head in puzzlement.

"Ah, I remember! King Lear, that was it! King Lear… We had to cancel at the last minute, I don't remember why. I always wondered why Harry had looked so disappointed that time," she added in a softer voice.

"He wanted to introduce Sasha to us," Ron murmured, twirling his now empty glass in his hands as a wave of sadness washed over him.

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The meeting had been arranged in a small Muggle pub in Inverness. The atmosphere was warm; on a small stage in the main room, a local band was playing a lively traditional tune, accompanied by the cheerful clamour of the patrons. However, in a quiet corner at the back of the pub, seated under the dim orange light, four individuals seemed indifferent to the festive atmosphere.

"Harry," Aslan said when they were all seated, served and protected from prying ears by an Assurdiato. "This is Paul Briggs and Rosa Lopez. I don't think I need to introduce you to Harry Potter," he added, turning to them. "But you must already know each other, after all, you all work in same department in Ministry."

Harry nodded wordlessly as he examined the two Aurors. He had indeed met them before, but had never exchanged more than a few words with them beyond a few pleasantries.

"Bogdan thinks you'll make good team," Aslan continued with an encouraging smile.

"You both work for Bogdan Vasilyev?" Harry asked warily.

"Aye," Briggs replied nonchalantly, his arm resting on the back of the tartan seat he shared with Rosa. "Most of the time it's nothing more than passing on information about what's going on at the Ministry, sometimes a bit of evidence cleaning when his men are involved in our cases."

"We never do anything that would expose us to too much," Rosa added, nodding to confirm her partner's words.

"Why are you doing this?"

Paul raised his pint to his lips, took a sip of beer and then put it back down.

"My da," he said at last. "He was a Muggle. The bloody bastard liked to gamble and he left us all his debts when he passed. I needed money, so Vasilyev offered me a job. My morals are flexible and I'm not too particular, as long as the cash comes in," he finished with a shrug.

Harry turned to Rosa, who was resting her chin on her hand and tracing the edge of her glass with her free index finger.

"I was born in Mexico," she admitted. "My family was poor and we never had an easy life. When I was eighteen, I decided to leave with my brother. We struggled to get to England in a way that was, well, not exactly legal. When we arrived, we were separated." The young woman paused, frowning briefly before continuing her story. "My smuggler sold me and a few other girls to some of Hammond's men, although I didn't know that until later. You can imagine what kind of establishments they run. One day, after several nightmarish months during which I thought I was going to die more than once, the Russians burst in. They destroyed everything and got us out. I owe my life to Bogdan Vasilyev, and I swore to return the favour."

"What about you, Potter?" Paul asked after a few moments of silence. "How did you get mixed up with our good friend? You don't really fit the profile of his usual collaborators."

Harry turned his head towards the window and let his gaze wander over the busy street outside; with the almost summer-like mildness of the early evening, many people were enjoying the attractions in the city centre. Him?

"Oh, him," Aslan intervened, putting his arm around the young man's shoulders. "Him, it's a family matter."

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In the dark night, the rain pounded loudly against the window panes with every roaring gust. The sound of the storm could be heard over the notes of Bach's Cello Suite Number One. Bogdan Vasilyev slightly loosened the collar of his evening robe and then went to a small cabinet next to his desk, from which he took out a bottle of vodka and poured two glasses.

"How long have you been working for me now, Potter?" he asked, handing one of the glasses to the latter.

Harry accepted it and then resumed pacing the office, eyeing the books in the library, the pictures on the wall and the photographs on the edge of the fireplace. The crackling flames in the hearth cast a soft orange light and filled the room with a pleasant warmth.

"Five months, more or less," the young man replied absent-mindedly. "Since May, if I'm not mistaken."

The photo of a beautiful woman with brown hair and a soft, smiling face had caught his eye. He couldn't help but notice her resemblance to Sasha.

"That's my little sister, Oksana," Bogdan commented, watching him.

He opened his desk drawer and took out a letter which he handed to Harry, who immediately recognised the familiar handwriting on the parchment. The Russian stripped off his wizard's robe and rolled up the sleeves of the shirt he wore underneath, then took a seat in one of the two armchairs by the fireplace.

"Aleksandr had written to me, a few weeks before... ," he began. "He had recognised David Hammond's name when you told him about the man. He knew I had known him and asked me for information. Despite the fact that we hadn't been in touch for years, he forgot his pride and wrote to me. He must have really cared about you to be willing to make that sacrifice."

Harry looked up from the letter in his hands and examined his interlocutor, who was gazing pensively into the flames.

"Tell me, Harry, what do you know of David Hammond's career?"

"I know that he grew up between England and Egypt," Harry recited reluctantly as he sat down in the vacant chair. "He started his career as an Auror and then moved to the International Cooperation Division, before returning to the Ministry of Justice where he is now the Director."

"That's all true," Bogdan agreed. "When he was at the ICD, he was stationed for several years in the Eastern European branch, in Georgia, to be precise. That's when I first met him, unaware that he was an Auror, of course. He had infiltrated our organisation within a few months. I was young, I trusted him."

The Russian paused to take a sip of vodka. The bitterness of his words contrasted with his impassive face on which the glow of the flames danced softly. "His goal at that time was to eliminate the magical branch of the Vory V Zakone. And he almost succeeded," he added, his gaze hardening at the recollection of those memories that were clearly still intact. "Viciously, he eliminated all those who stood in his way. Oksana, my little sister, was one of them. He tortured her and then finished her off personally."

Harry listened attentively without daring to make a sound.

"That day, as I clutched the still warm body of my sestra, I swore revenge. I worked tirelessly, expanding my business until I came to set up shop right here in London on his home turf, with one goal in mind; to make him pay by any means necessary."

Outside, the wind had grown stronger, making the woodwork groan and the windows shake as the rain pounded the windows relentlessly.

"He went after my son, partly because of you, but mostly because of me," he continued, his clear eyes looking into the young man's. "He will go after the rest of my family without hesitation, just as he will go after yours."

He didn't need to be reminded; Hammond's threats echoed in the Auror's head, haunting his dreams at night and his thoughts during the day.

"You say you want to kill him, to ease your pain. It won't bring my son back, but we have that in common. We both loved him, and we owe it to him to get revenge."

Revenge. Yes, more than anything else, Harry wanted revenge and he didn't care how he got it, as long as he could punish Hammond himself. Besides, the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that with that bastard and his clique out of the way, it would be possible to reform the Ministry. To change things for the better. His eyes burned with certainty; yes, if Hammond was gone for good, surely that would make things easier for the future.

But the man is not alone. He told you, he has strong supporters within the government.

"Of course, we'll have to think about cleaning the Ministry," the young man muttered, staring intently at the flames in the fireplace.

Who knows how many others are involved? Robards? Shacklebolt himself? What about the other Aurors in the Office, how do we know who's innocent? What about Ron? Can you trust him?

Harry's tumultuous thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a house elf in the study and he noticed that Bogdan was no longer sitting in his chair. The Russian commanded something from the creature, which nodded diligently before disapparating with a sharp pop.

"If your intentions are truly sincere, Harry Potter, then we shall make a pact."

With a gesture that left no room for negotiation, Vasilyev motioned for him to join him in the middle of the room and then, once they were face to face, held out his bare arm. Harry grabbed it, placing his hand in the middle of it. At the same time Aslan entered, without knocking, closed the door behind him and approached the two men.

"Are you sure?" he asked Vasilyev, glancing at Harry.

"Do it," the Russian ordered sharply.

Aslan nodded, took a deep breath and then raised his wand above their joined arms. Bogdan's eyes stared unblinkingly at the Auror and the latter held his gaze with equal determination.

"Bogdan Vasilyev," the witness intoned. "Do you swear to kill those responsible for Aleksandr's death, up to the last one, regardless of the consequences, and this even if you have to lose your own life doing so?"

"I swear."

A small glowing chain came from Aslan's wand and wrapped itself around their arms.

"Harry Potter, do you swear to kill those responsible for Aleksandr's death, up to the last one, regardless of the consequences, and this even if you have to lose your own life doing so?"

"Sasha. Yes, I swear."

Again, a filament of light shot out and intertwined with the first one around their joined arms, marking their flesh. Once the ritual was complete, the two men parted without a word; Harry watched his arm, touching it with his fingertips, while Bogdan pulled down the sleeve of his shirt and then buttoned it up again.

"Did you know that only his mother was allowed to call him Sasha?" the latter asked with a wistful smile. "You're part of the family now, syn."

Son.

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Standing on the silent bridge, Harry gazed at the dark swirls of the Thames, clearly unaffected by the biting January chill that made his skin redden. A year. It had been a year since Sasha had been torn from him, leaving behind a huge void. In the days, weeks, months that followed, he had felt himself sinking. He was well aware that without the help of Bogdan and Aslan, he would never have emerged from the meanders of depression that was eating away at him and the destructive addictions that then ruled his days.

However, he still sometimes came home expecting to find his companion sitting in the living room with a book in his hand, engrossed in a play or a poem. The cold silence that greeted him then would violently hit him, the pain would engulf him almost completely and make him unable to do anything but curl up and cry for hours. At other times, anger would take over and he would destroy everything in sight, much to Kreacher's chagrin who tried to save everything he could from his master's ire.

That night, it was despair that prevailed. Wouldn't it be better to join Sasha where he was, wherever that was? he asked himself, staring at the tumultuous ripples of the river. Let it all end now, let it all stop, forever. To no longer feel anything.

You don't want that.

"Shut up," the young man retorted, taking his head in his hands. "How can you know what I want?"

I just do.

"You don't understand. I am alone, so alone. I can't stand it anymore. They're all gone. They've abandoned me."

You are not alone. I am here. I will never leave you.

"Everyone leaves me in the end, why should you be any different?"

An almost inaudible whimper suddenly interrupted his dark thoughts. Harry turned his head sharply and strained to listen carefully, wondering if it was a figment of his imagination. After a few moments, the noise was heard again; it came from below.

Cautiously, the Auror descended the great stone staircase and reached the quay under the arch of the bridge. In the darkness, the whine sounded again. The young man lit his wand with a Lumos and then slowly approached until he saw a cardboard box lying against the damp rock. Inside, a white puppy raised its head and looked at him, then began to yap while wagging its little tail.

"Merlin, you can't be more than a few weeks old," Harry murmured as he crouched down and reached out to the animal, which sniffed and licked his hand.

The young man turned his head and scanned the deserted docks, wondering who could be so cruel as to leave an innocent being in such a dismal place.

"Were you abandoned too?" he asked softly as he grabbed the dog and held it to his chest.

His gaze was drawn to the paper lining the bottom of the box and he held his wand up to shine a little more light on it. Verses of La Belle Dame Sans Merci appeared clearly in the glow from the Lumos; he had heard the ballad enough to know it by heart.

"...I met a Lady in the meads

Full beautiful, a fairy's child ;

Her hair was long, her foot was light,

And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone ;

She looked at me as she did love,

And made sweet moan… "

This was one of Sasha's favourite poems. A shaky sigh escaped his lips and Harry looked down at the puppy, still snuggled up to him, who was watching him with a gentle wag of his tail.

"Keats. You're Keats."

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Harry was about to pour himself his third glass of Ogden's Old of the evening when the fireplace suddenly lit up and Aslan's head appeared amidst the green flames.

"Harry!" he called urgently. "Come to restaurant, now!"

Without waiting for his reply, the Russian disappeared and the Auror rushed into the hearth immediately afterwards. When he emerged in Vasilyev's office, the latter had just walked through the door and his eyes fell on the confused young man. As he moved forward, he wiped his hands with a small towel, which he threw to one of his men behind him once he had finished.

"I'll leave the second one to you," Vasilyev said, his voice cold and his eyes hard.

Before he could ask for any further explanation, Harry was pulled out of the room by Aslan. In a tense silence, the two men crossed the corridor, then the kitchen and went out through the back door, the one used for deliveries. At the back of the small, poorly lit backyard was a door that led to two cold rooms; only one of them was actually used to store food. They entered the second.

The Auror first noticed three wizards standing with their backs to the entrance; they turned their heads sharply as the two entered and one of them slightly raised the metal bar in his hand, obviously on guard, before relaxing at the sight of the newcomers. Harry then noticed that there was a fourth man, kneeling in front of the others with his hands tied behind his back. This man had brown hair and days-old stubble covering his hard, recently bruised face. However, despite his battered appearance, his mocking look seemed to defy his captors.

"Aslan," Harry began, holding his friend by the arm. "You know I don't take part in that kind of—"

"Harry," the Russian interrupted, obviously controlling the anger in his voice. "He and his friend were the ones who killed Aleksandr on David Hammond's orders."

It took Harry a few seconds for Aslan's words to make sense in his mind. For a moment, the world around him disappeared with a high-pitched whistle. Then, the voice of the kneeling man, who had apparently begun to speak, reached him with increasing clarity, bringing his attention back to the present moment.

"... Easy, the poor lad didn't know how to fight," the latter said in a proud, almost boastful tone. "He couldn't resist the Imperius cast at him for very long. He had even started to cry when we—"

Abruptly Harry snatched the iron bar from the guard's hand and, before anyone could react, swung it and then, with a fierce cry, slammed it against the prisoner's temple, who immediately crumpled.

Harry, no! Yes! Again! Don't do it! Go on, hit him!

His face contorted with rage, the young man raised his arm once more before delivering another brutal blow, then another, and again and again and again.

Harder— No! Stop! You'll kill him!

"Shut up!" he roared between his screams of anger, pain and despair. "I don't fucking care! I want him to die!"

Yes! Kill him! Kill him!

At last, Harry stopped and staggered back, his panting breath echoing loudly in the small, silent room. The smell of blood, among other things, suddenly reached him and he felt something running down his nose, his cheeks, his neck. With a backhand he went to wipe it off, but before he could do so, his eyes fell on his hand. The iron bar he was holding fell to the ground with a metallic clatter. Slowly, hesitantly, the young man raised his hands, palms up, and looked at them; they were covered in blood. His eyes widened in horror.

"What have I done ?"

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The large tables had been set up in the garden, protected from the blazing sun by large pastel tents, and a gentle breeze was pleasantly cooling the afternoon air, causing the foliage of the surrounding trees to rustle. The sound of conversation mingled with the joyous shouts of children running around the garden, chased by Ron and George who were trying to spray them with Aguamentis, accompanied by Keats, jumping and barking happily around them. Molly Weasley suddenly came out of the house with the dessert, followed by Bill.

"Victoire! Teddy!" he called, waving to them. "Dessert is served!"

"Dessert! Dessert!" they shouted as they rushed under the tents to sit at the table.

Teddy took his place next to Harry, who, with his eyes closed, had let himself be carried away by the torpor of the after-meal. When he felt something touch his arm resting on the table, he turned his head and caught the boy trying to turn his wrist to get a better look at the watch he was wearing, obviously fascinated by the object.

"It's beautiful!" his godson exclaimed with admiration. "What material is it made of? How did you get it? Do you know how a watch works?"

His questions followed one another far too quickly for the Auror to answer; he merely smiled and detached the watch to lend it to Teddy.

"It belonged to Molly's brother, a long time ago," Harry explained wistfully. "She gave it to me on my seventeenth birthday. That was eight years ago, in this very garden."

"Will I get one when I'm seventeen too?"

"It's quite likely. It's a tradition among wizards, you know."

Teddy turned the watch over in all directions and then delicately traced its contours with his fingertips.

"Victoire!" he called out, turning to the girl. "Look!"

As the children gushed over the object, Harry watched them for a moment with affection before turning his attention to the rest of the assembly. The whole Weasley family had gathered at the Burrow for a big meal, as they did regularly, though less and less frequently over the last few years due to everyone's commitments. Of course, Andromeda, Teddy and Harry were always invited, as part of the family in their own right.

A few steps away, Molly was scolding Ron and George for trying to cut the cake but only succeeding in making a mess of it. Hermione was in the middle of a discussion with Charlie and Ginny, who was off between league games; the Holyhead Harpies were in a good position to win the cup this season. Arthur was explaining to Bill the best way to get gnomes out of his garden while Fleur listened absent-mindedly, her chin resting on her hand. Everyone seemed perfectly happy and Harry felt his heart swell at the sight of his loved ones gathered here.

A hand holding out a dessert plate appeared in his line of sight, interrupting his silent contemplation.

"Here, hun," Andromeda said, sitting down beside him. "A little bit of sweetness won't hurt you."

"Thank you, Meda," he replied, gratefully accepting the dish.

"Is everything alright? You looked lost in thought, sitting all alone in your corner. No troubles at work, I hope."

"No, don't worry," the young man reassured her, forcing a smile on his lips. "Everything's fine."

Andromeda nodded slowly and, just as she was about to ask him another question, was suddenly called by Molly. She stood up apologetically and left Harry alone again.

Everything's fine? Is that the truth?

"Yes, everything's fine," he whispered imperceptibly through clenched teeth. "Look at them. They're happy, healthy."

What if they find out what you're doing for Bogdan? What you've become? How would they react? Would they forgive you?

"They won't know. And the question we should be asking is 'what if Hammond comes after them', don't you think? Everything I do is to protect them, for their sake."

For their sake?

"Yes, for them. For Teddy and for Andromeda. For the Weasleys. For Ron and Hermione. I won't let anything happen to them. You'll see."

Yes, he and Bogdan would make sure of that. They would finish what they had started and they would bring justice to all those who had been wronged by Hammond and his men.