Here is chapter 6 and we're already halfway through the story! I hope you'll enjoy it!

Thank you for reading this fanfic! I'd be happy to hear what you think about it :)

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CHAPTER VI - ANDANTE

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With his shoulder against the window frame, Ron absentmindedly watched the comings and goings of passers-by in the street below. He was trying to prepare himself mentally for the dive into his friend's mind while dreading what he might find. Meanwhile, the healer finished examining the patient without a word. Once he had finished his examination, he turned to Padma and nodded. Harry's condition was satisfactory; the dive could go ahead as planned.

The young woman motioned for Ron to come closer. She had prepared three vials of potion beforehand, the contents of which, a slightly amber liquid, glistened in the morning light and reflected on the wall. The first was given to the healer, and he poured it between the patient's lips, who swallowed it by reflex.

"Here," Padma said, handing Ron the second vial. "Drink this."

The Auror wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers before taking the vial and drinking it in one gulp, followed by Padma who emptied the third. The sweet, pleasant taste of the potion surprised him. The two then sat down in chairs beside the bed and the researcher placed her hand on Ron's arm. In her free hand, she held her wand, pointed at Harry's temple. After a final exchange of glances with the healer, who would remain in the room throughout the session to make sure everything went well, she cast her incantation.

Nothing happened for a few minutes and then, all of a sudden, the young man felt as if the ground was giving way under his feet and he was falling into the void. A cry of surprise escaped his lips, and he felt Padma's hand tighten on his arm.

"It's okay," she explained reassuringly. "It's perfectly normal. I'm right beside you. Breathe calmly, close your eyes if it helps."

Taking deep breaths, Ron tried to relax as best he could. Flashes of colours, sounds and smells assailed his senses. At times, he could make out clearer images; faces or places, which disappeared just as quickly as they had appeared. Then, as he began to feel dizzy, the whirlwind of memories came to an abrupt halt. The first thing the Auror heard was chamber music accompanied by a cacophony of conversation. Disoriented, he looked around.

The large reception room in which they were standing was decorated in rococo style and the glittering glass of the majestic chandeliers floating above them was reflected in the large mirrors that adorned the walls. Overlooking the assembly, an enchanted ceiling mimicked a starry sky with the Milky Way running through it; if one looked long enough, shooting stars could even be seen. In the middle of the hundred or so guests, small round golden tables were covered with a variety of dishes, which were immediately replaced as soon as someone helped themselves.

A witch dressed in an emerald dress passed by Ron. The latter turned his attention to the rest of the guests and noticed that they were all dressed in the most elegant outfits. Instinctively, he looked at his own clothes, an old, comfortable but slightly worn Auror robe, and suddenly felt embarrassed.

"Don't worry," Padma said, interrupting his thoughts. "Remember, no one can see you. We're in memories." She then looked over Ron's shoulder and nodded. "Potter is over there. Let's get closer."

It was indeed Harry, in his ceremonial robes and a few years younger. He appeared to be in the middle of a discussion with another man, a glass of champagne in his hand. The Auror frowned as he tried to search his own memories. This evening must have been a gala, and judging by his friend's official uniform, it was a Ministry gala.

"Do you have any idea of the date, Weasley?" Padma asked.

"It looks like the gala that followed the graduation of our Auror class," the young man replied. "It was in 2000."

The healer had explained to him that they would always be attached to Harry in his memories, that they could never really get away from him and that it was even necessary to be as close to the subject as possible during a dive. When they reached him, Ron immediately understood why. He could now feel his friend's emotions almost as if they were his own; his thoughts brushed against his own mind, light as the touch of a feather, clear as water. It was a strange sensation that took him a few moments to get used to. What surprised him immediately was the obvious bitterness he felt.

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The man —whose name he had already forgotten— with whom he had exchanged a conversation walked away and Harry took the last sip of his drink before turning his attention back to the audience. He recognised the faces of the politicians who, just a few years ago, when he was only fifteen, had been ready to castigate him for announcing Voldemort's return. Some were almost even worse than Dolores Umbridge.

"By Merlin's beard, is that Harry Potter?" a short, grey-haired wizard called out to him before starting to talk to him as if they had been friends for a long time. "Ah, that! What a pleasant surprise! Don't you know that I was just …"

Harry forced a smile to his lips and nodded absently. Hypocrites, the lot of them. He was well aware that none of them would waste time calling him a dark wizard if he made even the slightest mistake. His interlocutor let out a loud laugh and clapped him on the shoulder, drawing his attention back to him. Why in Godric's name won't he leave me in peace? The feeling of oppression that had been with him all evening only increased, and he tugged nervously at the collar of his uniform.

The young man had always hated these big, stuffy events that brought together the cream of the crop of Wizarding Society and, more than anything, he abhorred the attention he received there. He was a celebrity in spite of himself; the Hero of the Wizarding World, the Survivor, all titles he could do without. He just wanted to be Harry and be left alone. The sound of breaking glass caught the attention of the wizard who was talking to him. The young Auror took the opportunity to make his escape.

Discreetly, he slipped out of the reception room and into a large, dark and deserted corridor. Finally alone, a sigh of relief escaped his lips. He began to walk around the room, contemplating the paintings on the walls. Most of them represented landscapes or inanimate objects and the few portraits present snored softly, deeply asleep. His gaze was drawn to a half-open door from which a trickle of light filtered a few metres away. Curious, he approached and entered the room. A lamp on one of the tables in the centre of the room dimly lit up the darkness.

The young Auror realised that it was a majestic library with walls covered with huge shelves filled with ancient books of all sizes and colours. He stepped inside and spun around to admire the books. As he pulled one of the books out of its place with his index finger, he heard the door creak. Raising his head sharply, Harry let the book fall back and opened his mouth, ready to apologise for venturing out of the party.

"It is a surprise to find you here, Mr. Potter," a deep, suave voice said before he could utter a word.

As the speaker stepped into the room, the faint glow from the lamp allowed Harry to make out his features more clearly and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

"Director Hammond?"

Harry had never met him personally before, but David Hammond's reputation preceded him. His record as a former officer in the Magical Intelligence Division was admirable, and the young Auror had to admit that the man's poise, dressed in an impeccable three-piece gala robe, made him even more intimidating in person. In his mid-forties, he had inherited the features of his Egyptian-born father. His hair was black, his head bald at the temples and he sported a thin black moustache above his upper lip. His dark, calculating eyes seemed to probe his interlocutor, as if he were trying to uncover his every secret.

Hammond held out his hand and the young man accepted it. Immediately the Director's other hand closed over his and he felt unpleasantly trapped.

"Is the evening not to your liking?" the newcomer asked in a conversational tone.

"On the contrary," Harry lied. "It's a very successful gala, but I just needed to get out and breathe for a while. This kind of gathering can quickly become stifling…"

"I understand. It can sometimes be tedious to entertain a crowd of unknown wizards for an entire evening, can't it? I don't suppose your status allows you to go unnoticed."

"No indeed," the young man replied, letting out a nervous laugh.

There was a brief silence in the conversation, and he could feel the Director's scrutinizing gaze on him. He was about to speak when the latter beat him to it.

"Tell me, Harry," he began. "May I call you Harry?" he added with a smile. "Have you given any thought to what you want to do with your career?" His tone expressed a definite interest in the Auror's answer.

"I've only just finished my training," he replied, nodding towards the reception hall, where the gala was still going strong. "I don't have a definite plan yet. I'm only twenty, I still have time to—"

"It is never too early to be ambitious," Hammond interrupted, tightening his grip on Harry's hand a little more. "Perhaps you might consider working with me in my office. Together, with your reputation and my contacts, we could achieve great things… With a face like yours, moreover, you could go far."

The young man frowned and tried to free his hand, which was firmly held by the Director. He had the humiliating feeling of being treated like an attractive piece of meat; he certainly had no intention of allowing himself to be used by this man.

"I may not have a career plan yet, Mr. Hammond, but I am certain of one thing; I know in which direction not to steer it. I don't know whether—"

"I will offer you one piece of advice, Harry. It is important to seize opportunities by choosing to support the right people," Hammond added. "You do know what I mean, don't you?"

His words would have sounded almost like a threat if not for the sugary smile he continued to show and the tension in the small room was now almost palpable.

"Harry?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt's booming voice echoed through the hallway and startled them, cutting the situation short. The young man's hand released itself from between Hammond's and he took several steps back.

"I'm here, Kingsley," Harry said loudly without taking his eyes off the Director. "I'll be right there!"

"We should postpone this conversation for another day. I look forward to seeing you again, Harry, and having a longer chat."

Harry did not reply and hurried out of the library. Behind him, Hammond spoke one last time. "Think back to what I said. It's always good to have support in high places."

The young Auror walked briskly up the corridor, but not without glancing over his shoulder with a look of disgust. Who did this man think he was? Head of the Justice Department or not, his attitude revolted Harry. That was exactly the problem with the Wizarding World, he thought sourly. Letting this kind of person hold positions of power would never bring about social change.

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Suddenly the scene faded, Ron was pulled out of the memory and felt himself falling again. His hand instinctively found Padma's, and she grabbed it firmly. When his feet touched the ground, the Auror opened his eyes. Despite the darkness, he immediately recognised the first-floor bathroom of Grimmauld Place. A sob coming from a corner of the room caught his attention and he approached its origin, accompanied by Padma.

Sitting on the floor between the wall and the chest of drawers, dressed in pyjama bottoms, Harry held his arms tightly around his legs folded against him and his head against his knees. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have thought he could do without it so easily? Around him, the contents of the chest of drawers laid in disarray; his emergency stock had already been emptied in a previous crisis. Another sob escaped his lips and he pressed his hand to his mouth. The creeping anxiety that had taken hold of him had only grown and seeped into his dreams, turning them into nightmares from which he could not escape. Memories and visions of horror mixed in his panicked mind. If only he had a vial of Dreamless Sleep potion left, just one, hidden somewhere…

His clammy hands shook uncontrollably and he tightened his arms around his body in a vain attempt to calm himself. How did normal people deal with their anxieties? He usually consumed potions; it was the most effective solution he had found. Of course he knew that their regular use was harmful to health, but he was careful, he swore he was. Perhaps he had lied to his friends and told them that the nightmares had disappeared, that he was no longer taking any substances, other than Molly's herbal teas. But so what? That was his business.

A whimper passed between his clenched teeth. The black hole that had come to life in his belly threatened to swallow him whole. He had nowhere to escape, nowhere to hide. The immaterial arms of his anguish slid over him and wrapped themselves around his limbs, his torso, his neck. His breathing became ragged; he was paralysed, defenceless. He was going to—

"Harry?" A female voice echoed in his mind, bringing him back to the present moment. "Harry, can you hear me? Please, look at me."

Slowly he opened his eyes and looked at the young woman kneeling before him who was looking at him with concern.

"Ginny?" he answered in a shaky voice. "Did I wake you up?"

"Oh, Harry…" she whispered, putting her hand on his arm. "What happened? I thought you weren't having nightmares anymore?"

Her friend glanced at the mess in the small room and then bent down to pick something up. "Were you looking for this?" she asked gently, handing him an empty vial.

The young man turned his head away and clenched his jaw, ashamed of his weakness, of his cowardice, of his inability to face reality, of not being—

"Hey, hey. No, stay with me, Harry. You don't have to hide. I'm here for you. We're all here for each other, you know that. You don't have to be alone at times like this."

Ginny's hand slid down his cheek where she wiped away a tear. Then, without another word, she stood up, helped him to his feet and guided him into the bedroom. Once he was lying on the bed, she slipped in beside him and ran her hand through his hair in a soothing gesture.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry shook his head in refusal. "What time do you have to leave?" he asked instead.

"Not before eleven. Practice doesn't start until early afternoon."

"Can you stay with me tonight?"

The young woman gave him a tender smile. "Of course. You don't even have to ask."

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The ground shifted once more beneath their feet and a different memory followed.

"This is Gawain Robards' office, isn't it?" Padma murmured as she surveyed their new surroundings.

The red-haired Auror nodded silently and then turned his attention to Harry, who was standing in front of their superior, along with two other colleagues whose names he had long since forgotten. Anger. That was the first emotion that struck Ron. Harry was furious.

"The case is closed," Robards said flatly. "The family wants to stop the investigation."

"Closed, not solved!" Harry retorted. "We have a suspect and it's almost certainly the culprit! We can't give up now!"

Their case involved the murder of a young woman and the prime suspect was the wealthy heir to an ancient pureblood family. Harry and his team had investigated scrupulously, but had found no concrete evidence incriminating the man. Yet, the young Auror was certain of the suspect's guilt, and his instincts were rarely wrong, though his friends often reminded him that he could be slightly obsessive when he had a culprit in his sights.

"Maybe so, but I'm ordering you to drop the case," his superior insisted. "We have to respect the family's wishes."

"Respect the family's wishes? For Merlin's sake, you know that it was the perpetrator's parents who paid them handsomely to cover it up! Who else did they bribe? The Office?"

"That's enough!" Robards barked. "That wasn't a debate. It was an order."

"It's not fair!" Harry burst out, unable to contain his anger. "Just because he's a rich pureblood wizard, he can get away with murder! What's the point of pretending to be an Auror if you're only going to defend the interests of the most powerful and do their bidding?"

Without waiting for an answer from his superior or even his teammates, he turned on his heels and stormed out of the room. Letting his steps guide him, he crossed the entire Aurors' office, passed through the large door and finally stopped in the middle of the corridor, under the large arches that overlooked the Atrium. The young Auror leaned on the railing, arms crossed, and let his weary gaze wander over the crowd coming and going in the great hall. A few minutes later, Ron —his younger version, at least— joined him and settled beside him in silence.

"It's not fair," Harry repeated after a moment.

"I know, mate," his friend sighed. "But what do you want to do about it? You can hardly go against orders, unless you want to say goodbye to your career."

"I just feel like everything's exactly the same as it was before, like in the days of Fudge or Scrimgeour. If you choose your friends well, you can do whatever you want and get away with it without having to face the consequences."

"That's the way of the world," Ron replied resignedly.

"How can you be so fatalistic?" Harry said while shaking his head. "It's because of that kind of thinking that society doesn't change. Isn't it up to us to make change happen? I don't know if I can go on working like this."

"We knew what to expect when we joined the Ministry, didn't we? Once we're more experienced, it'll be easier to change the system. Wait until Hermione becomes Minister of Magic, and you'll see the change!"

"Do you really believe that?" Harry asked thoughtfully, a slight smile on his face. He took off his glasses, wiped them with a piece of his uniform and put them back on. "I'm thinking of applying for a transfer to Divco," he finally said.

"The Divco?" Ron asked in surprise.

"Why not? After all, I grew up in a Muggle household. Besides, I think I need to see something else, to get away, only if for a bit, from the Wizarding World.

The two friends fell silent for a moment.

"I heard they're doing some of their training in France."

"Yes," Harry confirmed. "Their wizard-muggle division is much older than ours. They are the most experienced in this field."

"You better not forget to send me a postcard then!" Ron joked, clapping him on the shoulder with a smile. "And don't you dare bring back a French girl, Fleur is already enough for us!"

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Ron was getting used to the sensation of diving with each change of memory. However, he still preferred to keep his eyes closed during the fall and only reopened them once his surroundings had stabilised.

This time, the Auror and the healer appeared in a flat. Through the half-closed shutters, sunlight filtered in and illuminated the slightly faded wallpaper. On the dark wooden floor were scattered clothes of all kinds, books —lots of books, Ron noticed— as well as various papers and an edition of the Monde Sorcier dated August 8, 2002. There was a quiet feeling there, like a late summer afternoon, when time seems to slow down but not stop completely. From an old record player in the corner of the room came music, the female voice singing was distinctly French.

"Françoise Hardy again?" Harry asked, closing the door behind him. "Don't you ever get tired of her?"

Sitting comfortably in an armchair by the window, a young man looked up from the book he was reading and shrugged indifferently. Ron immediately recognised the man he had seen in the photos he had found in Grimmauld Place.

"Her songs speak to me," he replied, a slight accent colouring his words. "And I like her voice. I can't help it if you're unable to love what's beautiful."

The young Auror shook his head and let out a laugh. "Beautiful, beautiful, it's all a matter of perspective," he mumbled as he walked into the room.

"What are you saying?"

"Nothing, nothing," Harry said quickly, before leaning in and kissing the young man tenderly. "How did the audition go? Did you get the part?"

The man put down his book, stood up slowly, and then turned to his companion, puffing out his chest with pride.

"Da. You have great pleasure of being in company of Hamlet."

"It's fantastic, Sasha!" Harry exclaimed, taking him in his arms. "I knew you'd get it!"

"You're psychic as well as Auror now?"

With a rustle of wings, a small tawny owl carrying a letter in its talons flew in under the shutters and interrupted their conversation. Harry caught it gently and grabbed the letter.

"Aleksandr," he read out loud and handed it to his friend. "It's for you, Sasha."

Sasha took it, opened it and quickly scanned through it, then tore it into small pieces before grabbing his wand from the desk and burning the scraps of paper.

"Bad news?" Harry asked, looking at him quizzically.

"Just my dad," Sasha replied with a tone of disgust. "Same old story. He's asking me to reconsider my choices and go back to where I belong."

"He's not a fan of the artist's life, I take it?"

"That's least you can say. It makes him sick to know that I'm spending time with all these, I quote him, hucksters, blacks, queers and junkies…"

"It's a good thing I'm part of those last two categories, then," Harry murmured, taking a vial of shiny purple powder from his pocket and twirling it between his fingers. "Our friend Teresa gave me this gift today. I thought we could try it out together…"

The young Auror was not a drug addict. Not really. He didn't use potions or other black-market substances as often as he used to. Sometimes, though, when the pressure was too much and his demons threatened to take over, he had to let go, forget. On this day, it seemed he wasn't the only one who needed a temporary escape from reality.

"Oh, that's wonderful thing, indeed," Sasha agreed with a knowing smile.

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In a new storm of colour, the scene faded. When Ron opened his eyes again, he was back at St. Mungo's, sitting in the chair beside Harry's hospital bed. On his right, Padma stretched long and slow. Suddenly aware of the stiffness in his own body, the Auror imitated her and put a hand behind his neck as he turned his head from side to side.

"How long did it last?" he asked, standing up.

The wizard who had stayed in the room to watch them looked up from his copy of the Daily Prophet and glanced at the clock hanging above the door.

"Three and a half hours,"he replied. "Right on time for lunch."

"That's about the normal duration of a dive," Padma commented. "Staying any longer could prove deleterious to his condition. We'll resume tomorrow."

Ron nodded and then turned his gaze to Harry, still peacefully asleep. His thoughts raced over what he'd just seen; he was trying to make the connection between the different memories as best he could. Thinking of the last one, he frowned and tried to remember all the relationships Harry had had over the last few years. There had been Ginny, of course, but they had parted ways by mutual agreement shortly after he entered the Auror Academy. Then there had been Oona, a cheerful young woman, a magicobotanist if he remembered correctly, whom he had met through Neville, and then…

"Why didn't he ever tell us about Sasha?" Ron muttered, thinking aloud. "I don't understand. Harry wasn't—"

"It looks like he was, Weasley," Padma interrupted him.

"He wouldn't have kept something like that from us."

"Sometimes the people you think you know best are the ones with the most secrets."

"Secrets. Harry seems to have a lot more of them than I thought," Ron said with a hint of resentment in his voice.

"Here, take this," Padma ordered, handing him a vial of potion. "It's to lessen the effects of a potential transference," she added at his questioning look. "I think you need it."

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"I think his subconscious wants to show us the story from the beginning," Hermione said that night, after Ron had told her everything in great detail. "I told you, I'm sure it's much more complicated than it looks. Let's wait and see what he reveals."

The Auror could see that deep down she was convinced of Harry's innocence and, if he was to be perfectly honest with himself, Ron wanted to believe it too. He hoped more than anything that the following dives would prove them right.