the Left Hand Path

The Left Hand Path
Chapter One: The Device
written by: Kristi Brownfield [mailto: [email protected]]
This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Katie, this one is still your fault. But I love you and your fro anyway.

"Are you sure this will work?" she asked through long bangs. She had certainly changed since their time together at Hogwarts. She had grown a little bit taller, with the help of a few growth potions and realized that her chances of being a glamorous beauty were rather slim. She had concentrated on her studies in the end, and to the surprise of most of the world, had become a Muggle financial genius. She had brought her family out of the financial ruin after Voldemort's defeat, and turned them into one of the richest Wizarding families in the world. She was not married.

"Of course it will work," the other voice said quietly, scornfully. It was a voice made for sarcasm, slightly nasal with good diction, each letter rolling individually off the tongue. "Everything I make works."

The woman laughed. "That's what you said four years ago, dear. Need I remind you what happened what that invention?"

"As you'll recall," the man drawled back, sounding calm, "that was his idea. I just built the damn thing."

The woman laughed again. "Keep telling yourself that, dear, if it makes you feel better." She walked away and placed the object on a table. "So how does it feel to return from the dead?"

The man laughed richly. "About the same as it felt to be living, actually. Only slightly quieter. And if I ever decided to engage in necromancy or necrophilia, slightly less illegal, seeing as I'm dead." The woman snorted indelicately. "I never did understand your sense of humor, dear."

"That's all right, there are few that do," he replied quietly, his voice nostalgic.

"So what do you want me to do with all of this?" The woman waved her hand towards the several artifacts that the man had brought with him.

"Nothing much. I just need you to get caught with them," he replied wryly.

"Oh, is that all? Jeopardize my position, my wealth, and my family by alerting the Seekers? Such a meager task you ask of me," she replied, running a hand over the man's chest.

He grabbed her hand and kissed it. "Oh, don't worry, I'll make it worth your while." The woman smiled.

Many years ago, the most powerful Dark wizard of the time told the most potentially powerful Light wizard of the time that "there is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it."

Harry Potter never realized the truth of that statement until nearly 15 years later.

"You want me to what?" Harry Potter just stared at his best friend, and now boss, Hermione Granger.

"Last week's raid on the Parkinson mansion led us to some new Dark Arts Devices. I need you out there looking for the creator," Hermione replied calmly, placing some papers on Harry's neat desk. They covered the report he was trying to write on revoking the laws pertaining to a werewolf's status within society. He glanced down at them, and immediate shifted his gaze back up to Hermione. She frowned. "At least look at them, will you!"

"Hermione, you know I retired from active duty last year after..." Harry trailed off as Hermione winced. While Harry had pretty much gotten past his bitterness over The Incident, Hermione still had a long way to go.

"Harry, we need our best on this." Hermione reached over and tapped the documents. "Read them, and get back to me in the morning, all right?" With those words, she turned and strolled out of the door.

Harry sighed as he watched her go. The Incident, and that was unfailingly how he always thought of it, with capitals, had changed both of their lives irrevocably. Harry had lost most of the use of his right leg, and Hermione, well, she had lost her husband: Dean Thomas. Harry had retired from active duty in the Department of Mysteries, which Hermione headed up. He had been their best hunter since Voldemort's defeat when Harry was 17. Harry used all the anger and frustration he had felt from Voldemort's persecution and thrust all of that into his job as a Seeker: hunting down other Dark Arts Masters and, as Hermione euphemized it, "removed them from the equation." He'd gotten quite good at it, and honestly enjoyed his job. Enjoyed the challenge. Enjoyed being one of the few people in the world legally able to mix magic and science. He was proud of his degree in physics, and proud of his ability to apply Muggle science to magic, thus creating a new science: technomagic. Someone had whimsically named it after a Muggle role-playing game, and even now, years later, it still fit. Most of what he did as a technomage up until The Incident related to tracking and detecting. Muggle police arts were literally light years ahead of what the Wizarding world could do. Harry loved his job.

Until The Incident, of course.

Harry took a deep breath, and pushed off all thoughts of the past. The least he could do for Hermione was to read the reports on the raid as she asked. Then he could say "no" in a firm and honest voice, not plagued by guilt, and go back to keeping his head down. He picked up the reports, adjusted his glasses on his nose, and decided to skim them.

The Device, which we have now determined is an Interspatial Temporal Phasing Device, which we have named the Deus X Machine, is believed to be able to break through to hereto unproven parallel dimensions and manipulate events to the user's choosing.

"Shit," Harry said. "Shit, shit, shit, shit. Shit."

There was only one technomage left in the world, other than Harry, who would have been able to create something like this.

Draco Malfoy.

Harry just stared at the papers. Now he knew why Hermione had been so insistent. If Malfoy was back, and what's worse, practicing technomagic at this scale, they were all in for quite a lot of trouble. "Shit," he repeated glumly. Not finding the curse altogether satisfactory, Harry tried again. "Fuck."

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Placing them back on his nose, Harry began to read the reports more closely. It seems that the raid had produced quite a few technomagical devices, all theoretical until this point, in the Parkinson Mansion. Most of the devices had been inspected magically, and none seemed to work. Except for the Interspatial Temporal Phasing Device. Harry snorted briefly at the working name the Ministry had dubbed it. Deus X Machine. He wondered what genius had come up with that name. Sounded like something Seamus Finnigan would do. Or possibly one of the Weasleys. But none of them were deep enough in the Ministry to know about Harry's work.

He grunted, and tried to stop himself from getting sidetracked. That was really his problem most of all; Harry had a tendency to lose his focus, ever since The Incident. Made it bloody hard to do the theoretical work he'd been complaining to Hermione that he wanted to do for the last five or so years.

Harry placed the report back on the desk and tapped his finger on it in thought. Draco Malfoy, who had shocked most of the Wizarding world by attended a Muggle university with Harry Potter, getting a degree in physics, and even rivaling Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived for top marks. Nearly two years after they both graduated, and Harry was working on nearly his 30th hunt, Draco Malfoy had disappeared from the public eye. Malfoy Mansion, which Draco had retained rights to due to his part in destroying Voldemort, had been deserted. The few remaining house elves had been left with instructions to maintain the house until it could be sold. Malfoy had apparently made arrangements with a Wizarding Law firm to have the money transferred to an undisclosed Gringotts vault from the sale. Any owls sent to him were returned unanswered and unopened. He was just... gone. Harry remembered reading the papers the day this all came out, and thinking, "Huh, that's funny," but he had been too busy tracking down Augustus Rookwood to really think much of it. Besides, at that point in his life, Harry was doing his best to forget about Draco Malfoy. The disappearance just helped things along a bit.

But if Malfoy had made a reappearance, it made sense that he would go first to the Parkinsons. Harry couldn't recall the specific relation, but he seemed to remember Malfoy mentioning something about second cousins. Besides, the Parkinsons really were the only family of the same status of the Malfoys. It made sense Draco would go there. It's not like he would ever dream of coming to Harry with his inventions and telling him where he had been for the last three bloody years.

Never mind that Harry was probably the one person in the world who might understand what Malfoy was going on about.

Harry growled a bit. Thinking of Malfoy always put him in a bad mood. "That's it then," he muttered. There was no way around it.

Harry Potter was returning to active status. He pulled out a scrap piece of parchment, grabbed a ballpoint pen, and started making notes. He would need to see the mediwizard in the morning, to see if there was something to increase the mobility of his leg. Ducking and dodging curses was a bit difficult if one couldn't bend their knee. If that failed, Harry would have to make arrangements with Hermione to take an assistant. Harry sighed at the thought. His expense account, which Hermione had frozen when Harry retired from active duty, would need to be reactivated. Harry would have to contact Neville about getting his gear back.

And then there was the story he'd have to sell to Clark.

"Not that it really matters," Harry snorted. His roommate, Clark, was a Muggle reporter. Constantly making up his own excuses to hide the fact that he was gay from Harry. It never ceased to amuse him. That amusement was worth the risk of living with a Muggle reporter. Clark was naturally inquisitive, and tended to ask questions about everything. Luckily, he was also very gullible.

Harry was quite fond of the explanation he gave Clark for his wand. Harry had told Clark that the wand was a family heirloom from the 1600s and that it was used in the medieval naming rituals. Clark bought the explanation with little fuss.

Harry shook his head again at the memory, and picked up the phone. He dialed Neville's office extension. "Longbottom," Neville answered briskly. Out of all their Hogwarts class, Neville was probably the most changed. Towards the end of his Seventh year, Neville's father had died in a Death Eater attack on St. Mungo's. The attack completely changed Neville; it made him angry. He threw himself into his schooling, completely turning his marks around. Neville had graduated in the top ten of their class, and was immediately recruited by the Aurors. Much to the surprise and amazement of everyone, Neville was perfect for the job. Other than Harry, Neville had the most Death Eaters to his capture and kill scores. Soon after bringing in Lucius Malfoy, unhurt, Neville had been grabbed by the Department of Mysteries, and Neville had been trained as a Seeker at the same time as Harry. Harry had just graduated from the Muggle University at the time, and was happy to get back to what he really loved. Neville had become the perfect partner for the six months they worked together, he was meticulous, didn't mind doing the paperwork that Harry himself scorned, precise, and quick with a hex. When their training was complete, and the partnership dissolved, Neville went into the field alone and still maintained the highest success without injury rate. Even Harry, the best the Ministry had, couldn't touch Neville on that score. A year in the field, Neville had been appointed Commander, so that he was planning operations under Hermione's watchful eye, rather than running them. Until The Incident, Harry had been one of Neville's field agents.

"Neville, it's Harry."

"Harry! Good to hear from you!" Neville's voice brightened considerably. Since The Incident, and Harry being transferred out from under him, the two had lost quite a bit of contact. "How have you been?"

"Frankly, Neville, I've been bored to tears," Harry replied with a laugh.

"I remember how much you hate paperwork, Harry. How the hell did Hermione ever convince you to take that job?" Neville asked wryly.

"Oh, the usual. Promises of sexual favors," Harry deadpanned.

Neville's rich laugh filtered through the line. "Oh, so that's what I need to do to tempt you back over here then! How does Saturday sound?"

Harry genuinely laughed at that. "In my dreams, Neville."

"Oooh, Potter, I knew you were hiding something from me during training!" Neville crowed back triumphantly. "So, did you just call to chat me up, or is it something work related?"

Harry sobered. Neville, now that the social niceties had been seen to, did as he usually did: got straight to the point. "As much as I wish this was just a social call, it's work related."

"Well then Harry, what can I do for you? Do you need someone to run files over?"

"No, Neville, it's not about the paperwork backlog," Harry stopped. He wasn't really sure if wanted to commit himself to this.

"What then?" Neville's voice sounded suspicious, as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I've been reactivated. I need my old gear back," Harry replied after a quick moment of hesitation. "And I need you to recommend me a good mediwizard so I can get my damn knee fixed."

Neville whistled. "What happened? Did Voldemort manage to resurrect himself again?"

Harry choked. "What gave you that impression?"

Neville snorted. "Well, I can't think of anyone else who is nasty enough to pull you back into the ranks of the living, Harry. Except, of course, Malfoy." Harry shook his head. Even after all these years of working with Neville, the other man still managed to amaze him. "Oh God, Harry, it is Malfoy, isn't it?" Neville said into Harry's silence.

"Yes, Neville," Harry replied heavily. "It's Draco Malfoy. And he's inventing again."

"Shit."

Harry laughed. "That's exactly what I said, Neville."

"When do you want to start Seeking, Harry?" Harry heard some papers shuffling in the background, and assumed that Neville was reaching for Harry's file. Neville would need the codes, numbers, and contacts in it to get the ball rolling.

"Considering that's its Malfoy, and some of the Artifacts that Hermione's report mentions, as soon as possible. Do you think you could get me an appointment with a mediwizard tomorrow? I could run by your office on the way back and pick up my gear then?" Harry suggested.

Neville hummed as he considered. "Well, the two best mediwizards are Poppy Pomfrey and George Weasley," he said slowly. "I could contact them both and see if they have spare tomorrow. You'd have to floo into Hogsmead however, they've changed the Anti-Apparation charms there as well to cover the whole damn city."

Harry winced. "Bugger that," he snorted. "Damn Ministry just wants to make our jobs more difficult don't they? Hasn't anyone ever bothered to tell them that most illegal wizards can get around those charms with just a few spells and Artifacts? It takes a wizard of Dumbledore's power to hold the spells, the idiots."

"I've told them time and time again that it just won't work, but everyone is still in fear of the Death Eaters," Neville said.

"Lunacy!" Harry burst out. "There are no more bloody Death Eaters, they're all either dead, insane, or in Azkaban!"

Neville laughed. "You're more than welcome to approach the Ministry Council, if you'd like. But somehow I doubt you'll have any more success than I did." Harry snorted at the suggestion. He'd given up on the Ministry ever seeing sense nearly three years ago, right after Malfoy's disappearing act. On one hand, he agreed with the precautions: it was always good to be prepared, you never knew when another Voldemort might pop up. On the other hand, Harry genuinely felt that there were more important precautions to take: such as getting rid of the inter-House rivalries at Hogwarts, providing for Wizarding orphans so none of them were stuck in Muggle orphanages, adjusting the laws so that more of the so-called "Magical and Dark Creatures" that were instrumental in defeating Voldemort had true citizenry in the Wizarding World. But the increasingly traditional and separatist Ministry Council saw Harry's views as radical.

"You'd think that Arthur, of all people, would be able to see sense, wouldn't you?" Harry sighed. "All right, Neville, that sounds good. Why don't I drop by your office around 9, then? Aim for an appointment in the afternoon?"

"Consider it done, Harry. Out of curiosity," Neville's voice became sly, "has your expense account been reactivated yet?"

"No, not that I know of. I was just going to go talk to Hermione about it when I got off the phone with you," Harry replied, surprised by the question.

"Good then, leave that to me," Neville sounded smug.

"Neville? What are you up to?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"You'll see in the morning, Harry. Have a good day!" Neville clicked off cheerfully, leaving Harry staring at the receiver.

"Hell Neville, you know I hate surprises." Harry placed the receiver back down, and picked up the reports again.

March 10, 2006

Aurors: Seamus Finnigan and Terry Boot. Acting on rumors circulating through Diagon Alley conducted a routine raid on Parkinson Manor. Agents entered the Manor at 1945 hours, and cast a Dart Arts sensing spell. Three objects triggered the spell, Pansy Parkinson led both to them willingly, claiming no knowledge of their function. Parkinson then refused to tell who had given the objects to her. She was brought in for further questioning, along with the objects.

The two objects, once examined, proved to be technomagical devices. Two of the devices were defunct pieces of cardboard and plastic, decoys. The third Device, however, is working. The Device, which we have now determined is an Interspatial Temporal Phasing Device, which we have named the Deus X Machine, is believed to be able to break through to hereto unproven parallel dimensions and manipulate events to the user's choosing.

Recommendation of on-site Aurors: call in a Seeker and find out who exactly made this Device.

Harry snorted lightly. Well, that certainly explained why Hermione was so insistent that he take the case. He sighed, and picked up the phone again, this time dialing Hermione's extension.

"Hello Harry," Hermione said warmly as soon as she answered the phone. Harry had often wondered exactly where she got her sixth sense about when he was calling, because not once had she used her more professional greeting when he had called in. It was Dean who had clued Harry in actually.

"God, Harry, for someone as smart as you are, and you can't figure out something thing simple?" Dean had laughed. "Hermione's got your lines marked, so that the calls ring in differently. She always knows it's you."

Harry smiled at the memory. He missed Dean, the man's quiet presence had served as the perfect temper for Hermione's passion. Dean had discovered his talent for teaching during their seventh year at Hogwarts working with the first years and helping the beleaguered Snape teach Potions. And like Neville, both Hermione and Dean had surprised everyone with what they chose to do. First of all, their marriage was a large surprise to everyone who had pretty much counted on Hermione ending up with either Harry or Ron Weasley. Then, of course, was the complete role reversal: Hermione becoming an Unspeakable and Dean becoming the next Hogwarts Potions Professor when Snape had retired. "Hermione, I've -"

"Oh good, I knew you would," Hermione cut Harry off.

"Damnit, Hermione, it's bad enough that you know everything, do you need to take up telepathy too?" Harry replied crossly.

"Don't get mad at me, Harry. You're just too predictable. Only Draco Malfoy or You-Know-Who himself would drag you out of the hole you buried yourself in after..." Hermione said quietly.

Harry laughed, trying to switch the topic away from The Incident. "Funny, that's just about what Neville said."

"You've called him already?" Hermione sounded surprised.

"Of course I have, he's got all my gear, you know. I'm going to meet him in the morning, pick up my gear, and he promised to have an appointment with a mediwizard ready."

"Good old Neville. I'm glad to hear that he's on top of it. I'll want him as your primary contact, in fact, I'll be calling him after I get off the phone with you. He won't be working on any other cases but this one."

"But what about the other ops he's running? You can't just leave those agents in the field without a contact or guidance, Hermione!"

"I know that," she shot back peevishly. "I'll be handling his cases personally."

Harry laughed outright at that. "Hermione, you haven't run an op in nearly three years, and haven't been on one in nearly five. If you're going to commit Neville to this whole, at least do the poor sods the favor of handing them off to Sirius or Remus. At least they managed to keep their hands in and know what's going on outside of the bloody Ministry."

"You don't have to be rude, Harry!" Hermione slammed the phone down, disconnecting the call. Harry found himself staring at the phone for the second time in less than five minutes. Of all the things he missed about his Hogwarts days, it was the friendship of Ron and Hermione he missed the most. Harry and Hermione had drifted apart during Harry's days at the university, and when he came back, as her employee, the relationship seemed to get more strained. And with Dean's death, that last vestige of friendship seemed gone forever. Sure, they tried, but the jokes were strained, and both were all too good at making up excuses for avoiding the vague promises to "get together" they made. But while Harry knew he should feel sad, and while he did miss the friendship, he found himself rather happy alone. Losing touch with Hermione and Neville, and Dean's death had cost him his last few real friends. And Harry, who had spent the first eleven years of his life longing for friendship and love, decided he liked it better that way.

"Harry Potter!" The door to his office burst open, and Hermione prowled in. Her face was red, and her hair was coming out of the tight bun she usually confined it in.

"Yes, Boss?" Harry asked insolently. If he was going to get scolded for telling Hermione the plain truth, then he was damned well going to give as hard as he could get.

"Don't call me that," Hermione spat. It had been Dean's nickname for her.

"It's what you are, Hermione," Harry returned calmly. Hermione's face became even redder and she drew herself up to her full height, towering over Harry who was still sitting down.

"Listen to me, Harry Potter. When you were a child, you hated being The Boy Who Lived. But you went along with it anyway, and destroyed You-Know-Who," Harry snorted at her inability to say his name even now, nine years after his death. "But then you went off to university and changed! And then you had to go and get Dean killed! Damn you Harry Potter, I hate you this way. It's like you've bought into your own press, you stupid prick!"

Harry smiled, and slowly stood, matching Hermione's height. While he would never be tall, at least he could meet her eyes on the same level. "Temper, temper," he said, patting her gently on the back, and leaning close. "Besides, Dean was cheating on you." With that parting shot, Harry limped out of the room, leaving a furious Hermione behind to deal with the bombshell he had just dropped.

It was time to check up on an old contact before heading into the field.