the Left Hand Path

"Well, well, well, well. It looks like you certainly have changed, haven't you, Potter?" the man mused to himself quietly as he watched the scene play out in front of him. "I think I quite like you this way. You're more like me than I am." He laughed.

Standing up, the man flicked a wand at the glowing globe in front of him, and it darkened. "I wonder how long it'll take you to get to me, eh Potter?" He walked to the other side of the dark room, and stood in front of a painting. It was a Muggle style, and didn't move. The man reached out and stroked the green eyes of the boy the in the picture. "Not long at all, I'm sure," he muttered. "But too long for me. I should pay him a visit." The man began to laugh, long, hard, joyously, like he'd just found something he had lost long ago.

"Yes, Potter, I should pay you a visit." The man continued to laugh and caress the eyes of the boy in the picture. "It's been a long time."

"It's been forever."

Harry checked his watch. 22:31 hours. He smiled, perfect timing.

After the confrontation with Hermione at the office, Harry had cut out early and headed back to his flat in London. Harry owned the two-story building, but preferred to rent out the bottom floor to Clark. It suited him to rent it out, the extra income was nice, and it provided good cover. The only problem being that he had to pass through Clark's part of the building every time he left, when he didn't just Apparate to his destination. The two-bedroom flat, which any number of his lovers tended to call "lonely," suited Harry perfectly. He converted the second bedroom to a workroom that housed his books and current projects. The den held a comfortable futon and a nice entertainment center that Harry had rigged to be powered by magic rather than electricity, mostly because he could. The kitchen was full of every appliance a master chef could want, herbs, spices, fruit, vegetables, meat, pastas. It shimmered with cleanness, almost as if it hadn't been touched. Which it hadn't. Harry always ate out. The bathroom he had magically expanded large enough to add a whirlpool that always reminded him of the prefect's bathroom at Hogwarts. He used to joke with Dean that the only thing he needed to complete it was Myrtle. The bedroom was where Harry kept all his knickknacks, Neville's remembrall, Ron's wand, Dumbledore's robes, and the sword of Gryffindor. He never let anyone in this room, casting illusion spells so that people thought it was simply a closet. He felt it was his private sanctuary.

Harry had sat down and watched TV blindly, paying no attention to what was on, just grateful for the background noise. It distracted him from his thoughts. Around 21:00 hours, he had gotten up and changed out of the brown suit he was wearing. It had been time to make contact.

Now, an hour and half later, Harry was standing outside one of the most exclusive dance clubs in London. "Hey Dan," he nodded to the bouncer, and walked past the line. Once through the door, he stopped and studied the dance floor. Finding what he was looking for, Harry walked up to her and started dancing.

She moved sinuously, spandex and leather clothing so tight that they looked spray-painted on. There was a dog collar around her neck, and her red hair was matted with sweat. Harry molded himself to her movements through ease of lots of practice; she had been the one to teach him to dance. She didn't smile at him, didn't acknowledge his existence even, just kept dancing. Harry didn't mind; it was a usual routine for them.

Harry pondered his relationship with Ginny Weasley as he danced. They had dated for a few months while still at Hogwarts, and Harry considered her the best fuck he'd had while he was attending. But with the ending of the war, and finally really getting to know each other, both had come to the conclusion that while it seemed almost pre-destined that Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter would marry, have five children, and live happily ever after; they just weren't compatible. Now Harry and Ginny weren't friends, they weren't family. He wasn't sure if there really was a word for what he was to Ginny, except for perhaps "allies," but even that didn't really cover it. They rarely talked, although he saw her more often in social situations than he saw anyone else from Hogwarts. Ginny and Harry had an understanding. Whenever he called her, or she called him, they used two different keywords, sort of an inside joke. When either one of them wanted nothing more than meaningless sex, all they had to do was call the other, and talk about their old Hogwarts' friend "Tom," then name the place and time. Barring death or grievous injury, the other would be there. No strings attached. When they simply wanted to exchange information, Ron's name was the keyword. Both knew, albeit for vastly different reasons, that their phone lines were tapped.

The song, and therefore the dance, ended. Ginny pointed over to the bar, and Harry nodded his assent. "Hey Joe!" Ginny shouted over the music to the bartender. "Scotch on the rocks and a Kampai Cocktail!" Harry snorted. They'd obviously known each other too long, even the drinks never changed. She turned to Harry and studied him for a minute, pushing her sweaty hair out of her eyes. "First one's on the house, Harry." She smiled at him.

The drinks arrived, and Harry toasted her silently with his Scotch. He glanced around the club. "You've done some redecorating," he shouted back.

She nodded, and pointed to the new lights and chains all over. "Let's head into the back and talk there!" Ginny stood and led Harry, twisting and turning, through the dancers to a small door. It was marked "Employees Only." It lead to Ginny's office, and through a small door, to the flat on top of the club, where Ginny lived and conducted the rest of her business. As soon as the door shut behind Harry the loud music and sounds stopped, Ginny had the best in both Muggle and Wizarding soundproofing installed all over the place. Best way to keep the Aurors off the track. That and Harry's information, of course. Ginny sat down behind the desk, the leather pants creaking as she moved. "What do you need to know?" she asked, getting right to business. It was a trait that Harry liked about her.

Harry placed his Scotch on the desk, and slowly eased himself into a chair. Ginny watched him without any expression on her face. "What's Parkinson been doing recently?" Harry asked once he'd settled himself into a comfortable position.

Ginny laughed. "Harry, you never were one to beat around the bush. Might as well just ask about Malfoy and be done with it."

"All right then, Ginny. Tell me about Malfoy." Harry leaned forward slightly.

Ginny laughed again, it was a dry sound, harsh. "I don't know much. But I know he effectively disappeared off the face of the Earth for those years he was gone. Nothing, not a trace."

"You couldn't find him?" Harry's eyebrows rose. He was honestly surprised. Ginny had resources that even the Ministry didn't have.

She shook her head. "No, and not for lack of trying." Her face darkened slightly. "He still owed me a few devices."

Harry laughed, and shook a finger at her. "You of all people should know payment only on delivery, Ginny."

"Yeah, yeah," she scowled and waved him off. "I was young then." Harry snorted.

"Must have been a good lay," he broke in. Ginny glared at him and scowled even harder. Harry sighed, and broke eye contact. "Fine, when I'm done, send 'em over to me, and I'll finish them for you."

"Thanks Harry," Ginny said coldly. "Now getting back to matters at hand?" Harry rolled his eyes. "When Malfoy resurfaced, he went straight to Parkinson's. Then Apparated from there to Hogsmeade."

Harry leaned further forward. "I thought there were Anti-Apparition charms all over Hogsmeade."

Ginny nodded. "There are," she said shortly. Harry smiled, if Malfoy was using magic, especially magic to break through Anti-Apparition charms, it'd be a simple matter to track him. "He went to Gringotts and opened a new account under a different name. I couldn't find out which."

Harry rubbed his lips thoughtfully. "Sounds like he's planning a return to the Wizarding world. Interesting." The pair sat in silence for a few moments before Harry looked back at Ginny. "Anything else?"

Ginny pursed her lips and sipped her drink, considering his question. "Nothing else, but I'll let you know if I hear anything."

Harry nodded. "You'll have to Owl me, I think. I'll be on the move quite a bit."

Ginny grinned. "Now what does the Ministry know?"

"At this point, nothing. But Finnigan mentioned that they had a lead on a supplier, a bust is going to happen sometime in the next week." Harry cocked his head to the side. "Who are you getting to cook up your wonder dust now that Dean's dead, anyway?" Ginny, aside from owning the club, ran the largest drug and prostitution ring in the entire Wizarding world. It really was one specific drug that brought Ginny most of her money, Spike, was the Wizarding equivalent of cocaine. Infinitely versatile and indistinguishable until in the bloodstream from sugar, the concoction took the skills of a Potions master to brew. No mere Muggle would be able to duplicate the drug effectively, not having either the spells or magical ingredients to cook it up properly.

Ginny laughed. "An old... friend of yours."

Harry felt his eyebrows rise to his hairline. "Snape? You got Snape?"

"I didn't say that, you did," Ginny smirked.

Harry laughed. He drank the rest of his Scotch in one shot and relaxed slightly. "How's your family?"

Ginny sighed. "Dad's getting more and more obstinate in his old age."

"They created the Ministry Council to get rid of idiocy," Harry scowled. "Not lock it in. I knew they shouldn't have made those appointments lifetime."

"Well, there's no getting around it now," Ginny replied calmly. "Bill's broke off all contact with the lot of us and left the Council. Last I heard, he headed off to Egypt."

Harry sighed. "Can't say as that comes as a surprise." He had quite liked Bill, they had gotten to know each other quite well beginning in Harry's Fifth year in school, and even had worked as partners during the last eight months during the war with Voldemort. Bill understood Harry's need to keep occupied, keep moving, and keep the excitement better than anyone. "I should try and send him an Owl," he mused.

"If he doesn't return it unanswered, give him my love will you?" Ginny asked. Harry nodded in reply. "Let's see, Charlie's still in Romania, trying to bring the dragon population back." Through Charlie's hard work, the side of Light had Dragons with them during the final confrontation against Voldemort. What they hadn't known at the time was that Voldemort had picked up a Seer somewhere along the lines, and knew that they were coming. He had invented an entirely new spell that sucked the Dragon's magic right out of them on a vicinity basis. That little spell had nearly wiped out the European Dragon population. "George just won an award for his advancements and new spells in the mediwizard field, and Fred and George's shop just put Zonko's out of business." Ginny grinned wickedly, and Harry found himself grinning back. The twins were apt to succeed at that, especially with both Harry and Ginny bankrolling them; a secret that only the four of them knew.

Harry slapped his empty glass down on the desk. "And Ron?"

"He's talking," Ginny smiled as she leaned back in her chair, a real smile, the first Harry had seen all evening. Harry returned it.

During the last desperate strike on Voldemort and the Death Eaters, Augustus Rookwood had captured Ginny. He had seen Voldemort as the loser of the battle, and was going to bargain for his life and freedom using Ginny. Ron, infuriated by this, had left secretly and saved her. Unfortunately, he hadn't come back completely whole. His attempt had freed Ginny that was true, however, Ron had gotten himself captured in the process. Rookwood, totally enraged that his plan failed, subjected Ron to numerous rounds of Cruciatus. Ron had been found with his feet and hands cut off, emasculated, naked, spread-eagled, staked outside of Hogwarts. He was alive, barely, but very insane. He had spent the last years in St. Mungo's. Ginny had blamed herself for it and Harry secretly suspected it was Ron's condition that led to her current life. "That's good to hear," Harry said softly. "Maybe he can pull himself out of it."

Ginny sipped her drink, nodding. "I hope so."

Harry checked his watch. "I have an early morning, I should go."

Ginny gave him a sly smile. "Are you sure you don't want to stay? The girls and I have been missing you."

"No," Harry slowly stood. "I can't." Ginny shrugged, and led the way back out. Ginny headed straight for the dance floor, and Harry weaved his way out to the front of the club. To his displeasure, Hermione, flanked by Seamus Finnigan and Neville Longbottom, were waiting for him.

"Oh lovely, the gang's all here," he muttered sarcastically.

"Potter," Hermione said shortly. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think I was doing here, Boss? Visiting an old friend after a hard day at work." Neville snickered a bit at that until Hermione glared at him full-stop. "What are you doing here?"

"We're raiding the place, what else?" Finnagan said mockingly.

"Oh then," Harry said, stepping out of the way. "Be my guest." Hermione glared at him, but continued on. Finnigan followed her. Neville stayed behind. Harry studied his friend. Physically, Neville looked much the same as he did when they were still back at Hogwarts. Taller, thinner. His face was still rounded and he could pass for sixteen if he had to. "What?"

Neville cocked his head slightly to the right and studied Harry. "Are you all right?"

"I'm perfectly fine, Neville. It's late, I'll see you in the morning," Harry answered quietly before limping off. He didn't want to deal with this right now.

"Hey, Harry?" He turned back at Neville's voice.

"Don't let Hermione get to you, she's still getting over Dean," Neville said, smiling.

Harry snorted. "Yeah, well, it'd be a lot easier if she wouldn't take it out on me, Neville."

Neville walked in closer, sighing. "Harry, I know that. I agree with you. All I'm asking is that you don't exacerbate it. What you told her today, you were out of line."

Harry stalked over to Neville, wincing in pain as he abused his knee. "Do you really think I didn't know that? She pushed too hard, Neville. She's not the only one who has to fucking deal with it, all right? She's not the only one in the fucking world hurting. It's her own damn fault for not forgetting Ron!" He found himself shouting, and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Neville," Harry apologized in a calmer tone of voice. "I shouldn't have shouted at you like that."

Neville sighed, and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, instantly reminding him of his own actions with Hermione earlier. "I know you are, Harry. Forget about it." Neville squeezed his shoulder painfully, and leaned in close. "But if you ever do that sort of thing on an op, I'll kill you myself."

Harry smiled sweetly at Neville and nodded. "Better hurry. Or you'll miss the raid."

Neville let go of Harry's shoulder. "I'll see you in the morning. George is meeting us at my office at 0900 hours. Try and be on time, right?" Harry nodded and gave Neville a weak smile. "Are you sure you'll be okay handling Malfoy, Harry? I know you two had -"

"I'll be fine Neville," Harry cut him off quickly. "I handled Malfoy before, I can handle him now."

"Hermione's right about one thing, mate, you have changed. And I'm afraid it's not for the better," Neville said sadly.

"It was bound to happen, Neville. I grew up. We all did." Harry turned around and walked away. Neville let him go. Harry fumed all the way to the car, which opened at his touch. He had designed and built it while at the University, it had been his first true piece of technomagery. The car was invested with invisibility, flight, speed, shrinking, growing, and as many protection charms as he and Malfoy could come up with. The backseat, with a command, could be turned into either an armory storehouse, a potions laboratory, a bed, or an inescapable lockdown. Aside from his wand, Harry's car was his single most valuable asset when Seeking. It was modeled after an American car that he and Malfoy had both admired, a 1970 Ford Mustang Mach One. It was the one thing the Ministry Council had let him keep after the accident, Harry supposed that was because they didn't really know all of its value. He wondered if Malfoy remembered all they had put into the car as he slipped into the leather driver's seat and set off for home.

The drive was shorter than he expected it to be. Harry reached home, and walked into his flat. "Harry!" a deep voice called from the kitchen. He frowned, and limped towards the source.

In the kitchen, a tall, skinny brown-haired man was fixing lasagna. On the dining room table was an expensive camera bag, and a leather bomber jacket. "Colin," Harry said flatly. "I hadn't realized you were back."

Colin breezed over and kissed Harry on the cheek before returning to the pasta. "Oh the assignment was over quicker than I thought. Africa's bloody amazing," Colin gestured with a flour covered hand. "I'd love to go back!"

"How did you get in?"

Colin gave Harry a strange look. "You gave me a key, Harry." He surveyed the damage in the kitchen. "Dinner should be ready in about a half an hour, all right?"

Harry nodded dumbly and walked out of the kitchen. He had never given Colin a key. No one had a key to his flat. Colin hadn't even seen the inside of his flat, their brief fling always commenced at Colin's place. The younger man had never given up his love of photography, and eventually started working both for the Daily Prophet and freelancing for a couple of Muggle magazines. Shortly after the capture of Lucius Malfoy, Colin had been sent to interview Harry and Neville as the Ministry's representatives. They'd all gone out for drinks, and Harry found himself getting along with the man, where he had once only found annoyance at the boy. Colin's stalker-like tendencies in school had mellowed into a good nose for the truth. Harry, slightly drunk, had gone home with Colin. It had been a rather satisfying sexual encounter, and both made plans to get together again. On the rare occasions that their schedules intersected, Colin and Harry would get together, have drinks or dinner, and then go back to Colin's flat for good sex. Nothing more.

It certainly didn't explain why Colin was there now. Harry walked into his bedroom and changed out of his club clothes. Pulling on simple blue flannel cotton pajamas, Harry walked back out to the kitchen and watched Colin cook with a practiced air. One would think Colin lived here when they encountered the ease with which he knew where things were. "Colin?"

"Yeah, Harry?" Colin answered absently. He seemed to be engrossed in making French silk chocolate pudding.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm cooking you a dinner, Harry," Colin answered. He turned and smiled at Harry slyly. "Then once that appetite is filled, I'm going to take you into the bedroom and screw you until you scream." Colin dipped a finger into the chocolate, scooped some out, and stuck his finger in his mouth. "Mmmmm," Colin moaned as he slowly pulled his finger out of his mouth.

Harry rolled his eyes at the display. "Colin, as much as I appreciate it, I'm not in the mood. I'm on the job right now."

"Well, look at who's Mr. Sour-Pants," Colin pouted.

Harry snorted. "Is that's supposed to be sexy?"

Colin slammed the bowl of chocolate down on the counter. "Fine Harry, I'll leave." He stalked out of the kitchen and towards the front door. "Bastard!" Harry heard him call. The door slammed.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Harry muttered. He fished into the pockets of his pants and pulled out his wand. Quickly he slapped some spells on the flat so that however Colin got in, he wouldn't be allowed back. "Well, at least he left me some food." Harry collected the lasagna, walked into his living room, sat down on the sofa, and began to eat. It was good.