Chapter XVII: Of the Strength in Numbers
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"Do you ever feel pressured by your work, Harry?"
"Where's this coming from? You usually like to focus on my nonexistent love life," Harry chortled.
"Thought it might be time for a change, is all. Plus, your working conditions are rather high stress ones with the sort of cases you must work on-given what little you've told me about your work."
Harry fidgeted when he heard that last comment, not quite sure what to say to Andersen in regards to that note. "I… I just can't tell you anymore than I already have. I mean it's not that I don't want-"
Andersen shook his head with a small smile. "I understand, Harry. You work for the government, it's only natural that that would call for certain precautions, and that's not even my worry, it's more so the repercussions that this might have on you. Who do you talk to when you need someone, Harry? Where do you go when it's too much?"
Harry merely shrugged. "No one, nowhere."
Andersen gaped widely, and Harry couldn't help that little tug of pride that hit him when he realized he'd actually achieved in rendering the therapist speechless.
"That-that's not very healthy…" Andersen commented.
Harry cocked hi head to the side. "Who says? I'd say I'm a lot better off than I was before."
"Harry, the very thing that led you to your previous problems was primarily due to not talking to anyone about what was going on in your mind," Andersen reminded. "You need some sort of cathartic release for this, it's not right. With what you see everyday… you deal in murders, Harry, that has to leave some sort of impact on you."
"No," Harry shrugged, "not really."
--
"Hey, you called?" Harry greeted Callum as he entered the empty pub his friend owned.
"Yeah," Callum muttered as he took a large sip from his Rakia. "You may want to sit down and grab a bottle first though."
"I don't drink," Harry replied, his expression incredulous after hearing that. "You do remember that, mate, don't you? I mean you can't possibly be that pissed, you are still sitting up straight…"
"No," Cal reassured him, his voice hoarse as he spoke. "No… but you may want to reconsider that."
"I'd rather not."
Callum shrugged, muttering: "suit yourself."
"So why'd you call me, anyway? Sounds big, given this reaction."
Callum nodded, mutely, as he took another sip. "It is."
"So?" Harry asked, cocking an eyebrow as he watched his friend who seemed to be trying his hardest to avoid making any eye contact with him.
"I found information on the case. There was nothing on the plaintiff, but some about the defendants… enough."
"Well that's great," Harry exclaimed, his face breaking out into a smile when he heard the news. "This is a huge break for the case."
"Uh, yeah," Callum nodded, unenthusiastically. "I guess it is great in some ways."
Harry's back stiffened upon hearing that lackluster reply as a cold wave of trepidation surged through his body. "What exactly did you learn, Cal?"
"Well, firstly, I have our victim list… the entire thing, I'm almost positive about it."
"Wow," Harry gasped. "I can't really see the problem then, to be honest."
"Yeah, it's more so the details of it," Callum admitted, letting out a deep breath before finally continuing. "Andrew McMullen, Dylan Sinclair, John James Dermott… all three of them were best friends from childhood. Add to that though John Kerouac, whose father practically has a monopoly on porn in the western world, and Colin Kelly, whose father-"
Harry's head snapped back a bit in surprise once he heard that last surname and he let out a large guffaw. "The Minster of Magic in Scotland, you're fucking with me, right?"
"Nope," Callum shook his head with another sigh. "Those last two went to school together in Switzerland, but they met the other three at Oxford later. Five peas in a pod, they say…" Callum drawled, sending Harry a sarcastic look before downing the rest of his drink and pulling out a bottle of grappa from behind the bar, along with a thin flute-like shot glass for it.
"You shouldn't mix-"
Callum cut Harry off with a dark look that sent out a silent, but very understandable "fuck off."
Harry nodded. "And the case?"
Callum let out a humorless laugh. "That's where we get to the fun stuff," he sarcastically quipped. "It was sexual offense… against all five of them."
Harry's eyes widened and he found himself short for breath after gasping in shock, so hard that he could swear he almost swallowed his tonsils. "You're shitting me; please tell me you're shitting me."
Callum scoffed. "I wish I was. There's only one thing this can be, Harry… if it's against all five of them in the same case…"
"Yeah," Harry breathed out, his body becoming paralyzed under the shock of the revelation.
"Yeah," Callum reiterated, angrily gritting his teeth. "I mean, I have to ask, why the fuck would they have to gangbang some poor girl? Hell, there are hordes of slags that would gladly have a go at them; they're fucking rich, there's never a lacking of women then. Admittedly, they're not the most respectful sort… but still, once you enter that category, a cunt's a cunt."
Harry couldn't help, but snort at that, only Callum could ever add an almost comedic light to rape of all things. "I don't really know why anyone would ever do that, but maybe that's just me…"
Callum heatedly shook his head as he let out another livid breath. "What are you going to do? I mean there are two more blokes on this list here, Harry."
Harry shrugged, still trying to regain consciousness after that shocking disclosure. "Uh… I guess I'm going to go to Buckley so I can get a warrant to question them, find out the details… who she was."
Callum nodded, tiredly pinching the bridge of his nose. "Are you going to tell Hermione?"
"Yeah, I think so… she deserves to know."
"Good… um… listen, we should split now, I've had a few problems with the law as of late-"
"CAL!" Harry groaned.
Callum merely rolled his eyes, waving Harry off. "Don't be so overdramatic, Potter, it can't be that much of a shock. Anyway, I'll call you if I can find something more, but I'll keep looking, don't worry."
Harry sent him a half-smile. "Thanks."
"No problem. I'll see you around, mate, yeah?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah… just be careful, okay?"
Callum shrugged. "I have this nice bottle of grappa here to help sort me out, you don't… if anyone, I think you're the one we should be worrying over, what's going to help you with this?" he noted before making his way out of the bar and through an inconspicuous door on the wall to their left.
--
"How is that even possible?" Andersen asked, absolutely flabbergasted. "How can it have no impact upon you at all?"
"It does have an impact, but not enough to leave me dwelling over it constantly. People are mostly crap, I realize that and I'm over it. The most I can do is try to help, there's no use in crying, it doesn't really get me anywhere… I've realized at least that over the years, if nothing else."
"So what, you can go in there and see all the mangled bodies imaginable and feel nothing?"
"it's not that I feel nothing, it's just that I don't feel as if there is anything to cry over when I could just do my job and actually help, however much so is possible after that sort of thing. Why talk the problem out when you can solve it?"
Andersen frowned. "I worry about you, Harry, and… and I shouldn't. After everything you've gone through, after all that you've managed to conquer, I trust you to know yourself, I honestly do, but… but I can't help, but fret over you. I don't know why, but I do," he admitted.
Harry sat up, smiling. "Come on, Doc, don't get all touchy-feely now, you're supposed to give me some sort of biting retort that smacks some sense into me."
Andersen chuckled. "What can I say, Harry, you've convinced me."
"Well I'll be damned…"
Andersen cracked a grin at hearing those words. "But it's still undeniable that you've watched too many cowboy films."
Harry shrugged. "What can I say, there's just something about Clint Eastwood…"
--
"You can't go after them, Harry," Buckley told him.
"But-"
"No," Buckley just shook his head. "Look at these names, Harry," he ordered, shoving the paper into Harry's face, pointing to each of them as he repeated all of the surnames. "They're untouchable; you can't just expect to talk to them about what you learned."
Harry gaped, absolutely dumbfounded. "But it's for their safety, surely they'd want to help the case then, maybe even tell us-"
"No," Buckley repeated, his expression pitying and sympathetic. "You'd have to explain how you learned what you did, and… you know how it is, Harry-you better than anyone else. There's nothing we can do here, you'll just have to work from what you do know."
"But it's to help them!"
Buckley shook his head, sending Harry a sympathetic look. "And do you honestly think that that's the first thing that they'll note?-Over how you know about their involvement, really? Can you honestly say that that's what will catch their attention?"
Harry gritted his teeth. "This is ridiculous. Without them-"
"It's just how it is, let it go and move on, Harry… it'll be easier and healthier that way. This whole cathartic approach, it's bullshit in cases like this. Don't dwell on it, move on."
Harry slumped back in his chair, his brows drawn together as he processed what his mentor told him. "There's really no hope here, is there?"
"At least you know what you know, we can work from there," Buckley offered, but the inspirational words were met to deaf ears as Harry's grim look didn't falter in the slightest.
"Can… can I at least tell Hermione?"
Buckley nodded acquiescingly. "The more minds the better, but no one else… security risks and all."
"Right… thanks," Harry said, his voice soft and defeated as he slowly pushed himself up off his chair and moved to leave.
"Oi, Harry?" Buckley's voice stopped him mid-stride.
"Yeah?" he asked as he turned to face his boss, only to see the graying full head of hair bent down under his desk as he heard the distinct sound of a safe being unlocked.
Finally, Buckley got up from under the desk and threw three bags at Harry. "Give these to your source. They're untraceable; I made sure of it myself."
Harry caught them, but immediately shook his head once he realized what it was, and just how many galleons were in it. "He won't take this, he did it as a favor to me, he'd be offended."
Buckley snorted. "Offended or not, he did good and I'll want to employ him again, most likely, so give that to him and pass on the message, will you?"
Harry shrugged. "I'll try."
--
"That's some fucked up shite there," Ron muttered as he put down his newspaper, what he didn't expect however was the hard slap that hit him across the back of his head as soon as the words left his mouth. "Oi! What the hell was that for?!"
"Language," Hermione chastised. "Goodness, Ron, why can't you ever use an apt term or something?"
"I'd say that that's plenty `apt', did you see the shite going on there? It's fucked up is what it is!"
Hermione scoffed, turning her chair from Ron's so her body was fully facing Harry's. "I hate him," she informed him.
Harry sent her an amused look. "So I hear."
"Hey, aren't you even going to try to help a mate out a bit? Defend my honor!" Ron interrupted.
Harry chuckled as he watched Hermione scrunch up her face and roll her eyes. "Sorry, Ron, but I've learned to stay out of these things when you two are on one of your `off phases.' Safer for me, hope you understand."
That earned Harry a brilliant smile in reply from Hermione. "So, Harry, how is work? How'd you handle that awful case-I mean their bodies were strung up like the lambs my mum used to buy at a butcher shop; it's not a very nice association, quite honestly."
Harry smiled. "You learn to deal, love; it's the secret of the trade."
--
Harry blew out a deep breath as he raised his hand and knocked softly against the hard wood of the door, almost hoping that there'd be no reply. Sadly he wasn't so lucky as the door was whipped open and a bleary eyed Cal stood before him.
"Hey," Callum simply greeted him before turning and going back into his flat, throwing himself onto his chesterfield. "You took a risk," he told Harry, his voice muffled by the pillow his voice was buried into. "You took a risk coming here, so I suppose it's important… crucial."
Harry ducked his head in embarrassment. "Yeah, you could say that," he replied as he entered, closing the door behind him.
"So what is it then?"
"The case… we can't pursue it, at least not this lead."
Callum's body shot up at those words. "What the hell are you trying to say, Potter?" he asked, his tone frosty.
"We can't go after them… not if don't want to admit how we hired you, breaking protocol entirely. We're on our own; we have to figure it out from what little we have."
"You're kidding me… you-you have to be," Callum accused, running a hand through his hair as his body went limp, falling back into his seat.
Harry shook his head as he took a seat in the sofa chair across from Cal. "They've got connections, a lot of them, and they know how to use them. We don't stand a chance against all five families; we have to go about this on our own."
Callum rolled his eyes, crossly clenching his jaw. "This is ridiculous."
"Yeah, it is," Harry admitted, voice soft and defeated.
"What do we do now, Harry? I don't know how to hack into that system, not anymore than I have, to get the information; I had to call in a whole number of favors to even get what I had."
"I'm sorry," Harry muttered.
Callum tsked, waving him off. "Don't be sorry, it's not your fault. People are shit, that's what it is."
"Yeah," Harry intoned. "I guess they are."
"There's no guessing there, Potter, only knowing…" Callum reminded Harry with a small, sad smile.
A staid laugh escaped Harry as he nodded. "Anyway… I just came by to tell you… and my boss wanted me to give you this," he told Cal, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trench before pulling out three heavy bags.
Callum eyed them disbelievingly for a second before shaking his head. "I don't want your money, Harry… neither yours nor your boss's."
"He thinks of it as an investment for the future… he wants you to do more work for him."
"I don't get along well with the law," Callum reminded.
"Well neither does him, not the one we have."
Callum laughed dryly. "Seems like my sort of man, minus the whole law abiding shtick."
Harry nodded. "I think you'd like him."
"I still don't want it, though; I don't need it. You're a mate; it was a favor, that's all."
"It's just money, Cal, take it," Harry pleaded.
"Okay then, put it on the table by the door on your way out… it's not safe for you to stay here too long anyway, especially given everything with this case."
"Yeah, I'll talk to you later?"
"I'll call."
"Okay," Harry whispered as he got up. "Bye… and-and I am sorry."
Cal weakly smiled up at him. "It's not me who we should be sorry for, is it?"
"No, I suppose not. Not anymore."
--
Author's Note: I realize that it's been ages since I last updated and I sincerely apologize for that, but I even took away time from my Easter Celebration to give this chapter another look through before posting, so hopefully that will earn me some brownie points.
Anyway, this was a rather huge chapter and I'm still questioning how I pulled it off, but, knowing me, I can go on like this for a month so I figured I should just get it over with and post it as soon as I got t back from my beta and gave it another look through.
Please review, I'm on pins and needles with this one, seriously.
And thank you, again, to my wonderful beta, Searcy!
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