The Magical War Detective I: The New Protector

The Magical War Detective I: The New Protector

Chapter Two: The Lady in Question

Wednesday, November 13, 1974
Department of Magical Law Enforcement, London

Alice Pevensey sat on a battered couch in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement waiting room with the morning paper. She found reading the Daily Prophet a depressing necessity; even when the news was bad one needed to stay informed. Sorrow tinged even good news these days: the newborn babe named for a grandmother vanished over a year ago, the wizard who fought the Imperius Curse but only after he was forced to reveal information.

"Miss Pevensey?" Alice looked up at an owl-eyed man she knew to be Mr. Weatherby, Crouch's secretary, standing in the waiting room doorway.

"Yes?" Alice said as she jumped to her feet, unable to keep the eagerness from her voice; she hoped she was about to be hired. She would not have been asked to come to the Ministry in person for a rejection.

Weatherby regarded her for a moment. Just when Alice was starting to feel uncomfortable, he produced a letter from the pocket of his robes. "Mr. Crouch instructed me to give this to you personally."

Alice accepted the letter. It felt too thick to be a rejection. She touched her wand to the seal - a fanciful 'C' and a hippogriff. Crouch's seal, Alice thought with awe. It took an effort of will to keep from running her finger across the hardened wax, but she was determined not to behave like a giddy schoolgirl.

She glanced up from her examination of the letter to find that Weatherby had already disappeared. There were no witnesses if this was to be a simple dismissal. Alice took a deep breath, and whispered the spell that would break the seal.

To: Miss Alice Pevensey
From: Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Sr.
Subject: Application to Department of Magical Law Enforcement

You have been accepted by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement office in St. Peter Port, Guernsey. Should you choose to accept this position please report to Ministry Annex, room 311 for further information. Be advised that your presence is requested in Guernsey as soon as possible.

When Alice finished reading the letter she could not decide whether to accept it and be pleased or crumple it up and feel insulted. It was not an invitation to become an Auror, but it was a job in the D.M.L.E. and she could always apply for a transfer to the Auror Office or the Hit Wizards. She scanned the rest of the document. At least the pay would be decent. Even the smallest Ministry salary was nothing for a witch with barely two knuts to rub together to sneer at.

Alice decided to accept the position. If she did not find a job soon she would have to ask her family for gold and she had no intention of doing that. The documents directed her to down the hall to an office by Magical Equipment Control to pick up her supplies. The clerk was a rather chatty Ministry witch with a cousin on Guernsey gave her advice about finding a place to stay in St Peter Port.

As she was leaving, lugging an imposing book of regulations that refused to shrink and a packet of official papers, she met a tight-lipped Minerva McGonagall, shepherding a red-eyed girl, in the corridor. They were moving past Alice to the D.M.L.E. offices she had just left. Alice found herself stopping just outside the lift and staring back at the way she had come, wondering whether the girl had just lost all or part of her family.

"Her family was murdered last night." The headmaster's voice intruded upon Alice's thoughts. She pivoted to find Dumbledore standing by the lift doors and watching her with a grave expression.

"I thought as much," Alice said. She well recalled seeing similar faces on housemates informed of losses during her last year at Hogwarts. Until then such unpleasantness was rare. She recalled when Sara Hastings's grandmother died of dragonpox, a mundane death no one bothered to pull a student out of class to report. Now, however, there were murders, attempted murders, kidnapping, disappearances, curses and maiming.

"I understand you have been accepted into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Dumbledore said, nodding at the supplies in her arms. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Alice did not bother to wonder how Dumbledore knew. The headmaster's sources were legendary.

"It appears your first case will be the murder of Miss Landry's family." Dumbledore indicated the direction McGonagall and her charge had gone in.

This was news to Alice. "I hadn't heard."

"Jersey," Dumbledore sighed. "Very early this morning. I'm not surprised you were not told, information is a premium in these dark times."

Alice had the distinct impression that Dumbledore wanted her to know something, but the headmaster's roundabout way of telling her was devouring valuable time. She had to travel to Guernsey and report to a Protector called Mr. Ketterly by the end of the day.

"Sir..."

"Have you ever read the works of Oscar Wilde?"

Whatever she had been expecting, it was not that.

She blinked. "I can't say that I have." She had never even heard of Oscar Wilde and she considered herself well read.

A subdued version of the infamous twinkle appeared in Dumbledore's eyes. "I think you might soon encounter someone fond of Mr. Wilde's work. The Importance of Being Earnest."

With that, Dumbledore left her staring at him in complete confusion. After a moment Alice shook herself out of her momentary trance. She had too much to do to loiter around the Ministry. Most of Dumbledore's advice required much digestion so whatever he meant would become clear in time.

Alice returned to her room and began to pack. As she had been living out of her trunk since school, this did not take a great deal of time. As soon as all necessary items were in the trunk she Apparated back to the Ministry and caught the noon Portkey to St Peter Port, Guernsey.

* * *

"Had a Floo call while you were out. London will be sending Alastor Moody himself," Andrew's secretary Basil informed him. Basil had made quick broom flight to the Landry cottage in St. John with an armload of blank forms for the Protector to fill out. No matter who ran the Department, there was always paperwork. Crouch had simplified some forms but lengthened others.

"I hope he arrives soon," Andrew said fervently, rubbing his hands together for warmth. His winter cloak was starting to show its wear and refused to hold Warming spells as well as it used to. He made a mental note to have it replaced. "It's almost five in the morning and this is a mostly Muggle area. People will be about soon and I'd rather limit the Memory Charms."

"I'd rather that as well," Basil said as he moved onto the Landry's front garden and remounted his broom. He had never learned to Apparate and depended on his trusty Tinderblast. "Too much paperwork."

Ten minutes later, the famous Auror Moody Apparated beside Andrew with only the softest of pops to mark his arrival. Andrew found himself impressed in spite of himself at Moody's control.

"Password?" Andrew barked, wand at the ready. He had triple checked the weekly password - which appeared on a small plaque charmed for his eyes only - before leaving home. These days one could not be too careful.

Moody immediately replied. "Wombat."

Andrew lowered his wand but did not put it away. He had not survived Grindelwald by letting his guard down too easily. Other officials had been corrupted or placed under the Imperius Curse before.

"I hear you know Hodge. That parrot of his still annoying?"

Moody gave him a grin that reminded Andrew of a skull. "Bloody bird was eaten by a feral Hippogriff. I heard a rumour you're a good Keeper."

Andrew could not help but notice that the Auror kept his own wand at the ready. "You've been misinformed; I fly like a drunken troll."

"I wasn't misinformed," Moody said. "I had to make sure you were really Ketterly. Constant vigilance."

Andrew nodded. Death Eaters probably would not have bothered to find out about Hodge's parrot (whom no one other than Hodge missed) or how well he could play Quidditch. It was the unexpected that often toppled deception.

"Has anyone been inside?" Moody demanded, nodding at the house. In the morning light the cottage appeared disturbingly cheerful.

"Just Jakes here," Andrew replied, gesturing to the Ministry wizard sitting on the drive with his head in his hands.

Moody seemed surprised. "You haven't gone in yet?"

"Regulations call for a minimum of two to enter a Level Twelve crime scene," Andrew reminded him.

Level 1 was petty theft. Level 9 was straightforward murder or suspicious death. Ten was death by magic. Eleven was death or serious injury believed to be linked to a Dark Arts group. Andrew remembered when they first instituted Level Eleven. Grindelwald was the 'Dark Arts organization' usually referred to then, though the French Dark Wizard Jacques Gasquet had caused two Level Elevens in the Channel Islands during the fifties. Now Crouch had created Level 12: Dark Arts murder and reasonable fear of ambush and even a Level Thirteen: Dark Arts murder and certainty of ambush.

"Level Twelve might be stretching it, but better safe than sorry."

"Its a preliminary designation," Andrew said stiffly. He might not have Moody's influence but he had not forgotten how to conduct a murder investigation.

They entered the house together, but quickly split up. Moody dealt with the parents in the kitchen while Andrew saw to the dead boy upstairs. Afterwards he combed through the house looking for traps; more than one grieving relative had fallen victim to a Death Eater's curse hidden in a family heirloom.

The only thing Andrew found was a nasty jinx on an emerald ring in the mother's jewellery box. "Probably hoping the daughter would touch this," the Protector snarled as he performed the counter-curse.

He went back downstairs just as Moody finished his examination of the elder Landry bodies. With the Killing Curse there was really nothing to hint at who had been responsible, and with Muggle deaths there never was. Muggles could neither protect themselves nor alert magical authorities, and thus left no helpful hints.

Andrew stood in the doorway to the kitchen. If he closed his eyes he could visualize what had probably happened here in the Landry's last moments of life. The Death Eaters would have Apparated directly into the house and caught the elder Landry's washing up. There would not have been even the faintest scuffle to alert the sleeping boy sleeping. A sweep of the house would have revealed the boy who quickly joined his mother and father in death. Start to finish the Death Eaters would have likely been there five minutes.

The two wizards hid or removed the few magical objects in the house before they allowed Muggle authorities to take the Landry family away. They had to preserve appearances and inserting a wizard into the room when the Muggle authorities conducted the post mortem would be simple.

Moody stared at the clock still ticking away in the kitchen where William and Colette Landry had died. He moved forward to stop the clock. It was a bit late to prevent bad luck.

"We're going to let the Muggles think its carbon monoxide poisoning," Moody said. He pronounced the words with a strange emphasis as though they were foreign to him. In truth, the Muggle liaison officer had taught him how to say them. Another excuse plucked from a list brought out all too often to explain how several people could all die without a mark on them.

* * *

Back at the St Peter Port office of the D.M.L.E., Andrew and Moody warmed themselves with hot beverages as they discussed the Landry case. Unfortunately, there was not much to talk about. It was obvious that the family was targeted because their daughter Charlotte was a Muggle-born witch. The Ministry was tightening the information on the families of Muggle-born wizards but with so many cracks in the system there were bound to be leaks. Not to mention Muggle methods of locating people, which some of the Death Eaters whose blood was not as pure as they purported might be willing to employ to find their victims.

"I had hoped there would never be another Dark Mark in my territory," Andrew sighed. The memory of the murder on Alderney was still etched in his mind. At the time he had prayed it would be the only time the Dark Mark appeared over his jurisdiction. "It was probably too much to hope for."

"Luck only holds for so long." Moody looked past the open office door and through the windows into the streets. It was a clear November morning and every few minutes someone would walk past on their way to one of the shops on either side of the Magical Law Enforcement Office. "Any folk around here you think might be Death Eaters or sympathizers?"

"There are a half dozen old families on Herm," Andrew explained. "I'd be surprised if at least three or four of them aren't supporting the Death Eaters in some way. Information, gold, supplies... But I'm not so sure about risking their own necks; they don't have a great deal to do with other purebloods. They won't even send their children to Hogwarts. Too liberal, I suppose." Andrew frowned into his teacup. "Other than snobbery, I really can't give you more of an impression. I've only ever had official dealings with the St. Alban family." Andrew paused, uncertain whether to voice mere suspicion.

"You got a gut feeling about them?" Moody leaned in closer. He had heard of the Herm purebloods - an inclusive bunch that seldom permitted outsiders in their midst. It was rumoured the families fortunes had been derived from smuggling.

"I've always thought Olivia Baker's death odd," Andrew said. Then he remembered that Moody was not a local and would therefore be unaware of the meaning behind that statement. "Olivia Baker was Muggle-born and secretly involved with the son of one of the old families - I couldn't say which. Usually the old families use Memory Charms to put a stop to such affairs, especially if the other party is a Muggle, but apparently Olivia and her paramour took steps to prevent such a thing from ending their romance."

"But the affair ended when the girl was found dead. Suicide?" Moody guessed. Every so often a young pureblood or their lover would die in a purported accident or suicide to prevent them from betraying their blood. Such deaths had been unheard of for at least twenty years before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named appeared on the scene.

Andrew gave a curt nod. "Officially, yes, it was suicide. Unofficially it reminded me of something I saw back in '41. I think several items in Olivia's potion kit were tampered with, turning the hangover remedy she made into something toxic. After her death, the original uncontaminated bottles were replaced in the kit. I can't prove any of this of course; the neighbour who found her called Muggle authorities and her flat was in shambles by the time I'd got there. But there were traces of foxglove in the potion and that isn't something kept by the average potion brewer. On the other hand, foxglove is a common plant and could be found almost anywhere in Europe without difficulty. It's even known to Muggles."

"If it was a murder, it was a clever one."

"Very clever."

"I hate to have to ask, but have there been any odd illnesses or injuries around the islands lately?"

Andrew shook his head. He knew why Moody was asking. Some of the Dark Arts were considered illegal for what they did, others for the items they required, and still others illegal because of the danger they caused to the spell's caster or those around him, for even a skilled Dark Wizard could die in the simple practice of a Dark spell or potion. This danger formed part of the allure of Black Magic.

"Well, keep an eye out. You-Know-Who encourages innovation and Dark Arts research is risky."

"I heard about some of the new curses the Death Eaters are using." He tried not to glance out at the street. What would it be like to see Guernsey gripped by fear the way London was? On the streets of Guernsey people still took their time walking and ventured out after dark. In London and Hogsmeade, however, steps were hasty and filled with frequent glances over the shoulder and night excursions were dangerous undertakings. Andrew hoped he would never witness the transformation of St Peters Port into a city of fear and dread.

"It's what you get when too much power and money is concentrated among people who think they're better than everyone else." Moody growled. "Most of these old families have things stashed in their attics and cellars that have been illegal since before the founding of Hogwarts."

"Well, as I told you, most of the old Herm families are secretive and few have criminal records. St. Alban is the only one with a conviction for Muggle-baiting," Andrew decided it was time to prevent himself from going into a diatribe on the evils of certain families. "Its twenty years old, but his kind don't stop. They just become more crafty."

Moody made a sound of agreement. "I had noticed there isn't much record for Muggle-baiting in these parts."

"Most of Guernsey is half-blood and accustomed to Muggles. Herm is where most of the other half lives and I cannot pay visits to the island on whim. The Wizarding part of the island is Unplottable and hazardous for Apparation, so my arrival by Floo or broom is never a surprise. And the village is rather... close-mouthed to say the least. There are a few, who come and go from the island, but they don't talk much and I lack the resources to keep a closer watch. Floo access to the island is through here and most supplies come from here rather than London, and I try to monitor what does come in and out but there are limits."

"And if they get entangled with the French things become messy rather quickly," Moody finished. He rubbed his head.

"France is only a few miles away," Andrew reminded him. "Much closer than Britain."

Moody nodded. "I've read your requests for another protector."

"The understaffing is more than a nuisance." Andrew replied. Ever since Lewis died, it was rare Andrew could complain to anyone who had the ability to do anything. He was written off as having been spoilt by his powerful brother and turned over to clerks and secretaries who filed his requests away, never to see the light of day. Never mind that Andrew and Lewis had always taken great care to keep their professional relationship aboveboard and that he had never asked for anything out of the ordinary. Now he had Alastor Moody sitting across from him, an Auror who had the ear of Barty Crouch and he decided to take advantage of the opportunity. "It would be downright dangerous if the Death Eaters realized how understaffed we are and decided to take full advantage."

"You're in luck today, then. Mr. Crouch filled the vacancy before I left London." Moody produced a sealed letter, which he handed to Andrew. "Part of the reason I was sent was to inform you."

Andrew raised an eyebrow as he read the letter. "A nineteen-year-old witch barely out of Hogwarts? No training whatsoever?" The complaint was more a matter of form than anything.

"Pevensey's training is your responsibility, just as Dupree's was" Moody informed him. He leaned in close, keeping his words for the Protector's ears alone. There was no one else in the office but habits of secrecy were best kept through practice. "Crouch told me to tell this to you and only you - the girl is suitable but there are questions about her loyalty. Her mother supports the other side, you see, and her late father might have signed up before he died. Crouch doesn't want to dismiss Pevensey outright but he needs to test her loyalty."

Andrew read between the lines. If London wanted tests, they would have to pay attention to his office and its needs. He would be able to have more of his concerns addressed. Even if Pevensey was an agent of You-Know-Who, how badly could she bungle things out here? Most of his cases were citations for drunken magic where Muggles might see and the occasional broom theft. Guernsey would be the perfect place for some rudimentary training...

* * *

"We've finally been assigned another protector," Andrew told Basil at the office after Moody returned to London. The Auror had, of course, left him to deal with the small mountain of paperwork the Landry case wrought. He had yet to interview Jakes' neighbour, but that was just a formality. Barring a miracle, this was another murder that was never to be solved. There were no leads to pursue, no suspects to interview, no evidence to examine. Three people dead and there was not even a boot print to mark the murderers passing. Nothing. Even the curse on the jewellery box was standard in the hand-copied spell books that circulated amongst students no matter how many the authorities confiscated. It was not even a difficult curse to perform, requiring only cruelty and magic at the Ordinary Wizard Level.

All Andrew could do was file the case away and hope a Death Eater would be captured and confess.

Basil's eyes widened at the mention of the new protector. It was something of a local joke to say something unlikely to occur would happen 'when we get another protector'.

"Who is it?" Basil asked, curious. He was looking forward to spreading this interesting bit of gossip at the Knarl and Griffin. Someone at the pub would buy him drinks in order to hear the news.

Andrew had to think only a moment to recall the name. "Pevensey, Alice Pevensey."

Basil scowled at the name.

"What is it?" Andrew asked. He was more familiar with Muggle royalty than pureblood wizards, excepting the families of the Channel Islands. Aside from his friends, the Martins and Harpers, he tried to have as little to do with purebloods as possible. He assumed Alice Pevensey was a pureblood if her family was suspect, but they had never come onto his mental radar. There were well over a hundred pureblood families in the British Isles alone.

Basil, however, followed pureblood society news as avidly as Andrew's mother had once followed the British royal family. "Is Alice Pevensey any relation to David Pevensey?"

Andrew decided to feign complete ignorance. "Crouch didn't mention her family in the letter."

Basil sniffed disdainfully. "Well if she is of the same family, her father died of a dodgy illness - from what I've heard he messed around too much in the Dark Arts and it killed him. Mother attends social functions with that crowd."

'That crowd' was a euphemism for 'people everyone knows are Death Eaters or are as good as'.

"Keep an eye on her, indeed," Andrew muttered. He decided to send a request for the file on the Pevensey family.