Author's Note: Many thanks go to LuthAn for her amazing beta.

The Magical War Detective I: The New Protector
Chapter One: Green is the Colour of Death

Part II

Mem'ries, may be beautiful and yet
What's too painful to remember
We simply choose to forget
So it's the laughter

Bartemius Crouch had a map of the British Isles in his office. It was beautifully drawn, but littered with little jewels indicating the locations of Death Eater attacks. A handful of rubies labelled attacks where no one had died; most of the locations were marked by emeralds, jewels the same hue as the Killing Curse, the colour he now associated with death. The map invariably attracted the attention of visitors, which was the point: drive home the threat of You-Know-Who and his followers.

Alastor Moody studied the map while his boss read the latest reports. Jewels obscured London and Hogsmeade, even after Crouch enlarged the map and began to employ smaller markers.

"Almost everyone has been affected," Crouch said heavily.

A conspicuous vacancy of jewels in the lower right corner of the map drew Moody's attention. "Channel Islands are unmarked, excepting that incident on Alderney last year."

Crouch nodded at the single emerald blotting Alderney. "Gwendolyn Galloway. I believe she was a Junior Minister in Magical Catastrophes."

"Holidaying with her husband," Moody shook his head, as he pressed his thumb against the emerald and a brief description of the attack unrolled in front of him. The Galloways were once his neighbours and he had been a frequent attendee of their dinner parties...

Crouch shuffled through a stack of parchment nearly as tall as himself. "One attack and the office on Guernsey have never stopped petitioning for extra personnel," Crouch grumbled. "I personally think we developed language because of our deep inner need to complain."

Moody scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Isn't Guernsey just Andrew Ketterly and that ancient secretary of his?"

Crouch blinked in surprise. He was not as familiar with the situation in the Channel Islands as he ought to be, but as Department head he had to focus on the areas under a direct threat. Still, even for a quiet office, Guernsey was woefully understaffed. "Two people?" Crouch repeated. "And one a secretary?"

"Ever since Claire Dupree retired," Moody confirmed.

That explained Ketterly's pleas. Ketterly's late brother Louis had been set to take over the Crouch's Department a few years previously and Crouch had always dismissed the brother as a man accustomed to special attention. "We don't have any trained people to send him."

"Then send him someone to train up," Moody suggested. "Ketterly used to train Hit Wizards back during the forties. He transferred to Guernsey after Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald. I don't think the transfer impaired his skills too much; he trained Dupree, after all."

Crouch knew a great deal about Lewis Ketterly but his knowledge of Andrew was limited. He decided to review Andrew Ketterly's file, though he expected it to contain even less insight than Moody had provided. His predecessors had not been interested in the keeping of detailed records.

Moody's idea was an attractive one. Crouch could envision sending someone for Ketterly to train, then transferring the trainee back to London after a year or two. Field experience was field experience, no matter where from. And even if the Dark Lord were defeated tonight, Crouch was all too aware that the wounds of civil wars had a tendency to linger and fester. "Do we have anyone suitable to send?"

A consultation with the applications ensued. The Aurors and Hit Wizards had just begun a new training program and had reduced their stack of applications to the questionable and the unqualified.

Moody was considering the rejected applications. "There is this one," Moody said, scrutinizing a slender file before passing it over to Crouch. "Nineteen, no criminal record, good references. NEWTS... 'O' in Defence Against the Dark Arts, 'E' in Charms and Herbology, but only an 'A' for Potion and Transfiguration."

Crouch scanned the file. Officially, the Aurors and Hit Wizards took only candidates who earned 'Exceeds Expectations' or better on at least five NEWTS. Unofficially, it was a requirement often bent in these darkening days. "Alice Pevensey." The surname was familiar but it took Crouch a moment to place the family. "Her mother is a known sympathizer who associates with the Malfoys and contributes to the Wizarding Genealogical Society. There were rumours about her father and Greyback."

"Doesn't mean she feels like they do," Moody insisted. Crouch wondered what Moody knew about Pevensey, but as he offered no evidence, Crouch suspected the veteran Auror was relying on some combination of instinct, rumour, and intelligence from Dumbledore. While Crouch preferred solid facts with verifiable sources, he had learned to trust Moody's instincts, which were usually good. Moody did not provide his endorsement lightly and Crouch decided to give Pevensey a chance.

"You want to send her to Guernsey as a test, and if she shakes out we can use her here?" Crouch fully approved of Moody's reasoning. If Pevensey proved to be a Death Eater or even a sympathizer, the damage she could do on Guernsey would be limited. They might even be able to use her to provide false information or in tracking the Death Eaters. If she proved loyal, they would gain another desperately needed Auror or Hit Wizard in a year or so. "Good thinking."

"Thank you, sir." Compliments from Crouch were rare but always sincere when offered to a subordinate. Flattery was strictly reserved for those in more senior positions.

"I'll owl Ketterly." Crouch said. He could already see an additional benefit: it would get Ketterly off his back. He banished the letters from Guernsey to the waste-paper basket.

Someone knocked on Crouch's door. Both men stiffened and Crouch saw Moody reflexively reach for his wand. The hour was either very late or very early depending on perspective, but either way, there could be only one reason for the interruption.

"Enter!"

A haggard Frank Longbottom appeared in the doorway holding a letter. "Attack on Jersey. Three Muggles dead: William Landry, his wife Colette, and their fifteen-year-old son Louis. They have a daughter, Charlotte, in her second year at Hogwarts."

The family of another Muggle-born child slaughtered. Crouch's gaze moved across the map from London to Jersey where a new emerald was emerging. Jersey was no longer untainted. "Witnesses?"

Longbottom shook his head. There were never witnesses. "None yet. Fortunately, a Ministry employee - Morris Jakes - lives nearby and his neighbour Mr. Bradley saw the Dark Mark. Jakes was able to remove the Dark Mark before any Muggles saw it."

"Longbottom, send an owl to Dumbledore straightaway." Crouch ordered, "We don't want Miss Landry finding out her family is dead from the Daily Prophet. I also want you to take a discrete look into Jakes and Bradley. Moody, go to Jersey and see if Ketterly remembers how to conduct a proper investigation. Tell him we'll send Pevensey to Guernsey straightaway. Make certain he understands the situation."

The two Aurors left to carry out their assignments and Crouch stared in disgust at the new jewel. It was difficult to believe that he had once thought that emeralds were beautiful.

We will remember
Whenever we remember...

Every light in the headmaster's office was ablaze, but Albus Dumbledore felt as though a misty black veil shrouded his vision. He put the latest letter from the Ministry into his desk drawer, even the sight of the note made him ill. Another student would be spending Christmas at school, staring morosely into her pudding, unable to focus on anything but the contrast between the happier times of memory and the abyss of loss.

"Another death?" Phineas Nigellus asked sharply from his portrait.

"Charlotte Landry's family."

Phineas nodded, then pretended to return to sleep, as the family was unknown to him. Albus had known the original Phineas and noted in him a man who believed he would witness the destruction of his line, and saw this worry arise with every letter from the Ministry.

Albus glanced past the portrait at the hourglass. It was only half past four in the morning. Charlotte Landry could sleep a little longer before he had to deliver the news that would destroy her childhood.

The way we were...
The way we were...

Sometime later in the morning, an employee at The Jersey Evening Post prepared a story concerning the tragic deaths of the Landry family from carbon monoxide poisoning along with a plea for people to take precautions.

Author's Note: The song is "Way We Were" by Barbra Steisand

"I personally think we developed language because of our deep inner need to complain." - Jane Wagner.