Author's Notes: Again, many thanks to LuthAn for the beta.

The Magical War Detective I: The New Protector

Chapter Three: First Impressions

Part III

Despite the inconvenience of travelling to London, Andrew could see the wisdom of meeting outside Guernsey. People knew him by sight in the Channel Islands. In Britain, he was just another face in the crowd.

The Ministry agent was a tall, black-haired man whose bland features would easily melt away into any gathering. Andrew doubted this was his actual appearance as his slightly awkward strides hinted that he was unaccustomed to his height. Polyjuice Potion. Andrew kept his wand just up his sleeve.

The wizard took the empty seat next to Andrew. "I'm told you support the Cannons."

Andrew well remembered how to play this game. "I've heard you're an Arrows fan."

"This will keep anyone from listening in on our conversation." The agent held up a small pink lighter. "It also lights cigarettes. Do you smoke?"

Andrew shook his head.

The Ministry wizard appeared disappointed that he would not be able to use the lighter. "Do you have any leads on the Landry murder?"

At least the agent was willing to get to the point quickly. "A Muggle saw a witch in the neighbourhood before the murder."

"I'm sure that narrows the suspect list a little."

Andrew smiled bitterly. "Thousands of wizards in Britain, half female. And none of them would inspire trust in Mr. Phelps."

The agent shrugged. "Trustworthy and suspicious are relative."

Andrew raised an eyebrow. "Very profound. Do you study philosophy?"

"Yes," the wizard said simply.

"Odd interest, especially in times like these."

"I don't admire warriors," the agent said. "It's a sad day when such professions are called for. It means we have failed."

"I see," Andrew said. And he did. There was not a wizard in the Ministry who recalled the days before Voldemort who did not regret having done something to stop him before the trickle of deaths and disappearances became a raging river. "Any other advice?"

"Be careful whom you trust. These days that advice cannot be repeated too often."

"Indeed," Andrew said. This meeting was proving more interesting than the dull report he had expected. He wondered at the identity of the Ministry agent; his interest in philosophy hinted at a Muggle background while his disappointment at not being able to use the lighter spoke of magical blood. "And how would you evaluate Miss Pevensey?"

The agent gave him a bemused look. Physically the other man looked to be in his late thirties, but his attitude told Andrew he was dealing with a younger man. "I thought that was what I was supposed to ask you."

"She hasn't been trouble so far," Andrew said honestly; he was surprised to feel protective of Pevensey. "But then again, she hasn't been given any opportunity."

"When will that be changing?"

"I plan to take her to view the Landry family before they are released for burial. Louis Landry was only a few years younger than she is."

"Will you warn her beforehand?"

Andrew shook his head from side to side. "My instincts tell me Pevensey is trustworthy, but my mind won't rest until I've tested her. Her response to Muggles is more one of curiosity than of hate or suspicion, but I need to see her raw response to their deaths."

The St Peter Port morgue was not a place Andrew Ketterly cared to frequent. His visits here were a duty he tried to execute as quickly as possible.

"This place smells odd." Alice sniffed the air disdainfully. Andrew supposed this was her first exposure to chemical disinfectants. "Where are we?"

"The smell is from the Muggle cleaning potions and we're in the morgue," he said as he led her into the room. The last time he had been here was when Olivia Baker had passed.

He flicked on the lights.

"How did you do that?" Alice asked, her eyes as wide as a child presented with some marvellous new toy.

"There's a switch right here." Andrew demonstrated how to work the lights but nothing would do but Alice trying out the Muggle lighting herself. Perhaps out of guilt for what he was about to do, he allowed her to continue for a minute.

While Alice flicked the lights on and off, Andrew moved to the refrigerated section where the bodies were kept. He read the labels on the outsides of the drawers that at the moment resembled nothing more than a wall of oversized filing cabinets. Then he found the ones he needed. When Alice moved to join him, he pulled one out. He uncovered the body and waited for Alice's reaction.

She went a half step forward, trying to determine if what she was seeing was indeed what she thought it was. Then she went pale and her hand flew to her mouth.

"He's dead," she whispered. From her face Andrew knew this was the first dead person she had ever seen. The thought reassured him.

"They all are." Andrew indicated the other drawers. "You and I are the only living souls in this room."

There were over a dozen drawers and inside was a person, a dead person. Alice had to brace herself not to faint, and she noticed a peculiar humming coming from behind the drawers.

"William Landry, age 41," Andrew began in a mechanical tone. For some odd reason sounds seemed to echo. Andrew's voice, the strange humming noise she couldn't quite place... She had initially dismissed it, but now it seemed as annoying as a fly buzzing her ear. "A solicitor. Husband to Colette Landry, father to Louis and Charlotte. His daughter is a second year at Hogwarts. Cause of death is the Killing Curse."

The memory of the red-eyed little girl she had glimpsed at the Ministry floated in front of her. She heard Andrew close the drawer with a thud that almost made her jump. It was such a final sound.

He opened another drawer. "Colette Landry, 38, housewife. Married for eighteen years to William Landry, mother of Louis and Charlotte. Also killed by the Killing Curse."

He closed the second drawer. Alice tried to remember how many Muggles had died in the attack, but the humming distracted her and made it hard to think. She thought there were three victims; if so there was one more body to view.

Andrew did not look at the face of the final victim. "Louis Landry, 15, student. Son of William and Colette Landry. Brother to Muggle-born witch Charlotte Landry. Murdered using the Killing Curse."

Alice could not help but stare at the dead boy. He was only four years younger than she was. The humming seemed almost deafening.

"What do you notice about the bodies?" Andrew might have been Professor Slughorn quizzing her on the reasons for the success or failure of a potion.

"They don't move," Alice found herself saying. It was a barmy thing to say about the dead.

"The dead are usually still unless a Dark wizard chooses to animate the corpse," Andrew said with black humour. Alice had read of Inferi and shuddered. The motionless dead were unnerving enough.

"They look so pale and wax-like," Alice whispered. "They almost might have been asleep except for their stillness."

Apparently she had stumbled upon whatever observation Ketterly wanted from her. "The Killing Curse leaves no visible mark, but it can be distinguished from other causes of death in two ways: first, there will be no physical reason for the death. Second, the victim doesn't decompose at the normal rate."

Alice nodded. She remembered that much from school; the lessons on the Unforgivable Curses remained etched in her mind.

"The slowing of physical decay is built into the curse," her instructor wheezed. He was her sixth teacher in as many years. For some odd reason, no Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher ever lasted more than a year. "It permits the castor to make use of the body in various Dark rituals for a longer period of time."

Alice paused in the middle of her notes; she had never considered herself especially squeamish but she hoped Professor Hargrove would not elaborate on the 'various Dark rituals'. Still, the subject exerted in her a kind of horrified fascination. A covert glance at her classmates proved that they too were hanging on Hargrove's every word.

"In fact, initiation into many Dark Arts cults culminates with the commission of a murder with the Killing Curse. Not only is it a demonstration of one's power and ruthlessness, but it is a point from which there can be no return. The Unforgivable Curses are not so-called because they control, torture, or kill – there are a multitude of other spells and potions that accomplish the same thing. Nor are they Unforgivable because they require hatred, enjoyment of another's agony. No, they are thus named because of what they do to the castor." Hargrove paused for dramatic effect. He knew he had the full attention of his students for this lesson and relished it. "The Cruciatus Curse and Imperius Curse twist and stain the soul. The Killing Curse is the worst of the lot not so much because of its outcome but because it actually splits the castor's soul for a single moment."

"Why would someone use such a spell?" her classmate Marian asked. Only that morning word had come of the death of a classmate's grandfather, a retired Ministry worker, due to the Killing Curse. It was the weapon of choice of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers.

Hargave regarded her carefully over his bifocals and said simply: "Because they can."

As she stared at the quiet features of a boy who would never become a man, Alice rememberedhow inadequate an explanation Hargrove offered And time had brought her only more questions.

I'll never understand why people murder, Alice realized as she trailed after Andrew, relieved to at last leave that lifeless, noisy room. And I'm glad I won't.