Chapter 6: Everyone's favorite Ministry official shows up to start doling out rules, and the Trio make an unsettling discovery about Professor Spektor.


VI.
Puzzling
[Hogwarts | October 1995]


Dappled in moonlight, the courtyard lay still and quiet, save for a rustling in the bushes. Ronald Weasley stops dead in his tracks with a sharp intake of breath, glancing around nervously, rubbing the back of his neck out of nervous habit. He catches a glimpse of a pale wrist and cringes, a bit too overtly, but then again there's nobody around to see him. Except this person. If they're still…he gulps…alive… He cautiously edges away from the bushes, thinking to himself that of course when he finds a dead body he's alone. Just great. As he walks away there's a rustling behind him and he freezes once more, his air getting all caught up in his lungs, his dinner getting stirred up in his gut and threatening to expel itself all over the courtyard. Slowly, very slowly, he turns around.

"Bloody hell!" He gasps, clapping his hand to his mouth. Professor Spektor's standing in the bushes, her left arm at an unnatural angle, her right brushing bits of shrubbery out of her dark, messy hair.

"Am I? Bleeding, that is?" She asks casually, running her hand over her face and drawing it away with a slight smear of blood, nothing too serious.

"Are you…alright?" Ron glances around nervously. "Do you need…should I call Madame Pomfrey?"

"Madame Pomfrey doesn't know shit about healing." Professor Spektor says bitterly, and then, realizing her company, "Excuse me. No. Sorry. Thank you. What am I supposed to say?" She blinks a few times, squints at Ron, and smiles pleasantly. "Ron Weasley. You're friends with Potter."

"Yeah. That's right. Potter's friend. My claim to fame." Ron says bitterly, then, remembering his company, says "He's my best mate, yeah. Can I ask what…uh…happened? You look like you fell from…"

"The roof? That's silly, if I fell from the roof I'd be dead." Professor Spektor smiles oddly. She draws her wand and runs it the length of her arm, uttering no incantation at all. Ron watches her in a puzzled daze, contemplating how to excuse himself, to get away. He's got a game of Wizards' chess he's currently standing Dean Thomas up for. "You good at puzzles, Weasley?"

"Um, not particularly, I don't think…" Ron thinks on it. "Hermione's probably better…Hermione's better at everything, really…"

"I didn't ask you about Hermione." Professor Spektor says, making an unpleasant face when she says the name. "I asked you about yourself. Here, what do you make of this?" She tosses Ron the small black lacquer box she received in the post a few days ago. He turns it over in his hands, running his fingers along the edges.

"I could take a crack at it, I guess." He says smugly, shrugging his shoulders. "I've never seen one like this before...Are you sure it opens? Are you sure it's a puzzle? What's inside?"

"That's the fun of it, isn't it? I've got no idea. I've been struggling with it for days. Can't make heads or tails of the thing."

"Yeah, alright. I'll see what I can do." Ron says, his eyes lighting up. He's never been asked by a professor to solve a problem for them before. That kind of stuff always goes straight to Harry and Hermione.

"Just don't lose it, alright? It was a present." She says. "And probably best not to bring your mates in on this. I trust you can handle it yourself."

"Right. Of course." Ron says, smiling, fully engaged with the box in his hands.


When Ron returns to the Gryffindor common room, Harry and Hermione are waiting for him. Hermione's standing in the center of the plush furnished room, her hands on her hips, foot tapping in annoyance.

"Where have you been?" She scoffs. Ron shuffles past her, staring at something in his hands. "Dean stormed out of here fifteen minutes ago to go find you. What's that? What've you got?"

"Ron what is that?" Harry circles around Ron to get a better look at what he's trying to conceal behind him. Ron plops down on a sofa and shoves the thing behind him.

"What's what?" Ron asks, showing his hands empty.

"Come on, we both saw it!" Harry lunges at Ron and tickles him in the ribs.

"Stop! Harry! No!" Ron says through fits of laughter. "If you continue I will not be responsible for punching you in your stupid face!" While Ron's doubling over in his giggle fit, Hermione snatches the box from behind him on the sofa.

"What's this then?" Hermione says, turning the small black box over in her hand. "Ron, where'd you get this?"

"I'm not supposed to tell anyone about it." He giggles.

"What do you mean you're not supposed to tell anyone about it? Who gave that to you?" Hermione demands.

"Professor Spektor." Ron laughs. Hermione fumes.

"She gave you a present?" Harry asks incredulously. "What for?"

"She didn't give it to me, she asked me to solve it." He says, breathing heavily, but speaking semi-normally now. "It's some sort of puzzle."

"Why you?" Hermione asks, and then, realizing the harshness of the question, tries to backpedal, "I mean, oh come on, you know what I mean… Why not ask one of the other professors? Or Dumbledore?"

"I dunno." Ron says, shrugging. "I don't know about her…she doesn't seem to be all there, know what I mean? A few cards short of a full deck."

"Well she was locked up in Azkaban for, what did Sirius say, fifty years? If that doesn't drive you mad, I don't know what would." Harry says. "Wait, why did she get sent to Azkaban?"

"No idea." Ron shrugs. "I'd never even heard of her before. I mean, I guess whatever she did was before all of our time, but I dunno, you'd think…usually people talk…"

"Whatever she got sent to Azkaban for must be in the history books. I'm going to…"

"The library?" Ron and Harry ask in unison. Hermione glares at them.

"I don't know why we didn't think to check before. If she's going to be teaching us, and Ron's going to be her new best friend, I think we need to know more about what we're dealing with." Hermione says, and gathers her things. "I'd stop playing with that if I were you. At least until I come back." She orders. Ron puts the puzzle down on the table obediently. Harry stifles a laugh, and Ron elbows him hard in the ribs.


The Ministry of Magic was bound to step in, and sure enough a certain ministry official decides it is a good idea to send a representative to Hogwarts to make sure everything is up to snuff. The representative is one Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, and she makes her presence well known from the moment she sets foot in the castle.

"Ahem." A squat, toad-like witch dressed in pink tweed is standing at the door of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Most of the students, including Harry, Ron, and Hermione, turn around to stare at the intruder. Actually, one of the only students not to turn around is Draco Malfoy, who is giving Professor Spektor his complete and undivided attention. Professor Spektor ignores her and continues describing the difference between a magical laceration and one caused by a common sharp object like a knife or sword. "Ahem." The witch repeats, her irritation glazed in a saccharine coating.

"Do you want something?" Professor Spektor asks, facing the chalkboard, sounding bored.

"Yes." The witch says, now striding into the room, her head swiveling as she surveys the students. "I want to introduce myself. I'm..."

"Dolores Umbridge. Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic." Spektor cuts her off, still with her back to the woman. Umbridge stares at her, quite taken aback.

"Yes. And I've been sent by the Ministry to evaluate the quality of education the students at Hogwarts are receiving." She says with a frown. "I've been told you've been teaching some rather disturbing material, so I've taken it upon myself to provide you with some more suitable coursework for these young witches and wizards." Umbridge conjures a stack of textbooks on Professor Spektor's desk. Finally, Professor Spektor turns around.

"And what exactly do you find disturbing about healing?"

"I don't think these students will ever have any cause to use these…measures of healing and defense you're instructing them with. What use is information that not only won't be useful, but also scars these poor innocent children, instilling them with fear and worry?" She puts her hand on Pavarti Patil's shoulder.

"You know what scars poor innocent children?" Professor Spektor quips. Harry squirms in his seat, his own scar twinging. "People like you."

"Excuse me?" Umbridge says, placing her hand on her heart in mild offense. "Whatever do you mean by that, Miss…" The air has gone from the classroom, and all the students sit still in their seats, holding their breath.

"Oh please, you know who I am." Professor Spektor rolls her eyes. Umbridge tips her head as she peers at the wiry woman in thick black robes standing before the blackboard, a piece of chalk delicately pinched between her long bone-white fingers. Then she notices the eyes. Those eyes she saw peering at her from a cell in Azkaban during her tour when she was first brought on as Fudge's Undersecretary. Those black lightless inhuman eyes. Dolores Umbridge shudders.

"My my. It seems they'll let anyone teach here. Things are much worse than I thought." She smiles wickedly. "Please adhere to the curriculum the Ministry has set forth. I'll be visiting periodically to check in on your progress."

"Lovely." Professor Spektor says coldly. "Thank Merlin for the Ministry, who never fail to tell us exactly what to do."

"Indeed." Umbridge flashes a vicious smile before bustling out the door.

"Now where were we. Oh yes, see the way the blood flows in this case here, you can tell this wound was caused by a wand. Note the edges of the skin at the point of separation..." Professor Spektor drones on as if Umbridge had never barged in in the first place.


"Harry, Ron, you've got to read this!" Hermione gasps, completely out of breath having just stumbled into the Gryffindor common room cradling a huge volume in her arms. She drops the book with a thump on the coffee table in front of the fireplace. The two boys gather around and watch as she flips through the pages until she lands on the passage, jabbing it with her pointer finger. "I knew it had to be bad, whatever she did. And it is. It's bad."

Spektor, Victoria: the subject of one of the most notable murder trials of the last century, Victoria Spektor, at only seventeen years of age, brutally murdered her father Septimus and her sister Lucinda in their home in London on December 27, 1943. After eluding the authorities for nearly a year, she was tracked down and arrested in Knockturn Alley, and found in possession of several illegal substances which authorities discovered were used to poison an entire muggle village under the direction of Gellert Grindelwald. It is believed that Victoria Spektor was the first member of the Knights of Walpurgus, a group which later became known as the Death Eaters. For these crimes, Victoria "V." Spektor was sentenced to life in Azkaban Prison.

A small replica of Professor Spektor's likeness, from fifty years in the past, glares at them from beside the blurb. She's pretty, Ron thinks—hauntingly pretty—and absolutely furious about something, like she could kill the photographer snapping the picture. It reminds him of the look she shot Umbridge earlier that day.

"That was her?" Ron says, a bit stunned, "I remember Dad saying something once about how we think You-Know-Who's bad, but before him Grindelwald and his followers were also bloody terrifying. More muggles died during Grindelwald's time than during You-Know-Who's."

"Well if it wasn't for Harry that might not be the case." Hermione says, casting Harry a faint smile. "But that's beside the point." Hermione sighs. "What are we going to do?"

"Dumbledore must trust her. Otherwise he never would've hired her." Harry says.

"And Dumbledore also trusts Snape." Hermione says.

"Good point." Ron injects.

"Remember when we thought Sirius was a mass murderer but it turns out it was Pettigrew's fault?" Harry says. "Maybe it's something like that. Maybe she was framed." Harry glances over the blurb again, mulling something over in his mind. "It says here 1943… You know who also went to Hogwarts in 1943?" Harry looks from Ron to Hermione, and watches as the realization dawns on both of them.

"You think…you think Riddle made her kill her family? And those muggles? Like with Ginny and the diary?" Ron coughs, the memory still an unpleasant one for him.

"It's a possibility. And that could explain why Dumbledore brought her here." Harry says. "I know she seems creepy…"

"Seems?" Hermione arches an eyebrow. "She's almost as creepy as You-Know-Who is." She makes an ugly face.

"It says here she was one of the first Death Eaters. Maybe they were friends?" Ron says.

"I wouldn't be surprised." Hermione spits.

"Whatever the case, Dumbledore must have a good reason for bringing her here. He wouldn't have done so if she wasn't on our side." Harry says, his faith in Dumbledore strong as ever.

"I think we should be careful." Hermione says skeptically. She wants to put her trust in Dumbledore but something doesn't feel right. Hermione Granger doesn't sense an innocent bone in that woman's body. But there's nothing to be done, not now in any case. They'll just have to wait and see.