Disclaimer: I didn't create Harry Potter, and I don't pretend I did. Don't sue me. Don't steal my original characters. That's it.\
A week later, one Greta Muhlenkamp was found, stone dead, in the garden.
"She seems to have been dead, oh, about twelve hours by now. But it's hard to ascertain for sure." Madam Pomfrey pulled the sheet back further off the body where it lay on a mossy knoll on the outskirts of the castle.
Albus Dumbledore looked at his watch. It was noon.
"So she was killed at midnight or so?"
"Exactly, or so I figure it. Now Albus, what do you make of this?" Pomfrey gingerly traced with her finger a vivid outline of red on the neck.
Albus looked earnestly at the mark. "She appears to have been strangled."
"With a thin cord of some type…perhaps like this?" Poppy Pomfrey proffered a piece of cotton lanyard. A speck of soil or two spoiled the otherwise immaculate whiteness of the long fiber.
"Very probably. Did you find that?"
"No," a small voice spoke. "I did when I found the body."
Albus looked thoughtfully at Hermione Granger. "Now how, Miss Granger, did you exactly find the body?"
Hermione was very nerve-wrecked. Perhaps dead things were her weakness. Or, dead people, at least. "Well Professor, I just was coming out to…to…well, I was just running over here and then suddenly, I literally tripped over her…" But here Hermione was at a loss for words, and fell into a disconsolate silence.
Dumbledore patted her shoulder. "It'll be all right, my dear. No harm done on your part, I'm certain."
"Thank you, sir. May I return to lunch, then?"
"But of course."
Hermione nodded herself out of the marked-off scene of the crime.
"Now WHO would have done such a heinous thing?" murmured Pomfrey as she surveyed the area. "And why?"
"That remains to be seen…" replied Dumbledore with a grave look on his face, and he glided away.
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"What are we going to do about this, Albus?" McGonagall exclaimed. Her eyes were ablaze with fury. "This is an outrage! If the parents ever find out, they'll withdraw their children immediately! And this is clearly a human killer, which makes it even less attractive a situation to parents! Even with the Chamber of Secrets, we had something non-human to blame it on! But this--why, it could be one of US for all they know!"
Dumbledore's head was in his hands. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…only this woman really hasn't been scorned," he muttered under his breath.
"What?" McGonagall's voice was sharp.
"Nothing, Minerva, nothing."
"This is NO TIME for your amusing little games, Albus," McGonagall reprimanded sternly. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself...making puns in the face of a crisis like this!"
"I am thoroughly." Albus did not mention the fact that puns, technically, are a form of joke based on a play of words, meaning that he had not made one.
McGonagall brushed a speck of dust from the mantelpiece. "We'll have to get this cleared up, you know," she said, a bit gentler.
"How so?"
"Well, first, we'll tell the school that--"
"--Minerva, forgive me for interrupting, but the whole school already knows. And the day's owls bearing tales of the misfortune to parents have also departed."
McGonagall paused. "True enough."
"Our only chance of defeating this is to clear the matter up, take out the guilty party, and announce that the affair is over to everyone--the parents, the faculty, and the students."
"Yes, but how are we supposed to 'clear the matter up'? If we get the Ministry on this case, then the press will know about it in no time, and the ensuing publicity will be devastating."
"We could hire a private investigator, perhaps."
McGonagall rolled her eyes. "What private investigators are there in today's day and age? They are far too scarce, and besides, what few of them exist all have a string tied around their legs by the media. At that rate, it's almost better to bring in the Ministry. So no, we cannot hire a private detective."
Albus inhaled slowly. "As always, you're quite right."
"…Um, Professors?" A quiet voice broke in. Luna Lovegood peeked her golden head around the edge of the open door.
McGonagall looked to Albus. Albus nodded. "Come in, Luna."
Timidly, Luna did so. "Professors, I hope you don't think me an eavesdropper, but as I was coming from the nurse's wing and your door was open, I overheard your conversation."
Albus waved his hand for her to continue.
"I think I can help, perhaps." She paused dramatically.
"How, my dear?" Albus asked quietly.
"Well," Luna began to dig in her bag. "There is a Muggle author I'm very fond of. Her name is Agatha Christie, and her books are pretty ravishing, if you ask me." She surfaced, holding a book. "Agatha Christie is renown in the Muggle world for her amazing detective stories. She even has been named as being 'the queen of the mystery novel.'"
"So how can that book help us?" McGonagall stared at the paperback until she could just make out the title: Murder on the Orient Express.
Luna, however, was not to be rushed. "Agatha Christie…oh, once I went to London with my father and we saw her play The Mousetrap…it was so lovely! I had already read the script for it, but I nevertheless loved it, and the fun part was asking my father over and over again during the performance whether he thought it was the lady who owned the inn or the fussy lady who wanted to leave. And he never did get it until it was all over." If Luna had been typing this, she would have added a , face right there. In reality, though, she just smiled, her eyes bright.
McGonagall gave a look to Albus that read: This isn't getting us anywhere…
Albus shrugged and gave McGonagall a look that read: Who cares!
"But back to this book," Luna finally said.
McGonagall sighed with relief.
"This book is by her, about how a man gets murdered on that Muggle contraption called a 'train'. In it, there is a Muggle detective. His name is Hercule Poirot, and he's brilliant. He figured out that the entire train had collaborated in killing the dead man, and even found the evidence to prove it."
Minerva looked to Albus again, but the latter was just smiling at Luna patiently.
"Now," Luna went on, "In potions class we learnt a particular potion that would enable a character from a book to come to life for a certain period of time."
"For how long?" Albus asked thoughtfully.
"In class we made Eddleby Miffligins come to life for five whole minutes."
McGonagall had to try hard not to laugh.
"However," Luna continued, "We only used a small amount of the necessary ingredients. I think that if we used a larger amount of hecklemoop and phosphorus mix, we might be able to have Hercule Poirot with us for two weeks before he faded back into his book."
Dumbledore looked interested.. "Is that long enough for this man to finish solving the case?"
"Yes." Luna sounded positive.
"Are you certain?" McGonagall seemed a bit skeptical.
"Well…" Luna bit her lip. "If he doesn't, we can replenish the potion before he goes back so that he stays with us longer."
"And who will brew this potion?" Albus posed.
"Me."
McGonagall raised her eyebrow. "Are you certain it would be successful under your management?"
"Yes. Definitely."
"Well," Albus stood. "It's worth a try, my dear. Do set to it as soon as possible."
"Right away, professor," Luna nodded, and ran out of the room.