The Quibbler was probably the most outrageous publication Elijah had ever seen.
At first, he had thought he might be able to draw some inspiration from its absurdity. After all, genius and madness were sometimes separated by only the thinnest line.
But in reality, he found nothing.
He had read it several times, and aside from a few laughs, gained absolutely nothing from it.
Most of the paper's audience was probably at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and the type of reader it attracted was rather specific: wizards who had problems with the "fifth element" in their bodies due to magical mishaps.
In terms ordinary people would understand, that meant one thing.
They were mentally ill.
Since most Dark Wizards had some kind of mental problem anyway, it wasn't all that surprising to see the old man reading The Quibbler in public.
Elijah ignored those irrelevant people and focused instead on someone wrapped tightly from head to toe.
The figure was very short, so short that their feet couldn't even reach the floor while seated. They were probably only around 1.2 meters tall, but their body was broad and heavy. Their hands were gloved, and even through the gloves, their palms looked much wider than those of an ordinary adult.
Clearly, this was a goblin.
The combination of goblins and the Hog's Head Inn always reminded people of the Goblin Rebellion centuries ago. Back then, goblins had used the Hog's Head as a stronghold from which to launch a fierce uprising.
In recent decades, goblins had never stopped fighting for greater rights. From a goblin's point of view, that was understandable enough. But from the perspective of wizards, or even Muggles, no one was willing to share the right to wield lethal weapons with another race.
Not to mention that goblins were notoriously greedy.
No matter how much they gained, they always wanted more. Their desire was like a bottomless pit that could never truly be filled.
Bang.
The tall, gaunt barman of the Hog's Head heavily slammed two drinks down in front of Elijah and Tonks. He looked as disheveled as ever, with his unkempt silver hair and scraggly white beard.
"Two Sickles for the Butterbeer. Four for the Firewhisky."
Elijah casually paid him one Galleon, then subtly pointed toward the goblin wrapped in robes.
Aberforth understood immediately.
Paying for information was hardly unusual here, though most of what he could offer only scratched the surface. Few Dark Wizards were foolish enough to openly advertise their crimes or sinister plans.
Aberforth said nothing. As he collected the coin, he casually tapped the greasy tabletop.
A small pool of water rose across its surface, forming words:
A goblin. Has been here for several days. Probably waiting for someone. No one has come.
With that, Aberforth turned and walked away, his expression one of complete weariness.
It wasn't weariness directed at any person in particular.
It was the weary look of someone long tired of the entire world.
Elijah knew he had found the target.
What he could not tell was whether these goblins were preparing to repeat history and use the Hog's Head as a command center once again, or whether they had formed some kind of alliance with other wizards.
Still, he wasn't overly concerned.
Goblins had always been rebellious by nature, but at least in the original story, they had not caused any major trouble during these years. Even after Voldemort's return, he had made no real effort to win them over.
The Death Eaters had courted giants with their limited intelligence, dementors that were nearly impossible to control, bloodthirsty werewolves, and even Acromantulas, which did not even qualify as humanoid beings.
But Voldemort had always looked down on goblins.
These creatures had little to offer beyond their innate greed and their skill in crafting goblin-made artifacts. Their own magic was far inferior to that of wizards. In terms of combat ability, they simply weren't worth mentioning.
All things considered, they posed no real threat. Even if goblins stirred up trouble again, it would at most create some inconvenience for the Ministry of Magic. Overturning the established wizarding order was out of the question.
Tonks sipped her Butterbeer, clearly surprised that Elijah had already identified their target so quickly.
"How did you know that person was a goblin?" she asked in a hushed voice.
"It's obvious," Elijah replied. "Only goblins are that short. And didn't you notice his hands? Even with gloves on, the size difference is too obvious."
Tonks immediately took another careful look. Trying not to attract attention, she lifted her glass and pretended to drink while sneaking glances at the figure.
Sure enough, everything matched Elijah's description.
She couldn't help but feel impressed.
He really is a seasoned Auror…
She withdrew her gaze, set her glass down, her lips still covered in a layer of Butterbeer foam, and whispered, "So what's the plan? Wait until he's alone and knock him out? He's just a goblin—I should be able to handle him."
"You've been training under Moody for two years, and you're still this reckless?" Elijah said with a sigh. "What's the point of catching just him?"
"Goblins are tightly united. Grabbing one won't get us any useful information. It'll only put them on alert."
"Then what should we do?"
"For now, we watch him," Elijah said calmly. "See who he's waiting for. You're a Metamorph Magus. Once that person shows up, you can take their form and gather information from the inside."
"Alright… but I'd still rather be on the mission to capture Sirius Black," Tonks said, clearly disappointed.
"Don't be foolish," Elijah replied. "Your talent as a Metamorph Magus makes you perfect for intelligence work and surveillance. Charging straight at Death Eaters is just asking for trouble."
As he spoke, Elijah couldn't help recalling how Tonks and Lupin had both died during the Battle of Hogwarts in the original timeline.
It felt… unfair.
"Make proper use of your ability, Tonks. It's something many people could only dream of, not a trick for showing off."
With her power, she could infiltrate Death Eaters, ambush them, and escape unharmed if she played her cards right.
It was a shame she didn't fully understand how valuable her ability was.
After all, even Elijah himself, despite becoming the world's only Imago Magus, had only managed to bring his Transfiguration close to that level through sheer mastery.
"Fine," Tonks muttered, still a little sulky. She shot Elijah a resentful look and ordered another Butterbeer.
Speaking of Butterbeer, many assumed it was completely non-alcoholic.
That wasn't entirely true.
It did contain a small amount of alcohol, though so little that even underage wizards could drink it safely.
House-elves, however, had a different physiology. If they drank too much, they would actually become intoxicated.
Elijah found it hard to believe Tonks could drink something prepared under such questionable conditions without hesitation.
As for the Firewhisky in front of him, he had no intention of touching it at all.
"I was just about to say—" Elijah began, intending to point out the white foam clinging to her lips.
At that moment, the door of the Hog's Head slammed open with a loud bang.
Blinding sunlight poured in from outside.
Elijah and Tonks both turned toward the entrance.
A massive figure stood there, blocking the doorway.
Tonks lowered her voice, startled.
"Hey… that's…"