Elinor Stewart and the Moonstruck Marauder

Chapter One -- Truth

*

"Do you have everything you need, dear?"

"Yes, Mrs Walker, thank you." Elinor smiled at the owner of Flourish and Blotts, then stepped out into Diagon Alley. She had to get home and start reading; she had a lot of information to wade through for her first big project as Assistant Head of the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and the Head of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. Hefting her bag over her shoulder, she headed for the Leaky Cauldron.

She smiled at the barkeep as she wove in between the patrons at the bar. As she passed the counter, Elinor's eye was caught by a photograph at the newsstand. She sniffed haughtily when she saw that it was the cover of The Quibbler; nothing that tabloid had to publish could possibly be worth reading.

But then Elinor stopped in her tracks. There was something familiar about that face. She backtracked to the newsstand and looked at the image on the cover.

It was a picture of a boy, a cute kid of about fifteen or sixteen. He had dark, unruly hair, fair skin, and a wide, awkward smile. Elinor had gone to Hogwarts with a boy who looked a lot like that, and even though he had been a few years her senior, and had been dead for fourteen-odd years, she remembered his face well.

Potter kissed the pretty redhead. Right on the lips, in front of his friends and everybody.

Her eyes flicked up to the top of the photograph; if this was who she thought it was ...

The kid turned his head a little. Now Elinor could see it under the fringe; there was a lightning-shaped scar on the boy's forehead.

But what was he doing on the cover of The Quibbler? Elinor picked up the top copy and frowned as she read the headline:

HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST:

Elinor glanced around to make sure no one she knew was watching. She paid for the paper and tucked it into an inner pocket of her robes. She didn't want anyone to see her with a copy of The Quibbler in her hands, especially with her new position at the Ministry.

Two minutes later, Elinor Apparated in her tiny flat. She pulled the pins from her long, brown hair as she kicked her boots off. She shed her outer cloak, but it slid out of her fumbling hands and slithered to the floor. It fell with a cracking flump, and Elinor bent down to retrieve it. A flash of white in the black lining caught her attention.

It was the newspaper she'd bought. Elinor pulled it out and hung her cloak on a hook, then took her copy of The Quibbler into the kitchen.

As her tea steeped, she began to read:

THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED

AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN

*

An hour later, her tea cold and her books forgotten, Elinor finished the article for the second time. It was a terrifying story, she didn't want to believe that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back. But Harry's story substantiated Professor Dumbledore's statements over the past several months.

Was the Minister for Magic -- the Minister for Magic -- lying about the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?

Or was Professor Dumbledore -- the wizard whose wit, wisdom, and courage Elinor had always tried to emulate -- off his rocker, or making a bid for Fudge's job?

Elinor pictured the last time she'd seen the Minister in person, weeks ago. He'd been leading Lucius Malfoy into his office. (Harry had named Malfoy as one of the Death Eaters there when Lord You-Know-Who returned...) Elinor's brow furrowed as she remembered Malfoy's sneer when she spoke to him yesterday, in the lift.

She chewed the inside of her cheek as she gazed down at Harry's young face. If Harry was telling the truth, then Dumbledore had been telling the truth all this time, too. Elinor had adored the professor since her first day at Hogwarts.

She was more willing to believe that The Daily Prophet and the Ministry were obscuring the truth, for whatever reasons they had, than she was willing to believe that Dumbledore was lying. She groaned. There's your answer, Elinor Stewart. You believe Harry and Professor Dumbledore. You-Know-Who is back.

So. Are you going to do anything about it?

The thought came unbidden to her mind, and Elinor's blood chilled in her veins.

She paced in her flat for over an hour, shivering, her dark blue eyes narrowed in deliberation.

Once she had decided what she had to do, and how she hoped to accomplish it, Elinor Stewart went to her bedroom and found a small box in her bureau. She counted out two Galleons and nodded; that would be more than enough. She had some Chocolate Frogs to buy tomorrow.

***