Regulus was lounged in the sitting area of his and Maliah's bedroom, pouring over the latest editions of The Daily Prophet. It was late enough that Carina and Caelum had retreated to their own rooms as well, though he suspected neither would be asleep. Carina was most likely writing letters to her friends, while Caelum would be trying to acclimate to his new wand.
France recognized a restriction against underage sorcery just as Britain did. In both countries the means used to detect underage magic was largely ineffective for any student who wasn't muggleborn. It was taken for granted that parents would enforce the restriction in their homes.
True to his upbringing, Regulus believed the restriction to be more of a guideline than rule and unnecessary in all situations excluding public conversation. Their children had been allowed to practice basic spells well before turning eleven. They were also allowed to carry wands in the house so long as they were responsible with the privilege. And they didn't have guests over.
The wards surrounding their property had been cranked up to near Grimmauld Place standard immediately following the departure of Carina's friends. They would be leaving in the morning for a holiday with no definite timeline or itinerary, which was typical of them during the summer break. Maliah was determined they should live as normally as possible while they still could.
The bathroom door opened, drawing Regulus' attention away from the newspaper to his wife. She was clad in a thin robe; her hair was still damp from the shower. He watched with interest as she crossed the room to a chest of drawers.
Overcome by a notion of chivalry, he made to go and help her, just in time for Kreacher to Apparate into the space between them.
"Kreacher," he greeted him resignedly, prompting a smirk from his wife who, by then, had retrieved her pajamas and was on her way back to the bathroom.
"Mistress," squawked a visibly horrified Kreacher. Evidently remembering only then the previous request she had made of him, not to Apparate directly into their bedroom unless called, Kreacher reached for a book from the table. Regulus was faster, moving it out of his reach. Kreacher turned towards a dresser, no doubt intending to smash his fingers in a drawer.
"Do not punish yourself, Kreacher," he ordered, not quite masking his impatience. "You just forgot."
"Yes, Kreacher forgot," he answered thickly, "but Kreacher should not be able to forget his orders."
Regulus tried not to dwell on the truth of his statement. He was getting to be rather old, even for a house elf, which may have contributed to his forgetfulness- but then it only ever seemed to be Maliah's requests that he had trouble remembering. The obvious root of the 'problem' was that she was not a Black. She also had an aversion of telling him what to do. She preferred to ask, or better, accomplish tasks on her own, without utilizing Kreacher in the first place.
"I do not doubt that you will remember better for next time."
"Master is too kind," he mumbled.
Regulus pursed his lips. He was many things, but only Kreacher would ever consider overly kind to be one of them.
"I presume that you are here to tell me everything is ready for our departure in the morning?"
The loyal house elf nodded, his ears flopping back and forth, "Everything is packed and ready for whenever you are, Master."
"Thank you, Kreacher."
"Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black," he answered, while arching his back into a deep bow.
Regulus inclined his head in acknowledgment. He anticipated that Kreacher would ask if there was anything that was needed just then, as was his habit. Instead, he lingered as if with uncertainty.
"Is there something you would like to get off your chest?" Regulus asked mildly.
When Kreacher raised his eyes to meet his, it was evident he was fuming. "He is back," he lamented.
Regulus supposed he must be referring to Voldemort, though asked anyway. "Who?"
"The nasty ungrateful swine who broke his mother's heart," he exclaimed.
"Ah," Regulus understood then, that he had gone to Grimmauld Place. "Did he see you?"
"No one saw Kreacher," he muttered.
Regulus was surprised Sirius would visit Grimmauld Place at all, much less, stay there. He had done everything he could to stay out of that house, from the time he started Hogwarts, up until the night he ran away. In the screaming match between him and their mother on the night he left, he had vowed that he would never step foot in that house again. Regulus never doubted that he meant it.
"It is Sirius' house to do with as he wishes," Regulus reminded him. "Do you know if he is staying there?"
He nodded. "He is, along with blood traitors and their brats. Others came for a meeting but did not stay."
Regulus frowned at that. "Do you know what sort of meeting it was?"
The house elf smiled mischievously. "Kreacher did not mean to be wicked," he assured him unconvincingly, "but when strangers began filing into the kitchen, Kreacher stowed himself inside a cupboard, where Kreacher could not help but overhear..."
Maliah emerged from the bathroom, as the house elf was recanting what he remembered from the meeting of what could only be the newly reinstated Order of the Phoenix.
By the end, Regulus had some inkling of who was present based on Kreacher's descriptions. They also learned a bit more about Harry Potter's situation. Aside from insisting that he live with his muggle relatives, Dumbledore had instigated an around the clock watch duty for him. He wondered why they didn't just relocate him to Grimmauld Place if they were worried of an attack.
Perhaps if he had gotten the impression that the muggles treated the boy well, he could understand Sirius, his rightful guardian, allowing it. If he missed his family after nearly a year of being away from them, then spending his summer with his aunt and uncle would make more sense than with his escaped-from-prison godfather. According to Kreacher, every one of the Order who knew of the Dursley family spoke of them with disdain.
Allowing the boy to stay with people who cared about him was bound to make recovering from his recent ordeal more bearable. It would also give Sirius a much needed distraction from being stuck inside Grimmauld Place. For that matter, why was Sirius confining himself there in the first place?
He could admit he was begrudgingly curious about them both. He could not not fathom why his brother was allowing his godson, who happened to have the largest target on his back from Voldemort, to be left amongst muggles who couldn't protect him.
Maliah appeared to be deep in thought herself, since Kreacher had left them alone. It was a long time before either of them spoke.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked her eventually.
"Harry," she admitted, "and why everyone seems to be okay with him staying with people who mistreat him."
"Kreacher didn't actually say that he is mistreated by his muggle relatives, only that no one in the Order seems to like them." Granted, Regulus had seen enough from some of his muggleborn students' families to know what that likely meant.
When he looked at his wife, it was evident she was genuinely disturbed by the situation. He knew what she going to say, even before the words escaped lips.
"It wouldn't hurt to check on him," she said offhandedly.
"Is there a reason you feel some personal obligation to James Potter's son?" he asked in a tone that was determinedly more curious than judgmental.
He knew the Bones family and the Potters were in much of the same social circle. As such, Maliah and James had been childhood friends, before either of them were old enough to go to school. As far as he knew, that ended around the time Maliah was sorted into Slytherin, but then, she had always been reticent when it came to James Potter.
She gave him an unreadable look. "More likely to Fleamont and Euphemia's grandson... They were some of the few family friends who did not treat me like some sort of pariah at every social gathering I attended after being sorted into Slytherin."
Regulus could remember empathize, though still was reluctant to go anywhere near Sirius' godson.
Maliah scoffed, "Alright, so by some chance say that you are right… what do you intend to do about any of it?"
"It shouldn't be a big deal. I suppose I'll just swing by the kid's uncle's place and check on him. If everything seems in order then that'll be the end of it."
Maliah looked at him for a moment to ensure he was being serious. "It will be more difficult than just swinging by. The Order has established a guard duty, as I'm sure you remember."
Regulus smirked, "You've forgotten how inept most British wizards are at blending into muggle society. As I am not plagued by such incompetence, I won't be suspicious."
"What difference does that make? If his neighborhood is warded-"
"Exactly. It is a neighborhood that the Order is staking out around Potter's uncle's house. A house inhabited by muggles can only be protected enough not to impede its muggle occupants. Besides, the Order members on guard duty are seemingly free to come and go as they please- so long as I am disguised and acting as any other muggle, I won't draw attention to myself."
"And what business would you have snooping around an unfamiliar neighborhood?"
"Could I not be in search of a new home?" he asked innocently. "There's bound to be at least one for sale."
Maliah gave him an ironic look, "You might be in need of a new home if you intend to go through with something as ill-thought out as this. What if there aren't any houses for sale? What if you are recognized? What if Voldemort breaks through the wards and comes for Harry while you are there?"
"I'll use compulsion to convince a neighbor to put their house on the market," he answered unconcernedly. "Memory charms for anyone who dares recognize me and if Voldemort comes- I'll alight his arse in Fiendfyre. It's been a dream of mine for quite some time now, didn't you know?"
"Fiendfyre. Just like that- of course," Maliah answered weakly. "It's a shame no one thought to do that fifteen years ago."
Reaching for her hand, Regulus gently pulled her onto his lap. "If you would help me hash out some of the finer details of a plan, I'm sure we can come up with a sufficient way to check on him that you are more comfortable with."
Maliah stared at their entwined hands for a moment, before meeting his eyes. While she was still skeptical, it was clear that she was also worried his theory could be right.
It was swelteringly hot in Little Whinging and there was to be no relief from the heat in Harry Potter's near future. He sat dully swinging in the neighborhood park as he had been banned from the Dursley's house until nightfall. To be fair, he likely would have spent most of the day outdoors, banned or not, as the stifling heat outside was a slight improvement over spending time indoors with his aunt and uncle complaining about his every movement.
Because of the obvious resentment of his presence, he usually stayed outdoors by choice, though today it had been of necessity. His Uncle Vernon was having some Eddings bloke, a potential client who was said to be loaded, and his wife over for dinner.
Naturally after the incident with Dobby prior to Harry's second year, the Dursley's had decided his presence was unwelcomed in the house this time around. Somewhat less expected had been when Harry entered the kitchen this morning and had a stale piece of bread shoved into his hand before being rushed outside and told not to return until well after dark. As that had been hours ago, his stomach was already growling. Since he wasn't allowed muggle money and wasn't delusional enough to think anyone in the neighborhood would offer to feed him, he tried to think of other things.
He supposed today was actually a better day than most as his Aunt Petunia hadn't asked him to do any manual labor in the yard for once. Dudley, on the other hand, had been spending the hottest parts of each day laying about the house, only to emerge as the sun began to set. And only then so that he could test out his newly acquired wrestling skills on the tweens of the neighborhood. His aunt and uncle thought he was having tea with his mates because he was oh-so-popular. It really was unbelievable how dumb they were about their son.
Harry tried not to dwell on how such a miserable day could still be one of the better ones he had of the summer so far. Adding to his discomfiture was that he hadn't expected it to be a boring summer at all.
He didn't know what should be happening exactly, only that with Voldemort's return, the quiet of the neighborhood seemed too quiet to be natural. Then again, any sudden noise seemed unusually loud to his paranoid-of-attack heightened senses. He had taken to watching or at least listening in on the muggle news that his aunt and uncle watched, yet there had been nothing to gain there either.
He was convinced something must be happening now that Voldemort was back, but how was he meant to know anything about it when he was cut off from the rest of the wizarding world? It wasn't fair that he was stuck with the Dursleys with nothing but useless letters for company. The constant reminders of, 'I know it must be frustrating not to know what's going on,' from Hermione and 'be good and keep your nose clean,' from Sirius, did little more than irritate him further with his isolation.
In his desperation for news, he had resorted to taking out a subscription at The Daily Prophet. He had been extremely disappointed after skimming the front page and not finding anything worth reading. Though why he was even surprised after his past experience with that particular newspaper, he didn't know. Even with his current level of boredom, he couldn't be bothered to read anything beyond the front page of the paper. He knew that anything as important as the return of the darkest wizard of the age was sure to be headline news.
He looked up at the sky and tried to gauge how much longer it would be before he could go home and eat. While he didn't dare to hope he would be allowed any of the leftover food from the Dursley's meal, he did hope he might be allowed something more filling than old bread for supper.
His attention was drawn to movement in his peripheral and he was instantly on his feet. He had immediately reached into the waistband of his jeans to pull his wand, and only just registered that the movement had not been death eaters before having extracted it entirely. Instead it was Mark Evans on a bicycle. The ten year old was bound to be on Dudley's list to practice his fighting skills on since his age was within what his cousin deemed appropriately fair.
Deciding it nearly time for the news to start, he began making his way towards the exit of the park. He knew the Dursley's wouldn't be watching the news with his uncle's potential client over, but with any luck one of the neighbors with an open window would have it turned up loud enough for him to hear.
Just as he began making his way down Magnolia Road, a male voice called from behind him.
"Excuse me."
Harry turned reflexively and was surprised to see the stranger was behind the wheel of a black sedan with the window rolled down. He didn't know any vehicle could be so quiet.
"Good evening," the male started again politely. "I am sorry to bother you, but I wondered if you might be able to help us. You are familiar with this neighborhood, I presume?"
Harry continued to look at him in surprise. Not just because he hadn't seen or heard the car approach until it was alarmingly near him, but also because he had been addressed at all. If not from hearing the rumors his aunt and uncle spread about him, then the worn out and baggy clothes he was forced to wear generally ensured he wasn't regarded as endearing enough for anyone to speak to him-and likely not reliable enough to ask directions.
He glanced from the man to his wife, who smiled at him kindly.
"Yes sir, I am familiar with the neighborhood. Where is it that you are trying to get to?"
The man read from a sheet of paper in his hand, "Number Four Privet Drive," before looking back at him. "Is something wrong?" he asked after catching sight of his expression at the familiar address.
"Er- no, that's actually my aunt and uncle's address. I can give you directions if you'd like?"
"Don't be silly," the lady answered. Her voice was lower than he expected and slightly raspy in a way that was oddly appealing to his ears. "If he is your uncle then you should come with us. We are going there for dinner," she said as she held up a cake box as if to reiterate the point.
"Er- no, I couldn't do that."
The man chuckled, "Where are our manners, Libby? We haven't even introduced ourselves yet. I am Benjamin Eddings," he said as he held out his hand through the window. Harry shook it, before Mr. Eddings, indicated his wife, "and this my wife, Libby."
"Pleasure to meet you," she smiled.
Their accents were not quite like what he was used to, yet not necessarily different enough not to be of a British variety. Even without having already heard from his uncle how wealthy these potential clients of his were, it would have been plain from their vehicle, clothing and mannerisms in general that they were the well-off sort. He thought that might somehow explain their absence of any distinguishable accent. One thing he knew was that his aunt and uncle would want to make a good impression with them- and meeting him would certainly not be a part of how they planned to do that.
"Do you have a name?" the man asked pleasantly.
Harry felt his cheeks redden. He had rarely been given the chance to introduce himself in the wizarding world since people generally recognized him before he could even tell them. No one in the muggle world ever much cared for an introduction.
"Yes, I'm Harry Potter."
The man was either a really good actor, or his name meant nothing to him, as there was no sign of recognition upon hearing it.
"Well, Harry Potter, could you direct us to your uncle's house?" Harry started to point them in the correct direction, and the man spoke again. "I could give you a ride - it seemed you were headed that way."
Harry had in fact been walking in the direction of his uncle's house. He looked the man over again carefully to ensure he wasn't anyone he recognized from the wizarding world. He looked to be nearly sixty if he was to guess, though his wife looked at least a decade younger.
Realizing the absurdity of a death eater knowing how to drive a car, and thinking of his uncle's indignation as he showed up with them, Harry assented and hopped in the back seat. If they were death eaters, he mused, at least it would put an end to his boring summer.
He completely missed the look that was exchanged by the front passengers of the vehicle at his trustfulness, and had no way to know of the panic he had just caused an invisible Order member standing guard.
