Regulus was lounged in the sitting area of his and Maliah's bedroom, reviewing the latest editions of The Daily Prophet. The house was quiet aside from the occasional burst of excitement from down the hall, where he knew Carina was helping Caelum with some first-year spells.

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. His children were allowed to carry wands and use magic in their house so long as they were responsible with the privilege.

The wards surrounding their property had been enhanced to near-Grimmauld Place standard following the departure of Carina's friends. As the teenagers had required minimal supervision, their gathering had given Regulus the opportunity to quietly fill Maliah in on the visit and conversation he had with Dumbledore earlier.

They could only speculate about what else the headmaster might have learned while he was at Beauxbatons. Regulus was never forthcoming about his personal life, but after seven years, it was inevitable that his colleagues knew some things about him and his family.

While the possibility of Dumbledore finding out about his family intensified Regulus' urge to move them farther away, Maliah was determined that, for the sake of Carina and Caelum, they should live as normally as possible for as long as they could. To her that meant postponing the inevitable moment of telling their children about Voldemort's return. Why worry them before we have to?

Regulus was more than a little conflicted about withholding the information. Ever since their kids were young, they had tried to be as honest and transparent with them as they could reasonably be. For instance, they knew he came from a family of blood purists and that he joined the death eaters at sixteen. More importantly, they knew it was wrong, that he came to regret the decision and that he left - and that there would always an increased risk of danger for them if the wrong person discovered who they were.

The possibility that Voldemort could somehow manage to return had been met with skepticism at first, but in time the children internalized their parents' fear as their own.

After laying the groundwork to ensure Carina and Caelum were prepared for this scenario (as prepared as any fifteen and eleven-year-old could be), it seemed ridiculous that they had not already told them what had transpired. At the same time, knowing how it would effect them once they knew, hadn't made him keen to push the issue before it was necessary.

The bathroom door opened, drawing Regulus' attention 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 to help her in some way, Regulus started to stand - only to drop back into his seat when Kreacher Apparated into the space between them.

"Kreacher," Regulus greeted him resignedly.

From the corner of his eye he saw Maliah, who had by then retrieved her pajamas, was retreating to the bathroom.

The house elf noticed her as well, and his eyes widened. It was evident that he had only then remembered a previous request she had made, for him not to Apparate directly into their bedroom at night. Regulus anticipated his next move and grabbed the heavy book from the table and moved it out of the elf's reach.

"There is no need to punish yourself, Kreacher," he said as the house elf immediately turned towards the dresser, no doubt to smash his fingers in a drawer. "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. Kreacher was getting to be rather old, even by house elf standards. His age might very well contribute 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 by blood. She also had an aversion to telling him what to do. She preferred to ask, or better, accomplish tasks on her own, without utilizing Kreacher in the first place.

"Be that as it may, no harm was done. You are not to punish yourself."

"Master is too kind," Kreacher croaked.

Regulus could have laughed at that. Only Kreacher would consider him to be particularly kind. "So, tell me... to what do I owe this visit?"

Kreacher took a shuddering breath. "As Master may be aware, Miss Carina instructed Kreacher to stay at Grimmauld Place while her friends were visiting."

That was news to him. He would not have allowed Kreacher to go to Grimmauld Place if he had known- not when there was a possibility of Sirius being there. Anxious to hear what happened, Regulus nodded for him to continue.

"What Kreacher saw while he was there might upset Master," he said bracingly.

"Was it Sirius?"

Kreacher's eyes widened. "Master knows that his brother has returned to mistress' house?"

"I met him there a few days ago," he admitted. "I should have warned you that he might be there."

"Does Master mean to say that - that he knows the truth?"

"Only that I'm alive and that I've been living abroad since leaving the death eaters."

Kreacher was watching him with widened eyes. His lips were pressed together tightly, perhaps to keep any questions he wanted answered from escaping. Regulus was more interested in hearing about Kreacher's latest visit to Grimmauld Place than divulging details of his own.

"Did Sirius see you?"

"Kreacher took care that he, nor anyone else, saw him as he knew Master would have wanted," he said with a bow.

"Who else was there?" Regulus asked warily.

"Kreacher saw many witches and wizards. The likes of which would have never been allowed inside his Mistress' house if she were still here."

The house elf had seemingly forgotten that Regulus' own house had been occupied by witches and wizards of dubious blood status in the form of Carina's friends only hours before.

"Tell me what happened," he requested.

"Kreacher went to see his Mistress' portrait when he arrived as he always does. Kreacher immediately knew something was wrong, for she was more agitated than usual. She warned Kreacher that her ungrateful son, who was rightfully disowned, had found his way into her home and pervaded it with blood traitors and mudbloods."

It had been awhile since Regulus heard Kreacher use the terms "blood traitor" or "mudblood". The house elf had mellowed considerably since coming to live with his family, though it was not unusual for a visit with his mother's portrait to leave him acting a bit more like his old self.

"Mistress sent Kreacher to his cupboard to hide until he was called home again."

For what must have been the first time ever, Regulus was glad that Kreacher still took orders from his dead mother.

"Kreacher did as he was told and went to his cupboard to wait and wait... it was not long before Kreacher's eyes grew heavy. Kreacher must have fallen asleep, for the next thing he remembers, is jolting awake and finding the kitchen was full of people. Kreacher recognized the old headmaster from Hogwarts. He was the leader of the meeting."

Maliah quietly emerged from the bathroom and sat down in the chair opposite of Regulus'.

"Kreacher has just been to Grimmauld Place," he informed her. "It sounds like the reinstated Order of the Phoenix may be using it for meetings."

Kreacher swayed on his feet at that pronouncement.

"Did you recognize anyone besides Dumbledore?" Maliah asked him.

Unsurprisingly, Kreacher did not recognize the others. He had been observant though. He was able to describe some of the attendees in enough detail that they could deduce who many of them were. No one in Maliah's family met any of Kreacher's crude descriptions - which Regulus knew was what she had really been asking.

As Kreacher had a knack for lurking in dark spaces and eavesdropping, Regulus was a little underwhelmed by the information he had attained in this case, at least when it came to Voldemort. The vigilante group seemed more interested in discussing Harry Potter and his current living situation, than what the darkest wizard of the century might be up to. Of course, he could not rule out the possibility that Kreacher might have slept through the more interesting parts of the meeting, only to awaken towards the end.

When it was evident that he had shared all of the information that he could recall, Regulus excused him for the evening.

"Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black," the house elf intoned, while arching his back into a deep bow.

Regulus inclined his head in acknowledgment, and watched as the house elf bowed out of the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

All things considered, things had worked out better than he could have hoped for. Kreacher had managed to go unseen. They learned that Grimmauld Place was being utilized in some capacity by the Order and had a rough idea of who was in it. And for what it was worth, they learned that Harry Potter was living with muggle relatives and that Dumbledore had initiated an around the clock watch duty for him. Regulus 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 had done everything he could to stay out of that house, from the time he started Hogwarts, up until the night he ran away.

He could admit he was begrudgingly curious about them both. He could 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.

Several minutes had passed by in silence without Regulus really noticing. When he glanced at his wife, he knew he was not the only one with a lot on his mind.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked her.

"The same thing as you," she said, sounding almost bitter.

"And what do you think that is?" he asked.

"How is it possible that any child, let alone Harry Potter, could be made to live with people who mistreat him and no one has intervened?"

"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. No doubt Maliah had drawn the same conclusion.

"Someone should check on him," she said. Regulus did not at all like the way she was looking at him.

He would agree that someone probably should have checked on the boy a long time ago. He failed to see why it should be either of them. Somehow he didn't think Maliah was reacting the way she was because the boy was commonly regarded as 'the savior of the wizarding world'.

The Bones family and the Potters had been in 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.

"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 anything else.

"Would it help to think of him as Fleamont and Euphemia's grandson?" she suggested with a hint of smile.

"Seeing as they made it possible for my brother to run away... no, not really," he answered flatly.

"You can't fault them for being good people," Maliah muttered. She became intensely interested in the silk tie of her robe. "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 remembered from their school days that Maliah rarely talked about any social event she attended with her family. It was in her best interest not to, as it would have been a source of ridicule among their housemates, though Regulus always suspected there was more to it than that.

He knew from the set of her jaw that she had made up her mind to check on the boy and wouldn't be talked out of it. No more than Regulus could be convinced to let her do it alone.

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. 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 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 if you'd like. 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.