Regulus wasn't surprised.
A whole village slaughtered, every living person gone. Even with Voldemort cleaning up afterward, something that size couldn't be wiped away completely.
The Muggle government would open it as a major criminal case. The Ministry of Magic, slow as it was, would have to send someone, even just for show.
And the Order of the Phoenix wouldn't miss it. Dumbledore never overlooked an abnormal event involving mass death, and anyone tracking Voldemort would eventually stumble onto it.
"Little Hangleton, and two other places in northern Yorkshire," Dumbledore said seriously, not talking down to him. "Over the past three months, wizards and Muggles have gone missing."
"The Ministry's records have been altered. The numbers don't add up."
He pulled a small notebook from an inner pocket of his travelling cloak.
"Next week I'm going out to the Yorkshire border. There's an area where the disappearances are most concentrated. I want to see it in person."
Then he looked up at Regulus. There was an invitation in his eyes, but he didn't say it outright.
Regulus grinned.
He picked up the mug of ale that had been pushed to the corner of the table, raised it toward Dumbledore, then tipped his head back and drank the whole thing.
Dumbledore looked at the I've already drunk it, what are you going to do about it expression on his face. His white beard twitched, and something helpless flickered in his eyes, but he didn't say anything.
It was already down. You couldn't exactly scoop it back out.
Regulus set the empty mug back on the table and leaned back. "So? What do you think of what I can do?"
Dumbledore's beard twitched again, and his eyes curved. "Impressive. Genuinely."
The boy had come as Geralt, changed his appearance, changed his magic, and it seemed he'd adjusted his fighting style to match. Wizards who threw punches weren't a common sight.
And he hadn't just brought intelligence. He was a wizard with real combat ability in his own right.
Since he'd prepared himself, there was no point treating him as a child who needed to be kept behind someone's back. Certain things could be shared now.
"As for my side of it," Dumbledore said, "I imagine you've guessed some of it already."
Regulus put his expression away and listened.
"Voldemort is gathering war resources, preparing for a full-scale war. I've been following those threads, trying to understand the composition of his forces and where he intends to deploy them."
"Some places I've found things. Some the trail went cold. Some I arrived too late."
His voice was unhurried, his tone plain. "Last week in Derbyshire, a half-blood wizard's home was attacked. By the time I got there, he was gone."
"The neighbours said several people in black robes had passed through the village three days earlier."
Dumbledore said he'd been approaching all kinds of people. Retired Aurors, wizards from all over, anyone with both the ability and the willingness. Some had agreed, some were hesitating, some had refused.
He'd gone to Edinburgh to see a herbalist with a decent local reputation and a wide network.
They talked all afternoon and got through three pots of tea. The man said he'd think about it. There'd been no word since.
He mentioned that a few young wizards had already joined. They could fight and they were eager, but they lacked experience, and he was trying to find them assignments that would train them without getting them killed.
"Last month in Wales, a retired Auror, over sixty, told me he was old and couldn't fight anymore. He agreed to keep an eye on things in northern Scotland, but he said plainly that he wouldn't go to the front."
Dumbledore smiled, a mild light in his blue eyes. "And there are some who met me once and never contacted me again."
He said the scattered Death Eater attacks were increasing, and the threats against Muggle-born wizarding families were escalating.
The Ministry's response was so slow it almost looked deliberate. By the time they sent someone to the scene, the attackers were long gone. By the time they finished the paperwork to open a case, the next round of attacks had already started.
"Two weeks ago in Nottingham, a Muggle-born girl received a threatening letter. The owl flew straight to her bedroom window. The letter had one line on it. You're next."
"Her parents were terrified. They wanted to move, but they didn't know where to. The Ministry sent someone out once, took a statement, and that was the end of it."
He said he was doing what he could to stop these things or clean up afterward, but there were never enough people.
Most of the time, all he could do when he arrived was move the victims somewhere safe and then head to the next place.
Regulus listened through it and formed a rough picture. It matched what he already knew.
In this period Dumbledore was running around constantly, recruiting in person, building a resistance, tracking Voldemort's strategic movements, dealing with attacks as they happened.
He'd already caught the smell of war, and he was taking it seriously.
But he was still too slow.
On Voldemort's side, the Werewolf legion was expanding, the giants were being approached, the Inferi were piling up, the Dementors were loosening, the Death Eaters were growing in number, and key departments in the Ministry had been infiltrated.
All of that had started years ago. A complete war machine was taking shape.
And on Dumbledore's side, he was still persuading people one at a time. The hesitant ones were still hesitating, and the ones who refused had cut contact entirely.
Dumbledore closed the notebook and looked at Regulus, his gaze still gentle.
He didn't ask what Regulus was actually out here for, or how long he planned to stay.
The boy had his own mind. He'd been like that from his first day through the school gates. What he wanted to do, when he did it, how far he took it, none of it ever needed anyone else's worry.
If he was willing to come along, whether he called himself Regulus or Geralt, Dumbledore was happy to bring him.
It wasn't deliberate cultivation or recruitment with a purpose behind it.
It was just an old wizard who'd walked a long road seeing a young man with talent, ability, and a mind of his own, walking the right path, and wanting him to see more and experience more.
Dumbledore took a pocket watch out of his robes and flipped the cover open.
A little pleasure showed in his eyes, and his tone lightened. "Ah. There's one more guest, and he's here."
Regulus turned toward the door.
The tavern reacted faster than Regulus could turn his head.
Two men had been talking quietly at the bar. The moment the door opened, both voices cut off at once.
One of them put down his glass and stood, heading straight for the back door. The other was slower, but once he got a clear look at who'd come in, he stood and followed.
They left in a hurry. Their drinks were still more than half full. Neither looked back or paid.
The barman didn't stop them. He'd frozen too, hands stopping mid-motion, eyes fixed on the door.
Regulus extended his perception.
The man's magic was thick and heavily compressed, sunk deep, but it didn't feel deliberately suppressed. He was just holding it in the ordinary way.
Completely different from the rough, scattered magic elsewhere in the tavern.
Formal training. Strong control, clearly academy-taught, orderly and precise, but with a coarse texture to it.
Early forties, medium height, broad shoulders, solidly built.
Deep lines in his face, high cheekbones, skin weathered rough and red with heavy pores.
The short, stiff stubble along his jaw had gone partly grey. His temples were white too.
Dark eyes, grey-brown, and his gaze came in wary.
He swept the whole tavern first. The door, the bar, every table, every gap between them, the position of the back door. Only then did his eyes land on the corner table.
He came over to the corner, stopped at the table, and looked at Regulus's eyes and hair.
The young wizard's posture was loose and careless, one arm draped over the empty chair beside him, the other hand on the table, both a long way from his wand.
Heat was rolling off him and he clearly had no intention of pulling it in. That meant he was releasing it on purpose.
Regulus looked back at him.