Freya stood there and let him look. No discomfort in her eyes. Her gaze rested on him too, though it was harder to read.
Regulus knew what he was: a twelve-year-old boy.
Freya had traveled from Germany for this. Combined with what Orion had mentioned about a family assignment, the two houses were clearly coordinating something. Only three people in the room. Orion wouldn't be going himself, which left the kid.
First meeting, anyone would question whether he could pull his weight.
But there was something else. Something Regulus couldn't quite pin down.
Beyond the appraisal and the doubt, her gaze carried a flicker of... recognition.
Not the vague awareness of someone who'd heard the name of the Black heir in passing. Something more specific. As though she knew what kind of person he was, what kind of things he did, maybe even what he'd been doing lately.
That didn't track.
He was certain he'd never met this woman. If she knew him, the information had come through other channels.
Intelligence exchanges between families. Or something else entirely.
Not unreasonable, when he thought about it. As the Black heir, his name and basic profile probably sat in the dossiers of every major Pure-blood family across Europe.
Freya had reviewed his file before coming. Developed some curiosity. Perfectly logical.
Still, something about that look nagged at him in a way he couldn't articulate.
The emotion in her eyes receded as quickly as it had appeared.
A slight dip of her chin. "A pleasure, Mr. Black."
Low voice, clear enunciation, a pronounced German accent. The r rolled heavier than it needed to, but every syllable landed with precision.
"Likewise, Ms. Eisenhardt." Regulus returned the nod.
Standing three or four paces apart, the height difference became obvious.
He was around five foot six now, tall for his age. Star Guided meditation's physical enhancement had accelerated his development beyond that of an ordinary wizard.
He had to tilt his head up. She looked down.
Orion spoke from beside them.
"The Eisenhardt family's Magical Pearl Farm and observation stations in the North Sea have been targeted by an organization recently."
His tone was even, unhurried. "The group is called the Abyssal Whispers. They're after a set of Ancient Maritime Documents in the Eisenhardts' keeping. The harassment has been professional, highly targeted. Not common piracy."
His gaze shifted to Regulus. "Freya needs a partner with sharp instincts and unconventional thinking to assist with the investigation and act as a deterrent."
Regulus nodded, listening.
"This will be your first field assignment," Orion continued. "And your first in a diplomatic capacity. The Eisenhardt family and ours have been allies for generations. This collaboration is an ideal proving ground."
The picture was clear. Combat and diplomacy, woven together.
Help an allied family solve a problem while building connections along the way. Let the other house see the Black heir's caliber with their own eyes.
But a question surfaced simultaneously. Did the Eisenhardts actually need Black family help?
Their standing in Germany rivaled the Blacks' in Britain. Deep reserves, wide networks, considerable firepower.
If the Abyssal Whispers posed a threat serious enough to require outside assistance, the Eisenhardts could call on closer German families or dispatch powerful wizards from within their own ranks.
No need to cross the Channel for a twelve-year-old.
Regulus ran the analysis quickly.
Either the Abyssal Whispers situation was more complicated than Orion had let on. Surface-level harassment and document theft concealing something deeper. Higher-stakes maneuvering, perhaps, or something that couldn't be handled conveniently on German soil.
Or this was, at its core, a networking exercise.
Give the younger generation of both families a chance to work together, build personal rapport through a shared mission. If they clicked, the relationship could deepen. If they didn't, the assignment would end, everyone would go home, and neither house owed the other a thing.
No loss of face. No loose ends. Training for the young, groundwork for future alliances.
Regulus looked at Freya. She looked back.
Her expression gave nothing away, but he could sense the doubt hadn't faded. He didn't mind.
Doubt like that was the easiest kind to erase. When the moment came to act, she'd see for herself whether he was worth trusting.
Explaining now would accomplish nothing. No matter what he said, she'd hear a child trying to prove himself.
Better to stay quiet and wait for the opportunity.
"Let's go." Freya turned to Orion. "Mr. Black, if it's convenient."
Orion nodded.
Freya produced something from her pocket. A silver seashell, palm-sized.
"Portkey." She held it out to Regulus. "Activates in five minutes, at the front door. I'll wait outside."
She turned on her heel, stride brisk and efficient, and walked out of the hall.
Regulus took the shell. Cool and smooth in his palm.
He looked at Orion.
"Go." A hand on his shoulder, brief and firm. "Remember, you represent the House of Black."
Regulus nodded and followed her out. He understood the subtext. Don't embarrass us.
Outside 12 Grimmauld Place, Freya stood at the bottom of the steps with her back to him.
Summer wind curled around the corner, catching the tail of her braid. She didn't turn at the sound of his footsteps, only lifted her face toward the overcast sky.
He descended the steps and stopped beside her. They waited in silence for several minutes.
The shell in his palm grew warm. Then a force erupted from it, hooked behind his navel, and wrenched him forward.
Grimmauld Place warped into a smear of light.
Regulus bent his knees on landing, absorbing the impact.
Rough stone underfoot, hard and damp with sea spray. He steadied himself and looked around.
They stood on the edge of a cliff.
Regulus drew a breath.
Salt and brine, heavy in the air, laced with the scent of kelp.
This was nothing like Cornwall. Cornwall's sea breeze was salty too, but it carried a soft dampness, almost embracing. This was colder, harder. The wind scraped his face like fine sandpaper.
Out on the water, dark silhouettes of rocky islets drifted in and out of the mist.
Further still, sea merged with sky until the boundary between them dissolved entirely.
"Reef Town." Freya's voice came from beside him.
He turned. She stood at his shoulder, gaze fixed on the horizon.
"Northern Germany. The North Sea coast. Fifty kilometers from the nearest Muggle settlement. Apparition-restricted zone. Access is primarily by Portkey or broomstick. Permanent population around three hundred, mostly Eisenhardt employees and their families."
Regulus gave a short nod, then looked back out toward the place where sea met sky.
Freya stood at the cliff's edge beside him, the wind snapping at the hem of her coat. She didn't move.
The Abyssal Whispers. Regulus knew the name. He'd come across their file in the family library's records on foreign Dark wizard organizations.
The Abyssal Whispers were a secretive, ancient, and highly elite international society of Dark wizards.
They worshipped the deep sea. Their purpose was the study of forbidden knowledge tied to the ocean.
Lost civilizations. Lost spells. Certain non-human things that dwelled on the ocean floor.
Their numbers were small, but every member was formidable.
Their style was discreet. No grandstanding, no public terror, no profit motive. They sought specific ancient relics and knowledge, nothing more.
Regulus pulled himself back to the present. "It's just us?"
Freya turned to him. "Just us. Other locations have other people handling them. This is the primary point of attack. Three incursions in the past month."
A pause. Then she added, "We don't need more."
Regulus nodded.
Her English carried that heavy German accent, each word bitten off cleanly, but the intonation ran flat, missing the rise and fall of a native speaker.
Paired with her severe features and soldier's bearing, the effect was oddly compelling.
"Accommodations are arranged." Freya angled her head toward him, but her line of sight landed on the top of his skull. "Follow me."
She turned and set off along a narrow path hugging the cliff's edge, moving fast, gravel crunching beneath her boots.
Regulus fell in behind her.
The path wound downhill, flanked by low scrub and bare rock. After about ten minutes, a cluster of buildings came into view.
Squat stone houses with dark roofs and narrow windows, built to weather North Sea storms. They staggered along the coastline, and in the distance, several tall towers rose against the grey, firelight flickering at their peaks.
Freya stopped and faced him. "You're in the one closest to the sea. Near mine."
She pointed at the house nearest the cliff's edge.
Two stories. Stone walls bleached white by years of salt wind. Shuttered windows. A thin thread of smoke rising from the chimney.
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