Regulus, himself dressed in black and looking vaguely as if he'd stepped out of a time machine from the rich half of the late Victorian era, turned, startled.

And then he started again because Godric's tits, the man was holding a sword! A sheathed sword, sure. But where Regulus was from, no one walked around carrying swords.

Merlin save him, where had he ended up?

He hadn't even realized he'd dropped his wand, hidden up in his sleeve, into the palm of his hand. It was habit by now, really. But he did not raise his wand, just clenched it tightly pointing down, in case it was necessary.

After a handful of heartbeats, he'd collected himself enough to ask, "Does it get hostile at night?"