Despite intensive interrogation over the last week, the two Wizards who had been apprehended had yielded no useful information on the cult. They weren't, in fact, even members of the cult. Just two idiots who had wanted gain the attention of the actual cult, and were now serving life sentences in Azkaban for murder and torture of two young Muggle girls. There was a certain satisfaction in that, but it was coupled with utter frustration at the lack of information that would lead them to the cult itself.
It was the frustration that ultimately led him to agree to a meeting with someone claiming to be Regulus Black. Regulus Black was dead, had died years ago in fact, though it was true that there was no record of a body being found, at least that Kingsley could find. However, he had high doubts that this was actually Regulus Black, and it was far odds that whoever the man was had any useful information on the cult.
However, despite his certainty that this was nothing more than a hoax at best, there was the chance that it was a trap. So Kingsley spent the afternoon making sure the Leaky was as safe as he could make it, and that there were no traps waiting in any of the rooms upstairs. When he was satisfied that there was nothing, he took a table in the corner of the pub to watch the comings and goings.
At quarter to three he saw the man come in, talk to Tom, and head up the stairs. Since he was the only one to have come in to rent a room in the past hour, Kingsley was fairly certain that was his guy. He looked nothing like Regulus Black, but then Kingsley hadn't expected him to. One sip of Polyjuice and you could look like anyone.
He took his time going up, opening the door to the room at exactly three o'clock. He slipped in and shut the door behind him, all without turning his back to the room's occupant. The man was lounging on the bed, reading a book, and looked up with a smirk. The Polyjuice had warn off, but as Kingsley had never met Regulus Black, he only had old photographs of the man to go by. Whoever the man was had done a dead ringer impersonation, and Kingsley had to admire the glamours involved.
"Trick bit of spellwork, making yourself look like a dead man," he said, leaning back against the wall to the side of the door. His wand was just a breath away from his hand, and though his body posture might seemed relaxed, Kingsley was anything but.