Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any associated characters, places and events.

The Time of His Waiting

Sirius started counting down the months until he was going to Hogwarts long before a year remained until that time. Regs rolled his eyes at his brother, but still ached with jealousy to think of his brother at that wondrous place so soon. No matter how many times Regs scoffed at the little counter Sirius had stuck on his wall, Sirius stubbornly left it there and told Regs to stuff his head. Regs smirked and left Sirius to his wistful longing, pretending that he did not feel exactly the same way.

So in order to make the time pass quicker, the days and weeks and months, Sirius and Regs tried to keep themselves busy. They practiced their quill work, wrote essays that their Mother set, learning how to set out their thoughts logically and provide evidence for their claims. They spent hours and hours, as much time as they could, at Uncle Alphard's country property, trying to make the time spent in the endless sky last as long as possible. Regs practiced catching thrown objects and got better at judging their speed and his own, approaching them on different angles, finding the reach of his arm and proving his eye. Sirius alternated between simple racing, catching Quaffle-sized balls and throwing them at conjured hoops, and wielding a bat at Bludger-like balls. Without another player with similar skills, his ability to practice for Chaser or Beater was limited, but he was content simply to take leave of the ground, regardless of the weather. Many times, their weekends were spent in rain, high wind or both, and they trooped, shivering and dripping, into the kitchen, where Uncle Alphard would laugh from his belly, cast Drying charms at them and dose them with Pepper-Up Potion.

When at their own home, they bent obediently over their books, waiting out the dull mornings and afternoons of lessons and lectures. When Sirius hunched beneath the weight of the family expectations, shut away in Father's study, Regs slipped some of the darker books from their places in the library, following the lines of secret text with an eager finger, burrowed deep in the shelves. If he wanted company, he crept down to the kitchens and grinned at Kreacher, for once letting the façade slip, because Kreacher had no reason to tell anyone what they spoke of, though Regs never forbade him to speak. He was only a house elf after all; no one else cared what they heard. But Regs was glad to talk to the elf, and never censored what he said to him.

Before he slept every night, Regs tried to organise his thoughts into inconsequential moments, and his secret, important thoughts, that he locked away in his inner mindspace. Without his Great Aunt Cassiopeia to test his resolve however, he was uncertain how much success he had. Without another mind to shape his inner mindscape by testing the boundaries with its presence, all he had were his thoughts and ideas in a shapeless mass. Nevertheless, he did not shirk the task.

Regs did not exhibit any more of his early magical attempts. On his own, occasionally, he pushed it a little – moving his furniture or making light. Failed attempts produced fire that Kreacher quickly put right and repaired. Regs wasn't sure if the fire was a result of his wandless techniques, or his frustration when he couldn't do what he wanted to. He had some successes – things moved or floated or glowed when he concentrated hard, but never with quite the finesse he wanted, and never again as impressively as his display for Sirius.

Fortunately, his potions work was a continuing success. Professor Morten took him to harvest and cultivate some of his own herbs and plants, and lectured him on some of the basic common properties that were consistent through potion making. He had successfully made all five of the basic potions that had been offered in his first class, and perfected the bruise salve, which he and Sirius had used liberally on weekends playing Quidditch.

The conflict between Sirius and Bellatrix escalated and went nowhere, much to Regs' disappointment. Sirius became fired up and enraged any time that the snide barbs slid beneath his skin. He shouted and balled up his fists, but Bellatrix sneered and smirked and went on her way, leaving behind only fury and punishment for Sirius. Regs tried to deliver subtle hints about ways that Sirius could answer Bella's cruel torments and not lose his head, but if they were too subtle, Sirius didn't notice them, and if they were noticeable, he was insulted and indignant and took it only as criticism. Regs sighed, shook his head and left them to it. Maybe one day Sirius would realise that the shame, anger and punishment meant that he was doing something wrong and that he should change his usual course of action. But Sirius was nothing if not stubborn. Regs wasn't sure he'd ever change, and Regs still wasn't sure if he wanted him to. Sirius was Sirius, and that's why Regs loved him.

When the Hogwarts letter came, it was thick and crisp with dark ink slicing across the pale parchment sharply. Sirius opened it enthusiastically, though his fingers fumbled on the wax seal. He pulled the sheaf out and read the contents fervently, his eyes scorching across the page. Regs smelt the parchment across the table and felt his heart twist, but his eyes were glued to Sirius' face as his brother devoured the letter. Finally reaching the bottom of the page, Sirius' face relaxed into lines of bliss and he slumped against the chair, an enormous grin spreading across his face. Letting out a loud whoop that earned an icy stare from Mother, Sirius bounded around the table and thrust the letter into Regs hands. Under the silent threat of the death glare, he contained his glee, and bowed to Mother while Regs scanned the first few lines.

Dear Mr. Black,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and…

Regs beamed at his brother, for once forgetting the stiff sneering mask he was supposed to maintain at all times at the table. He hastily gave the letter back to Sirius and also bowed to Mother before they begged their leave to rush upstairs. Sirius began to talk at top speed while Regs sat on his bed and listened to the sound of Sirius' relief. Every young wizard doubted their letter would come at one point or another, but Regs knew Sirius hadn't needed to worry. Just because his ideas were a little different from everyone else's at home, didn't mean he wasn't properly magical. It was going to be brilliant.

Father took him to Diagon Alley the very next day to fetch his required text books and potion equipment, as well as the most important of all things: his wand. Although Father refused to purchase potion ingredients until a time closer to the start of the term as they would lose their potency if left unused, or an owl, as Sirius had not yet a need of one, Sirius didn't seem to care. He often brought out his wand to caress or admire, smoothing his fingers over it, examining the little carved details of the handle and polishing it on his robes, though it had not yet gained a mark.

"Dogwood – and dragon heartstring, Regs!" Sirius burst out as soon as he had returned from the trip. Regs had not been permitted to accompany them, but listened eagerly, drinking up every word Sirius said of the wonders of Diagon Alley. "It's thirteen and a half inches and Ollivander said it was fairly sturdy with a bit of give for extenuating circumstances!"

Regs blinked, baffled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well," Sirius said importantly, drawing in a large breath. "No idea." He grinned at Regs, eyes alight with mischief. "But you should have seen it! Shops along either side of the street – so many things! Books and owls and broomsticks and tricks and sweets! And the goblins at Gringotts – golly, they were strange. Short little things with pointed ears!"
"Not like house elves, then?" Regs frowned, trying to put an image to the description.

"No!" Sirius laughed, throwing himself onto the bed beside his brother. "They're older looking – harder – nastier. And they sort of have claws."

"Oh," Regs replied, nodding sagely. That sounded more like it.

In the end, the final year before Sirius' Hogwarts venture had both dragged and flown past until little was left but to stare at each other with wide, nervous eyes, fluttering hearts and quick, excited breaths because only a week remained until the wait was over. Or over for Sirius at least, but Regs was almost as eager as if he himself were to attend as August drew to a close.