I can't deny that it is wonderful having Grimmauld Place full of people. Normal people.

Molly is waging a war on the house; Harry and his friends are full of laughter and smiles; the twins are up to no good. Harry occasionally looks stressed about his Ministry hearing and I try to quash the hope that they will find him guilty. I am his Godfather, afterall. But some evil part of me wishes that his wand will be broken in half, because if he did, surely he and Remus would stay with me in this great big house, and I would not feel so lonely.

But on the bright side, I talk to Remus every night. We sit and chat by a fire I draw up in the fireplace in that little old sitting room. Sometimes he reads to me and I turn into Padfoot and place my head in his lap while he scratches my head.

Other nights we have more serious conversations. We talk about the state of the war, the prophecy, and Harry.

We are getting closer and closer to being what we used to be. Best friends. And yet something is different. Sometimes, I think we are moving to be more than friends.

One night, I had jumped when I saw Kreacher walking down the corner with a large stick. It turned out to be some old family heirloom that Molly had tried to throw away, which I forced him to throw away. Stupid sniveling git.

When I got back to Remus, he was looking at me with a concerned expression.

"Why do you treat Kreacher like that?"

I paused. "Like what?"

Remus frowned. "You know."

I turned away and took out a bottle of Firewhiskey. "I don't."

Remus sighed. "Sirius, please."

The stupid bottle wasn't opening. "He is a despicable little scrotum, that's why."

"Siruis, don't open the bottle. You've had enough tonight." The voice was soothing, but I suddenly felt irritated.

"I can make my own decisions, Remus," I had snarled.

"I know you can, Siruis. But you are mercurial when you drink." I now was angry. I don't know why.

"Then leave me alone!" I knew I was proving his point and I regretted the words as soon as I had shouted them.

"Fine."

"I'm sorry, Remus," I said to the empty room. You don't understand, I love you.

"Remus?" I shouted. No answer. I scurried up to his room and his door was closed.

I knocked. "Remus, I'm sorry. You are right. You are always right," I told the door. I hated the door. I hated this house

There was no answer.

"I'm just going to sit out here and wait for you. Mrs. Potter always said it isn't good to go to bed angry," I informed the doorknob.

"Remus," I sighed. Stupid hotheaded Sirius had struck again.

After some time, I had gotten tired of standing in front of the door, so I turned into Padfoot. I scratched the door and whined. Still no answer. I tried again.

After about twenty minutes of that, an angry Mrs. Weasley came down the corridor in her night gown. She looked at me lying in front of Moony's door with a pitiful expression and a bloody paw from pawing at the door, and rolled her eyes.

She pounded on the door. "Remus, dear. Will you please come out and shut up your bloody dog?"

Moony opened the door, his hair disheveled. "What's that Molly?" he asked.

"Siruis," Molly pointed to me as if I were a spot of mold that needed cleaning. "He's been whining at your door for the past twenty minutes or so."

"Oh really?" asked Moony. He looked at me and I gave him my best pitiful dog look. "Dumbledore gave me a silencing nightcap. I haven't heard a thing."

"Oh," said Molly. "Well then, goodnight. See that Sirius stays quiet, will you love?" And with one more glare at me, she turned back to her room.

"Poor old Padfoot," said Moony. "You bloodied your paw at my door. I suspect you came to say something to me?"

I gave him another sad and guilty look, and sat on his feet to lick his ankles apologetically.

"Yuck! Padfoot, get off. You are so strange in dog form sometimes." He turned and sat on his bed. "Let me look at your paw, Padfoot."

I bounded up onto bed with him and licked his face energetically. I'm sorry, Moony. I love you, I love you, I love you, I told him with every lick.

"Geowff Padfoot," Moony responded fending me off. "Sit still." I happily obeyed. He tapped my paw with his wand and murmured, "Good dog." I thought my tail would fall off for all the wagging it was doing and I gave him my best doggy smile.

Moony patted my head. "Poor Padfoot. Locked up in this house. It would drive anyone insane. And most of all you."

I licked his hand and gave him another pitiful doggy look. He laughed and stopped petting me.

I nudged his hand to get him to start again.

"I'm tired, Padfoot. I want to go to bed."

I sighed and moved to the end of the bed, turned around three times, and curled into a ball.

"Padfoot," groaned Moony. "Get off my bed." But he laid back down and moved under the covers.

I waited a few minutes before joining him at the head of the bed. I laid down and put my nose in his neck.

"Goodnight, Padfoot," muttered Mooney sleepily.

I licked his neck and snuggled next to him. I am really bravest in dog form. Or a terribly cowardly human.