A year had passed since Sirius had come back through the veil. A year in which he had experienced both great sadness and happiness. Saddened by the news of the deaths of so many people close to him, happy to find that his godson was still alive and had been the one to end the reign of Voldemort.

Things had been overwhelming at first, having to deal with 17 years that he had simply 'missed out on'. It was so bizarre to see how everyone had moved on with their lives, and yet, here he was, and for him all the losses were still so present.

Eventually, he had somewhat come to terms with it all, as much as anyone is able to cope with the loss of people so dear to one that is.

But on evenings like this he still felt very lonely. He missed his old friends: Padfoot, his favourite partner-in-crime, surrogate brother and confidant; Moony, the reason of voice, yet mischief-maker par excellence and trusted friend.

And on some days, even though they were few and he always felt guilty afterwards, he even wished Wormfoot back.

In short, he missed his Maurader days. Back then, he had never known what loneliness was. Even though he had been estranged from his own family, there had always been someone there for him.

But his friends were there no longer, and he had to deal with the fact that he was the only Maurader left. He knew that sitting in his giant newly-bought house, drinking Firewhiskey straight from the bottle wasn't the best way to go about it, but truth be told, right then he couldn't care less.

Deep down he knew that his life wasn't bad, that he was actually quite lucky to even be alive, and that he should be grateful for that. The problem was that knowing and feeling didn't exactly correlate for him.

And then his relationship with Harry: It was weird that his godson was now a mere three and a half years younger than him. Since Sirius had spent half of his life (and nearly all his adult life) either in Azkaban or on the run, so truthfully, Harry had more 'experience of life' than Sirius, which destroyed the elder's role as advisor.

For a while, Sirius had also indulged himself in the idea that Harry might become his new best friend, replacing his father, James. But the Maurader had soon learnt that that was a futile idea and had dismissed the idea, for various reasons.

Firstly, even though Harry resembled his father in both spirit and looks, they were still two completely different persons.

Secondly, harry already had his own best friends, Hermione and Ron, whom had stood by him all his life, and Sirius knew that he could never replace them.

And thirdly, and probably most important of them all, he still felt responsible for Harry, felt like the older one who had to look after his godson, even though the age gap had been so drastically diminished. There was just no way he could ever be best friends with someone who regarded him as a father figure.

But no, life was treating him fairly well after all, at last. His name had been cleared, hence he was now free to do whatever he wanted to do. There was just one little problem, he didn't really know what to do with his life. Having spent the better part of his life imprisoned or on the run, he had never completed any kind of schooling for a certain job.

Then he had been young, both he and James had dreamed of becoming aurors. He had still considered this option for a while, but ultimately dismissed it. There were but a few deatheaters still out there, most of them having been captured by Harry and the lot while he had been "sleeping". They had all been sent off to Azkaban, and some of them had even received the death kiss from the dementors. After Voldemort's defeat, the dementors had been won back over, yet no one trusted them completely. He knew the ministry had wanted to discharge them, but just didn't know how to go about it. After all, what would happen if they just let lose those creatures? No one had been able to find a satisfactory solution to that problem yet, and he very much doubted that they would find one soon.

His thoughts were wandering off, as they often did these days. He really needed to get himself sorted out, get something to do. If things continued to be the way they were, he would never stop feeling utterly useless.

Hermione was sitting at her desk in her apartment, working. She threw a glance at the watch, only to curse the time. It was well past midnight, and she wasn't even close to getting finished. She knew that most of her friends were probably out, partying somewhere, but she just didn't have the nerve for it. Neither did she have the time, for that matter. One should think that being in their early thirties, most of them happily married with a family of their own, would have put an end to their regular tours through the nearest pubs. Needless to say, it hadn't, it seemed that they still believed to have to make up for the youth that had been ruined for them by the presence of Voldemort and his deatheaters. She was inwardly rolling her eyes, wondering whether they would ever grow out of it. She knew that Mrs. Weasley loved to play the babysitter, but still, shouldn't they be prone to show some more responsibility?

In all honesty, Hermione had never been one to go out partying and drinking much. She had been the first to stop celebrating after the defeat of the Dark Lord, eager to get back to 'doing something sensible'.

Currently she was working on a speech on house-elves, which she was to give in two days' time. She was quite nervous about it: She knew she was as best prepared as anyhow possible, yet she feared that she might fail once again. Slavery had been long forbidden for humans, why couldn't the same be applied to house-elves? For slavery it was the way that house-elves were kept all across Britain and the whole wizarding world.

She groaned inwardly, yet again crossing out a whole paragraph. No, this just didn't sound right. 'The house-elves have been far too little appreciated in the past' – no, not right either.

Oh screw it. Sometimes Hermione felt like she hadn't achieved anything at all in the 15 years she had now been working for the rights of suppressed creatures. She knew she had achieved some changes, but little were they appreciated. As so often in her life. Like it had been when she had saved Sirius. Surely, everyone had been overjoyed that he was back, yet they had all failed to praise her or express their gratitude. Not that she had expected that, all that she had hoped for was a small 'thank you', but they had failed to give her even that. Not even Sirius, not even Harry, absolutely no one.

'Oh come on Hermione', she mentally scolded herself. 'Listen to yourself, do you know how pathetic you sound.'

Yet she couldn't help it. Through all those years she had been missing someone who would have supported her. Not that Harry and Ron weren't supportive, they were, yet she felt – unappreciated. It was like she was taken for granted. She was the smartest witch of her age after all, and everyone expected her to do brilliant at anything she ever tried. Yes, she liked that reputation, yet she wouldn't have minded someone telling her that she was indeed brilliant, that she did indeed make a change, every once in a while. She had never been the most confident of persons – not that she ever allowed herself to display any sort of weakness – it would have just been really good for her psyche to have people acknowledge her and her efforts and not to take them for granted. Being taken for granted was a horrible feeling, and it made Hermione feel vulnerable.

She swallowed hard. Now was not the time to dwell on matters like that, she had a speech to prepare. But considering what little effect her past efforts of 15 years had had, she couldn't help it but feel – utterly useless.