Have a favorite quote? Post it in a review or message me and I'll try to write a one-shot for it.
"Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery."
Sirius swore he hadn't done anything to deserve this, at the very least. Also, the man in front of him was barmy.
"Now, Mr. Black, what are your feelings on the subject?" That you're an idiot, he thought to himself, but didn't say so.
"Moony's not nearly as loopy as you," he muttered, before speaking up. "I believe I am okay," he repeated dully. The bloody crazy Muggle therapist had drilled the phrase into his head to the point where he wanted Moony to bite him so he could be a werewolf and not have to sit here.
The man smiled. "Very good, Mr. Black. Now, could you explain the objects found on your person when you were brought here? The long stick and sap-spouting brass balls most especially." Sirius chanced a glance at the guard in front of the door before answering. He'd been standing there for ten hours now as the therapist 'interrogated' him about his presence in Muggle London. Apparently trying to get Muggles to play Gobstones on a bet from James was frowned upon.
"I've told you this before, give me back my wand and I'll show you!" He planned to Obliviate the Muggles at the first opportunity. The therapist, Jason something, shook his head.
"Now, now, Mr. Black, that isn't allowed. You know my motto? 'Understanding the reasons leads to acceptance.'" Sirius personally thought it sounded distinctly like something Dumbledore would spout. "How are we going to help you recover from this trauma?"
"What trauma?"
"Most obviously there is some trauma. What happened before you decided to terrorize London?" My parents hated me, I broke every family rule, I was disowned, Voldemort keeps trying to kill us all... I mean, really, there's quite a lot of trauma.
"I'd prefer if you used something not so politically incorrect as 'terrorized," Sirius said peevishly. He wasn't a terrorist. "And nothing happened to me."
"We're all friends, it's okay, you can admit your shortcomings," the man said soothingly. Sirius wanted to punch him then feed him to one of Hagrid's pets.
Because Sirius Black was most certainly not okay. Not okay, not when you know your best friend is in hiding from a man that would like nothing better than to kill you all. Not okay, when he still had that tiny scar on his right hip from his father when he was three stabbing him with a kitchen knife 'by accident'. Not okay, when occasionally his right hand twitched as an aftereffect of the Cruciatus Curse that he'd been administered (in just as clinical a manner) when he was ten. For eating a sweet.
"I am fine," he said clearly, for once with no hint of his usual humor. The man shook his head patronizingly.
"Let's-"
"NO! Let's not! Let's not sit here and wait to be killed!" Sirius was on his feet now, holding out his wand hand and snapping the chain attached to his ankles. "This world," he hissed, "is trying to kill me. And I will not wait here while I know that five more people have died in the interim." He held up his left hand, showing the small tattoo across the inside of his wrist. It showed tiny golden dots in rows, barely visible against his tanned skin. There were forty-nine minuscule marks. The last five glowed a vivid silvery shade. Five. Were Lily and James and Harry among them? What about Remus?
"Wait, now, let's talk about this, Mr. Black!"
"Obliviate!" And then he ran, disappearing in a swirl of robes an instant after he escaped the bars.
Because the tattoo would fade, eventually. Dumbledore had made sure of that. But what wouldn't fade were the deaths. Oh, sure, they were faded, their wand-generated misty shapes no more than smoke. But never would the glitter in James' eyes dim, or the flames of Lily's hair, or the green eyes of his godson. And he would never forgive himself if he had to watch the proof of their deaths disappear from his wrist. Understanding with forced acceptance that their recovery was never possible.