ATTENTION! ***PLEASE READ THE UPDATE/AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE BOTTOM. THANK YOU.***

Harry's psychiatric exam was on August 22, 1991, which was that Thursday, and only a few days before the court date, which was now officially on August 26. Harry was glad his physical exams were in the rearview mirror, but he still had trepidations about having his mind analyzed. So he asked Sirius how it was going to go as they walked across the parking lot.

"To be honest with you, I have no idea," Sirius told him.

"Don't wizards have psychiatry?" Harry asked.

"Nope."

"So…you don't believe that a person's mind can be unhealthy, just like their body?" Harry said in disbelief.

"Not exactly," said Sirius. "We know about mental illness. The person could be born like that, or maybe there was something very bad that happened to make them that way. But I didn't know people believed you could fix people's brains. We just put them in St. Mungo's…now."

"What do you mean, 'now'?" said Harry.

"They used to just chuck them in Azkaban," said Sirius darkly.

"But…" Harry felt like his insides had been turned to ice. "Prison is for people who did something wrong."

"I know," said Sirius. "True, a lot of criminals do what they do because they're mentally ill. But I'm pretty sure most mentally ill people aren't harmful at all. These innocent people used to have to go to prison, right among the trash that society has thrown away, just because nobody really understood what was wrong with them. Many people in our society see them as freaks…something to be dealt with or contained…not human beings to be loved and cared for."

Harry looked up at Sirius, and saw that he looked sad.

"The whole point of Azkaban is to mentally torture people, isn't it?" said Harry. "You told me about the dementors! Wouldn't that just make the mentally ill people even worse, not better?"

"Like I said…" Sirius sighed. "Nobody really cares about making them better. When Mr. Glacier was telling me about psychiatry, I had to pretend I knew what he was talking about. I never knew there was medicine to take for stuff like that. I never knew about therapy or hypnosis. It was crazy. I was brought up thinking that there was nothing to be done."

"There's a lot of stuff that can be done," said Harry. "What does the Wizarding community usually do if somebody, say…has depression?"

"What's that?"

Harry sighed. It was true.

"Well, it's kind of like when you feel sad," Harry explained. "Only it's like…extreme sadness."

"But everybody feels sad sometimes," said Sirius.

"I know, but people with depression are sad all the time," Harry told him. "And there's other stuff, too. They stop doing things they used to enjoy, they eat too much or too little, they may tragically turn to drugs or alcohol…We learned about mental disorders at school in Science class, during our psychology unit."

"Oh." Sirius frowned. "I guess so."

"What would happen to the depressed person, then?" Harry asked.

"Well, I don't know," said Sirius. "Nothing, probably. They'd just stew in their own misery until they got better."

"Or until they killed themselves."

"Wow," said Sirius. "That is depressing. You know, I think the Muggles may be ahead of us wizardkind in many more ways than we thought."

"Muggles don't put innocent people in prison just for having poor mental health, that's for sure," said Harry, as they walked into the psychiatric institute. Sirius politely held the door open for a little old lady, and then they found seats.

"Hmm, smells like a hotel in here," Sirius commented.

"I wouldn't know," said Harry. "I've never been in one."

The waiting room of the psychiatric institute didn't look that different from the doctor's office. They waited, mostly in silence, for the doctor who would be performing Harry's mental evaluation. Finally, the moment came when the psychiatrist stepped out of the room. He had a graying goatee, a bald head, and square glasses. He was wearing slacks, a vest and an overcoat, and he was carrying a clipboard.

"Harry Potter?" he said calmly.

"That's me." Harry stood up nervously.

"And you must be Sirius Black," the psychiatrist continued.

"You got it," said Sirius, reaching out to shake hands. "I'm his godfather and legal guardian."

"Pleasure," the shrink replied. "My name is Dr. Maurice Stefansen, and I will be doing your psychiatric evaluation today. Mr. Potter?"

"Yes?" said Harry.

"It is your choice whether or not to have your parent or guardian in the room during your evaluation," said Dr. Stefansen. "Some patients feel that they can be more open without the guardian listening to their words."

"Oh, no," said Harry, looking around at Sirius. "No, I-I definitely want him with me."

"Very well," Dr. Stefansen said, and he led them into his office. There were two chairs and one couch. Sirius and Dr. Stefansen sat down in the chairs, and Harry lay down on the couch, just like he'd seen patients do on TV.

"So…what do I do?" he asked, staring up at the ceiling.

"Our goal today is to discover what is lurking in your subconscious," said Dr. Stefansen. "For example, we need to know if your upbringing has affected you mentally, and if so, in what ways."

"How will you discover what's in my subconscious?" Harry looked at Dr. Stefansen, who was looking at his clipboard.

"Perhaps you can begin by telling me how you have been feeling lately," said Dr. Stefansen.

Harry didn't say anything. It had been hard enough realizing that he could open up to Sirius; there was no way he could tell this stranger anything personal.

"I-I don't like to talk about my feelings," he said.

"Talking about your feelings is very important, though," said Dr. Stefansen. "It's very unhealthy to keep everything all bottled up."

"He's not here to judge, Harry," Sirius added gently. "Just say what you feel."

"Pretend you're talking to a close friend," Dr. Stefansen suggested.

Harry tried to pretend that Dr. Stefansen wasn't sitting there with his clipboard, and that it was just him and Sirius. He thought about how this was his psychiatric evaluation—this meant that he couldn't just say any random thing; he would need to say things that would show Dr. Stefansen the health of his brain. But what things would he pick? How healthy was his brain? He was pretty sure the point of this was to prove that the Dursleys had damaged him mentally, so he should say things that described how they had damaged him. But what would that be?

"I-I can't think of anything to say," Harry confessed. "If I was talking to a close friend, I don't think it would be this forced."

"Well, then, let's try a different tack," said Dr. Stefansen. "I will give you a pretend situation, and you will tell me how you would react to it. Your supposed reaction to the situations will help me in my evaluation."

"Okay," said Harry. "Have you got a situation?"

"Hmm…" Dr. Stefansen frowned. "Let's say you suddenly became famous. How would you deal with celebrity?"

This seemed oddly specific to Harry, and the corners of Sirius's mouth twitched slightly, but this was just a coincidence. Oh well, at least Harry knew for sure what his reaction would be.

"I wouldn't like it," he confessed. "I would want more than anything to just be a normal kid. I would hate it if every time I went into public people wanted to shake my hand or get my autograph or take a picture with me or whatever else they want. I would feel really horrible when people repeat my name and stare at me like I'm a zoo exhibit. People would probably think that being famous is so great, but it isn't. It stinks. Being normal is much better."

"Would it make you feel self-conscious or awkward?" Dr. Stefansen asked.

"Oh, yes," said Harry. "Very much so."

"Perhaps you have a problem with self-confidence," Dr. Stefansen suggested. "Mr. Black…did you observe anything unusual about him?"

Sirius looked uncertainly at Harry.

"It's okay," Harry said.

"Well, he said something to me back when we first met," Sirius admitted. "Something that shocked me. You know I love him like a son, and I told him that, and he asked me why, saying that he hadn't done anything to earn my love…I had to explain that love isn't something that has to be earned. Those horrible people convinced him that he doesn't deserve to be loved at all, Dr. Stefansen. I would also say that he's got some trust issues, and I definitely agree that he has self-confidence issues. The fact that Harry finds it hard to embrace the fame, and hides from it instead, really indicates that. We've been trying to work on it, though."

"It's true," Harry told them sadly. "It's all true."

"I see," said Dr. Stefansen grimly. "Were there any times in particular when you felt that, for example, you had nobody to go to? When you felt lonely or hopeless?"

"There were a lot of those times before I met Sirius," said Harry.

"Were there any after that?"

For a minute, Harry wasn't sure. But then a certain memory came to mind, and before he could stop them, the words tumbled out of his mouth.

"Several weeks ago, I was going to dinner with Sirius, his girlfriend and a few other people," Harry began. "You remember that, right, Sirius?"

"Yeah."

"Well…I was sitting at the playpark before dinner…and I don't know why I watch the families, but I do." Harry swallowed. "And there was this one lady…she was a young mother kneeling on the cement at the bottom of the slide…and the toddler slid right into her arms…and I thought, if my parents hadn't died, would that have been me, sliding into my mother's arms?"

"You did, Harry, you did," said Sirius, a little helplessly, heading over to the couch and sitting by Harry. "Lily loved to take you to the playpark."

Harry didn't know if Sirius's words made him feel better or worse, but he did know that he had never felt so embarrassed in his life.

"Has anyone ever cried in your office before?" he asked tearfully.

"Certainly," said Dr. Stefansen. "Don't feel embarrassed. Crying is good for you. This is an indication that we are getting closer to our goal."

"Was our goal to make him cry?" said Sirius confusedly.

"Our goal was to reveal what is in his subconscious," Dr. Stefansen replied.

"It's no surprise that he would miss his parents, though, is it?" Sirius said. "That's not his subconscious. It's just his…regular old conscious."

"H-How can I m-miss someone I d-don't remember?!" Harry interrupted, burying his face in Sirius's shirt, able to fight back his tears only with his godfather's strong arms around him. No matter what Dr. Stefansen said, this was a disaster.

"You'd be surprised," Dr. Stefansen said calmly. "Just because you can't remember them doesn't mean you don't need them. Now that you have left the innocence and happiness of childhood and entered the tumultuous preteen years, you'll need guidance more than ever."

This was not something Harry needed to hear.

"Tumultuous?" he repeated shrilly, and then he really did start to cry.

"Yes, tumultuous," said Dr. Stefansen. "It means—"

"I-I know what it m-means!" Harry told him. "B-Besides, I-I didn't h-have a h-happy childhood at all!"

"It's true," said Sirius. "He didn't. That's why he's here in the first place, remember?"

"All right, then, Mr. Potter," Dr. Stefansen replied. "Tell me about your childhood. Tell me how you feel about it."

"How do you suppose he feels about it?!" Sirius cut in impatiently. "Angry, hurt, confused, unloved, unwanted—I don't suppose you would understand!"

"Mr. Black, please calm down, or I will have to ask you to leave my office," Dr. Stefansen said in his maddeningly calm voice.

"No, don't!" Harry cried, squeezing Sirius as tight as he could.

"Don't worry, mate, I'm not going anywhere," said Sirius, and he glared at Dr. Stefansen. "I thought it would be Harry's choice of whether I'm in the office, not yours."

"Well, you can't exactly speak for Harry, you know," Dr. Stefansen said back. "What would you know about having an unhappy childhood?"

"That, sir, is none of your business!" Sirius snapped, bristling. "Isn't this Harry's evaluation?"

"You're welcome to talk to me as well," said the shrink.

"I don't need an evaluation!" Sirius barked.

"Inside voice!" Dr. Stefansen told him.

Harry realized he had stopped crying, because he was now watching the row between Sirius and Dr. Stefansen.

"You-you think you can just—yeah, what would I know about—good God!" Sirius couldn't seem to find the right words. But his face had gone very pale, and he was panting with his hands on his knees, as if he had just run a long distance.

"Sirius," said Harry, "what on Earth is the trouble?"

"I'm fine, Harry," said Sirius, even though he didn't look fine.

Harry just didn't know how to handle Sirius when he got like this. For the most part, he seemed relatively normal, but every so often there would be something he saw or something that happened—like the time he spotted Harry talking to Draco Malfoy, or when he had found that old photo, or the night terrors—that would just set him off and make him act…well, not normal, and Harry didn't know why that happened, or what to do about it.

But then something hit him.

"Sirius?" he said tentatively. "Is it…is it okay if you do go out of the room for a minute?"

"Um, yeah, sure," said Sirius distractedly, getting off the couch and leaving the room. "Just tell me when to come back in."

"Ah, privacy," said Dr. Stefansen. "What was it you couldn't say in front of him?"

"For your information, I can talk to Sirius about anything," Harry said back, glaring at him. "I just wanted him out of the room so I could talk to you about him."

"Hmm," said Dr. Stefansen. "All right. What did you have in mind?"

"The thing is…" Harry sighed. "Sirius's childhood was even worse than mine, okay? His mum hit him when he was little, and they never let him play outside or make any friends. He was homeschooled, so he didn't even get to meet other kids at school. When he was sixteen he ran away from home and moved in with his best friend, my dad, but then my parents got murdered by a serial killer, and Sirius got framed for it, and he had to spend ten years in a prison where they mentally torture the prisoners and starve them. He says most people go mad in there. And, well…sometimes I kind of wonder if all that stuff, y'know…affected him. He has these night terrors, you know, and whenever something reminds him of his childhood or prison he just…doesn't act like himself."

"Those are called triggers," said Dr. Stefansen shrewdly. "Perhaps he has some form of post-traumatic stress disorder. I'm sure a little therapy and medicine would do him well. Take this pamphlet."

"My godfather is the last bit of my dad I've got left," said Harry, skimming through the pamphlet. "I just want him to be happy."

"If you bring him back here, I'll do my best," Dr. Stefansen replied. "Tell him he can come back in the room now, though."

"Sirius?" Harry called. "You can come back in!"

Looking tentative, Sirius opened the door to Dr. Stefansen's office.

"Mr. Potter and I were talking," said Dr. Stefansen coolly. "We were just wondering if you would be so kind as to take a look at that pamphlet."

"You take the quiz inside, Sirius, and if you get a high score, you're supposed to talk to the therapist," Harry added.

Sirius didn't take long to complete the screening. Then, he announced his score, looking shocked.

"I got 17 out of 20, apparently," he said. "Is…is that bad?"

Dr. Stefansen nodded solemnly.

"You'll be all right, Mr. Black," he said. "You just need a formal diagnosis and regular therapy. Maybe some medicine. Prozac or something like that."

Sirius looked like he wanted to ask what Prozac was, but decided against it.

"Okay," he said nervously.

"But don't fight with Dr. Stefansen anymore," said Harry. "He says he'll do his best with you."

"Does this mean the evaluation is done, though?" asked Sirius; all of a sudden, he looked as though he really wanted to leave.

"Yes, it is," Dr. Stefansen replied. "I'll call you about an appointment later on, Mr. Black."

"Very well, then," said Sirius.

It wasn't until the parking lot that Sirius actually said anything to Harry. When they got outside he stopped walking and sat down on the curb, so Harry did, too.

"Sirius, are you okay?" asked Harry.

"Yeah," said Sirius, although his voice was shaking. "It's just…most of the questions in the pamphlet were really familiar. I didn't know my mind was ill."

"Don't worry," said Harry, and he hugged Sirius tightly, feeling hot tears form in his eyes again, trying to stop his lip from trembling. "My dad would be really proud of you and all you've done for me. I know he would. You're my favorite person in the whole world, and I love you."

"Thank you, Harry," said Sirius gently, tousling Harry's hair the way Harry liked. "You're my favorite person too."

It was still something he hated to do, but Harry felt himself start to cry silently. Sirius hugged him and rubbed his back. It was strange, he thought; Sirius was the one who got 17 out of 20, yet Sirius comforted him.

UPDATE/AUTHOR'S NOTE: I appreciate all reviews, good or bad, but as I like to respond to my wonderful reviewers, please try not to post as "Guest", because then I can't respond to you. If you intend to leave a review, I would appreciate that I have a way to respond. Thank you!