Harry and Sirius' Trip to the Mad House

No crumple-horned snorkacks were harmed in the making of this story.


"Hey, Sonny Boy, what are we doing here?" Sirius asked his godson. The two stepped in sync through the glass window of St Mungos whilst avidly avoiding the blatant and wary stares of the public.

"I'd have thought that was obvious, Snuffles." He put extra emphasis on the name 'Snuffles', as if mocking the older man. His friend chose to ignore this insult and carried on as if nothing had happened.

"Enlighten me." They had reached the lift with a map next to it indicating where each ward could be found. Pressing the button for the fifth floor, the two waited patiently for the doors to ping open.

"We're here to see a mind healer; Hermione suggested it a few weeks ago."

Sirius grinned. "I'm so proud of you, finally admitting you need help. That's the first step to recovery Harry."

"No, you great pile of hippogriff dung, we're here for you. We both know that I'm beyond help but I thought you might like to be declared officially insane." The two men had, in recent months, become close friends and it was not unusual to find them bantering in this manner. After the little debacle at the graveyard, Sirius had been declared innocent and, as compensation, the ministry had given him custody of Harry. This had only served to strengthen their already strong bond. They were far too alike for comfort sometimes.

"Ah, how thoughtful of you. Will I get a certificate to show Moony? Perhaps I could hang it on my wall, next to my collection of indecently-attired witches."

"You could ask them for a certificate, I'm sure. Now come on, we're going to be late." The teen pulled along his godfather until they reached a door at the end of the hall. Knocking, they were bade to enter and the door opened to reveal a waiting room.

After a moment of arguing about where to sit, by the window with a view of a brick wall or by the radiator because, "it really is quite cold, don't you know." They eventually decided on seats between the two, although Sirius still didn't understand why anyone would want to look at the view of a brick wall.

A man sat next to Sirius was leaning over a coffee table with two piles of pictures next to him. He would reach for a photo on his right, scrawl his name in childish script and then place it on a growing pile on his other side.

"Hello, would you like an autograph too?" he cheerfully asked when he noticed Sirius' oogling.

"Erm..."

"Really, I must insist. It's not every day you get to meet the five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile now, is it?"

"Oh, you're Martin McCall, sorry. I didn't recognise you."

"No."

"Sorry, what?"

"No. I'm not this McCall person you're on about. I'm Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary member of The Dark Force Defence League and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award. Don't you know anything?" He seemed quite put out.

"No you're not."

"Yes I am."

"No you're not."

"Yes I am."

"No you're not."

"Yes I am."

"No you're not."

"Yes I am."

"No you're not."

They continued in this manner for nearly two minutes, to the exasperation of Harry.

"Yes I am."

"No you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"If you really are Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary member of The Dark Force Defence League and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award, prove it!"

"Well, see here. This photo is obviously me and it has my name on it. See, Gilderoy Lockhart." He enthusiastically waved one of the signed photographs in Sirius' face.

"No, you just wrote that on yourself. Even if that is your name, it doesn't prove you have an Order of Merlin, Third Class or that you're an Honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League or that you won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award five times. It just proves that you're an idiot who needs to sign his own pictures so he doesn't forget his name."

"It is me!" he stamped his feet in frustration, earning him a glare from the receptionist and half of the patients in the room.

"Well it doesn't matter if that's you or not, I don't want a photo of you if you're going to be such a ponce about it. I'm famous and I don't hand out signed pictures of myself, I just give the pretty ones my floo address." he said this with a smirk and a distant look on his face as he allowed his memories of the previous night to distract him.

"You're not famous, you can't be."

"Yes I am."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I─"

"Will you two just shut up. Some of us are trying to get some peace around here." There was a momentary silence.

"No you're not." Lockhart hissed.

"I am. I'm Sirius Orion Black, Order of Merlin, Second Class, Azkaban Escapee extraordinaire, Godfather to The-Boy-Who-Lived and soon to be declared insane." he was quite proud of his growing résumé.

"No you're not."

"I am, see. That there is Harry Potter."

"He's not Harry Potter. I taught Harry everything he knows, probably saving his life countless of times, and that's not him. I'd know him anywhere."

"He is him, look, there's the scar."

"Oh yes, so he is."

"…"

"Well, would you like an autograph?"

"No."

"Oh, alrighty-then. I'll just be off." With those words, the deranged blond leapt over the cushy seats to the door that had been left ajar by a man wearing tea cosies on his ears.

"So long suckers," he called as two medi-witches ran after him, shouting for passers-by to stop him.

"Well he seems like a nice bloke. A little bit off but aren't we all?"

Harry just shook his head at his quasi-father's antics and went back to reading his copy of the Quibbler.