Muggle World

03: Psychiatric Analysis

“Name? Surname first, please.”

“Rotten, Johnny.”

“...Right, moving on. Sex?”

“I charge two notes an hour.”

“Okay, okay – we’ll start from the top… Name?”

“Maximus, Gladiator.”

A sigh. “Sex?”

“Why, doctor, I’m appalled – we don’t even know each other!”

The man set down his pad on his lap, fountain pen still in grasp. “Look, you don’t want to go through with the evaluation – I understand, really. But the sooner we get this over with, the sooner you’re out of here...the sooner I’m out of here.”

Harry sat still and unmotivated, frostily glaring at the psychiatrist.

The doctor gazed back soberly, and continued, undaunted. “...The sooner I can get to have lunch... The sooner we can both get on with our lives... The sooner the apocalypse comes... The sooner--”

“Potter, Harry. Male.”

He smiled. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No – it was incredibly painful. I think I have lockjaw, now.”

Harry wasn’t feeling at all that nice today – the Dursleys regarded him, at breakfast, with little more reverence than if he was a sponge. Uncle Vernon, specifically, hadn’t spoken a word to him as he carted Harry off to Hogwarts – again – for his psychological examination...

Continuing to study Harry carefully, the doctor pressed the tip of his fountain pen to his chin. He then pulled the pad of paper close to him, and began to mumble to himself as he wrote. “Student...is...prone to...sarcasm...”

Harry pretended he was at a stand off with Uncle Vernon, again. He didn’t flinch, only deepened the frown that was already on his face. But then, he broke into a smirk, sliding his arms behind his head. “You’re not writing that – I went through something like this twice at Stonewall. Ink blots, word association, some questions – it’s all the same... I mean, you can’t really be writing that down, and mean it...you’ve only asked me my name, and that’s--”

The esteemed psychiatrist continued to write. “Shows... early...signs of...insubordination...and...possible...mental troubles...?”

“Hey!” Now he knew that the doctor wasn’t supposed to be writing THAT. The guy was going to kill him before he even set-foot into Hogwarts...! “You -- you-- can’t--”

“...Suggest...high...disciplinary...action...with...extreme...prejudice...”

“STOP--!” Harry leaped up, charging towards Lupin – it was the cutlery and Aunt Marge fiasco all over again. Harry loomed over the good doctor, tugging down the “tattle-tale” notepad...

It was blank.

Harry’s gaze drifted up toward the smiling face of Dr. Remus Lupin, who was holding his securely capped blue fountain pen. Slowly, but obediently, Potter backed-up, sitting down in his chair across from Lupin.

“...That was cruel.” Harry mumbled contemptuously.

“I like to keep the students on their toes.” Lupin grinned heartily as he uncapped his pen.

“No; you just wanted to see me squirm.”

“Quite right, actually.” In a strange sort of way, admittedly, the smile on his face was warm. Lupin pulled out the questionnaire he was using to quiz Harry. “Shall we continue?”

Harry didn’t trust him. But he nodded.

“Any past therapy?”

“The two counselor sessions at Stonewall – that’s about it.”

“Any current medication?”

“Yeah – that bottle of cough syrup I drink in the morning and the horse tranquillizer I take at breakfast.” He wished the Dursleys would each take a horse tranquillizer at breakfast...

Lupin pulled his pad of paper closer to him, positioning his blue pen over it. “Come again?” he asked.

“NONE – I don’t take anything.” Harry grit his teeth.

“Allergies?”

“Don’t have any.”

“Right.” Lupin nodded, scratching down a few more things. “Now, this is the part where I tell you how great Hogwarts is...I’m cutting it a bit short, if you don’t mind:

“‘We pride ourselves on giving excellent education and the means to deal with the real world. Hogwarts Institution for Juvenile Delinquents provides care and learning for those who have become a potential danger to themselves and society...’ Any questions before we go on?”

Harry attempted to bore holes into Lupin with his eyes.

“On with the questions, then.” The doctor furrowed his brow, the premature lines on his forehead meshing together. “Why are you here?”

For a moment, Potter wondered if saying, ‘My uncle drove me here,’ could possibly merit a good laugh, but decided against it.

“I wrote stuff on the walls at school, pulled a pencil sharpener out of the wall, trashed the boys’ toilet a couple of times, ran away from home.” Harry paused, feeling a jerking sensation inside. “...And I threatened my aunt with a bread knife.”

“Bread knife?” Lupin pulled out a clipboard. It was obviously full of data high-lighting such fun-filled facts as Harry’s social security number and all Stonewall-related misdemeanors – courtesy of the Dursleys, of course. Dr. Lupin rifled through the papers for a moment, and pulled out a small card. He squinted as he read it.

“...It says here that you used a ‘meat clever’ which you, err, ‘swung wildly’ at Ms. Dursley, ‘intent on drawing blood like a ravenous animal...’”

“My aunt – my other aunt, Petunia – likes to--” Harry racked his brain. ‘...Likes to be stupid? Show-off? Lie? Hate my guts?’ “...Embellish.”

“Understood.” Lupin crossed out a couple things with his fountain pen, no questions asked, and tucked the card back into the clipboard. “Now, do you feel any specific resentment toward authority figures in your life? Your parents? Your--”

“My parents are dead.” Harry was quick to say it, but numb while he did so.

Lupin sort of stared at Harry for a moment. His tones of cheeriness and practicality were absent, and he sat with the enthusiasm of a cold statue.

“--I don’t exactly fancy my aunt and uncle, though.” Harry admitted unexcitedly, vaguely wondering if his reviewer had gone catatonic.

“Ah, yes.” The psychiatrist scribbled something else down, as if nothing had happened – and Harry was absolutely fine with that. “Do you feel that you have been sent here justly?”

Harry looked at him straight in the face. “Honestly, no.”

A bit of a smile showed up on his face. “I would think you’d say that. We can get into all of that later, though – next session when you’re in Hogwarts, maybe.”

Next session? This was going to happen again??

“Lastly, do you have any recurring problem you feel should be addressed? If you like, we can go over that later on.”

Recurring problem? Well, he could say...he might as well...it wouldn’t hurt...maybe...

“When I get angry,” Harry could hear the stillness in the room. “...I lose my head. I can’t really control myself.”

More silence followed and Dr. Lupin sat patiently in his chair. “Is that all?” He asked.

Harry didn’t answer.

“Alright, then! That’s enough questions – you’re free to go, Mr. Potter! Have a good day.” Lupin was chipper as he showed Harry out of his office and into the hall.

Uncle Vernon was waiting with a putrid scowl. Near him was a girl with dark, raccoon-like make-up and torn-up clothes, accompanied by her formally dressed parents. They and the girl marched into the office as soon as Harry stepped out. His uncle moved forward and mumbled the word, “Move,” the first thing Vernon had said to Harry all day.

Being escorted down the hall, Harry wondered if Lupin was dependable. Strangely, Harry found himself thinking about a motorcyclist with dark, shaggy hair...

“Oof!”

Harry bumped into something very large and fuzzy.

“Sorry ‘bout that – didn’t see yeh.”

The janitor quietly returned to mopping the hallway floor.

Uncle Vernon mumbled something dangerous under his breath, and Harry followed once more. His eyes doubled back to the tall, heavy-set figure, discovering that a young woman in a brown security guard suit was standing next to him:

“How was your holiday, Rubeus? Was the Knightly-Hound job all right? I--”

About two hours later, riding down the interstate with Vernon in the driver’s seat, Harry thought back to the woman and the janitor.

Then, it hit him.

“--THE BUS DRIVER!” he yelped, making Uncle Vernon lose his grasp of the wheel, the car swerving slightly to the left.

After that, Mr. Dursley gave Harry the evil eye the better part of the way home.