Talking to Sirius was like pulling teeth. Clearly, the mind-healer was doing a poor job. Maybe Harry should find another? Even at first glance, the teenager had been able to see why his advisor had been concerned. Sirius was still far too thin, seemed to have trouble sleeping and his personal hygiene left a lot to be desired. His old clothes hung on his frame like on a scarecrow. When asked about his days, the man merely shrugged. Being here, in this house where his dead mother was screaming from the walls, and Dumbledore could control every aspect of his life did him no favours. So, they had to get him out. Regrettably, Sirius did not seem open to suggestions. After four hours of useless discussions, Harry simply left the room. Immediately, the man came after him. His godson appeared to be the only thing he had even a slight interest in.