Chapter 2 - The Therapist

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THE THERAPIST


The man with the white-blond hair sat in an armchair in the study. His elbow rested on the arm of the chair and his head was propped up at the temple and jaw, between thumb and forefinger. He had a surly expression on his face and sat quietly staring at the painting above the mantlepiece of the adjacent wall. He had a glass of nettle wine in his other hand, which rested casually on the other arm of the chair. Barely moving the rest of his body, he took a measured sip from his glass.

Sitting on the other side of the desk, opposite the blond man was a therapist. He was a very tall, broadly built man, with a husky voice and spoke with an American accent:

"We agreed you wouldn't drink during our sessions Mr Malfoy."

Hardly changing position, or even looking over to acknowledge the therapist, 'Mr Malfoy' outstretched his arm with the glass, placing it on a small side table close to his chair. He momentarily glared out of the far corners of his eyes at the therapist, before returning his gaze to the painting.

"So we were talking about this 'duality thing' – well actually more than a duality. There's 'Lucius Malfoy,' ('Mr Malfoy'). And actually it's 'Hyperion'. Am I right?" the therapist said and looked down at his paperwork.

"Oh yeah, jeez – Hyperion Lucius Hector Orion Malfoy (Houses of Isholmborg and Malfoy). Sheesh, that's a mouthful!" the therapist snorted. "And then you have 'Lord Malfoy' AND THEN there's even this guy 'Lucian Isholmborg,' the character you've gotta be for us. What are we non-magic people called again: 'Muddles'? Lucius-Hyperion –'Lucian', tell me, what do you think about having to take on all these roles, how does it make you feel?"

On hearing the therapist address him by his given name, Lucius sedately looked over to him; he didn't say anything, but fixed his eyes on him disdainfully.

"So that bothers you when I call you by your name, does it? Why do you think that is? D'ya think you would have been bothered before you lost command of it all? You know, before you disgraced yourself and your family and everyone found out you were a flaming drug addict. Does it feel like the name –whichever society you're in– means a lot more now?... Or maybe you really ARE an egomaniacal racist, and you think I don't have the right to use your name, because I'm not on the same level as you, no matter how low you've sunk?"

{Silence.}


"Tell me, how do you feel now that they've taken away your right to be called "Lord"? Do you think the title shaped you more when you had it, or now that you've fucked everything up and lost it?"

{Silence.}

"I feel you man. (I mean... if it bothers you.) There's no shame in that... Ya know it's all well and good to say that stuff doesn't matter and the path to inner peace and enlightenment is out there floating around the universe 'yada yada', but I'd fuckin' HATE to have been one of these 'super--' what are you guys called?" He looked through his paperwork which contained many brightly coloured page marker tabs and handwritten notes scribbled throughout the pages. "Ohh yeah: 'Superial'. I mean sure, it's all bullshit in the grand scheme of things (don't get me wrong, cuz it totally is) but – dude; I'm not even gonna try to hoodwink you man. That shit is rough! If I was used to being called 'Your Lordship' my whole life and had people bowing at my feet and everything," he produced a wide, goofy grin, winking and nodding to himself, as though he very much liked the idea of having the honour, "and then they started calling me just plain old 'Tony'... I mean they might as well be saying: 'Hey you! Dumbass over there!' Uggh! Now that would piss me off. I have a wife and kids whose respect I need to keep up with. A guy has his pride. I guess it's the same with a Wizard. Am I wrong?"

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