Chapter 2 - The Therapist

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{Silence.}

The therapist was referring to the fact that Lucius was a Superial. A tiny, elite order of the Magical world who were High Pure-bloods: members of the Magical population whose bloodline was free from the taint of Muggle ancestry (or relatively free, since no one –not even the Sugarhills, who boasted the purest bloodline in the world– were 100% free of the ordinary, non-Magical blood). Superials were distinctive in that they could trace their family lineage back some five thousand years, or more, to a handful of the original Magical beings known as the First Ones. They were typically very wealthy, some being phenomenally wealthy and it was these rare few who controlled more or less EVERYTHING that went on in the world: Magical and Muggle. Along with a few other impossibly steep requisites, it was a necessary ingredient in holding the privileged title of "Lord" or "Dame" in their society, but the title could be taken away, as it recently had been with Lucius.

The therapist scanned through the page he was on and squinted looking concerned.

"And your descendants lose the right to the honorific title. So your son loses the right to it? Is that right? Dude! Ugghhh man! That SSSUCKS." he said shaking his head. "Your kid must be PISSED."

{Silence.}

"Look on the bright side. It IS really all bullshit in the end. You could even consider this all as a gift. From what you've been through, you would have had to have grown as a person and become a lot stronger now than you've ever been, or else you wouldn't still be here. Some people in your position never get that chance (and then they end up at yoga retreats, on wacky water fasts and hot sauce enemas after the breakdown – but that's another story)... So, DO you think what you're called, actually defines the man you are now? It's a small world you operate in. I can only imagine the pressure. You think 'THEY' define you? I mean you still have everything that you started with." Staring down at some figures his assistant had outlined and clipped in the spiral notebook he had just located, the therapist looked comically goggle-eyed and exclaimed: "Which, from what I am told, is a fucking SHIT LOAD... FUCK! And I thought I was loaded. CHRIST that's humbling." He gave a cheeky grin to Lucius who hadn't bothered to notice. "No one can decide for you who you are Mr Malfoy, but you... What's in a name 'Lucius'?"

Lucius closed his eyes for a couple of seconds detachedly and repositioned his elbow and head in his hand to resume staring at the painting above the mantle in better comfort. The session carried on awkwardly in a similar fashion for nearly an hour, with the therapist making little headway in any of the areas of his client's life that he approached.

This was Lucius's second session with the present therapist. In all, it was his ninth therapist in seven months. He was forced to see one (specifically a non-magical one) every week "until further notice" under the terms of his Faith Agreement, which effectively kept him out of prison until his final trial (as long as he followed the rules). The main problem of course, was he wouldn't cooperate in these seemingly beneficial matters.

He had been through every noted Muggle psychologist and life coach to the rich and famous that would agree to see him (as well as a couple not-so-noted ones). They all quickly became tired of Lucius's non-communicative "rude", "hostile", "arrogant" manner and soon quit – which suited Lucius just fine. Some even wrote quite horrible assessments in their reports, describing him in deeply unfavourable terms such as: "pathologically egocentric" and "narcissistic"... and even "that horrible, horrible man".

The present therapist (a famous Muggle performance coach and motivational speaker known for his unorthodox approach and amazing breakthroughs) was touched by Lucius's case. Beyond being amazed by the new supernatural world of Magic he had become privy to, he had read a transcript of the entire trial and studied all that was available about the Wizard's life from the time that he was a child and was moved by Lucius's unusual predicament. He was most especially moved that the Wizard's wife had been murdered in front of him at the start of the his first trial, not two years previous – the Wizard himself only escaping death by a bizarre miracle of fate. That he agreed to travel all the way to France every week on an already dizzying schedule, to see a client who was then totally unreceptive, was a testament to the therapist's dedication to helping others (or at least how deeply intriguing he found the task). As his own success had already won him enough wealth and celebrity clients, he clearly did not need to take such a case to prove his worth.

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