Non-magical AU where Regulus is put in therapy with a psychoanalyst
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Regulus sits down and fixes the analyst with a serious look. "I need you to convince my parents to pull me out of Hogwarts immediately."
Dr. Roberston raises his eyebrows. "I thought you liked it there. You were concerned your father was going to remove you, were you not?"
Regulus waves his hand dismissively. That was absolutely ages ago and not even close to relevant now. Not worth discussing. "I did. Until I realized what an irredeemable cesspool of human filth it is and I simply have to leave at once. I cannot return and spend one single minute more there, doctor, I cannot. I tried to explain to mother and she told me that she would put me on the train this morning, but apparently father forbid it and said that I have to learn how to manage the riff-raff if I want to make anything of myself."
"I see. That must have been confusing for you."
Regulus shrugs. "It doesn't matter. You need to tell father I cannot go there anymore. It isn't good for me, isn't right. He listens to you. Go on, call him now." He snaps his fingers expectantly. "I won't go back there."
Dr. Robertson raises his eyebrows and purses his lips when Regulus snaps at him. "Did something happen?"
"Are you going to call?"
"Call and say what?"
Regulus lets out an exasperated sigh. "Have you not listened to a word I've just said? Call father and tell him I have to be taken out of Hogwarts, of course!"
"But why?"
Regulus looks at the analyst like he has two heads. How is this so complicated? "They only let me come here once a week. It's interfering with my analysis. Tell him you think it's in my best interest to transfer me elsewhere."
"That's why you want to leave Hogwarts? So you can have more frequent sessions with me?"
"What? No! Of course not. Don't be absurd."
"Why then? Why the sudden change of heart?"
Regulus scowls. "I am pretty sure I told you. It is a horrible place full of horrible people and I no longer wish to be there."
"I see."
"I am surrounded by silly, idiotic, worthless children all the time. I have no idea how I am expected to receive an adequate education under these conditions. And half the professors are so tender-hearted and hare-brained, not an ounce of discipline or sense. So there is really no point at all in me being there."
"Mhmm."
"There are better schools. Better schools in London, even. So I would be close by. You could see me as often as you like. I just have to get out of that place. It's driving me mad."
"I can see that."
Regulus sighs. He's quiet for a moment, examining the analyst, who looks at him with curiosity and perhaps a hint of concern. He frowns. "And Evan and I had a row."
"Ah."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"No?"
"He got me into trouble in class because he couldn't keep his hands to himself and broke the professor's antique something or another and he had the nerve to blame it on me! He said it was fine because I was a teacher's pet and I would be forgiven, but I am hardly going to be anyone's pet if he goes around blaming all of his misdeeds on me!"
The analyst perks up a bit at that. "Do you want to be somebody's pet?"
"What an odd thing to say!"
"Is it?"
Regulus stares at the analyst. "Yes. Yes it is. Do you want to be somebody's pet?"
Dr. Robertson smiles warmly. "I ask because you said that you wouldn't be anyone's pet if Evan gets you in trouble. You didn't seem to take 'teacher's pet' as an insult. It seems as though you consider that a desirable position. Am I wrong?"
"Adults like me. I don't think that's a bad thing!"
Dr. Robertson doesn't respond.
Regulus crosses his arms. "I am not a pet. I am polite."
"It is interesting to me that you object to the term now that I've pointed it out."
"You are interested in the queerest things."
Dr. Robertson smiles. "Perhaps that is true."
Regulus stares at the ceiling. "Mother won't let us have pets after what happened to the dog."
"Ah. Yes. I had rather forgotten about that."
Regulus shakes his head. "It was hardly my fault."
He pauses and thinks about whether or not he would like a pet. Sirius always wanted an animal companion of some sort about, but Regulus thought they made an awful mess and smelled horrible and created too much chaos. Maybe a small, furless pet would be alright, though. Like a snake.
"Do you have any pets?"
"Why do you ask?"
Regulus shoots the analyst a look. "Because I want to know the answer."
Dr. Robertson chuckles. "I prefer to allow animals to live their lives outdoors."
"Oh."
"Were you expecting a different answer?"
Regulus shrugs. "You look like the kind of person who would have a dog."
"Oh? What kind of dog would I have?"
Regulus furrows his brow. "An old dog that lays at your feet all the time or sits by the fire, maybe."
"Hmm."
"That isn't a compliment. I hate dogs."
"Good to know."
Regulus sighs. "I really don't want to go back there."
"You think you and Evan will not be able to resolve this?"
Regulus shakes his head. "That isn't it. I know we will. He'll do something that will make me forget and forgive him, he always does. I just want...maybe if I went somewhere else I could make better friends."
"Maybe if you went somewhere else you would make friends with the same kinds of people."
Regulus frowns.
"People often want to go somewhere new to get a fresh start and find themselves doing the same thing they always did because they are the same person they were in the last place."
"Well, that is depressing."
Dr. Robertson shrugs. "It depends how you look at it. You don't need a new school to make change, Regulus. You need internal change. The sort of thing we're working on in here."
"Yes, but that isn't encouraging at all. You're useless!"
Dr. Robertson grins. The man must love to be insulted, Regulus thinks.
After a minute, Dr. Robertson says, "That may be true from your perspective, but I do think we are getting somewhere. Slowly and steadily. I hope you'll start to see that too."
Non-magical AU where Regulus is put in therapy with a psychoanalyst
Part 1 | Previous
“I have been having a bit of a strange weekend,” Regulus says as he settles into his chair across from the analyst. “I was meant to be studying for an exam and writing up this essay that is due on Wednesday, but I spent almost all day yesterday lying in bed, even though I don’t think I was ill. And I was having such odd thoughts.”
“What sorts of thoughts?”
Regulus sighs. “I bet you would like to know, wouldn’t you?”
Dr. Robertson smiles slightly. “Only in the service of understanding you better.”
Regulus looks annoyed. “Why have you got to understand me at all, hmm? Who says I want to be understood?”
“I think that’s what everyone wants. And that is what we’re here to do.”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “I think you make up a new thing that ‘we’re here to do’ every week.”
Dr. Robertson laughs and Regulus feels slightly gratified.
“Well, the thing is on Friday, Evan – my friend, Evan, the one father doesn’t approve of – you remember?”
“Yes, I remember Evan.”
“Right. Well, he said on Friday evening that I looked soft and pretty like a little girl and pinched my cheek. I am obviously not pretty or like a little girl at all. I am handsome. Mother says so.” Regulus sighs again. “Evan does things like that sometimes. He likes to get under my skin.”
“Did he?”
“Did he what?”
“Get under your skin?”
Regulus frowns. “It was a bit annoying. He said it in front of the girls and they all giggled. The girls always laugh at his jokes, even though no one would ever accuse him of being pretty.”
Dr. Robertson chuckles again. “Perhaps that is why he said you were pretty? Jealousy?”
Regulus shrugs. “Maybe. Evan says girls are boring and not worth his time and he never seems to pay them any mind. He took a vow that he would never fancy a girl for as long as he can live, if he can help it, only I don’t think it works like that. Does it? Can you decide not to fancy anyone?”
“Not usually, no. But it isn’t unusual for children to go through a phase where they insist they will never be interested in anyone of the opposite sex. And it isn’t unusual for a boy your age to say that they don’t fancy anyone even if they do.”
Regulus frowns. “You think he fancies the girls but won’t say? Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know that that is the case. I don’t know your friend Evan at all. Sometimes boys find it embarrassing to fancy a girl.” Dr. Robertson looks at Regulus expectantly, which confuses Regulus tremendously.
“Evan doesn’t get embarrassed. He has no shame. That’s his problem, honestly,” Regulus grumbles.
“Ah.”
Regulus looks at the analyst, who still has that look on his face. He considers asking about it, but decides against it, going back instead to what he had been saying. “Anyway. Evan told me that I looked like a little girl and it was very rude and I told him so, although of course he didn’t care a bit. He just laughed and said not to ruin my pretty face looking cross. And then on Saturday, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I don’t know why. I kept thinking about what it would have been like if I had been born a girl.”
Regulus frowns and looks at the ground. “Things would be very different, I suppose.”
“How so?”
“Well…Sirius would have to be responsible, wouldn’t he? If he was the only heir. He gets away with things now because he knows that I’m there to pick up the slack. But if I had been a girl, he couldn’t do that. And I wouldn’t have to worry about anything. Girls have it so easy. It’s really not fair.”
“You were fantasizing about being a girl.”
Regulus looks up with reproach at the analyst. “I most certainly was not.”
“No?”
“That isn’t what – I did not say – that’s not what I was doing!”
“You object to calling it a fantasy?”
“You’re making it sound like I want to be a girl!”
“And you don’t?”
“No. No.”
The analyst is quiet for a moment. Regulus feels a bit hot. Finally, the analyst says, “It sounded like a wish in there. For the easier life you might have had if you were a girl.”
“I knew you would twist this,” Regulus says, his lips pursed. “You are just as bad as Evan. Worse!”
“You told Evan about this?”
Regulus’ eyes widen in horror. “Of course not! Can you imagine what he would say?”
“Can you?”
Regulus waves his hand dismissively. “Your incessant questions. Evan has a big mouth. I could never tell him anything private like this.”
“You told me instead.”
“Yes, and see if I ever do that again!”
“You didn’t like my response. But you trusted me to keep your private thoughts private. That is something.”
“You’re so desperate for me to –” Regulus pauses. He’s not sure how to finish that sentence. Desperate for Regulus to love him doesn’t quite sound right. Make use of him?
“I do want you to have a space where you can feel free to speak your mind. I think it is perhaps a bit extreme to say that I am desperate to give you that, but I do think it will be helpful for you and that you are owed that space and I am prepared to give it to you whenever you want.”
Regulus is quiet for a long time thinking about that. He is owed it? What does that even mean? He is owed a space to say things he ought not say? Things he ought not think, even? Why should that be encouraged? It seems wild, crazy – the sort of thing Sirius might be in favor of, the sort of thing that would get a person into trouble.
“The school will only let me come here on the weekends,” he says slowly. “So it’s not whenever I want.”
Dr. Robertson sighs. “That is an inconvenience.” He leans forward slightly in his chair. “You could write me though. If you have thoughts throughout the week you want to share, you could write me.”
Regulus looks appalled. “Absolutely not! Besides. You think I want my private thoughts written down where some postal worker could get his grubby little hands on it? No, I think not.”
“Well, I suppose we will have to make due with the time we have then.”
Regulus crosses his arms. “I could call? There’s a phone that’s private that I am allowed to use to call my parents.”
“Sure. You could call.” Dr. Robertson leans over to his desk and grabs a business card. He writes down his office hours on the back and hands it to Regulus. “I can’t promise I will be able to answer. But I will try to get back to you within the day.”
Regulus stares at the card in his hand. He has to resist the urge to tear it to shreds in front of the analyst. “It doesn’t matter. I’m never going to use it. It was just a silly thought.”
My analyst asked me once what the appeal was of getting a lobotomy (after I told him that if I ever had a sex dream about him I would sign up for a lobotomy the next day) and like...hello? Thinking is hard and I don't like it.
Non-magical AU where Regulus is put in therapy with a psychoanalyst
Part 1 | Previous | Next
Regulus sits in silence and frowns, studying his shoes. There's a small scuff mark at the tip of his left shoe that is unsettling him. And his laces are tied rather sloppily. He had been in a bit of a rush this morning. He woke up thinking it was Saturday and that he had nowhere in particular to be. He stares at them and debates whether or not he ought to retie them. He wants to, but under the most relaxed circumstances, he would worry about whether someone might think him odd for doing that. In analysis, where he's under intense scrutiny, it seems unthinkable.
He looks up at the analyst. "I do not know what to talk about today. Nothing of note happened this week."
Dr. Robertson tilts his head to the side slightly. "Do you mean you can't think of anything to talk about at all or you don't think anything you could talk about is important?"
Regulus furrows his brow. That is actually a useful question. Annoying. Since when has the analyst been good at his job? And why has he chosen today of all days, when Regulus has nothing at all worth analyzing to start?
Not that Regulus ever has anything that needs analyzing, of course.
"I suppose I could think of something to talk about, but what is the point of that?"
"Well, that is the idea of the work we are doing here. You say whatever is on your mind and we try to understand something about how your mind works. Even the mundane has meaning."
Even the mundane has meaning. What a relief that the analyst is back to spouting his typical nonsensical notions. Regulus relaxes a bit.
"The only thing on my mind right now is that I am quite hungry. I barely had any time at all to eat before I arrived and so I only had a bit of toast and orange juice. I hope there is something good for lunch today. Hogwarts may be...you know..." Regulus makes a face and gestures vaguely, "not exactly full of the most reputable people. Plenty of ridiculous notions are allowed to be taught there. I'm sure you would feel right at home there. But the food is good. And the kitchen help is very agreeable."
"The kitchen help?"
Regulus nods and ducks down to retie his shoes. He painstakingly ties them into near-perfect bows and then leans back to admire his work with a small smile. Much better.
"Yes, I go down to the kitchens sometimes if I missed a meal or need a snack. Students aren't really supposed to be down there, but I knew who to ask to find out where it was and how to get in." Regulus looks up at the analyst and smiles, sitting up a little straighter, his chest puffed out with pride. "I am good at knowing the right people in a new place. The help know everything about a place, you have to be able to talk to them if you want to know anything useful."
Regulus pauses and sighs. "I showed Sirius where the kitchens were my first year because I thought it might...well, I just thought he would appreciate it. That I knew something clever that he didn't know and maybe...I don't know. He told all his mates and they all brag about 'finding' it. Well, they never would have. Sirius acts like he has everything figured out, that he...he doesn't know how to talk to the right people in the right way. He just smashes and argues and jokes his way through everything and acts as if that..."
"You're worried about your brother," Dr. Robertson says softly.
"Well...yes. Yes, I am." Regulus frowns. "That's the second sensible thing you've said today. Don't tell me you're going to start doing your job properly now."
Dr. Robertson tries unsuccessfully to stifle a grin. "What was the first sensible I said?"
"Oh, I'm sure you would like to know," Regulus says, rolling his eyes. "You're not even sure which things you say are sensible and which are nonsense. I suppose you are not really in danger of being good at this."
Dr. Robertson laughs. "It would be a bad thing if I were doing a good job?"
Regulus stares at him. He frowns. "Of course it would."
"Why is that?"
Regulus narrows his eyes. "I don't know. That doesn't make sense, does it?"
"The things we think that seem nonsensical often tell us a great deal about the way we think. You see, even what might have seemed mundane leads to meaningful information."
Regulus smiles. "That's nonsense. So you know."
Dr. Robertson grins. "Thank you, Regulus, that's very helpful feedback."
Non-magical AU where Regulus is put in therapy with a psychoanalyst
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Regulus fidgets in his chair for a few minutes and then glances up at the analyst. "Did you have a good holiday?"
The analyst smiles. "I did. Quite enjoyable. How about you?"
Regulus sighs. "I think you know I did not."
The analyst raises his eyebrows. "Do I? What makes you say that?"
Regulus rolls his eyes and looks at the analyst like he's stupid (perhaps he is). "Sirius. Obviously. He always ruins the holidays."
"Always?"
Regulus nods eagerly. "Every single year, Dr. Robertson. Without fail. He pulls a prank or starts a row or pulls a prank that starts a row or spoils the whole thing with his foul mood. But...this year was different."
"How so?"
Regulus furrows his brows. "He threatened to leave and never come back. And not in the big dramatic way that he usually does, in front of mum, where he says he's going to run off and she tells him he'll likely be murdered in the streets because he's such an impulsive and idiotic child and he says that's better than living with her and he hopes he is murdered in the streets because he'll never have to hear her awful voice again and she will have to pretend to be sad because she's too heartless to care about whether he lives or dies, which is stupid because why would she want him to stay at home where it's safe if she didn't care? Everything she does is to try to protect him but he just...well, anyway. He didn't say it in front of our mother at all. He said it to me! Father was cross with me, I don't remember why, and Sirius offered to take me out for hot chocolate, which is very odd, because since when has he ever done anything nice for me? And then when we were in the cafe, he told me if he has to spend another Christmas like this, he's just going to leave and never come back. And I was...there was something about the way he said it. I don't know. I don't know. I was worried. I said what if he gets murdered, it's dangerous in London and a lot of the people out there, they're the wrong sort, and Sirius, he just, he trusts all the wrong people." Regulus' breathing quickens and his words spill out faster. "He thinks he can take care of himself, but he makes all these stupid, dangerous choices and then he just laughs about it, even when it goes wrong and he gets hurt, he just laughs. But he said he thinks he can stay with the Potters, as if. As if. As if..."
Regulus shakes his head, unable to continue. The analyst sits in silence for several long moments.
"As if?" Dr. Robertson prompts eventually, his voice oddly comforting.
"As if that would be any safer!" Regulus exclaims. He sighs and shakes his head again. "I don't understand why he would confide in me. Why would he burden me with this? He said that he is happier with the Potters. Do you...he said that I could come with him! Why would I come with him? I love our parents. I am happy at home. He could be too, but he chooses not to be. He said I could choose to be happy at the Potters, then, couldn't I, and got a bit sour. Even if that were true, why would I want to be happy there? Why would I choose another family over my own? Sirius acts as though blood doesn't matter at all. But, you know, don't you? You know that it matters. Even if you are a...even you know that family matters. You have your wife, your daughters," Regulus gestures at the pictures on Dr. Robertson's desk. "Would you trade them in for a different family?"
Dr. Robertson exhales heavily and sits in thoughtful silence for a moment. Regulus stares at him, baffled by the hesitation. Is the man really considering it? Surely, this is an easy question to answer!
"I am curious what sort of answer you expect from me," Dr. Robertson says finally.
Regulus thinks that the analyst must indeed be stupid. "I expect you to say you would not!"
"Mm. You know, a significant part of my work is related to the importance of bonding and attachment between parents and young children. I see that attachment as highly important to the health and well-being of a child. However, sometimes, for whatever reason, the parent cannot provide this bonding experience and other adults are called to step in. That is part of my work, too. To care for and bond with children who are not my own."
Regulus stares at the analyst. "Would you trade your children in for different children or not?"
"Of course I would not," Dr. Robertson responds. "But neither would I trade you in for another patient."
"What?" Regulus asks, his voice sounding soft and fragile to his own ears. "I don't...that is not what I was asking."
"Maybe not directly. But that was part of the question I was hearing."
Regulus shakes his head. Analysts, he thinks. So prone to fanciful ideas that miss the point entirely.
Non-magical AU where Regulus is put in therapy with a psychoanalyst
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"I hate you."
Regulus announces this to the analyst after sitting in silence for nearly twelve minutes, trying to work up the courage. It's not that he's never said anything like this to another person before - at school, sometimes, he has to be rather forward with the riff-raff. They don't understand it any other way and really, he is doing them a service by being direct with them. Sure, they do blubber to the teachers and their little ill-bred friends, and call him a snob and a tosser and all sorts of ridiculous names, but that is because they are too simple to see that he is doing them a kindness by putting them in their place.
And he knows that the analyst is every bit as ill-bred as the school urchins. He may be a professional with a respectable career and a halfway decent office, but there's no disguising his roots. "Blood will out," as his mother would say, and Regulus can almost smell the stench of poverty on the analyst. The way the analyst glorified his furniture's disrepair last week - that was poor, small-minded thinking. By all accounts, Regulus is well within his rights to put this man in his place.
It is true that Regulus rarely says such things to adults. He used to, in the foolhardy days of his youth, when he was out of control and this whole business with the analyst started, but Regulus is mature now. He does not go around telling adults in positions of authority that he hates them. He says that behind their back to his friends, like a respectable young man. But the analyst hardly counts as a person at all, and Regulus has never had trouble expressing criticism of him before.
In fact, Regulus is not sure why he needed courage at all. He looks at the analyst, carefully assessing his reaction. The analyst, for his part, looks almost excited. He's clearly trying to keep his expression neutral, but his eyes light up just a little when Regulus says it. There's a word Regulus learned recently, from one of Evan's older friends (all of Evan's older friends make Regulus nervous, even though he pretends otherwise): masochist.
Is the analyst a masochist? Are all analysts masochists?
"That is a strong feeling," the analyst says.
"It is how I feel," Regulus replies, a slight defensive edge in his tone.
"I see. And how does it feel to tell me that?"
Regulus narrows his eyes. "You probably think I don't mean it. But I do. I really do, I hate you."
The analyst raises his eyebrows. "What makes you say that I think you don't mean it?"
Regulus shrugs. "You said I am good at paying attention to people. That I notice things. I notice you. And I think you don't take me seriously. But you ought to."
"I take you seriously, Regulus." The spark of excitement is replaced by a weariness in the analyst's face. He is tired of Regulus. He hates Regulus, probably. Regulus should never have said he hated the analyst, because of course now the analyst hates him too.
Which is ridiculous. The analyst is lucky to be graced with the presence of a boy with Regulus' pedigree. Young man. He's a young man now, not a boy - not a silly, foolish child to be dismissed. To look on wearily and offer empty validation to.
How could the analyst hate him? Jealousy, perhaps.
"You hate me." Regulus says it firmly, the way the analyst says things sometimes, like it is an indisputable fact.
This surprises the analyst. He visibly startles before schooling his expression once again. "You think I hate you?"
"I know you do."
The analyst is silent for what feels like an eternity. "What makes you so certain?"
The truth is, Regulus isn't certain. Or, at least, he isn't certain what makes him certain. (Made him certain? He is not certain he is certain anymore.) He settles on, "I just am."
"I see."
Regulus waits for the analyst to reassure him that this is not true, that he does not hate Regulus. The analyst says nothing. They sit in silence for another ten minutes, until the analyst says softly, "Well, that's our time for today."
Regulus gets up, a little stunned, and gives the analyst a curt nod. "Have a happy Christmas."
Dr. Robertson smiles warmly at him. "You as well, Regulus."
I just went back and reread some of my original Psych Sunday installments, and honestly, I'm not sure I'm even writing the same story anymore. Why did I make 9 year old Regulus so unhinged and uncouth? Ah well.
I love love LOVE your psychoanalysis series. It's so well done, and there's such a gentle, dry humour to it. Thank you for sharing:)) it's helped me through some truly soul-sucking exams
Thank you!! I'm glad you appreciate it, I've really been enjoying getting back into writing it. I hope your exams went well!
Non-magical AU where Regulus is put in therapy with a psychoanalyst
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Regulus sits down and crosses his arms, frowning. He opts not to look at the analyst, studying his desk chair intently instead. The leather is worn and peeling at the top, which is absolutely distasteful and unprofessional. Everything about the analyst's office is distasteful and unprofessional. It is absurd, in Regulus' opinion, that this man is allowed to conduct himself as a professional. Perhaps he ought to draft a complaint to the man's superiors.
Regulus' lips start to curve into a smile as he imagines what sort of superiors a man like Dr. Robertson might have. Likely, they are every bit as bad as he is and not worth the stationary.
"Something on your mind?" Dr. Robertson asks, his tone gentle.
Regulus cannot resist the urge to roll his eyes. He can practically hear his mother scolding Sirius for such obviously deplorable behavior in his head but if mother were here, surely she would be forced to admit that this was a situation in which disrespectful behavior was called for. Even father has said before that "decorum is not always owed."
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Naturally, I have things on my mind. I am not empty headed."
"I did not mean to imply that you were."
Regulus scoffs. He stares at the chair again. Is the analyst not embarrassed to flaunt furniture in such a state of disrepair? He thinks about asking the analyst that. Gives it careful consideration. Turns it over in his mind a few times, and -
"Would you care to share what is on your mind?"
Regulus narrows his eyes and turns to affix the analyst with a cool stare. "No."
The analyst does not appear to react to Regulus' defiance at all. This is maddening.
"I was wondering how you could allow your furniture to be in such disrepair. Are you not ashamed to invite people into your office in this state?"
Dr. Robertson follows Regulus' gaze to the desk chair. Then he looks back at Regulus. His expression looks almost pitying, and it raises Regulus' hackles. Regulus is not a violent young man, but he very much wants to slap the look right off the analyst's face.
"I am not at all ashamed of the state of my furniture, no. That is a well-loved chair. It is worn down from good use and I love it all the more for that."
Regulus scowls.
"It is hard for you to imagine that someone could accept an object - or a person - who is visibly imperfect."
The analyst states this like it is a fact handed down to him from whatever mystical analytic gods with whom he undoubtedly engages in bizarre rituals. This should infuriate Regulus. He is not sure why it doesn't.
"Perhaps I think it shows that you do not really care for the things in your possession. I would never let anything I own look so damaged. I take care of my things and make sure they are in good repair." Regulus looks back at the chair. "You neglect yours."
"Ah," the analyst says, like this is some grand revelation. "You are feeling neglected."
Regulus does manage to hold back a second eye roll, with great fortitude and strength. He thinks this level of self-control is probably worthy of an award of some kind. Did Not Roll My Eyes at my Stupid Analyst Saying Stupid Analyst Things - an incredible achievement.
"I am feeling no such thing. I am commenting on your chair."
"Often what one says - especially what one says in here - has more than one meaning." The analyst pauses, presumably to let this sink in. Or perhaps to see Regulus' expression of disdain. Whatever the purpose, he continues, "Perhaps you have feelings about my recent unexpected absence."
"Yes, I do," Regulus replies. "It was lovely. I wish you were gone longer."
"I see."
"Mother said you were ill. I thought perhaps I would get lucky and you would die and I would never have to see you again."
Dr. Robertson smiles at that. "I am ever so sorry to disappoint you, then."
"Figures," Regulus says, staring up at the ceiling, annoyed. "You would probably haunt me anyway. Come in here as a ghost or something. I'll never be free."
"That is an interesting fantasy."
"No, it isn't."
Dr. Robertson raises his eyebrows. "No?"
"No. It is boring. Everything is...were you even really sick? Who is sick for two whole weeks?"
"Me, apparently."
"Aren't you a doctor?"
"I'm not a medical doctor. And even medical doctors suffer illness."
"Hmmph. For two weeks?"
"Sometimes."
"You don't even look sick."
"I am feeling much better now."
"I thought you were dying and you don't even look like...you haven't even lost weight. So you can't have been that ill."
"Why do you imagine that I did not come to our sessions, then?"
Regulus' eyes wander back to the chair. "I don't care."
"Why do you imagine I came today?"
Regulus looks at the analyst, a bit startled by that question. He frowns and looks down. "I'll never be free."
"You feel trapped here with me. Trapped by my reliable attendance in this office - so reliable that you imagine I would come back even after my own death. And confused by the temporary 'freedom' you were granted in my absence."
"I'm not confused," Regulus mutters. "You're confused."
"What am I confused about?" Dr. Robertson asks in his softest, most gentle voice. Regulus almost wants to cry hearing it.
"Everything. You don't understand anything. You can't. You just. You can't. You can't. No one can."
Regulus falls silent for a moment, his breathing sharp and unsteady.
"No one can," he repeats.
"I'd like to try."
Regulus looks the analyst in the eye. "I don't believe you."
"I know," the analyst says, leaning forward slightly in his chair. "I'm still going to try."
"Stupid," Regulus mutters. But he feels a bit better. Which makes him feel worse.
My downstairs neighbor is currently having her mind blown by the concept of pansexuality. I can hear her on the phone, like, "how can you be PAN sexual?" Living above this woman is pure tea.
Non-magical AU where Regulus is put in therapy with a psychoanalyst
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Regulus sits in silence across from the analyst, feeling anxious and fidgety, but very carefully holding his body still, the way he does sometimes at Very Important Events or when his father unexpectedly joins them for afternoon tea. He tries to remember to breathe.
He knows that the analyst probably cannot actually read his mind - he said as much, after all, didn't he? And there is no such thing as mind reading anyway. And his father wouldn't send him to someone who would do such a thing, probably, maybe. Except actually, Regulus has no idea whether or not his father would do such a thing because Regulus has never been able to read his father in the slightest.
He knows that the analyst probably cannot actually read his mind, but nevertheless, it feels important to try very hard not to think about what happened last night. So he is not thinking about what happened last night and is instead thinking about -
"How did dinner with your parents go last week?"
Regulus is startled out of his reverie. He actually jumps a bit - embarrassing - and looks at the analyst. "Hmm? Oh. Fine. They wanted me to meet someone. It was fine."
Last week feels like an entire lifetime ago. And several light years away. Regulus can hardly remember. He keeps getting flashes of the way Evan smirked at him, the taunting tone in his voice, and he shakes his head and runs his hand over his face.
"I didn't do anything wrong!"
Dr. Robertson pauses, his brow furrowed. "At the dinner?"
Regulus waves his hand dismissively. "No."
Regulus sighs. He is not doing a very good job at keeping his thoughts in control and it is very frustrating to him. He knows he has to find something, anything else to talk about. The analyst offered last week's dinner, but that is too distant and frankly, too strange for discussion in the fragile state he is in.
He runs through a variety of other thoughts before he finds something that he thinks will satisfy the analyst without being too distressing to discuss.
He looks up at the analyst. "How can you tell if a girl fancies you?"
Dr. Robertson breaks into a warm, jovial smile. Regulus lets out a breath of relief - this is a topic Dr. Robertson will happily latch onto.
"Is there a particular girl you have in mind?"
Regulus shrugs. "Maybe."
"What makes you think that she fancies you?" Dr. Robertson asks, his expression eager.
Regulus can hear Evan's laughter in his head so clearly it almost startles him. He sets his jaw and inhales sharply. Not thinking about that. Not thinking about that. Not thinking about that.
"I...I don't know. She is - she blushes a lot whenever she is around me. But she does that with other boys as well. And girls." Regulus frowns. "More with me than other boys though, I think."
"How does that make you feel?"
Regulus thinks about this. Only this. Nothing else. He thinks about Hope, blushing in the corridor as he holds the door open for her and she walks past and thanks him.
"Annoyed," he says.
Dr. Robertson raises his eyebrows. "Annoyed?"
"Yes. I think." He pauses. "Dr. Robertson?"
"Yes?"
"How do I know if I fancy a girl?"
"Do you think you fancy this girl?" Dr. Robertson asks. His tone sounds skeptical.
"How would I know?" Regulus snaps.
"Well. Typically young men feel excited, warm, and happy when they are with someone they fancy. Or when they think about the girl they fancy. Is that how you feel when you think about her?"
Regulus frowns and shakes his head. "That isn't how I feel when I think about anybody."
Inexplicably, Dr. Robertson laughs at that. "I'm sorry," he says, but he doesn't look sorry. "No one at all?"
Regulus furrows his brow and tries to think. "No, I don't think so," he says finally. "Is that how you feel with your wife?"
Dr. Robertson doesn't answer. Regulus didn't expect him to, but is still annoyed. "Would you like to feel that way about someone?"
Regulus considers it. "No. I don't think so. It seems awfully silly."
Dr. Robertson looks down at his notepad and scribbles a note. He is still smiling, but something about his expression looks sad to Regulus.
"Should I? Want to feel that way?"
"I can't answer that, Regulus," Dr. Robertson says softly, looking back up at him. "But I hope that you do."
Regulus falls silent, all thoughts about last night suddenly gone as he tries to imagine feeling warm and excited to see someone. Suddenly, he feels rather sad. By the time the session ends, he feels weighed down by an odd heaviness that carries with him upon his return to Hogwarts.
