prologue
Regulus Black was no stranger to terrifying authority figures.
His first figure skating coach, Ms. Morozov had made him run drills that would make a high scholar sweat at 8 years old.
The next one, Igor Trankov, had made a point of never praising him. “I will praise you mal’chik when you manage to do something right,” he’d said with the flat affect one might reserve for a particularly burdensome dog.
Elena Kafka hadn’t smiled once in the 6 years she’d spent coaching him, not even as he stood upon the pedestal in Russia holding a gold medal aloft as the cameras flashed.
That’s to say nothing of his parents. Actually, he’d really rather say nothing about his parents.
Dr. Lewis unnerved him in a completely different way. He was so without expectation. There was something about the way he sat in his chair, hands neatly folded in his lap, completely relaxed. He could look completely at ease even as he asked the most ridiculous invasive questions anyone had bothered to ask him. And that was saying something. International Figure Skating Magazine had once asked Regulus, aged 13, how puberty adversely impacted his ability to skate. Miraculously, Dr. Lewis managed to unsettle him more.
He shifted uncomfortably, “I’m not sure I understand your question.”
Dr. Lewis nodded as if his confusion made perfect sense, “let me rephrase myself. Putting aside the interests of your parents, of Mrs. Kafka, of anyone else, where would you like to see yourself in 5 years?”
This, to Regulus, felt like something of a trick question. 7 months ago, he figured he would have said dead. Or holding a third gold medal. Depending on the time of day you decided to ask him.
Now, he supposed, both of those options should be off the table. The notion made him squirm a little. He focused on the qualifier, “Why should I care about my parents?”
Dr. Lewis was unflappable, “do you not care about what your parents think?”
This, Dr. Lewis had to know, was a ridiculous question. Regulus’s parents had moved him straight from the hospital in Lenox Hill to the rehab treatment center upstate and hadn’t spoken to him since. He figured that was fair enough. They were, after all, only being true to their word. His mother had informed him rather archly that he was the biggest disappointment she’d ever faced and then explained that he shouldn’t expect to hear from them any time soon.
This was all said rather quickly. His father had waited in the car, keeping it warm and idle for all of 5 minutes before they both drove off leaving Regulus, a duffel bag, and the pathetic remains of his career on the front steps of The Beacon of Hope Rehabilitation and Recovery Center. Some name that.
“And why would I care what they think? Seeing as they’re not in my life anymore?” Regulus asked.
Dr. Lewis, spun his pen lightly between his fingers, a tic he did whenever Regulus said something he found especially interesting.
“Do you think that we cannot internalize the dreams of those who have abandoned us?” he asked casually and Regulus fought an all-consuming urge to fling himself out of his chair.
“Can we maybe tone it down on the philosophical questions for this session?” he sighed.
Dr. Lewis waited.
Regulus sighed. It was a new skill of his – knowing when he was beat. He'd gotten better at accepting defeat, if nothing else.
“Sure, yes, I’d say that’s something that could happen. But seeing as my parents only wanted one thing from me and I’m not doing that anymore, I’m not sure the question really applies to me.”
“Do you not think you may be internalizing some of their feelings of regret? And that this may be negatively impacting your ability to envision another life for yourself?” Dr. Lewis muses.
Dr. Lewis is rarely so direct. He leans forward, placing his pen aside entirely, “I’ll ask you again, Regulus. What do you want?”
Regulus feels small. He’s 6 years old and he can’t land a lutz for the life of him. He’s 12 and the triple axel is just out of his grasp. He’s 14 and he’s terrified as he’s stares down a panel of judges at the olympics with his chin tilted high, don’t you dare let them see you flinch.
He doesn’t know. He has no idea. He thinks, feebly, that he wants his brother.
In this moment, in this ridiculous office, over 200 miles away, he wants Sirius.
“I think,” Regulus says, feeling hysteric and completely unmoored, “that I’d like to go to college.”
Dr. Lewis raises a single eyebrow.