Pages of research were spread across the square room on the fourth floor of St Mungo’s Hospital. Fendrel Stump observed through the false window, disguised as a mirror to the occupant. The hitwzard scheduled to keep guard for the night had just arrived, another of Fenny's small team.
“I’ll be a minute,” Fenny uttered, taking advantage of the changeover.

In about nine hours, Head Healer Storm and Mr Morgenthau would return to begin the research. Fenny hoped to Merlin that it would be a smooth day, though it looked like it could be a long night. He had decided it was best to be there tomorrow for the start than anyone else. He had a good handle on Musgrave’s volatile ticks. Stump slid his copy of Fifty Shades of Grey into his cloak as if about to leave. He double checked his St Mungo’s pin was still affixed to his hitwizard uniform and left his colleague reviewing the past day or two’s comings and goings, Fendrel pressed his wand tip to the door to the room and stepped inside.

Seated on the floor between the bed and the three armchairs, in a sea of parchment, Lawrence Musgrave was intently examining a page. He glanced up just enough to examine Fendrel’s boots to identify the intrusion, and then finished the sentence he was re-reading.

“Did you find out?” He asked Stump. The door had closed and sealed them both inside. “What are they like?”

Fendrel surveyed the floor, picked a route through the gaps in the pages to the nearest armchair, and perched. Irritated at the delay in answering, Lawrence sat up, lifting his chin from his bent knee, his left arm encircling it, the parchment grasped in his remaining right hand.

“They need your help.” Stump spoke quietly but firmly, echoing the Head Healer. “Some of them scream, if they talk at all.” He avoided eye contact with the wizard seated below him, who in turn examined this information with intense interest. He was scrutinising Stump’s face, the way he spoke. Interrogation from the floor.

“Have they been kissed?”
“Some of them. Not all of them.”
“The ones that haven’t, what are they like?”
“I don’t know, they just seem to exist. They sob. Their faces are like the end of the world.”

Lawrence’s attention flinched away, scrambling across the floor on hand and knees to find the pages.

“What about this one - are they here, are they real?”
“I can’t tell you that, you know I can’t tell you that.”
“They think I lack empathy, that I’m remorseless,” Lawrence appealed, “These patients could well be people caught up in my attempts to control dementors.”

Musgrave shook the page outstretched to his visitor. Offering him to read it. With a sigh, the hitwizard received the parchment, reading it with half an eye. They, in Fendrel’s opinion, were almost certainly right. Musgrave had been 'full of remorse’ or something along those lines[1] to the parole board two years ago.

“I don’t know... probably.”
“Gah! No wonder you only made hitwizard.”

He snatched back the parchment, and Fendrel elected not to react.

“You should sleep- ”
   “- No. I need to understand.”

Several long seconds of silence passed between the two wizards. Fenny sniffed and shrugged.
“I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” he told Lawrence, like a parent leaving a turbulent teenager temporarily, “and this best all be cleaned up by then.”

“...Thanks.”
“Hmm, goodnight Lawrence.”

1.	2nd February, 2010 Disgraced Auror Freed From Azkaban