It was a peaceful silence in Lawrence's room. Occasionally it was unnerving silence. The Spell Damage ward was busy as ever. Here locked away the noises were distant. Incoherent. Time passed without you knowing. When they were working it often did. No ticking. No real window. Today the room was lit with fake morning sunlight from the enchanted window.

Sandy took his usual armchair. He wore his St Mungo's robes. He had polished his boots before work. He held a file in one hand. He rested it on his lap. This was a routine experience for them both. Sandy did not know how much longer they would go on. Would it be a relief when they were done?

"I tracked down that girl who was owling you." Said Sandy. "She was owling me too at the magazine offices."

Another morning of chatter with Misslethorpe had arrived. Lawrence felt these hours were like marmite. Sometimes they’d end up having a good laugh about something from their shared past, but some weeks he’d clam up entirely. The trouble was there was always a power imbalance. The healer was in charge of where they went, what they were obliged to talk about.

It had started off as efforts to get him to bring his own memories back without the legilimency. It was hard, like repairing a very tatty tapestry. There were difficult corners he’d rather have left threadbare. Whereas now his tapestry in general was a lot brighter and bolder than it had been since he’d been a free man before the war, there were still holes. The only mercy was that talking about memories did not bring them back so vividly as what happened when he had a couple of wizard mind-tailors in his head sewing things up.

He bounced into his preferred armchair with more energy than usual. He was feeling rather restless. When he crossed one leg over the other his foot bobbed up and down, hospital slipper waggling.

“Oh really?” He asked, genuinely interested Sandy had chosen this direction to start their conversation. He’d not opened the file yet, perhaps this was just friendly chat to ease them in. “The mysterious ’Whitby Girl’[1]? My one and only raving lunatic fan.” Lawrence grinned. They both very well knew who she was.

“What does she want? A marriage proposal?”

1.	25 August 2011, Hand This to the Prisoner

Was that a genuine smile? Sandy took in the pose. The fidgeting foot. He worried if his patient was in the right frame of mind today. They needed to do some useful work. The stronger Lawrence got, the more he had his wits about him. Sandy was not sure if he liked that. He had not liked crazy Lawrence either. That Lawrence had tried to strangle him the day the dementors came to hospital. This healthier version was just as dangerous. In Sandy's opinion.

Sandy was the one who had gone to study healing. Lawrence had always been the one trying to tie him verbal knots. He had been the funny one who talked to the girls. The one flirting with them at school. The one who did not shy from a duel with enemies. Sandy had been the worrier. But Sandy had been the better at researching. At studying. At remembering details. At seeing why people were upset. The wizard in the opposite armchair had made a 'career' out of evading Magical Law Enforcement. That and playing tag with dementors. There was a good reason not to let him touch a wand again. Or get his story out there.

"No." Said Sandy. "She wants to write your biography."

“My biography?!” Lawrence hooted. Fair enough, Josie had suggested such when he’d been captive in Sandy’s house. Come to mention, this was the first time Misslethorpe had even gone near mentioning something that would remind Lawrence of the week or so he’d been prisoner at Oulton Broad. No Yavin at the hospital that morning, then. No Andy either? He wouldn’t have dared in the hearing distance of another legilimens.

“Fuck, who’d want to read that?” Lawrence’s foot continued to tap the air. He leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling, moving his arms to rest on the chair’s arms, a more open posture than before. The thought of someone wanting to know his story outside of taking a statement for his upcoming trial was intriguing. “I mean, other than recent history, I’m nobody.” The son of a hard working Department of Transport employee and a hairdresser.

The news seemed to delight Lawrence. Also bemuse. It frustrated Sandy. Josie Flint was pushy before she was drawn into the conspiracy with Lawrence. She had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sandy guessed she thought the complete opposite.

Everyone was nobody to the public. Unless your parents were very famous. Sandy was born to a magazine proprietor. He grew up less than nothing. He tried to remain out of the column inches. He lived both lives now. The one his father made him inherit and the one he had always wanted to do. Healing.

"You are maybe asking the wrong person." Admitted Sandy. He did not want to say. He did not dare let Gen know the possibility. All the staff at the magazine knew that what he did as a healer was strictly off-limits. "A conflict of interests for me. Given the circumstances Lawrence." Added Sandy. "Would not be proper."

Lawrence dropped his chin again and examined his visitor. His foot stopped bouncing.

Misslethorpe seemed tense. Odd considering he brought up the topic. Perhaps he felt obliged to say? Had he mentioned Josie’s interest to Andy and Yavin? They undoubtedly thought it was a bad idea. They kept very tight control over who came in and out of the door. Perhaps Josie had made her feelings known in a more public manner. Perhaps she had her screws into Misslethorpe…

“You mean if you weren’t involved in putting me back together with Yavin, you’d be willing to buy my story?” He asked outright. If anything had ever appeared in Witch Weekly, he knew Sandy’s balls would be on the block for Andy to chop off. (Very slowly, very painfully and very publicly.)

The research was seriously important to them all if Andy had stepped back at Yavin’s request and Sandy had agreed to step up. Lawrence had heard reports of those he’d put in St Mungo’s with his dementors, of others who had suffered without his input. His guilt had only increased as he’d recovered. Recovered with their help which could have been focused on those innocently afflicted. He wished the three mind-readers would get out onto the wards and fix the rest of them and let him be. Unless he was going to manage to escape, Lawrence didn’t want to be at the top of his mental game when he was sentenced to back to back life sentences at Azkaban. He’d have preferred to face life imprisonment comfortably numb to the world and emotions.

Sandy and Lawrence made eye contact. Sandy did not read Lawrence now. He could glean his stray thoughts if he wanted to. He did not need to right now. These were the verbal knots Lawrence liked to tie. Their familiarity from school allowed him to. Sandy supposed he let him do it too. If Lawrence was talking it improved their chances of a good session. Sandy let him have that freedom.

"I could not possibly comment, Loz." Said Sandy. "You know that." It was the truth. He wanted to tell Lawrence the other truth. Witch Weekly writers could turn any old story into a sensation to sell copies. Gen was excellent. They would never get to publish Lawrence’s story. There were far too many restrictions. He could never see Edwin Glass allowing it. If not Edwin not any future minister too. If Lawrence lived that long.

Sandy pointedly looked at the mirror beside the door. He knew the hit wizard Fendrel Stump was watching.

Ah, Sandy, don’t play games.

It wasn’t fair to bring something up and retreat on it. It wasn’t a good game. A dog who was teased with the possibility of food would eventually bite.

Was this one of Misslethorpe’s little ways of getting some information to rise to Lawrence’s memory? Had they already started the session without him realising? Lawrence didn’t like not knowing. They were intellectual equals or Lawrence was better. He never let Sandy have one over, unless it was to Lawrence’s longer-term benefit. It put him on edge, such was the fragility of his ego. Sandy knew it had only just been spellotaped back together!

“But you’ve implied,” Lawrence persisted, inching forward in his chair, both feet on the floor. “And this girl is insane enough to write it, not just read it.”

Lawrence narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. He was doing his best to read Sandy without any legilmens talent. Any release of information from this room, this case, would have bad consequences for several people he had grown to trust. Harper, Yavin… even Sandy and Andy.

Was this Sandy’s way to warn him Josie was trying to get in contact through other means? Why wasn’t Sandy just reaching into his mind like Yavin did? Say what you meant.

The pointed look at the mirror had not gone unnoticed. Lawrence narrowed his eyes and sat back, folding his arms. This would come back to bite Sandy later.

“Maybe I should ask Harper how I get an injunction against anyone writing it, just to be safe,” he suggested, folding one leg over the other, foot bouncing again.

Harper was paid for by the Ministry, not by him, so she had no obligation to do something like that unless it benefitted the Ministry. He glanced back up to meet Sandy’s gaze. “I suppose you’ve told the girl it’s out of the question?”

This was a mile away from the night he begged Andy to come to the house. Sandy was in control. He could test Lawrence. He was interested in his reactions. Locked up here with no Josie to entertain him this time.

"Naturally." Answered Sandy. As if he were entirely unbothered. He could have picked lint off his robes. Without looking at his patient he expanded. "You are part of a legal investigation. And an active research trial for the hospital. Ultimately a gag order courtesy of our laws." It had to go unsaid. It was best this story was never shared. Fans were bad at the best of times. The last thing the world needed was for Lawrence Musgrave to have fanatics.

"I shall note your request to speak with Ms Graves." said Sandy. "But perhaps we can discuss your excitement at the possibility of telling your story to the public."

Unable to suppress the childish reaction, Lawrence mimicked Healer Misslethorpe’s last, making a face as he did.

“Excitement!” He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his armchair. “I’ve been in one cell or another for nine months, Sandy. I’m facing the same for whatever’s left of my time in this world. Can’t a man have a joke about someone taking interest in him? Past whatever interest you, Yavin and Andy have in me as a test subject?” Restless, he got up and circled the room, dragging his feet like a bored teenager traversed a museum.

“Does every little thing have to be analysed?” He appealed, arms out, sleeves of his patient robes falling away from what would have been two wrists. His appeal was falling on deaf ears, he very much realised. It was fun to troll Sandy once in a while. It broke the monotony. The monotony and the newfound silence of his head. He never thought he’d miss it. “You know he’s fixed me?” Lawrence asked, dropping forward to lean his forearms on the back of the armchair he’d occupied. “Morgenthau and I, took a little foray through my nightmares. That’s all it took.” He narrowed his eyes to study Sandy. “I mean, when he said he had to sleep with me, I wasn’t really sure that was appropriate. That was what Andy got kicked off this for.”

Trolling Sandy was joyous, for there were multiple ways to try and rub his old friend the wrong way. He had always been sure Sandy held a candle for Andy Carter, so prodding that particular nerve after all those years was a delight. Because as far as Lawrence knew, Sandy had never had Miranda, whereas Lawrence had. One day, he hoped she’d come back to visit with Sandy in tow so he could make them both squirm a bit.

Sandy permitted himself a little smile. He was pleased at success. He was not an expert in dream magic. Yavin Morgenthau was. Sandy keen to learn. He kept his fan excitement dialed down. Working with Morgenthau on this case was the only highlight. Andy had high expectations. (When did she not?) She was more than put out at stepping back. At Sandy taking over. His skills had grown in the weeks. He was a lot stronger legilimens. He was confident. Even against Lawrence. Old friend. Old foe. Old ... wounds. New... mistakes.

The smile soured at the joke. It was at Andy's expense. So what if it was decades ago. It had put Sandy in the room.

"Let us talk about that then." Said Sandy. Lawrence wanted to. The recurring dream. Dementors still reaching his patient. "How have you felt since? You two solved the dream? Nightmare?"

“They’ve gone.”

Lawrence leaned forward in his armchair, eyes wide and bright. Clear that Misslethorpe needed elaboration, he continued.

“I can’t hear them anymore. They’ve gone. I’ve been trying to hear them since, but there’s nothing. It’s like the dream was the last connection between us.” His gaze passed the healer to stare somewhere in the vague direction of the door.

“They were there, in my dream, but I fought them off. And how I’ve always described them - like hearing a radio - there was one at my feet.” The dream as ever had tried to flee on waking, but the sense of it had remained. Like a memory dredged up, amongst the others they’d salvaged. “And I switched it off.”

Without consciously acting it out, Lawrence had extended his remaining hand to mimic the twist of the dial.

“If you read me now, you’d hear it too. The silence.”

Sandy very much wanted to read Lawrence right then. To hear the difference! If they were gone then he could never bring them back. He could never do what he had done to Sandy. At Oulton Broad. To Andy and Ignan. To the patients in the next ward. He suddenly shared Lawrence's excitement.

"You manifested them as a radio in your dream?" asked Sandy. "Fascinating." Not beyond the human mind. Especially magical ones. "You have heard precisely nothing?" Sandy remembered to take notes. He needed to follow this up with Andy and Yavin. Soon as possible. "Your mood is clearly elevated. Whether this lasts..." Sandy did not hold out hope. If this was a problem solved... would it help the other patients? Could he learn the finer points?

"I am pleased for you Lawrence." Said Sandy. He was. Genuinely. Even if Yavin had done the dream work. It was a team effort. "Maybe we can look at next steps."

There was the briefest of glimpses of two old friends celebrating a victory there. Lawrence wished he could bottle this glorious feeling, remember it in the future.

“… whether this lasts…” Sandy cautioned the patient. Lawrence hoped it did. Hoped it lasted as long as he could. Despite being trapped in one room for some months, he felt like a free man. That he could go out and walk through London parks and the sun would be shining, even if it was grim early January.

“Maybe we can look at next steps.”

“I dreamt my hand was back,” Lawrence added, lifting his left arm, where there was just a stump before the wrist. Ordinarily he kept it covered by the sleeve of whatever he was wearing. It had been a keen identifier when he’d been on the run, and people stared at it given a chance. “I could feel it in my dream, like it was real. Morgenthau’s something, isn’t he?” Lawrence was still marvelling at it, and unwilling to engage with any ‘next steps’ if they involved the words ‘trial’ or ‘Azkaban’. He was quite happy here in his comfortable but simple hospital room. It was safe and he had a routine.

“Does this mean I’m ‘healed’ then, Sandy?” He relented, propping himself up on his remaining hand, elbow pushed into the arm of the chair. He drew his legs up under him, closing in all of a sudden. “That whatever you’ve done to me will work for the others out there? Have I worked as a lab rat now?” He hugged his knees. “Because I could help more, couldn’t I? I could speak to them, maybe I could learn some legilimency too and…” the high from the dream was talking.

Lawrence wanted to tell him about the dream. Sandy exhaled softly. He had a duty to listen to the patient. Dreams were powerful. But they were just dreams. Unless a witch or wizard was a seer. They were the dreamer's subconscious set free. Lawrence wanted to think of old days. He was reconnected with his old memories. Their healing had done this. It was a success. The patient asked exactly that.
"We are working on reproducing the results." Said Sandy. It was true. Sandy had tried to connect with other dementor patients on the wards. Using legilimency. He was having some success. Yes. But some of the worst afflicted were suffering in more ways. It was like untangling a very difficult knot in a mind. He was a good at legilimency but he had got so much better. Sandy frowned.

"Your heart is in the right place." For once. He said. "But you are both our patient and the Ministry's charge." Grand ideas for a man who had done so much wrong. "Best I can do is bring up your offer with Yavin and Andy." Andy would say it was ridiculous. Sandy was not sure if she would want rid of Lawrence immediately. Or if she would want one last experiment. Once he was gone. He was gone?

"How are you feeling about the future?" Healer Misslethorpe asked.