Don't need no thought control

Getting away from the school had not presented the slightest difficulty. Surprisingly enough, this was the first time Monroe had needed to apparate to another city outside of school hours so the ease surprised him. His family was not on the Hogwarts Board of Governors - they weren't old school tie enough - but Monroe knew there were other ways to keep his siblings safe and have the wards extended around Hogsmeade. Tabloids had their uses.

Nevertheless, he'd made it to the emergency ward of St Mungo's Hospital. Exactly where he needed to be. Thinking up a malady would be no trouble. Munroe hadn't been to hospital for years, but he'd seen plenty of medical dramas and the great thing about self reported symptoms and waiting for tests was they could lead to an inconclusive diagnosis.

And they could give Monroe a chance to see just how this place worked. How convenient.

At the front of the line, his name and symptoms were jotted down before Monroe was told to sit back down again. So far, so much like any other hospital, he supposed.

Kirby was walking back from the little lab that Robert ran, having finally brought some of the much needed ingredients. Robert had concocted a little test potion, but Kirby had his doubts. Robert assured him they would begin a clinical trial, but Kirby was impatient- why could they not just try it out on some of the rapidly diminishing patients? Kirby could appreciate the ingenuity of the Lupins, but they believed too much in politics and protocol to be Kirby's type of people.

So, Kirby may or may have not slipped a vial of it in his pocket. Luckily, Robert made a counter-potion to each of his experiments in case anything went wrong, so Kirby grabbed a bit of that as well, tucking them away in his long jacket. He glanced at a nurse and smiled at her, causing her to blush and hurry past. He hurried towards the waiting room, deciding that would be the best place to find a willing subject.

He stepped past the receptionist. “Morning, Darla.” He flicked his wand underneath the counter and her corkboard fell off the wall. She stood and hurried over to struggle to put it back up and he turned back around, stepping closer to the waiting patrons. He cleared his throat and in a low, commanding voice, he asked, “Who hear wants to assist me in curing this disease?”

Certainly, Monroe was interested in curing the disease plaguing the magical society. That was his whole purpose for being here. And certainly, he was aware that now he was graduating, he was at the bottom of the heap again. Verbs like assist would once again apply to him, irritating though it was.

He wasn't sure he wanted to assist this person, though. It wasn't just that the dude seemed thoroughly sketchy, what with his shallow attempt to charm the triage nurse and then distract her just in case it didn't work well enough, but he'd also just launched his own experiment. If he put a hand up to help the new guy, he could say goodbye to finding out how St Mungo's diagnostics worked now or for a long time.

On the other hand, at the moment the only person helping him was that girl Yumi and while she knew about healing, she wasn't exactly the sharpest quill in the pot.

"Depends. What's your hypothesis?" he shot back in a pitch just as low.

Kirby looked around at the patrons within the waiting room and saw exactly what he had expected to see. Mostly, it was eyes darting away. That meant two things- everyone was mostly too frightened to listen to him, probably that whole ‘don’t take drugs from strange wizards in long trench coats claiming to solve your problems’ stigma that the modern world had been thrown into; but it also indicated that they would be too worried of what he might do if any of them decided to report him to a Healer. Each would take it upon themselves to ignore his advances and would only look down on anyone foolish enough to take him up.

Fools. What if he really had the cure here? He doubted it, yes, but he also knew that in this time of instability, most people had nothing to lose. Everyone seemed headed for death as it was. Anyone with a real brain would clamor to get to him, knowing that chances were continually running slim of ever finding a cure. If an indecipherable, fatal mystery disease could not band a society together, Kirby had no idea what could.

After a moment’s pause, a boy responded. Kirby’s eyes flicked to him and he glanced back at Darla, who had fixed the corkboard back onto the wall. He put up a hand and flashed a good natured grin and she smiled a little helplessly back. Kirby stepped over and sat in the empty chair next to the boy. “I have been working with some authorities. I have their latest take on the cure. Red tape prevents them from testing it immediately, but I need to know. Do you have this disease? I don’t, else I wouldn’t need help.”

It helped that the guy decided to sit down. Their conversation, though not really private, could at least give the impression of it.

His next words, however, were disheartening. Monroe didn't dare give up yet, however. It was possible he could get this idiot on his own side and the fact that St Mungo's was testing anything at all was... interesting.

"Unfortunately for you, I do not," he answered. "However, I think I could assist you in another capacity. I notice you didn't answer my question. I suspect this is because you do not have a hypothesis; the authorities you speak of do.

If you can describe to me their processes, I can deduce their hypotheses and we may work on a successful cure together."

"I also attend Hogwarts. There are plenty of ill people there," he added as extra incentive.

Kirby listened to the boy. He was clever, inventive, and seemed to have great powers of deduction. He was the type of person Kirby usually ended up befriending on his travels, though Kirby usually befriended people his age or a bit older. However, the boy was giving him the impression that he was probably just as smart as some of the people he knew.

What a sad concept, really.

Kirby relented. "I'm a do-er. I don't have the knowledge in potions and Healing to even know where to begin. They need someone who can get places they can't- that's what I do."

The boy wanted sensitive information. Kirby would be reluctant to give it, if it his coveted information. Kirby had no loyalties, but to Emmeline, and she needed a cure. However, some woman had just sat next to him, right in earshot. Kirby held up a finger and then whipped his head towards the woman, forcing a loud, fake sneeze. Disgusted, she stood and moved away, leaving Kirby alone with the boy once more.

"So far, the most prominent ingredients I have fetched are moonfish scales, Acromantula venom, and a very rare strain of Chinese Chomping Cabbage that I had to go to China for. I haven't been admitted to watch their brewing process. But I have their latest sample."

Not for the first time, Monroe wondered if he'd be where he was now without Destrey. If she wasn't his sister, he'd probably be much less suspicious of people's motivations. The man was clearly keeping something in reserve.

Nevertheless, he nodded along as the man spoke, before going on to explain the problem with this whole idea.

"I would need to know all of the ingredients, but I might be able to derive them from the original potion," he said.

It was a pity he didn't know what had led them to brew that particular potion, though.

"How well do you know your way around this place?" he suddenly enquired.

The boy asked how well Kirby knew the way around Mungo's and Kirby paused, doing his own calculations in his head. If they were caught, Kirby could be thrown from the trust of the Lupins, who seemed to be the highest ranking authority figures working on the sickness. Still. When it came to a search, a quantity was always better than the quality of searchers.

In a soft voice, Kirby said, "I can get us in to where they are brewing the samples."

"Do they keep records?" he asked urgently.

Monroe had been slowly losing interest in this man's claims. He doubted the potion would be effective and still had his own reasons for being here. If only he could figure out exactly how medical magic functioned.

"If they don't keep records, there's no use smuggling me in there," he said.

"On the other hand, I could easily pass for an intern around here if I were wearing the right uniform. An intern observing examination and diagnosis, perhaps? You wouldn't want to make a mistake when battling a virulent disease."