Hand smarting from where that blasted bird had damn near taken his finger off, Basil grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around the bleeding sore before ignoring it altogether in favor of hovering like a mother hen over his patient. He hadn’t imagined Macnair would waste energy reprimanding him but he ought to have known better. If he hadn’t been so annoyed at the blatant disregard for self-care, he’d have otherwise grinned in defiance. He’d won after all, tossing the bloody bird out on its tail feathers.

Macnair answered his question then and Basil shifted out of the way, though not straying far, as they made their way towards the wall and eventually towards the back rooms. He didn’t even bother to glance around and take in the space before spotting the object of his desire and shepherding Macnair towards it. The more blood soaked through Agrimony’s handkerchief the more Basil wished to yank it away and fetch a new one but he didn’t, hoping instead that it might help serve as an indicator to the help he was adamant to entreat here. And if he had to send the bloody thing away for analysis, he damn well would.

Eventually Macnair settled into a recline and Basil, supporting him as much as possible, took another fleeting glance around the room. He spotted a basin and some water and decided it might be best to wipe the accumulating sweat from Macnair’s brow in a hope that it might bring the rising temperature of his forehead down. He made ready and then settled into a seat by the other’s head before gently wiping those pale features down.

Basil felt his stomach clench at the look on Macnair’s face, and it had nothing to do with whatever scowl was scrawled there indefinitely. He really didn’t look well, and that was saying something compared to what the Ravenclaw was used to from him. Handsome features were dulled against a sallow complexion and Basil couldn’t help but think of the last time they were this close to one another. The last time he’d actually looked Agrimony in the face from any such distance.

But this was different. This was wholly and entirely more dire, even if his heart was beating as anxiously as it had back then. Basil frowned and a crease formed between his brows. “You’re an idiot,” he berated, less than kindly given the circumstances. How could you have let this happen? How could you force /me/ to be the one to care for you? Basil’s heart skipped a nasty beat and he frowned deeper. “I shall never let you forget this debt,” he grumped. “For I will be the one to right this mess and then what will you do?” Will you promise to maintain it? Will you find it within your scope of priority to care for yourself so I don’t have to lose sleep over it?

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   Agrimony Macnair