Kissing Mcnair was probably the stupidest, most un-Basil-like thing he could have possibly done. It was more than stupid, it was downright dangerous, and yet Basil couldn’t quite bring himself to regret it. Heart thundering in his ribcage, there was a flush of irritation crawling across his cheeks even as Mcnair jerked away. (Evidently this was not something the little Slytherin had appreciated. Duly noted.) But even as Agrimony retreated as far away from him as possible, Basil just lay there letting his breath waft and tangle into the ether. The ground was cold as he sank into it, fog creeping into his bones. He was incredibly aggravated, not appeased in the least by the blasé, devil-may-care attitude Mcnair put up. But he was spent. That was it. There was no more effort to be had. Let bloody Macnair live his life how he pleased; Basil was done for trying to be involved.