The concept that there could be any number of things under the sun going on with Agrimony made something in Basil’s chest flutter uncomfortably. How long had it been since he’d checked in? Should he have come sooner? What did he really know of the man he still considered his little Slytherin these days? Was he remiss in having neglected the acquaintance in pursuit of his own ambitions for too long? These questions and more swirled anxiously, never minding the fact that Macnair was, himself, a grown man. He was obviously no better than Basil in taking care of basic human function and that thought irritated the Ravenclaw. He didn’t know why, exactly, but it did.

Another cough from Macnair and Basil was forcibly pulled from his own thoughts as zealous concern scrawled itself more obviously across his face and he dropped to his knees before the other. Blood splattered like water across their shoes. Basil’s hand was cold against Macnair’s warm forehead and he rubbed a thumb idly against the skin there, sweat beading. He told himself it was a mere courtesy to wipe it away and the response that was barked did nothing to make Basil wish to retreat. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“Agrimony Macnair, what in the world will I do with you,” he muttered crossly, more to himself than to the Slytherin whose face was paling at an alarming rate. Thinking quickly, Basil looked around the shop. There were so many useless items in here that served no purpose at all in his pursuit to aid their owner. Then, an owl all fluffed up and curled in the corner like a shadow, caught his attention. “You!”

Ripping himself away from Agrimony, Basil transfigured a shrunken skull into a quill, a bell into an ink pot, and materialized a small piece of parchment paper. He scribbled a note frantically across it and, after being bitten quite nastily in the hand, he managed to afix it to the owl and shoo it off. As it went, he prayed to every non-existent higher being he didn’t believe in that it would not meander and that Sybella would be at his disposal, quite immediately.

He returned then to his spluttering patient and dropped down again, this time his hand settling gently against the other’s knee. “Macnair, do you have any place to recline back there or away from this shop of yours?” He asked, quietly. If not, Basil was not beyond transfiguring a bed right here in the middle of everything until Sybella sent word in what to do or arrived herself. Though, he had his doubts his patient would be quite so willingly exposed.

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