InsaneJournal

He couldn't think. Just function. Coming back from the attack in a rush, he laid Gideon on the bed, pushing felines out of the way. He took the silencing spell off and leaned over Gideon. "C'mon, love, what did she do?" Not getting much of a response, Bilius pulled his journal out, he scribbled a hasty cry for help to Edgar and the Order and then dropped the wards on the cottage. Gideon needed help. That much was obvious. He ran his fingers through Gideon's hair. "Help is coming, love. I promise. Just stay with me, okay?"

Edgar’s journal was on the desk in his study.

He made an effort to keep it with him as much as possible; their journal network was, after all, the Order’s primary means of communication. A Healer knew how important it was to be reachable at any time, whatever his affiliation, and Edgar was more or less it for the Order of the Phoenix: others could provide first aid, certainly, but when dealing with terrorists like the Death Eaters, first aid was rarely enough.

And so Edgar had himself been in his study until a few minutes ago, working on letters of reference for several of his graduating Hufflepuffs, only to realize that his tea had gone cold. No great problem for a wizard with a heating charm, true, but he always did prefer fresh, and so he went to the kitchen to brew a new pot.

He didn’t take his journal with him.

The alarm chime was faint; too faint, at first, to register on his conscious under the cheery whistle of the kettle. He puttered around, rinsing his mug and spooning out the requisite lump of sugar, humming to himself as he worked. It was only when he started back toward the study, piping hot cuppa in hand, that he realized there was any other sound in the house at all. And another precious second before he realized what that sound was. A call from an Order member, a cry for help: the sound of an emergency.

He ran, practically throwing his cup at the nearest surface, heedless of tea spilling behind him; skidded to a stop in the study; threw open the journal; and lunged for the emergency Healer’s kit he kept similarly close to hand. Then he Apparated.

It wasn’t long. Five minutes, perhaps. No more. Not long; and quite possibly, in Edgar’s business, a lifetime.

Why was no one coming? Bilius didn't understand. He ran his fingers through Gideon's hair. "It'll be alright, Gideon, I promise." He lifted Gideon up, slipping behind him so Gideon's head was in his lap. Something was wrong with Gideon, he knew that much. The labored, shallow breaths, the clammy hand that weakly gripped his own. It was all wrong.

Gideon started to speak and Bilius leaned over, biting his lip at the words Gideon whispered in his hair. Tears stung at his eyes. No. Not like this. "No.. don't.. Gideon, please.. Just hang on, someone will come. Healers, and they'll fix this. I can take you to Mungo's…" A shake of the head in his lap vetoed that idea. "Please, Gideon, just hang on, okay? You're going to be fine…" His voice was straining, the lump in his throat growing.

Edgar took one more second. Just one second, after he Apparated, to take a deep breath and steel himself. A panicked, rushed Healer saved no lives. Taking the second, finding the calm center that he’d cultivated through years of training and experience to see him through the bad moments, that was worth it. That was a necessary delay.

He didn’t bother to knock: that would not be a necessary delay. He entered the cottage without further hesitation or preamble, and his voice was steady as he called out. “Bilius. I’m here.”

"Bedroom!" Bilius called, in a voice thick with emotion. He was trembling now, the body in his arms having gone completely still. "Gideon.. C'mon, Gideon.. Edgar's here, alright? You're going to be fine…"

Bilius squeezed Gideon's hand. This time there was no response, not even a weak one. "Love… Gideon…" his voice cracked and a ginger tabby purred loudly, butting its head against Bilius' leg.

Again, Edgar ran. It was a controlled run this time, not a mad dash, and nothing was spilled in his wake, nothing shattered like a teacup thrown down.

He could see, from the second he entered the bedroom, the stillness of the body in Bilius’s arms. No movement of the chest, no twitch of the fingers, nothing. He saw, and he knew that he was too late.

Still. He had to try. A Hufflepuff didn’t give up, and Edgar was nothing if not the epitome of his House. He rushed to the bedside, dropped to his knees to get close to Gideon’s still form, already murmuring charms, ignoring cats and Weasley alike.

Bilius shifted back slightly, still gripping Gideon's hand, too tightly probably, but there was no protest. Nothing at all from the tall, dark man who lay on the bed. He gave Edgar room to work, but said nothing. It was too late. Maybe it had always been too late. Maybe Gideon had known. Gideon had always known more than he let on. Maybe tonight had been no different.

Edgar worked, silence unbroken except for the spells he tried. And he tried everything he could think of, the charms increasingly far-fetched as the seconds ticked by without any sign of life from Gideon Prewett.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, shoulders slumping as he looked up at Bilius. “He’s gone, Bilius.”

There was nothing to say. He looked down at the face in his lap, so peaceful now, no sign of the horrors Gideon had seen, the pain he'd experienced, had carried alone for so long. He ran a finger along the cheekbone, his throat tight, his voice a whisper. "I know."

Edgar stood, slowly and just a little stiff; he felt old, all of a sudden. Old, and worn, and sad.

“Sit with him a while,” he said gently. “I’ll tell Fabian, and when you’re ready, we’ll...we’ll get him cleaned up.”

He turned to leave the bedroom, giving Bilius his privacy.