Current mood:

contemplative

I was not here during the year that the Basilisk went about Petrifying people, but I have a feeling this is what it must have been like - waking each morning to wonder who would be next, and which faces will not appear at that day's lessons. Actually, this is worse, as I believe only a handful of students were affected by the Basilisk, and we've already lost an alarming number to their comas. Madam Pomfrey is doing what she can, but in all my years of working against dark creatures and dark arts, this - this more medical living death, not a Petrification or obvious hex - is something new. How can we reverse without knowing what sent these students there? Their nightmares? I feel like I should turn in my teaching credentials if I cannot help in an area that seems it should be mine to solve. I cannot even keep from having my own nightmares, the ones where I have inadvertently bitten or, worse, killed those I love; I thought it would fade after the last full moon, but it has not. I, too, appear to be caught up in the castle-wide nightmare epidemic. However, since I have lived with this particular fear for so long, it is upsetting and sleep-disturbing, but something I am growing used to.

I don't think I'll ever grow used to losing my students, however. Of all the empty desks in my classrooms these days, the one for Dean Thomas is still the emptiest, knowing that, unlike his coma-bound classmates, there is no chance for his return. Bill told me that Seamus approached him the other night to ask more about how Dean had died. I am sorry I could not be part of that conversation, that it had to fall entirely on Bill - but it sounds as if he handled it well.

Sirius is not handling things so well. He actually refused me entrance two nights ago, after that argument about Harry's Occlumency lessons. He apologised the next morning, both for his words and for his actions; Severus has reason to believe - and good reason - that Sirius is more susceptible to Them (for lack of a better term) when he is alone and unoccupied, and that it affects his behaviour. However, even the following morning, when he was calm and profusely apologetic ... I had to wonder if They were making him say and do things he wouldn't have otherwise done, or if They were only strengthening and giving voice to things he was already feeling. Severus told me last night that, after forcing his way into Sirius' rooms that night, Sirius babbled on about how he wished he were still dead and how his presence had mucked everything up. All things I recall very clearly from his first days back with us. This implies to me that he is still thinking about those things, even if he is normally keeping it quiet, and that They are perhaps just magnifying what he already feels. Not making him say or do things which haven't already occurred to him.

What does that mean for the other things he said that night? For us?

I want to help Sirius. I hate to see him in distress; he has been in that state for far too much of his life. And yet Severus has a way of making me feel as if my contributions are inadequate. Maybe they are. He has somehow made a far greater impact on all things Sirius, from the tattoos and insomnia, to literally sitting on him to gain cooperation.

I've been wondering more about that lately. Severus has never been one to ignore Sirius, but his responses have usually been antagonistic, and not much else. He damn near had Sirius Kissed too, that night in the Shack - and I know he hasn't forgotten that misbegotten prank Sirius pulled back in our student days. Yet he has repeatedly extended himself on Sirius' behalf - he even called Sirius by his first name - something I have never seen him do, in all the years we've known him. It is not even entirely typical for Severus to act for the greater good of a group, given that I think he would cheerfully drown half his students in one of his larger cauldrons, given the chance. He serves the Order and plays his double role as a Death Eater, yes, but aside from that, he tends to keep to himself and often must be prodded to doing things on behalf of others.

So, I asked him about it. I didn't expect much of an explanation - but also didn't wholly expect the reaction I did get. I am not sure I've ever seen Severus rendered speechless, even momentarily, and he would not meet my eyes as he replied.

Only something exceptionally personal would knock him so off-kilter like that. And I'm beginning to suspect what that might be. He has his reasons for why he pays attention to a particular person - as I have mine.

Oddly enough, this does not upset me. I feel as if it should, but it does not. Instead, it only makes me feel better to know that someone else is watching out for Sirius with the determination and concern that only that kind of emotion can provide. I suppose what upsets me is to realise more and more that I am not doing an adequate job of providing it myself. Why not?