"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Anton said over and over again, his tongue thick in his mouth, stumbling over the words. Tears blurred his vision. "I didn't mean to."
He didn't understand everything he had seen. He so rarely did. But he understood two things: first that Whip was something other than human, and secondly, more importantly, that he was suffering deeply. More, that it was his fault.
Whip was huddled in a miserable ball on the floor, rocking on his heels like a madman, that awful keening noise still coming from him. Those few students who had been in the common room had made themselves scarce, not wanting to get involved. There was only Whip and Anton left. Anton made an abortive gesture towards Whip, but his hand fell short. No touch from him would be comforting.
Whip looked up at him with an anguished expression. He asked, "Are you a demon?" and Anton was stricken. Usually, the images stayed with him, tortured only him. He didn't know why they had attacked Whip, and he was horrified to be the cause of such pain. Was it because of what Whip was that Anton's sickness found him as well, or had he somehow become contagious, a carrier of some virulent psychic disease?
"No. I'm just... I don't know," Anton said helplessly. "I want to take the pictures away. I want to, but I can't."