Severus is not really sure how he feels about all this god business overall, being the sort of person disinclined to respecting or bothering with any higher power, but he understands the desire to want to use magic again. The need for it. He's imagined it again and again, working with him to pick apart the curse damage he carries, and it's unsettling and claustrophobic at every turn. He suspects it won't be the same as he was born with, but after what Sebastian's been through, he doesn't think that'll matter.

"I'm glad that it's progressing." He doesn't say I can't imagine- because he can, and his imagination is horrific.

It's second nature to keep tabs on everyone around him with a third eye. He imagines not doing it, or stopping, and he won't even as an exercise. Someone who's probably psychic walks down the street by them, and his head jerks in the direction of Severus and Sebastian, alarmed - maybe it's at the cigarettes, maybe it's at the onyx-walled void that is the paler man's head.