A Brother To Basilisks (a Drarry fanfic)

Chapter 19: Set the Fire

Harry stayed behind after Defense Against the Dark Arts one day near the beginning of Easter Term, and got a tired smile from Professor Lupin as he paused in putting his latest creatures away. "Yes, Harry? I must say that you don't need to worry about your mark on this exam. Your practical work has been outstanding."

Harry beamed. He had to admit, it was nice to have a teacher who praised him a lot. McGonagall would tell him when he did well, and Flitwick sometimes, but it seemed he just wasn't good enough in those classes to get a lot of praise. And the others, he was pretty mediocre in.

You are not. You underrate your talents.

Harry ignored Dash's interjection. That was nice of Dash to say, but he didn't judge the talents of humans the way Harry knew his professors did. For Dash, it was mainly important that Harry was good at feeding and petting him.

What else is there?

Harry rolled his eyes at the baffled tone of Dash's voice, and almost missed that Lupin was peering closely at him. "Oh, sorry," he said. "Just a conversation with Dash. But I wanted to tell you something."

"Yes?" said Lupin. He sounded surprised. Well, Harry supposed most kids who stayed after class wanted to ask questions, not answer them.

Not that Lupin and Sirius had asked him the question right out, but Harry was still confident he could give them the answer they were looking for. "I want you to know that whatever you're sick with, I can wait for you to tell me," he said. "I know that you might think I would be afraid of catching it, or upset because you're sick. But I'm not. I can handle that kind of thing. I know what it's like to keep secrets."

Lupin was so pale by the time Harry had finished, Harry didn't really need the information that came from Dash lifting his head, letting his tongue flicker out, and announcing, He smells like terror. But he appreciated it anyway.

"What's the matter, Professor Lupin?" Harry asked. He wondered now if he was wrong, and it wasn't a disease, but something else. But he couldn't think of anything else that would really fit what he knew: Hermione's silence and edginess around the topic, and Lupin acting nervous like this.

"Who—" Lupin sounded like he couldn't get enough air. "It—who told you I was sick, Harry?"

Harry squirmed. He didn't want to get Hermione in trouble. But she hadn't really told him, anyway. Harry had just figured it out from watching her.

"I need to know who told you." Lupin was leaning against his desk as though someone had taken away all his strength. He gave Harry a look that Harry had sometimes seen in the mirror in the bathroom, when he'd been let out of the cupboard after a long time there.

Harry took a deep breath. This was really important to Lupin, so Harry would have to tell the truth. "No one, really. I just noticed that you looked pale a lot, and I noticed it happened more than once. I mean, if you weren't sick, it wouldn't happen more than once, right?" He looked at Lupin uncertainly, but Lupin only stared back, looking just as unfriendly as Snape for a minute. Harry looked down at his feet. "I didn't mean—I wasn't going to tell anyone else. I just wanted to tell you that you could wait to tell me."

His heart was bounding uncertainly in his chest. He had meant this to be a great moment, so he could show Lupin that he was an adult, and Sirius and Lupin didn't need to worry about Harry. And somehow things had gone wrong.

There was a long moment before Lupin cleared his throat and straightened up from leaning against his desk. "I appreciate it, Harry."

No, he doesn't, Harry thought gloomily, sneaking a glance at Lupin and then turning away again. Harry was good at telling when someone was lying to him. And Lupin was lying now. He sounded strangled.