Whatever happened to
All of the heroes?
All the Shakespeare-os?
They watched their Rome burn.
Whatever happened to the heroes?
Whatever happened to the heroes?
No more heroes any more
No more heroes any more
Monday 17th July 1978
Remus travelled to Diagon Alley alone for the first time via muggle transport. Well; he actually apparated a lot of the way, but caught the tube two stops just to make it look convincing. Moody had forbidden him from using the Potters’ floo connection in case he was followed, and Remus agreed.
He entered the alley via the brick wall by the Leaky Cauldron, and headed straight for the pub. Danny was inside, waiting for him, nursing a tumbler of firewhisky. He smiled sheepishly at Remus,
“Needed some dutch courage.”
“Know the feeling.” Remus nodded, grimly. He ordered the same from the hunchbacked innkeeper.
They moved away from the bar and found a quiet corner. Remus cast muffliato for good measure. They exchanged pleasantries, briefly - Marlene had begun training at St Mungo’s and was enjoying it, Danny wasn’t doing much of anything.
“I’ve got savings, obviously; I’m not exactly hard up,” he sighed, “The Cannons paid pretty well, I could retire if I wanted. Just didn’t expect to this early.”
Remus didn’t know what to say, because the idea of having a job at all still seemed too distant for him. The older man kept stealing glances at Remus’s scars, too. “Sorry,” he said, when he was caught staring, “I just… you know. Never seen…”
“I know.” Remus replied, trying to relax a bit. He swallowed the last of his whisky and pulled out his cigarette case. “It’s fine. Do you have…?”
“Only one or two.” Danny replied. “S’pose I’ll get more. Oh, and the bite, obviously.” His eyes darted around as he said this, in case anyone was listening in.
“Of course.” Remus nodded, lighting his cigarette and inhaling desperately. “Do you know who did it?”
“What’s it matter?”
“It might,” Remus shrugged, “I think it’s important to them, anyway. I think the one who turns you… they have a connection to you, afterwards. You might recognise their scent. They might recognise yours.”
Danny wrinkled up his nose in disgust.
“How’d you learn all this stuff?”
“Some of it’s just experience. Some of it from books. Have you read anything?”
“No.” Danny looked away, “Never been one for reading. At St Mungo’s they said not to bother, anyway. Not like there’s a cure.”
“No,” Remus frowned, somehow bothered by this line of reasoning, “No, there’s not a cure, but… well there are still things to learn. It’s not just a disease, you know, it’s who we are.”
“S’not who I am.” Danny said, fiercely, his fist clenched on the table.
Remus looked away too, embarrassed. Danny wasn’t ready for this, he realised. He was still in denial. Danny raised an arm, signalling to Tom at the bar for another drink. Remus wondered how many he’d had already. It seemed rude to ask; Danny was older than him, had been in the Order longer.
