Reliable Methods of Communication

Albus Dumbledore: Chief Mugwump of the International Confederation of Warlocks. Head of the Wizengamot. Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Founder of the Order of the Phoenix.

Inventor of Really Kickass Variations on N.E.W.T.-Level Charms Whilst Drunk.

According to legend (in other words, as spilled by Aberforth at the Hogs Head one starlit summer's night, when Remus Lupin was getting pissed out of his mind in order to take the sting out of having been sacked that very morning from his teaching position), Dumbledore had invented the Order's method of communication after several rounds of Firewhiskey.

Two-way mirrors are fine for contact with Headquarters, he had said, that evening in the early nineteen-seventies, but we need something more versatile...something which can travel great distances, yet has a certain security about it...preferably, we could use something that is identifiable right away as belonging to each particular member of the Order...

That's when Albus had the lightning-strike of inspiration, Aberforth vowed, slapping an open palm on the bar (Remus jumped at the noise and gave a very painful snort of Ogden's Old through his nose in reply).

"What's unique to each witch or wizard?" Aberforth asked, peering through curtains of scraggly grey fringe and overgrown eyebrows at Remus.

"Shite, mate, dunno. Have another, iss'on me," Remus gasped, massaging his nostrils, unable to think straight for several reasons.

"Patronus," declared Aberforth triumphantly, glancing up from his rummaging under the counter (probably for the finer liquor, since, after all, it was on Remus).

Remus' head snapped up. "What about a Patronus?"

"Lupin," snapped Aberforth, his usual grumpy expression coming back (he'd hauled out a bottle of very fine Scotch, but sadly, it was nearly empty, sod it all, missed opportunities and such), "If you don't remember using your Patronus to communicate during the last war, you're a bloody idiot."

Remus sighed and thudded his forehead against the counter. "I'm a bloody idiot anyway...forgot my potion like a complete prat, could've bitten any of the children...could've killed someone..."

"Shut up, Lupin, and have another," grumbled Aberforth, pouring another measure of firewhiskey into Remus' glass.

"Don' mind if I do."

Remus took the shot in one great gulp, and gave a smoking belch. His head began to sag, and he remembered, indeed...

* * * * * * * * * *

Order stakeout, November 1978

The Marauders set great store by symbolism.

Padfoot. Moony. Prongs. Wormtail. All quite metaphorical, really. At Hogwarts, Remus had always cringed at the thought of someone clever (damned Ravenclaws, more trouble than they were worth, sometimes) coming across the Marauder's Map and drawing conclusions, especially about the "Moony" part.

Three young men were stationed about Hogsmeade, hiding in shadow and watching for Dark activity, and sending surreptitious messages back and forth whenever the foot traffic cleared.

Their Patroni were far too telling. More so than the nicknames, Remus was certain, and in much less flattering ways.

A ghostly reflection of a cat slunk round the corner and sat on its haunches, giving Remus a sly look and sending an echo of Padfoot's voice as it lazily ran a paw over its ears.

What's up, Moony? Anything yet?

Remus sighed. Of all the forms for Sirius' Patronus to take, this was rich, really. A man who could turn into a dog, sending out a very vain tomcat. Prongs, after a pint (bloody lightweight, he was) had made a crack about how it was probably lingering effects of Padfoot's crush on McGonagall. Padfoot had promptly boxed Prongs round the ears. That had ended that discussion, and the ensuing wrestling match on the floor of the bar had also ended their continued patronage of the establishment.

Remus lifted his wand and prepared to perform the wordless magic, remembering Dumbledore's voice as he'd taught it to the Order recruits: Mentally perform the incantation, then hold the wand steady in the required direction instantly afterwards, clearing all thoughts but the message to be sent.

Very effective, though not simple. Not at first, at least.

However, they'd had plenty of practice during these infernal stakeouts, most of which were dead boring, really.

The message sent (Nope. You?), Remus watched his Patronus make its way around the corner.

Shame you can't feed a Patronus, Remus thought. That thing could use a good meal...not to mention it needs to be shorn something wicked.

A sheep.

A werewolf who cast a bloody sheep.

Ironic, indeed.

The cat came back within moments.

Keep an eye out. Nothing here yet, either. This is bloody dull, don't you think? Defending the world really kind of blows.

The cat still had form as it settled down and lifted a leg, then bent its head.

Remus grabbed his wand. Sweet Muggle Christ, Padfoot, could you quit that for three seconds?

The cat's twin appeared as the first dissipated, and this one seemed to give a Cheshire grin. Why not, if I can?

Wanker, Remus sent back.

A third Patronus entered the alleyway. This one was much larger, though it didn't look very intimidating. In fact, Remus and Sirius still took every opportunity to take the mickey out of James for his Patronus, and Remus had to bite back a laugh as it cantered toward him and raised soft-looking eyes in the direction of his hiding spot.

Anything yet, Moony?

The ghostly cat still hadn't dissolved, and Sirius' voice echoed in Remus' head.

Hey, has Bambi shown up yet?

James' indignant thoughts were loud and clear. Shut up, you great prat!

The cat began to lose form, but not before Sirius got in a parting shot: You're just jealous 'cause your Patronus has no bits, Prongs.

The doe took off to the west, toward Sirius' hiding spot, but Remus could still hear the message James had intended for Sirius: Wanker.

Before long, the doe returned. Haven't seen a damned thing yet, Moony. Padfoot's right, this is naff. I could be with Lily right now.

Remus' bum was beginning to go numb from sitting on cobblestones for most of the night. Prongs, that's just asking for a dirty joke about a salt lick, Remus replied in his temper.

Go knit yourself a vanishing cardigan, the doe shot back.

Remus snorted. There was nothing quite like getting told off by a sweet-looking little deer.

Traffic picked up then, and there were no more messages sent till the shift change was due. Remus shifted uncomfortably in the alley, waiting for the signal.

Sure enough, only three minutes past when he'd expected, a fourth Patronus graced the darkness.

Moony, we're here. Head out and I'll take your place.

Remus' sheep trotted down the alley, bearing the message, Thanks, mate. See you later?

Might have something to do, the Patronus replied, and Remus was surprised to hear an uncharacteristic note of evasiveness in the sender's voice.

His joints creaked alarmingly as he stood, and Remus cringed, twisting at the waist in hopes of loosening up his spine. He lifted his wand and sent out his last message for the night: Well, owl me when you're free, and we'll go for a pint or something, all right?

There was a bit of a pause before the rodent - a bit larger than his Animagus form, but still a small and furry creature nonetheless - came back. Yeah. See you, Moony.

Remus caught sight of a head of dark-blonde hair rounding the alleyway, and he tossed off a salute to Peter before Disapparating back to the cottage.

Settling into an armchair by the fire and casting a Warming charm on his mug of tea, Remus sighed and let the glow of the fire relax his weary bones.

Within moments, Sirius Apparated into the room. He immediately rushed to the window and threw it open, then lit a cigarette.

"Five bloody hours without a fag...Duty really sucks, you know," Sirius said in a rush, through an exhalation of smoke.

Remus didn't answer, simply stared into the fire. After a while, he cast a glance at Sirius, who'd finished off his fag in four minutes flat and was lighting a second with the still-glowing remains of the first.

"Padfoot..." Remus said slowly.

"Yeah?" Sirius replied after a long drag.

Running a hand through his already-greying hair, Remus murmured, "Ever wonder why Peter's Patronus is a lemming?"

Sirius seemed to think it over.

"Nah, not really. Not that important, is it?"

Remus shook his head, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Padfoot was wrong, there...

* * * * * * * * * *

He hadn't been quite this drunk in a while. Then again, he hadn't had the gold to pay for this much Firewhiskey in a long time, either.

He probably wouldn't have much gold again in the near future, come to think of it.

"Y'know, I always thought you cast a very fine-looking Patronus. Nice coat, almost as lovely as my Nan's," Aberforth grumbled from behind the bar.

"I'll just bet," Remus muttered from atop the goat-scented counter, where he'd had his face pressed against the grubby surface for Merlin-knows-how-long.

Aberforth snuffed out a candle atop a filthy table. "Closing time. Pay up and get out."

Remus dug into his pockets and pulled out a Galleon and three Sickles. "Keep the change, Abe."

"A whole Knut. Thanks, Lupin, y'bloody tightwad."

"Anytime," Remus slurred, heaving himself from the wobbly barstool and staggering out into the night.

He made his way down the main street of Hogsmeade, wondering where to go from there, trying not to think about the night before, or the days to come.

In his preoccupied and inebriated state, he didn't notice the ghostly image stationed in a once-familiar alleyway. Even if he'd been looking, though, it had faded enough that it was barely noticeable.

The Patronus seemed to give a single nod, as though ascertaining that his quarry was still in one piece.

The tomcat settled down to lick itself, and vanished in a wisp of vapor.

THE END

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