Disclaimer: Bow down all of those who read these sacred words. Lay thy
head upon thy knee and be still. Thou shalt be blessed by the abundance of
wisdom and valiance thee shalt encompass. Pray, still thy heart and thy
steed; all shalt be at peace in the woods. Here be thy means: JK Rowling
and Warner Bros own every freaking little bit of Harry Potter.
Ready for some original romance and status? Ready for some rip rawrin' good ole 'Arry Potter fun? (Wow the accent went from Texan to Cockney *bows head in shame*) This is the story for you!!! How 'bout some exciting Jack Sparrow action? Go read "Yet Another Tale That Leaves No Survivors" by yours truly. Do it!! Now!!!
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Bay's Release Diary
I am an agent. It's the muggle term for what I do anyway.
This is a diary of release. At least, that's what Albus calls it. Considering that it took me numerous spells, occulemency sessions not to mention courage-building breaths to reach this stage, I was expecting a special release or result. I can only assume that Albus deems this very necessary to my work having put so much time into preparing me. I won't pretend to understand his motives, but I admit I feel more ... reassured.
My name is Bélanger Poireau of the former French Canadian Poireaux. At least, that's the origin of my name and my adoptive muggle parents. I, on the other hand, am purely of the British witch variety. I never knew my real parents, I can't be sure whether they live or lie among those slaughtered at the hands of Voldemort before the Boy Who Lived. I have an eerie feeling that Albus knows despite his denial.
Lord, it feels so wonderful to even think "Voldemort." They are very particular about using that word in school and at the Ministry. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
My acquaintances in Ravenclaw call me Bay. I am in sixth year at Hogwarts but my habitual "sick leaves" since third year kept me from forming any true relationships.
These sick leaves constitute approximately half of my school years when added together. In truth, these leaves are the week in which I work at the Ministry as a secretary a.k.a. Hogwarts Independent Informant, an innocent spy for the Order. I was recruited and trained in my third year for reasons unknown. I know that I am talented in some ways, but enough to be entrusted with such responsibility?
Nobody outside of the Order can know of my double life. This includes my beloved muggle parents. It breaks my heart each time I lie to them about my safety at school. However, tears will get me nowhere.
Albus – with the help of Professor McGonagal – carefully constructed my image at the Ministry. I am the "friendly" secretary at Fudge's offices. A senior position but not excessively so. I have a private room to work in with an open door policy to any down-hearted chap who needs the comfort of a heartfelt chat, advice, and a good ogle at the young, ever-so-slightly pretty secretary with the long, generously slitted skirts, and plunging robes who works at Fudge's offices.
The young and clumsy secretary look appeals to these depressed or simply bored workers. They don't mind constantly scooping up the quills and inkwells she "knocks" to the floor where they can sneak a languorous look up a skirt slit. Nor do they mind the interruptions during a comforting talk when she upsets a pile of parchment with a careless foot and bends to rearrange them, allowing a lengthy glimpse of the lacy bra not particularly well hidden beyond the neckline of the robe. I don't sell my body or hand out sexual favours; I just use the appropriate mannerisms and accessories to receive the information the Order needs. I somehow do not feel better putting it like that.
At school I am known as the highly superficial, highly intelligent Ravenclaw who attends independent DADA classes, if I'm known at all. I have an advanced knack for cosmetic and figure altering spells that I learned specifically for my HII work. It allows me to go unrecognized as a student by anyone at the Ministry. My reputation isn't helped by my occasional chats and "Quibbler" readings with Loony Lovegood.
My reputation suits me FINE, just fine. I needn't answer any bloody questions about my leaves because the others see me as completely bonkers, barmy, or plain stuck-up.
The Order is my life.
---
What thinketh you? Read and review! Did I mention that other story ... Yet Another Tale That Leaves No Survivors... yes? Well doesn't hurt to ask twice *is promptly run over by steamroller*
Ready for some original romance and status? Ready for some rip rawrin' good ole 'Arry Potter fun? (Wow the accent went from Texan to Cockney *bows head in shame*) This is the story for you!!! How 'bout some exciting Jack Sparrow action? Go read "Yet Another Tale That Leaves No Survivors" by yours truly. Do it!! Now!!!
---
Bay's Release Diary
I am an agent. It's the muggle term for what I do anyway.
This is a diary of release. At least, that's what Albus calls it. Considering that it took me numerous spells, occulemency sessions not to mention courage-building breaths to reach this stage, I was expecting a special release or result. I can only assume that Albus deems this very necessary to my work having put so much time into preparing me. I won't pretend to understand his motives, but I admit I feel more ... reassured.
My name is Bélanger Poireau of the former French Canadian Poireaux. At least, that's the origin of my name and my adoptive muggle parents. I, on the other hand, am purely of the British witch variety. I never knew my real parents, I can't be sure whether they live or lie among those slaughtered at the hands of Voldemort before the Boy Who Lived. I have an eerie feeling that Albus knows despite his denial.
Lord, it feels so wonderful to even think "Voldemort." They are very particular about using that word in school and at the Ministry. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
My acquaintances in Ravenclaw call me Bay. I am in sixth year at Hogwarts but my habitual "sick leaves" since third year kept me from forming any true relationships.
These sick leaves constitute approximately half of my school years when added together. In truth, these leaves are the week in which I work at the Ministry as a secretary a.k.a. Hogwarts Independent Informant, an innocent spy for the Order. I was recruited and trained in my third year for reasons unknown. I know that I am talented in some ways, but enough to be entrusted with such responsibility?
Nobody outside of the Order can know of my double life. This includes my beloved muggle parents. It breaks my heart each time I lie to them about my safety at school. However, tears will get me nowhere.
Albus – with the help of Professor McGonagal – carefully constructed my image at the Ministry. I am the "friendly" secretary at Fudge's offices. A senior position but not excessively so. I have a private room to work in with an open door policy to any down-hearted chap who needs the comfort of a heartfelt chat, advice, and a good ogle at the young, ever-so-slightly pretty secretary with the long, generously slitted skirts, and plunging robes who works at Fudge's offices.
The young and clumsy secretary look appeals to these depressed or simply bored workers. They don't mind constantly scooping up the quills and inkwells she "knocks" to the floor where they can sneak a languorous look up a skirt slit. Nor do they mind the interruptions during a comforting talk when she upsets a pile of parchment with a careless foot and bends to rearrange them, allowing a lengthy glimpse of the lacy bra not particularly well hidden beyond the neckline of the robe. I don't sell my body or hand out sexual favours; I just use the appropriate mannerisms and accessories to receive the information the Order needs. I somehow do not feel better putting it like that.
At school I am known as the highly superficial, highly intelligent Ravenclaw who attends independent DADA classes, if I'm known at all. I have an advanced knack for cosmetic and figure altering spells that I learned specifically for my HII work. It allows me to go unrecognized as a student by anyone at the Ministry. My reputation isn't helped by my occasional chats and "Quibbler" readings with Loony Lovegood.
My reputation suits me FINE, just fine. I needn't answer any bloody questions about my leaves because the others see me as completely bonkers, barmy, or plain stuck-up.
The Order is my life.
---
What thinketh you? Read and review! Did I mention that other story ... Yet Another Tale That Leaves No Survivors... yes? Well doesn't hurt to ask twice *is promptly run over by steamroller*