I finally got my brother to tell me where he's keeping his notebook! That means I can update for him!

Disclaimer: my brother doesn't own Harry Potter. If he did, I wouldn't be writing this for him.

Mission Log

November 17, 0900 hours

Today I tried to spice up the same old, deathly boring, monotonous routine that I have fallen into which consists of cleaning the castle and later on practically torturing some kids to force some ideas and lessons into their most often thick skulls, even if I do slightly enjoy that last part. When I was washing the castle I placed small security cameras in every room and hall. The only reason they work is because the power-source is transmitted from outside the school grounds. Then later on in some of me free time I practiced my summoning charm; it's not very good yet, but it has improved considerably. I am now enjoying one of two bottles of fire whiskey I summoned from Snape's pocket when he wasn't looking. I don't think he'll miss the two bottles of butter beer either.

Snape has been acting very strangely, though lately everyone has been. It could be that I am right in thinking that he is allergic to Mrs. Norris, my cat. I have been moving a bit closer to him lately when I walk past him-- accidentally, of course….

But everyone has been acting strangely ever since that stuck up, toad-faced, teacher showed up. All right, I realize that I said that she's the best thing that's ever happened to this school, but seriously, she's a creep. Although she has been here a while now, she has been acting strangely too. I mean, more than usual. She seems kind of jittery, and although her face is always trying to hide behind that huge, disgustingly fake smile, the look in her eyes is almost paranoid.

And although there is not as much for me to clean up lately, I am also getting stressed out. As much as I would love a vacation and I'm sure Dumbledore would grant me one, I cannot predict what Frog-Face would do and I think that Malfoy and his goons are planning something. That and it wouldn't be a vacation. My boss would probably pick me up and question me about how my missions are going. I can never escape from "the office."

November 17, 2300 hours

Fire-whiskey is an amazing thing. If you have just enough, you stay sober. If you have too much, you wake up later in a place you don't remember and you have the hangover of a lifetime. And my most recently discovered effect is when you have too little: among other side effects, you can't sleep. I have had the immense luck to discover this last effect tonight, and boy, does it ever suck.

I have started to walk around the castle grounds. The time has to be close to 11:30 by now. I feel like I downed an espresso, a cappuccino, and a frappucino (A/N: no idea how to spell that) all at once. I'm glad all my senses are still working properly. I feel like it is noon and I'm beginning to wonder if Snape or someone else drugged this Fire-whiskey. I feel like I'm turning into a zombie.

I've been thinking about my mission. My boss is pleased. So far I've compiled much information. I sense that I may be getting a new mission soon, however. But I think that the guys back at the office will keep me here.

Suddenly I heard a noise behind me. I listened closely as my pulse quickened. It was definitely coming closer, whatever "it" was. My hand automatically flicked towards my taser stun gun. It'd saved me many times before. The sounds were getting very close now. It sounded big. I could feel my heart beating in my head. I could see it now. It was pretty big, and it was lumbering along and sometimes tilting precariously. Apparently I didn't have as much control over my body at that point as I thought I did. My arms were shaking. All of a sudden, I accidentally fired. I got scared then. But the wires hit it right in the chest.

Wait a minute—chest? Then I realized that what—or who—I had just stunned, was human. I ran over to check it out. It was Professor Trelawney. I thought about saying something but all thoughts of that were wiped form my mind as something which looked like a bolt of yellow lightning flashed only inches away from my head. I recognized it. It was the Expelliarmus spell. Someone had seen me!

I pulled my taser again and tried to fire at the source but the weapon needed recharging. I almost swore as I quickly put it back in its holster. But suddenly I remembered something. I pulled back my robe and took out another weapon. This one was a bit bigger, though. It was a new CIA stun gun prototype. There are three settings: watts, volts, and amps, known to our agents as rare, medium, and well done. You typed in a number and put it on one of those settings and it shot out that amount of electricity. It used another new CIA prototype—the nuclear battery. It lasted longer than other batteries and could send out bigger currents. I set it at level one and had already put in the numbers. The person did not last long. Not many people would be able to stay conscious for a while when 50-watt waves are pulsing through their bodies. I walked over and flipped the body over. It was Umbridge—looking like a caricature of Einstein with all her hair standing on end. It was frizzled and it looked like it was smoking.

November 18, 0015 hours

I managed to lug them both back up to their rooms and put them in their beds. Then I dragged myself downstairs and collapsed into my bed. Although I knew that the prototypes worked and that I could rest easy knowing that neither of them would remember a thing once they woke up, it still took me a long time to relax and get to bed. What a day; what a night.

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