Chapter 1
In hindsight, it probably wasn't the steadiest of ideas. I mean, financially it made sense. Being an Auror is not known for its massive paycheck. The truth of it is that as a young auror, I'm barely able to keep a flat and feed myself on anything other than noodle packs. Yes, I get the fact that "…with seniority comes greater responsibility and risk. Your salary will progress as you become more and more skilled as an auror, Nymphadora." but I risk my neck just as much as the next guy. Just because I sometimes stick my foot into a wastebasket (among other things) doesn't mean that I can't handle myself. Ask some of the other boys on staff. After a round of duels with me, they often think twice about penciling me into the corner of "office klutz/clown" with no other skills besides "covert surveillance". Granted, my biology has made me somewhat gifted in that arena, but I can hex and block with the best of them.
Getting back to the point, and I assure you that there is one, my skills of "covert surveillance" is what got me into this mess in the first place. Well, that and my obsession with Muggle movies and music. Yes, I love the Weird Sisters and most other wizard bands, but there is so much good stuff out there, you can't just limit yourself. Anyway, lets just say that I'm a tad obsessed. Ok perhaps a bit more than a tad. I love Hollywood and muggle "movie stars". Ever since Dad took me to see "Star Wars" as a kid, I love movies and the actors that create them. I'll watch anything, and I do mean anything. From the Best Picture nods to the stinkers, I've seen them all. Just for fun, I used to morph myself into slave girl Princess Leia, which made my father laugh and my mother grimace (she has gotten better. It's the Black side coming out in her, I suppose). Back to the actor/movie thing. It was after watching "Gone with the Wind" and flouncing down my flat steps, doing my best Scarlett O'Hara, that my landlord stopped me. He didn't know it was me, of course, but he put the idea into my head. "Miss," he said, "You could be the mirror image of Viviane Leigh. You could have made bundles as an impersonator".
That did it. The idea of an "impersonator" and making "bundles" wormed its way into my head. It poked at my while filing reports. I prodded at me while I questioned wizards of interest and it damn near danced a jig on my frontal lobe when I had to beg off of going to the pub for a night out because of my financial situation. This was ridiculous. I risked my young life for the better meant of wizard/muggle kind and I had not much to show for it. What did I do about this, you might ask? Well, I did what any twenty something of limited means did to make money. I went to the Internet (get your minds out of the gutter). Finding out the management of stars wasn't the problem. Sending muggle photos of myself morphed into whatever star I wanted wasn't the problem either. It was the fact that I got emails from the management saying that they could use me as a body double, but that I would have to get myself to Los Angeles or New York to start filming, ASAP. Now you know that I couldn't leave England. One, I have responsibilities as an aruor. Two, I have the Order to think of. I can't just gallivant off to America and stand in for Salma Hayek or Jennifer Garner in their latest blockbuster. Gradually, the emails stopped coming and my account was feeling the strain of photos, postage and the like. All and all, a very ungratifying and costly experience for me.
That's when I got the phone call. Actually, I got the message on my machine (yes I have a telephone, television and what not.). It was from a Mr. Laurence. Mr. Laurence went on and on about how his "employer" was trying to plan a pleasant vacation in Europe with her new husband. The paparazzi was not making this an easy task and upon seeing my photos, she wished to solicit my services to act as a decoy in the streets of London. I would be paid "very well" if I would accept the proposal. All I had to do was call this number and leave a message containing my pant/dress/shirt and shoe size. I would be contacted immediately. All this seemed a bit too James Bond-y for my tastes, plus the fact that no one who values their life would EVER ask a woman her pant AND shoe size in the same sentence, but I knew from following Hollywood that celebrities take their privacy very seriously. Aw heck, I thought, might as well get your money back from the initial investment. Plus, this could be fun. Fun cars, nice restaurants and swanky clothes? This could get interesting.
I had no idea how interesting it could get.
