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03:42pm 07/12/2002
  [private entry]

A bit worried about Mil, as I've not heard from her yet. I did see Warrington's message about the melted computers, though, so I suppose I shouldn't really worry (or contact Uncle Cairbre) until a few more days have passed. It seems as though Parkinson and Montague survived, as Warrington would've mentioned if they hadn't. Probably. I'm assuming that also means that Flint is alive and well, holed up somewhere trying to fix things as much as possible.

It seems as though the Aurors are finally fighting back. The tunnel collapse last month and the Rabbithole now. I wonder if the Briarpatch will be moved in the next few days, or if we're not important enough to consider a target. The Thicket's wards are strong, but only prevent apparating or portkeying into their circle of protection. I'll ask my superiors, I suppose, and find out what they're thinking. I've been spending all of my time in meetings with them anyway, reporting on the information gathered from the Tower prisoners.		  
     
 
   
10:09pm 26/11/2002
  [[On Bole's desk, Tuesday evening: a raven-feather quill and two small jars of dark green ink; a single sheet of silvery-grey parchment with notes on, "hq - transfig - two years", "Mil says good", and "needs new id"; a copy of today's Prophet, folded neatly in thirds; a stack of file folders with the name "Davies, Roger" written neatly on each one.]]  
     
 
   
09:27am 25/11/2002
  [Derrick-only]

I didn't see you much yesterday, except for the Quidditch match. I'm assuming that you went back to camp last night, rather than staying at Hogwarts. I can't remember if you told me that's what you were going to do or not, but when I went looking for you, you'd gone somewhere else.

Will I see you tonight?		  
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02:15am 24/11/2002
  [private entry]

Derrick and I got in a bit of practice, these past three nights. Just like old times. I'm certain that whichever team we end up on, we'll do well. I'd prefer to play with the old team, to play like we used to, but whatever Captain Flint decides will do, I suppose. It won't be the same without everyone there, anyway. I have no idea what happened to Higgs after graduation, Malfoy is dead, and Bletchley...well, I don't know what happened to him either. And Pucey is obviously not playing.

But playing with Derrick, Flint, Warrington, and Montague - even if we're not all on the same team - will be nostalgic. It's been years. I can remember when Quidditch was everything. To all of us. If you'd asked, there wasn't anything in the world more important than winning the next match. We were a real team. Once we hit the pitch, there were no arguments. We did what we had to do...and whatever Flint told us to do.

It'll be rather interesting to see what happens in the morning.		  
     
 
   
03:24pm 22/11/2002
  [Written on silvery-grey parchment and delivered by a small white owl.]

To: R. L. Derrick
From: L. Bole

Thank you for the gloves. They fit perfectly. I look forward to breaking them in.

I'll see you tonight.		  
     
 
   
01:18am 22/11/2002
  [private entry]

"Bole, Derrick -- not one fucking word."

It's nice to know that my respect for Flint isn't returned. Hell, I suppose I've always known that my dear Captain has no love for me. The Parkinson twit, but not the bloke who kept bludgers from slamming him off his broom for six years.

Fuck it. He knows I wouldn't have said anything about Pucey in his journal.		  
     
 
   
10:03am 21/11/2002
  [Derrick Only]

Make sure you bring your broom this evening. We'll go out and knock a bludger around for a bit. I've got one around here somewhere, I'm certain.

I think Westerhoff's scheduled to leave for your unit next Monday. Would you mind taking him with you when you leave Monday morning? I think the Briarpatch is getting a few new residents on Tuesday. Some kid who used to attend Durmstrang is being sent to replace Westerhoff and Roger Davies (you remember him, Ravenclaw Quidditch captain a few years ahead of us in school) is being transferred from another division.

See you tonight?		  
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lead role in a cage   
07:45pm 04/11/2002
  [private entry]

I've nearly figured out how the new binding mechanism is going to work. I've chosen two charms - a paralysation charm and a binding charm - that should be compatible and I'm hoping to begin splicing them together sometime tomorrow. I was only a mediocre Magical Theory student, but I think I've read more than enough these past few days to get by with this particular project.

I'm not sure why I keep writing private entries. It's not as though I'm writing anything other Lord's Army operatives shouldn't see...only research and binding spells...eh. I don't really feel like sharing, though.		  
     
 
the eye of the storm   
08:08pm 31/10/2002
  [private entry]
Everything seems remarkably quiet, given the circumstances. There haven't been any new people brought in for interrogation in more than a week. Though this does provide the Army with a better PR slant, I imagine. We're not torturing anyone, but they're frying our people like chips.

It does give me a lot of spare time, though. No one new in the basement means that I don't have to do anything more than make sure the watch schedule is being followed and that everyone is being fed and watered properly.

I've gotten a lot of reading done in the past few days. Research for a new toy. Perhaps I should've gone into R&D...no. They don't get to play with their toys. And they don't make the sorts of things I like to play with. A new binding mechanism would be useful. Keeping the prisoners hanging from their wrists is causing some problems with proper circulation and gangrene. Ugh. Blood is attractive. Gangrenous flesh is decidedly less so.		  
     
 
   
02:52am 13/10/2002
  [filtered for Derrick]

I apologised to Parkinson for the things I said about her work-related abilities (Flint trusts her and, hell, it's his life in her hands, not mine, so if he trusts her, I suppose that's good enough) and she sent me flowers.

After Montague's comments, I can't help but wonder if this means she thinks I'm her girlfriend.		  
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02:38am 13/10/2002
  [sent on pale, silvery parchment, via a small white owl]

To: P. Parkinson
From: L. Bole
Re: Flowers and Forgiveness

Agent Parkinson,

I apologise, yet again, if my enthusiasm wasn't up to par during my previous message. I've not felt the urge to apologise to anyone in quite some time. It appears as though I'm a bit rusty at it. Please do understand that I am sorry for the things I said and that I do, indeed, respect your work.

Your gift of flowers was, of course, quite generous and I appreciate the gesture. Thank you.

--L. Bole		  
     
 
   
04:09pm 10/10/2002
  [visible to sender and recipient only]
To: P. Parkinson
From: L. Bole


Agent Parkinson -
It was extremely inappropriate of me to make work-related comments in what was primarily a personal argument. I apologise for that and for the fact that those comments were unfair and untrue. I let my annoyance at others get the better of my judgement and it will not happen again.
-L. Bole		  
     
 
A Note   
07:18am 10/10/2002
  Princess-

I'm certain you remember having seen the sorts of things I do for pleasure. Let's not extend that knowledge to include my anger-management techniques.		  
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Dark for Dark Business   
03:13pm 05/10/2002
 
mood: unimpressed
...The more I learn about people, the less I like them. They scream and they cry and they beg for their mothers, their wives, their children, their friends. What is it about pain that drags them so near to hopeless despair? A little blood and they give in, telling me whatever it is that I want to know. Pathetic.

There is more work to be done, though, and many hours left before dawn.		  
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Cats and Dogs   
08:24pm 04/10/2002
  It's raining like hell outside. I'm glad that I'm indoors.

( log )		  
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Torture, Death, and an Early Morning Run   
03:03pm 03/10/2002
  [DE Eyes Only]

Bauer has proven herself useful. I allowed her to complete an interrogation Wednesday night while I was otherwise occupied. She is intelligent and is beginning to understand the limits to push when one is attempting to break a prisoner without breaking his or her mind. Time will tell...

Westerhoff, however, would be better suited to a field in which he would only be asked to kill things. He has no finesse whatsoever and seems to have gotten himself addicted to the rush that a successful Avada Kedavra brings. I'm not certain what I plan to do about that, but I am certain that I'll come up with something.

My morning run went well today. I'm thinking of adding another mile or two to my route.		  
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Five Years...   
01:18am 01/10/2002
  Derrick came to visit over the weekend. I think we'll be repeating the experience often.

( log )		  
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Owl to Millicent Bulstrode, Head of R&D, Lord's Army   
10:15pm 28/09/2002
  To: M. Bulstrode
From: L. Bole
Re: New Developments from the Allies

I have in my possession a young Auror-in-Training with some very interesting information. Attached is a transcript of his interrogation, as I believe that your department will find many of his confessions useful.

--L. Bole

[Attached is a transcript of Eckers' interrogation, including information on the Marauder's Map and the Rubber Chicken Wands.]		  
     
 
Owl to P. Parkinson   
10:09pm 28/09/2002
  To: P. Parkinson
From: L. Bole
Re: David Eckers, Auror-in-Training

The prisoner I spoke of in my earlier memo has broken. I thought you might like to know about something he calls the "Marauder's Map of London". Attached is a description of the map's functions. The Allies have apparently mapped out most of our territory, all of their own territory, and very little of the Neutral Zone, which is what Eckers was attempting to do when he was captured.

--L. Bole

[Attached is a second piece of parchment with descriptions of some of the spells used in creating the map, as well as an explanation for how the map works.]		  
     
 
Sustenance   
06:03pm 27/09/2002
 
mood: miffed
I'm stuck cooking my own meals again.

The house elves can't seem to prepare a meal that doesn't include meat - as they proved last evening when they put real fish stock in my miso soup. I'm fairly certain the other inhabitants of the Briarpatch are rather upset with me. I don't know what they're on about, though. It's not as though I actually killed any of the damned elves. I just explained to them what would happen if they ever tried to feed me meat-products again.

Ah, well. A quick salad and then I'm off to the basement for a little fun. And perhaps one of those fucking pipsqueaks under my command will actually learn something this time.		  
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whipsandchains
 
 
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