D. D. Diggle

[Private]

There's a leak. I just know there is, there has to be. I suspected it with Edgar - I mean, he was goddamn Edgar Bones. He was practically invincible. Someone set him up, someone did. And now this. It's bothering the hell out of me and I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do, or if I can do anything, if I should do anything.

I don't want to do this anymore. I know I have to. All I can sodding cast are body-binds and fire spells. It's bullshite and I'm not helping at all.

I don't know who I can trust, if anyone, or if it's stupid to. It probably is. Jesus Merlin, what am I supposed to bloody do?

[ / End ward ]

I do believe I'll stop volunteering for site reporting, at least for a little while.

[Heavily Hexed to Order Only]

I don't know what happened, but we got here too late. We have to go before the other Aurors get here, though I think I have a broken leg. I can apparate somewhere, but I don't know where. Home? St. Mungo's? Fuck that, I'm not important.

Sirius and Fenwick and I were too late, I don't know who's here, it's bloody stupid of me to even try to write this right now, but I just don't know. I don't know what to do. It's too late to bring them to the hospital, they're dead gone. I set one of the Death Eater's robes on fire, and a body-bind, but I think it wore off. I have to get out of here.

I don't fucking know what to do. I tried, I tried but I couldn't do anything -

[ / Abruptly cut off with a messy ink blot]

I need a cup of tea and a good steak au poivre and all shall be well and good and I can finally calm down.


[Private]


I hate feeling ashamed and appalled that I work for the Prophet. Perhaps that's what I get for involvement with Dumbledore and seeing the full story and side of things. It's not as if I can edit everything skewed to my viewpoint, or the way I see fit, or what people should know. Not that I don't want to, and I do desperately wish I could. Buggering hell. I do my best at all I can do, and I can't very well help that I'm a fucking devil's advocate for the most part.


I must be in a mood of sorts. Tea. And steak. But bloody hell, I hate feeling as if I'm in the wrong for working where I do. I can't very well change anything they publish apart from punctuation and syntax errors. Which are NUMEROUS.

[ / End charm]

I have fallen off the face of the planet. More specifically, have had to run back and forth to Madagascar and the Persian Gulf to report on underground flying carpet smuggling. The underground pertains to the business of peddling the contraband carpets, not actually that the carpets fly underground. Though I suppose with an elaborate tunneling system, they could be underground in the literal sense of things.

I wish owls were adopted as official post animals in all countries. I have had toucans and other tropical nuisance birds making a mess of my flat whenever I come home. Thankfully this Madagascar business is over, but the smell is staying in my curtains.

Other than that, I do hope all is well with everyone else. As it should be, as you all are not plagued with the problems of a fucking bloody sodding tropical menagerie of birds roosting in your flat. As a word of advice, stay away from post addressed from Madagascar.

For goodness' sake, really - you'd think Aurors nowadays were the next best thing since Qudditch professionals, the way we've been pumping out stories about them. I half expect Miss Skeeter to start inviting them into the office and asking them about their love lives and what their favourite kinds of tea are. Though perhaps it's a good thing - perhaps we do need people to look up to, and perhaps it's better them than the latest near-fatality caused by one of Bagman's bludgers.

However, the saturation of the media and coverage of everything pertinent and relating to the Aurors is surprising. Very, very surprising.

Not to offend the Longbottoms or Mr. Bones or anything of the sort. Perhaps you understand what I mean.

Well, that trial business was fairly unpleasant. I actually had to smoke in the alleyway after I finally escaped the media circus. Of course, I suppose I am that media circus, if you get technical, or at least part of it, but even I needed a breather.

Yes, a breather of tobacco, which I suppose defeats the purpose, but oh well.


Working on a new editorial, also. Realizing I know next to nothing about the muggle anti-Vietnam protesting of the late 1960's, except from what they wore. Am I that removed from the rest of the world? I probably shouldn't admit to that, should I? However, I don't think I'm entirely to blame. I checked the records at work on the subject and all I found was a record of some muggle musical play about hair. Or was it called that? I'm not sure. Either way, it was pretty good to listen to during lunch, but it didn't help much at all.

Anyways, not the point. The point is more along the lines of me needing to go to a library. A muggle library.

Is there a password system at the door or something of the sort?

With everything at the Prophet and the Ministry in an uproar, I find I need a holiday more than ever. It's a shame that such obligations to one's place of work make that an utter impossibility. The closest I get to a holiday is drinking wine in my pajamas after escaping the melee.

If you weren't aware, I'm a male spinster, apparently. Wine in pajamas is as low as it gets. Well, at least I don't have the cats. They tear curtains down, after all. Does that make me worse than a spinster cat-lady or better? I suppose it makes me lonelier, that I'm a spinster without the essential cats, but I was never much of a cat person. Curtains and all.

Anyways, yes. Have to reschedule Easter hols trip to Morocco, I do miss it terribly. Oh well, editing duty calls.


(Order)

Speaking of duty, you know the drill. Let me know what I can do.