Finished No More P's PV Joseph Sims

Some things in life are simply way too unfair. Like getting docked points for doing absolutely nothing. Or having to sit through freezing thunderstorms watching Quidditch matches. Or getting dragged out of the comfort of your favourite armchair to attend an impromptu study session. Especially the last one. That is absolute injustice.

Biting his lip, Joseph ambled down the corridor, treading carefully behind the boy with glistening, pink hair, who in his hand grasped a parchment displaying a disturbing, crimson red 'P' etched into the smooth paper. The very sight made Joseph's stomach churn with sympathy for him. No one wanted a 'P' for any subject, especially not Mamori, whose eyes shone with a sort of determination Joseph never knew he had in him. Trundling shyly with his gaze transfixed on the stone floor, Joseph could feel the eyes of the numerous figures trapped in potraits on the walls following him, them probably wondering what this curious duo was up to. What was he even doing here? Joseph would do absolutely anything to return to the serene and peaceful atmosphere of the common room, to the crackling warmth of the fireplace.

But no, he had no time for that. Mamori needed his help. Pretty badly, he would assume. You know you've hit a a whole new level of desperation when you resort to asking Joseph of all people for help. Personally? It's pretty much gameover for you if your last hope to save you from your predicament is Joseph Sims.

"Here we are," Mamori declared, as he nudged open the creaking door that revealed a small quiet chamber, its tables and chairs in a greater disarray than the useless items perpetually residing in his trunk, which he must admit was quite a feat. The air was a little musty, as if the room hasn't been used in a while, which really wouldn't come as a surprise, considering the castle had an entire library dedicated to the same purpose.

"Alright, let's see those notes from when you took this class last year," Mamori prompted with a confident smirk, settling down at a table adjacent to bookshelves stuffed to the brim with what looked like duplicates of a singular book. "Even Meli's engaging lectures can't make these dates stick in my head, but maybe your notes will help."

"Not a chance," Joseph replied, barking a laugh. "don't say I didn't warn you." Reaching into his backpack, Joseph fished out a long roll of ordinary-looking parchment, which Joseph was sure would make Mamori's eyes light up with hope until he saw the words on it. Each letter looked like it was participating in a dancing competition of its own, twisting and turning in such deformed shapes that they could hardly even be recognised. Joseph would have confidently bet 50 galleons that they were written a spider desperately clinging on to its fragile web in the middle of a torrential thunderstorm, if he hadn't already known who the writer of these illegible words was.

"Good luck reading that," Joseph chortled, entrusting his notes to Mamori. Maybe that would make him realise what a horrible idea asking Joseph for help was.

@Mamori Anezaki

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STUDY ROOM
2024-11-09
@Joseph Sims

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Taking the parchment from Joseph, Mamori unfolded it with the eager anticipation of someone about to discover buried treasure. Though that enthusiasm lasted exactly two seconds. For several long moments after, he just stared at the unfolded parchment, his expression crumpling into something that could only be described as pure, unadulterated defeat. Man, he'd always thought his own notes were a disaster, but this? This was next level chaos, as if Joseph had deliberately set out to create the most incomprehensible collection of squiggles possible — perhaps a clever strategy to ensure no one could ever copy off his work? "Joseph," Mamori began slowly, turning the parchment sideways as if that might somehow decode the mystifying scrawl before him, "are you writing in some foreign language I don't know about, or is this some sort of secret code you've made up?" He squinted at a particularly puzzling cluster of marks that might have been words. "Because mate, I thought my handwriting was bad, but this..." With a resigned sigh, he laid the parchment flat on the table and leaned forward, propping his chin on one hand as new thought creeps into his mind. He'd assumed Joseph leaned toward the studious type with that quiet demeanor of his — but these notes seemed to suggest otherwise. Maybe this explained the whole repeating-first-year situation more than he'd initially realized. "Please tell me this is just your note-taking style and not how you write your assignments," he ventured, wincing slightly at the thought. If Joseph actually submitted his homework like this, Mamori suddenly felt a deep wave of sympathy for every professor who'd had to grade it. "You're going to have to translate all of this for me. Every single..." his eyes traced over what might have been either a particularly detailed description of a goblin rebellion or a recipe for pumpkin juice, "...whatever these are supposed to be."

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Reclining against the sturdy, weathered backrest of his wooden chair, Joseph couldn't suppress the chortle that forced its way out of his lips, his eyes lingering on the distractingly pink-haired boy before him. His twin, orb-like eyes which were previously gleaming with anticipation now shone with a sort of defeated determination, an expression Joseph knew all too well. Disappointment, after all, becomes a rather close companion when you frequently fall short of expectations. Expectations of all sorts. Academics, social life, living up to his family name, blah blah blah. Organisation skills? Forget it. His handwriting said it all. His abominable scrawling would probably make a gold-craving goblin promised a galleon for every word it could write in a minute look like a master calligrapher.

"You're going to have to translate all of this for me. Every single... whatever these are supposed to be," Mamori grimaced, eyeing Joseph's parchment with evident disbelief. Taking back his notes with a sigh, Joseph squinted down at the chaotic scrawl, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of his own writing. Ink smudges, half-formed words and hastily written lines were sprawled across the parchment, dancing in and out of focus, as if they were conducting a live tango performance for Joseph. He could make out a few words here and there - something about goblins, maybe? - but it was simply insufficient to string together a full sentence.

"Lemme see," Joseph started, scrunching up his face in concentration. It had never occurred to him that deciphering his own handwriting would be such a pain. "It says here... goblins were... rabble in the 15th cemetery because of—" Joseph winced, squinting harder at the next word, " —something here I can't read—goblin... frights..."

At the last word, Joseph exploded into a fit of laughter, casting the parchment clutched in his hands as far away from him as possible. They certainly wouldn't be needing that. The last thing Mamori needed now was a detailed lecture on goblin frights, given his academic catastrophe.

"Yeah, no, those notes are definitely not going to be of any use," Joseph concluded, casting a wistful look at the curled up parchment laying alone on a nearby tabletop, the very notes that had been Mamori's lifeline only moments ago. "Oh well," Joseph muttered, raising his gaze to meet Mamori's turquoise-like eyes. "Do you have a Plan B?"

@Mamori Anezaki

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STUDY ROOM
2024-11-09
@Joseph Sims

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"My Plan B," Mamori declared. His already dulled eyes darkened further at the realization that Joseph's notes would be absolutely useless even if he tried to decipher them, but they sparked right back to life at the mention of an alternative plan. Shifting in his chair, he rummaged through his quill case. Without much thought, he pulled out a peculiar Muggle writing tool — a mechanical pencil Mahlioz had given him during one of their library encounters — and twirled it between his fingers. "Is that brain of yours." He pointed the pencil at Joseph's head. "You've been through all this before, yeah? Even if your notes look like a Cornish pixie wrote them while riding a hippogriff, you must remember something." He leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table and resting his chin atop his crossed hands, fixing Joseph with his most persuasive look — the same one he'd used last week to convince a prefect that the mysterious singing coming from the empty classroom was just a very musical ghost, rather than his failed attempt at charming his mechanical pencil to write notes for him. "Come on, mate. Like, I don't know, which goblin had the most dramatic death? Which wizard made the biggest fool of themselves?" Then, in what he hoped was his most nonchalant voice, he smoothly slipped in two of the exact questions from next week's assignment: "Or hey, what about that whole thing with Urg the Unclean's role in the rebellion of 1612? And why did the wizards refuse to sell them those weird silver swords?" Wait — speaking of mistakes and foolish wizards, an idea struck him. "Or better yet — any funny mistakes you made on the upcoming assignment that I should avoid? Consider it like... passing on your wisdom to the next generation." Though even as the words left his mouth, Mamori couldn't help but eye the crumpled parchment lying abandoned on the far table. If the guy couldn't even read his own handwriting from last year, maybe he'd been a bit too optimistic about this whole 'wisdom passing' thing. At this point, he'd take whatever he could get — even scattered memories would be better than nothing.

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Joseph's eyes widened with disbelief as Mamori finished his proposal. He blinked once, then twice, before leaning back in his chair, his arms folded as his lips curled into a smirk. So Mamori's grand backup plan was solely dependent on Joseph's half-baked brain? Well, let's just say he was in for some serious disappointment. Everyone knew Joseph's brain was more defective than an old wand ground into splinters by an overenthusiastic magic creature. But as he caught a flicker of hope in Mamori's eyes, Joseph gulped, pursing his lips.

For all the times he had let himself down, he wasn't about to let Mamori down too. Not this time.

"Alright... let's see what I got," Joseph managed, squeezing his eyes shut in concentration as he frantically scrambled through his thoughts for any scrap of useful information. He could almost hear the wheels turning inside his head, each thought a rusty gear creaking into place. There was something about a rebellion... something about goblins... and another about the 18th century...

Not quite enough to form a solid explanation about such a broad time in history, but definitely better than nothing. He might just have to wing it.

"Okay, so- goblins right?" Joseph began, opening his eyes as he let out a breath. "I'm pretty sure it started because the goblins felt they were being treated unfairly by humans. They felt like they deserved better rights -" he caught himself mid-sentence, his face flushing slightly, "frights! Right, I meant rights," he added with a shaky laugh. "They wanted more stuff like wands too..." Joseph faltered, scratching his head as if the harder he scratched the clearer his memory would get. Maybe if his handwriting had been a little less disastrous he wouldn't have to put his brain through this torture.

"Oh, and I'm pretty sure Urg the Unclean led the rebellion of the 18th century, not the one in 1612. That's a whole different mess I think...?" Joseph trailed off again, fixing Mamori with a blank stare. Was that what he was looking for? If he wasn't satisfied, there was little Joseph could do. He wasn't much of a walking encyclopedia anyway, much less an academic saviour.

@Mamori Anezaki

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STUDY ROOM
2024-11-09
@Joseph Sims

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Mamori's chin remained planted firmly on the table as he listened to Joseph's rambling explanation, his usually bright eyes now bearing the glazed look of someone who'd just witnessed their last hope dissolve like a poorly brewed Wiggenweld Potion. His very reliable gut feeling — the same one that had correctly predicted the Giant Squid's favorite breakfast combinations three times in a row — was screaming that Joseph had about as much grasp on goblin history as Peeves had on proper classroom etiquette. 'Frights' instead of 'rights'? Something about wands? Mamori's faith in Professor Lennox's marking criteria was rapidly dwindling. How had he ended up with a P when Joseph's understanding of history seemed to dance around like those illegible letters in his notes? But then Joseph dropped that bit about Urg the Unclean, and Mamori's eyebrows knitted together. With a sudden burst of energy that belied his previous dejection, he yanked his textbook and assignment from his bag, nearly knocking over his mechanical pencil in the process. His eyes darted between the texts, and — wait a minute. Joseph was... right? "Hang on — you actually got that right," Mamori blurted out, genuine surprise coloring his voice. He found himself sitting up straighter as his mind clicked pieces into place. When Joseph tried explaining the whole rebellion, he'd stumbled through it like a first-time flyer on a broom. But that specific detail about Urg the Unclean's timeline? Spot on. Maybe that was it — he wasn't great with broad explanations, but he seemed to remember smaller, more specific details just fine. Breaking down the topics into smaller bits might be the key here. "Right, okay," Mamori said, eyes scanning his assignment for the most precise question he could ask. "Let's try something different. Instead of the whole rebellion thing, what exactly happened with that wand ban? You mentioned something about wands earlier — can you remember what code it was part of, and which clause number? And how did they word it exactly — you know, who specifically couldn't use wands?"

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OOC Note: Reducio Here's the material from the site on Goblin Rebellions, feel free to pull out any specific historical details you'd like Joseph to remember (or hilariously misremember): An Introduction to History & lesson 1.2 HOM there's also this: harrypotter wiki on wand ban

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Joseph tilted his head a fraction to the right, allowing Mamori's questions to sink in. Wand ban? Clause number? Exact wording? Specific questions indeed, but no less challenging. Had Mamori's dwindling confidence in Joseph's academic capabilities really skyrocketed just because he aced a singular straightforward detail about Urg the Unclean? Even so, Mamori did have a point. Joseph's memory hadn't failed him for once. Maybe his memory wasn't so catastrophic after all. Sure, it was spotty, unreliable, prone to detours, but it had held up just long enough to deliver a morsel of useful information. Maybe the problem wasn't his brain, but a lack of trust in it. Maybe, just maybe he could do this.

Resting his head against the cool, smooth surface of the wooden table, Joseph forced his eyes shut again, using every ounce of his brain power to forage through his wilderness of thoughts for answers. He could almost picture himself trapped within the four walls of Professor Lennox's dreary history classes, his cheek pressed against the worn desk before him as he was doing now, his head weighed down by information trying to jam its way into his cluttered brain. He could clearly imagine Professor Lennox's annoyingly cheerful voice echoing around the little chamber, vividly describing such a dark chapter in the History of Magic. She rambled on about disagreements, goblin beliefs and wait, yes - the wand ban. The details, barely retainable, escaped the professor's lips in his faded memory. She had talked about that. She had definitely talked about that.

"It's three!" Joseph exclaimed, his eyes snapping open, heart thumping a little faster now. "I mean, clause three. The wand ban's under Clause three of the Code of Wand Use. I'm pretty sure any creature that wasn't human wasn't allowed to wield a wand, mainly because of the rebellion in 1612," Joseph stopped to catch a breath, a flicker of pride sparking in his chest. Perhaps he'd be a happy Second Year if his memory had worked like this during his History of Magic examination last year.

"That upset the goblins quite a fair bit," Joseph added, casting his gaze to the dusty floor. "which fueled the other rebellions after the one in 1612." He raised his gaze to meet Mamori's, a faint smile creeping onto his face. He felt a little less useless than a few moments ago. Maybe Mamori had been right to believe in him. He wasn't so hopeless after all.

@Mamori Anezaki

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STUDY ROOM
2024-11-09
@Joseph Sims

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"Yes, yes, exactly!" Mamori exclaimed after Joseph's answer, finger tracing along the textbook passage that confirmed his suspicions. The gleam in his eyes matched the one he'd had last week after finding a galleon beneath the common room sofa. What followed was pure chaos. Questions burst from Mamori like jinxes in a duel, his quill flying across the parchment as Joseph's answers flowed. The more specific his questions became, the more detailed Joseph's responses grew. Somewhere between the fifteenth and thirtieth question, Joseph's voice began to crack, and Mamori, without missing a beat in his note-taking frenzy, reached into his bag and thrust a water bottle at his impromptu tutor. "Drink up, mate, your brain's on fire!" he exclaimed, practically bouncing in his seat. Finally having an external brain to borrow from was way better than fighting to keep his eyes open over those dusty old books. As the afternoon light shifted to evening shadows through the study room windows, Mamori finally set down his quill with a triumphant flourish. Not only had he rewritten his abysmal assignment and filled in all those blank spots in his notes from when he'd been too busy drawing little goblins wielding swords to actually pay attention in class, but he'd also managed to complete next week's homework in advance. A first, definitely. "Joseph, We MAke sUcH A GoOd TeaM!" he declared, throwing his arms up in celebration, though 'team' might have been a generous description for what was essentially Joseph doing all the intellectual heavy lifting while Mamori transcribed. "Pretty sure this'll earn me an O for sure!" The enthusiasm in his voice was deliberately overblown — he knew perfectly well that an 'Outstanding' would be lucky, and an 'Exceeds Expectations' or even an 'Acceptable' more realistic for a hastily-revised assignment. But after Joseph had just spent hours helping him, a bit of theatrical appreciation seemed the least he could do. Sometimes a little confidence, even the exaggerated kind, could lift someone else's spirits too. Come to think of it — confidence. That word sparked a memory of Joseph shuffling through the corridors between classes, shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself smaller. It was such a contrast to the boy sitting before him now, who'd just proven he knew far more than his messy notes suggested. Mamori reached over and gave Joseph's shoulder a friendly pat. "You know what? Your brain's actually proper brilliant when you get going. Friend, I don't know why you're always walking around like you're trying to disappear into the floor." He shot Joseph that practiced, cheeky grin of his, but this time with genuine warmth behind it. Even when he'd gotten that P, sure, it had felt like the sky was falling for about five seconds, but he'd never actually doubted himself (or his ability to find someone to help fix the situation). Looking at Joseph's perpetually uncertain posture was almost painful — though, he supposed, everyone had their reasons. Not that he knew Joseph's, so he'd keep that thought to himself. "Have some faith in yourself. You just saved my History of Magic grade from complete disaster — that's not nothing."

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Permission to godmod Joseph was granted by his writer

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Merlin's beard, had Joseph really just done that? Gulping down his umpteenth mouthful of water that day to ease his parched lips, Joseph beamed, his whole body frozen in a state of surprise and disbelief. Sure, maybe his memory wasn't as disastrous as he had believed, but accurately reciting a whole afternoon's worth of details about goblin rebellions? Even surviving a secluded picnic with a pack of fearsome werewolves sounded less impossible. But against all odds, Joseph had done it.

He hung his head highly in pride, stealing a glance out of the open window. The sun had sunken quite a fair bit, painting the sky a brilliant shade of orange that bled into deepening purples. Was it evening already? Had he really been in this room for so long? It felt so surreal, as though time had slipped past unnoticed.

His gaze shifted back to Mamori, whose expression was unreadable in the dimming light. Joseph couldn't tell if it was pride, relief or something else entirely. But something was certain. He had been right, all along. He had seen potential in Joseph. Potential in the timid, quiet boy shuffling discreetly from class to class, his eyes glued to the stone floors of the corridors. He believed in him. Even when no one didn't. The thought alone made Joseph's chest swell with gratitude.

"Thank you," Joseph blurted, the words rushing out of his mouth before he could second-guess them. He hesitated, then chuckled, pushing his flask of water to the edge of the table. "You did quite a bit of saving too, you know. Saving my confidence? Not exactly an easy feat,"

Joseph tapped his fingers on the table surface, then stopped, suddenly aware of the silence between them. His gaze lingered on Mamori, wondering if the weight of the moment had settled in for him as well.

"So..." Joseph added, his voice a lot softer and calmer. "What d'you wanna do next?"

@Mamori Anezaki