Marchonné Mafia Induction PV | 2024 Closed

Throughout the year, papers would be found throughout the halls of Hogwarts. These were strange and cryptic messages that seemed to insinuate some kind of needy or desperate plead for people to join the club, accompanied by a schizophrenic series of numbers at the very bottom of each iteration. They were easily ignored by those who didn't have time to give a scrappy piece of paper the time of day or a whit of worthwhile care. It never interfered with their day.

But for those that did take interest in the piece of paper, they would be met with something interesting indeed. Though some method of luck, skill, talent, or instinct, they had discovered that the series of numbers had a meaning. Hidden in the simple handwritten notes that were found fluttering aimlessly about like plastic bags in the wind, those numbers that seemed to change on the monthly or so indeed held something much deeper than what had first been perceived. It was, as they would discover, a code. A code that carried the essentials of a time, date, and location.

The question then, though, was if the person was interested enough to follow the rabbit's cottontail down the hole--to track the trail down to the last scent and determine what its origins were. Some simply weren't interested or didn't think it was worth their time.

But others were, and they did believe it to be worth their time.

The location seemed to be the same, at least, what one could figure to be the "Quidditch Training Pitch" based off of the context and the diced words of the paper proper. The time varied, seemingly almost random in nature... some days they would have to come at the crack of dawn, on others threatening the incoming night curfew, and others in broad daylight. Never, it seemed, were any of the days on the date of the full moon--considerations had been taken seriously.

Regardless of how or when, if the individual came to the quidditch pitch they would be greeted by at least one individual--their inviter--and perhaps by others, if they had felt the desire to tag along to one of these events.

He was a relatively short boy for his age, he had lost the battle with his growth spurts and had been forced to contend instead with the crown of the "Short King" standard. He was garbed in a basic Hogwarts school robe of black with no color indicators, perhaps slightly baggy on his lithe frame in a way that almost looked weirdly and cornily 'cultist'-like in some respects. He gave no indication of being involved in anything in the vicinity or even moderately concerned with his environment unless he was directly affronted and asked about the curious messages, after which a curious smile would cross across his face that caused bright green eyes to gleam with an auspicious glitter of puckery. On most occasions a silver cat would be either around his shoulders or nearby on the ground, tail swishing in the air curiously as it beheld the stranger with minty green feline eyes, carefully observing the situation that was likely to transpire.
The upperclassman seemed mostly relaxed regard at first glance, but it would be difficult not to notice the way he carried himself on the balls of his feet or the fact that his wand--a pale bone-white length of polished yew wood--was kept quite literally up his sleeve or at a thigh holster right in reach of his left hand's thin fingers. Still his smile was pleasant enough, eerily approachable at that.

Of course, now that one had conquered the first set of hurdles and had now finally physically come here... their test will have only just begun. This was merely the next step of the process, and he was the next screener of this aspiring member.