A Definitely-Going-To-Get-Her-In-Trouble Proposal 🝞 PV: Mamori Anezaki

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The whole thing started because Mamori needed a Girding Potion for the live-action wizard chess match, and didn't mind at all acquiring one in a less than legal way. His first dive into Hogwarts' underground economy involved meeting a colorful cast of suspicious upperclassmen conducting their equally suspicious transactions, which, to be honest, felt less like organized crime and more like a bunch of teenagers pretending to be businessmen. Then wizard chess happened, and Mamori ended up exactly where he'd been trying to avoid: the hospital wing. The upside to being stuck in a bed with nothing to do except stare at the ceiling was that it gave him plenty of time to think. Well, lie in bed, think, and talking with some other equally bored 7th years who were occupying the nearby beds and by casual talk, unintentionally provided some intriguing information. These weren't the black market types, just regular students who happened to be knowledgeable about potions and willing to share if nicely asked. And here is where the math failed. Girding Potion needed 2 Fairy Wings, 4 measures of Doxy Eggs, 5 Dragonfly Thoraxes, and 5 Flying Seahorses. Simple calculation placed the material cost at around 30 Galleons, more or less, so how in the name of Merlin's saggy left sock had Mamori managed to purchase one for 21 Galleons? Hogwarts operated as a closed economy where student-to-student transactions typically runs 200-500% above retail due to limited supply and captive customer base. This price made no sense at all unless someone was stealing materials, taking ingredients from Potions class supplies, running a family business in dishonest goods, or doing things that are beyond Mamori's current level of imagination. The darkest scenarios, he decided, were things he would rather not think about right now. If the materials were essentially free or severely discounted at source level, the actual production cost probably didn't even hit 5 Galleons, which meant Mamori had overpaid like an absolute sucker. Conniving bastards. But realizing that he got totally ripped off at least opened his eyes to the crazy profit margins in this business, far more profitable than the tedious jobs Mamori had taken on last year where he'd played tour guide for students wanting to sneak out after curfew and navigate around prefect patrol routes. That had been all effort and minimal reward, this was the opposite. Mamori found himself unable to stop calculating just how much money he was leaving on the table by remaining a mere customer. So of course, once the hospital wing released him that evening, Mamori limped his way straight into negotiations with the upperclassman who'd sold him the Girding Potion. Armed with his newfound knowledge of their profit margins and what he considered to be exceptional persuasive skills and supposedly impressive acting skills, he managed to extract details about most part of the operation — from who controlled the materials, who did the deliveries, to who actually moved the product. The conversation ended with Mamori talking his way into the operation itself. His pitch was simple. He was on the Quidditch team which meant automatic access to every jock on campus who might be interested in performance-enhancing potions, had a super wide social network (debatable), and knew plenty of smart kids who could work as dealers. The upperclassman could focus on supply while Mamori handled market operations and risk management. With the school recently keeping a closer eye on said upperclassman, having a younger student volunteer to take over the riskier parts of the operation was practically a gift from above. Long-term partnership, everyone benefits. They sealed the deal with a handshake. In less than seven days, Mamori had put together his elite squad of dealers — smart-looking kids who reminded him eerily of looking in a mirror, the kind who could see a profitable venture from across the Great Hall and had natural talent for looking totally innocent while being anything but. These carefully selected individuals would be the ones to do the actual transactions while Mamori, the glorified middleman, would be passing money upstream and taking his share of the profits. No dirty ingredient procurement or risk of getting caught brewing illegal potions, no awkward transactions in dark corners, just the pleasure of collecting coins and counting his commission while others did all the risky work. Every Sunday from then on, Mamori would convene his dealers at randomly chosen places — usually some very remote corners that normal students would never go to — to distribute inventory. The rotating dealer system made it almost impossible for anyone to crack down on them since different people would be carrying the product each week. At best, they could occasionally catch some poor devil who was carrying a couple of vials while the rest of the operation hummed along smoothly. Meeting number five since the grand opening of their illustrious enterprise, and today's chosen venue was none other than the second floor's abandoned toilets, a location so spectacularly filthy it achieved the rare honor of being beneath even Hogwarts students' standards. Arriving fifteen minutes early in casual weekend clothes that made him look like any other wandering student, an innocent-looking leather backpack (filled with anything but innocent contents) slung over his shoulder, Mamori needed the extra time to mentally rehearse his speech to his network of dealers. Lately he'd noticed their sales figures taking a nosedive since November. The existing customers had all stocked up, but mysteriously, they weren't coming back for more, and new customers were about as common as students who genuinely enjoyed History of Magic. This meeting needed to address their vanishing repeat business as well as some careful talk about expansion without the wrong kind of people noticing. The pink-haired badger pushed open the lavatory door, only to be assaulted by an indescribable odor and unusually poor visibility as strange purple smoke hung in the air. Someone was definitely smoking in here. On a Sunday morning. In winter. Before the sun had properly risen. The dedication to nicotine addiction was almost impressive in its absurdity. A voice coming from the depths of the toilet requested privacy, as if a deserted public toilet had just become their private property. Mamori clicked his tongue — The hypocrisy was just too delicious to ignore. Here he was, organizing an underground potions dealing meeting, and some amateur smoker had the audacity to try shooing him away. So Mamori decided to give them a proper scare by clearing his throat and announcing in his most try-hard authoritative voice, "I'm a prefect. Whatever it is that you're doing, I need you to stop right there and step out. Your detention status will depend entirely on just how illegal your current activities are." Not like they could report the fake prefect while explaining why they were hotboxing a bathroom.

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xxtag @Luna-Katherine Wailey

🜎🝰🝍

Luna-Katherine stiffened. A prefect – a snotty one, no doubt. Likely a teacher’s pet with how he (it sounded like a he) was threatening detention as if she was doing something forbidden. Was what she was doing forbidden? She honestly had no clue. The second-to-third-year book hadn’t been in the Restricted section of the library, so she should have been off the hook, except that this prefect sounded like he would gladly send her out to the Forbidden Forest for practicing her potioneering in such a decrepit place as this. She could hear it now, in the gratingly high nasals of someone who had nothing better to do than eat treats from the palm of a professor’s hand: “This is an endangerment to students all across this campus, much less to yourself! Have you no sense of dignity, of honor? Gryffindors are better than this!” (Okay, maybe that last part was channeling a little bit of Aisling, but oh well.)

And here was her response to the typical confrontation of fight or flight: freeze! So lovely, especially when she felt as cornered as a cat by animal control. Or some sort of martyr. What would Leonardo Fioravanti say if he saw her now? (Probably that she was a failure. She quickly shook that thought out of her head.)

The thought of the other person in the bathroom returned after her fantasies of Fioravanti’s disgust left her; actually, now that she was further dwelling on it, his voice sounded off. It was almost like he was trying to make it sound deeper than it was, like some twisted version of a child trying to fit into his father’s clothes. There was a familiar lilt of Scotland to it, the rhythm fitting a cadence she had heard before but couldn’t quite place where she had first heard it. It didn’t matter, really – any faker irritated her beyond belief, especially when interrupting such important work as figuring out how to brew advanced potions to keep herself sane.

“Even if you are a prefect,” she shot back over the falling-apart dividers between the toilets, “I doubt I can get in trouble for attempting to pursue my studies further. Which–” and here Luna-Katherine emerged in all of her annoyed and busy glory, waving aside the violet smoke from her unprotected eyes so she could get to the sink and scoop more water into a plastic cup, “is exactly what I’m doing. So, politely, go find someone else to pester.” Retreating back into her stall like a hermit back to his hole, she muttered to herself something about “good-for-nothing bootlickers” and some girl from her old school named Patricia.

🜎🝰🝍

Word Count: 442/200
OOC: pfftttt- not Mam being involved in underground business, he's probably going to try to rope her into it I'm assuming-

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||nov 09th 2025 datexx

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Mamori​‍​‌‍​‍‌​‍​‌‍​‍‌ was dumbfounded. What​‍​‌‍​‍‌​‍​‌‍​‍‌ sort of person could be so damned brazen as to be caught smoking some shady substances in a bathroom by someone they thought was a prefect, and then have the gall to tell said prefect to fuck off? Had it been a real prefect with real authority, the person caught in the act would have been kissing their free time goodbye faster than one could say "detention" (which means losing their leisure time for at least a month, if not six months). "Get out here. Now. Since when did you become the judge of what qualifies as 'pursuing studies further'?" The half-irritated tone came naturally as Mamori marched toward the furthest stall. "Practicing Incendio Tria in the Hufflepuff common room counts as deeper learning too, doesn't make it any less catastrophically stupid to use powerful fire spells in a room full of flammable furniture." He grabbed the door handle. "And how exactly am I supposed to know you're actually studying in there?" he added. "What kind of academic pursuit emits purple smoke?" He almost fell back on the spot as he flung the door open and was greeted by a concentrated cloud of smoke, ensuing in a violent coughing fit and thus disrupting the prefect-like image he was trying to maintain. Unable to tolerate the eye-stinging fog for another second, he drew out his wand. "Caelum Muto." The Atmospheric Charm was technically meant for outdoor weather manipulation, but Mamori had discovered through some trial and error that it worked brilliantly indoors for temperature control and smoke removal, or at the very least, it could somewhat thin out the air around the caster enough to make breathing less of a contact sport. Directing his wand, he gathered the smoke before sending the concentrated purple plume toward the conveniently broken window. Except that concentrated smell brought back something from his memory, specifically it reminded him of a scent from some class at the beginning of the term, something like an aggressive collision between intense lavender and the unmistakably familiar stench of flobberworm mucus that he'd been around his entire life. After the smoke had dispersed and the air in the stall became at least not deadly, Mamori was finally able to make out the whole picture: a girl just a little shorter stood there facing him, and behind her, the toilet bowl was happily bubbling with a suspicious purple liquid; a few candles were scattered around either for light or, more ominously, as heat sources for whatever was in there. "Is this some kind of horrible cooking or..." was the first thing that came out of Mamori's mouth, but then as he recalled her earlier mention of academic pursuits he made a little guess, "...potion brewing?" Even with his rock bottom Potions grades, Mamori had enough knowledge to understand how temperamental potion-making could be; neither water quality nor precise temperature control should be considered as optional unless, of course, you want to find new means of creative kills. However, as his prefect disguise was still intact, Mamori kept his next few words appropriately in character. "This is literally the equivalent of practicing Incendio Tria in the common room, you realize that? Who in their right mind authorized you to light anything in a bathroom stall?" He paused, actually looking at her face properly now instead of just registering her general existence. Her features seemed strangely familiar to him like he had seen her somewhere before, but just couldn’t figure out where. Along came the flashback, the train ride on that first day of term, right before that unbearable Tatiana annoyed the hell out of him. "Hang on, you're that one," the nerdy kiddo who'd pulled out an equally nerdy notebook after barely two sentences of conversation. "What's your name again, I remember it being one of those fancy compound situations. Luna-Cathie?"

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xxtag @Luna-Katherine Wailey