Gallery of Cards

The train eventually came to a stop. The sound of the wheels slowly coming to a halt with a loud ‘eeee’ noise seemed to ring throughout the train.

“Well, I guess we will be seeing you around.” Dazai shrugged, getting up himself from the seat. “Come on, Nikolai, let’s catch up with the others.” Dazai motioned for Nikolai to come and follow him before he stopped in mid-tracks and looked over his shoulder, “Leave your luggage; you don’t have to carry it around, Fedya!~” Dazai advised Fyodor before taking his leave. Fyodor made a ‘tsk’ noise, not approving what Dazai said. What type of prank was this? An elementary prank on the religious freak? To lose his school materials and belongings on the first day? When he is already on a tight budget?

“Alright, alright, coming.” Nikolai looked at Fyodor, who seemed to be looking out the window, still fuming. He also seemed to be admiring the view from the window. “There is much more to see if you followed the rest of the first years. The site is breathtaking,” Nikolai suggested. “Take care, little man!” Nikolai made a slight gesture before bringing his fingers to his forehead and making a peace-out gesture.

Fyodor waved dismissively, looking at Nikolai before he left the compartment. As soon as he was by himself, Fyodor sighed and took in the sight before him; he noticed how the trees and sky seemed to blend into a perfectly dark green and navy blue scenery. He wished he could play his cello or write music, as much as the ride was hard on him. Fyodor gained inspiration from nature around him, not really the people. The people only provided a couple of obstacles in his path to becoming great.

Though he is not much of a great person at the moment, he admits, he barely knows anything about magic. He only knows what he learned at the orphanage with the Headmaster and what the books told him about. He knows about the Renaissance era and how painters back in the day used to poison themselves over a couple of colors. He admires these renaissance men, especially Michealaenglo, not for dying in his younger years but for painting the Madonna, Virgin Maria. He paints her with such delicacy, a delicacy of a mother, a woman, a woman raising her child, knowing that his fate was to become something even more remarkable than his life span.

Virgin Maria had to hold her son’s corpse, such a sickening thought to any mother. Any mother would weep at the mere thought of keeping their child’s corpse. Bring a knife to their own throat and commit suicide to sin such a significant loss. Fyodor can’t blame them if they do so. If Virgin Maria choked with her sorrow for her son that she had to breastfeed and raise as her own, other mothers must have felt the same devastation holding their children’s corpses.

Fyodor feels safer whenever he prays to Virgin Maria. It’s as if he is being protected by a mother’s warmth, looking for someone to hold and protect him for being him. No matter the circumstances or age, he could be a child in Virgin Maria’s arms. She cares for all her children the same, as she is a great mother. He is proud to pray within her icon.
He’s heard in times of great hardships; a miracle may occur. He read in one of the books he read about Ireland that during the Potato famine, a painting of Virgin Maria started to weep; she cried blood in the times of three. Another instance of this miracle was back in August of 1953 on the 29th, when she cried in front of Antonina, who was pregnant with her first child and experiencing complications. According to her, she was cursed upon seeing the image weep for the first time. The authorities, Father Guiseppe Brunno and an Aetheist named Dr. Michele Cassola, saw the image weeping, and for four days in the home, Angelo Lannuso and Antonia Lucia Guisti. Such discoveries were made that the tears cried by the image were akin to those human tears; as such, the house, over the years, became a shrine to commemorate virgin Maria and such a miracle in the world.

With a sigh, Fyodor gets up and steals one more glance at the imagery before him; perhaps he was never meant to be a perfect boy. He needed to become wiser and more vital. Prove the people wrong about him that he isn’t just a feeble child. He is someone much more capable of changing the world into better ideals. The ideals that fit the world so much better. Fyodor reaches up to grab his suitcase and luggage, not having much to lug around. Thank the lord for that. He worms his way through the crowds of people, following a crowd that seems to be going in the same direction. He hoped he was going in the same direction and not some weird area where he was not supposed to reside. He saw people walking with no luggage, and out of curiosity, he wondered if he had to lug this all around. He quickly peered into one of the empty compartments and saw that people had left their luggage.
Something told him to leave his luggage and that his “magic” would somehow move it.
Fyodor bit his lip. Out of social anxiety, Fyodor does not conform to these social norms; he is… just adapting to them… Maybe Dazai was fitting that he should leave his luggage there. Just maybe. Not that he would admit it to his face—that stubborn, prideful face.

As he approached the further up, he heard this thick, deep, nasally southern accent yelling, “Come on now! First year, don’t be shy!”

He’s a first-year student. Fyodor quickly hurries up, not wanting to be left behind on the train. He sees a rather tall and massive man with thick hair and dark curls. He also has a thick beard to match his long, thick hair. He’s wearing a red shirt, and his overcoat seems black but worn down, so there are patches of brown on the coat.
He sees several students, all the same age as him. Similar sizes and heights. He pushes to get up into the front, near the big man.

The big man stops in front of the kid with round glasses, who seems to be walking towards him, “Hello, Harry.”

Ah, the boy's name is Harry Potter; what a common name it is. Terrible.
“Hey, Hagrid,” Harry says with a gleeful smile, admiring the man. Jeez, that kid has some issues. Fyodor can smell them from here—what a silly, naive, pained look of admiration.

The little red-haired boy beside Harry seemed astounded by how tall Hagrid was, so astounded the red-hair even had a little “Whoa.” to his surprise.
Is this how normal children behave? Children of Merlin? And not God?

“Come on now. Follow me.”

And follow Fyodor, to his dismay. He wasn’t the happiest person to follow a wizard, but he reluctantly had to. He didn’t want to be left behind on traitorous grounds. He, Fyodor, and the swarm of eleven-year-olds on this ground. He wonders if it was like this for Nikolai and Dazai. Possibly not, Nikolai has white hair. Outrageous, did his parents allow him to bleach and dye his hair? It couldn’t ever be possible to be naturally white, especially with that eccentric look. He must be going through problems at home or school with his behavior and appearance. Maybe finding God will help Nikolai a bit more.
Though for Dazai, he possibly was nagging every person he saw to commit suicide. He wonders if the teachers know about his outrageous behavior or attempt to stop him if he harasses the students too much with his idiotic tendencies of wanting to commit a double suicide or die altogether. Maybe a mind-shrink could help that poor Dazai fellow out.
Maybe Nikolai and Dazai should see a mind-shrink; they both seem equally as insane as one another.

Following Hagrid down a rather steep, narrow path, surrounding him were even more trees blocking any chance that light could protrude from them. Fyodor saw a couple of students slip and stumble. He let out a chuckle at these students.
These imbecile little dimwits can’t even walk down a singular path to such a prestigious wizarding school; what a shame. He, an orphan, is walking with such delicacy and ease. They should be taking notes of him walking. Walking with such eloquence and–
Fyodor stumbled and fell face-first into the dirt.
He stood immediately up, brushing himself off. Fyodor felt his face burn with embarrassment. This is preposterous, he thought to himself. It is the teacher's fault that this path is so hard to walk on; it is not his fault—not one bit.

Eventually, as time passed, the path continued; Fyodor thought he was walking forever. His feet were aching, and he felt somewhat lightheaded. Is this where he dies? Where does Fyodor, the Blasphemous traitor, lie and die?
OH, dear, these trees are suffocating him; they are never-ending–
“Ye’ all get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” The burley man named Hagrid called out, “Jus round this bend here.”
The path happened to open up.
With that, there was a massive wave of “Oooooos!”
Yes, yes, according to his careful calculations, Fyodor knew that this was going to happen. Even falling was done on purpose. The Ooos did not include Fyodor admiring the place's architecture.
The castle is vast—and massive is an understatement. A couple of towers peak above into the starry night. The windows reflect the starry night in deep purple and royal blue, with such a pretty gradient to black on the edges. Specific windows were lit up with a brilliant yellow-orange. Fyodor wonders if he is dreaming for a moment looking at the castle. It’s carefully thought out design and how he is supposed to be living there for his schooling now. He doesn’t think he could ever get used to seeing the castle, let alone think about living like royalty, unlike the orphanage’s windows. These windows weren’t stained and tinted to keep the sun out; they were built to let the sun in. Arguably, these windows are way more pretty than the ones in the orphanage.
He looks down and sees rows of boats, “No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid yelled out to the group of students. Everyone is accounted for, Fyodor assumes.
Fyodor makes his way down to a boat, hoping not to meet any more eccentric people who are coming to annoy or bother him in any way. As he steps into the empty boat, the first of 4 to get into one, the boat rocks from side to side. As people fill up boats, students get into Fyodor’s boat.
The boat rocks from side to side. He grips the edges of the boat, hoping and praying once that it won’t tip over. Upon his arrival at this regal school, he does not want to be wetter than the dripping cat.
“Hey, what’s your name?” Someone questions another student. Fyodor wants to be left alone right now. Can’t they see that he is busy fighting for his life on this boat?

“Names is Neville and yours?”

“Aren’t you the kid that lost your toad?”

Fyodor lets out a chuckle; what a kid. To lose your pet on the first day.
“Uh.. well, have you seen him?” Neville blushes red in embarrassment, already making himself famous; perhaps his new name will be ‘the boy who lost a toad.’ The boy apologizes and introduces himself as ‘Boot Terry.’ What type of last name is Boot? Does the poor kid also have issues? Does everyone in this accursed school have issues?
Fyodor tried to lean against the side of the boat just for it to rock further. He straightened out immediately. He was not going to be the reason why the boat would tip over. Fyodor needed his place to think and plan what he would do at this school. To formulate a study plan, a learning plan, to control–
“Hey you, what’s your name?” the ‘Boots’ kid asked.

Bugger, interrupting him in his inner dialogue. “Kind of you for asking; my name is Dostoevsky Fyodor. It is such a pleasure to meet you. I hope we all have a festive and academic year.” Fyodor tried to sound as pleasant as possible, but the sarcastic venom of being interrupted in mid-thought leaked through his pick of words and the tone that sounded eerily like a snake coming in for the kill.

The three kids in the boat looked at each other and wondered what bothered Fyodor so much.
“No need to be so rude, Fyodor,” Replied Neville, trying to stick up for the Boots kid’s dignity and keep things light-hearted and not ominous.
“Yea, you don’t need to have a stick up your ass!”

“I do NOT have a stick up my ass!”

“You might as well have a stick up your ass! Your ego is suffocating us!”

“Nu-uh!”

“Ye-uh!”
The two made eye contact with each other, glaring. Fyodor was not having this childish speckle over with this eleven-year-old. There is no way. Fyodor does not have a stick up his ass; in fact, they all probably do. He was forced to buy a wand from this ominous old man who called him a bit peculiar for having a 13’ Poplar wand with a Phoenix core.
Talking about a phoenix, do they actually exist? What a wild fairy tale come true if that is the case.
Before Fyodor could quarrel against ‘boots’ response to his response, Hagrid yelled out,

“Everyone in? Right then – FORWARD!” Hagrid yells out again.

All of the boats start to glide across the lake. Fyodor looks down into the water, seeing the stars reflecting off the water, distorted by the ripples created by the boats. He wonders how Atsushi is doing now, possibly crying that he left without a word to him. What a bummer. He glances back up to see these huge spiked rocks tower over him. They get closer and closer to the cliff where Hogwarts stood.
He ponders whether Dazai has tried jumping off the ledge; this fall would surely kill him. Oh well

“Heads down!” Hagrid announced as a curtain of ivy hid an opening in the cliff's face. It carries them through a dark tunnel, void of any light. It seemed to trap them within the place. It enveloped them, suffocated him. Fyodor felt slightly terrified of the third predicament, afraid of the darkness. He couldn’t predict what would happen to him if he was in the dark. What if he sees some goblins from Gringots, those demons again– oh god, the peril.

The boat came to a halt, and with that, Fyodor realized his knees were shaking and he couldn’t get up. The boat was rocking from side to side. He looked at the students he just chaste out with the stick up his ass. Neville noticed and looked back to see Fyodor still struggling to get out.
“Need help?” Neville offered Fyodor, already heading back onto the boat to come help Fyodor up no matter what Fyodor replies.

“Y-yes.” Fyodor stammered, already feeling that his ego would be the death of him. His face was constantly burning pink, which matched his eyes. He was not making a significant and splendid first impression as he expected and planned.
Neville offered his hand, which Fyodor took before being pulled up. Fyodor despised physical contact, especially if he needed help. He hates getting help when he could solve it by himself. But at last, they were already falling behind the trail of students.

Neville pulled Fyodor up to his feet, stumbled a bit, and held onto Neville, who looked like they were trying not to chuckle. His face was scrunched up, beady eyes staring at him– “Are you okay?”

“Yes– why wouldn’t I be?” Fyodor replied hastily, quickly turning his face away from Neville. He was staring too hard.

“You shaking like a leaf–”

“It’s not my fault these boats rock so much! It could have TIPPED over and made us all fall over and get wet.” Fyodor exclaimed, gripping his robes and pulling on them like an embarrassed child trying to hide in plain sight, hoping off the boat alongside Neville.

“Well, it seems that you are fine.” Neville smiles at Fyodor.

Oh god, that is terrifying.
“Of course I am!” Fyodor throws his hands into the air before attempting to storm away from the crowd, noticing small green bumps. “Neville… is this your…?” Fyodor points at the toad, looking at it with disgust. He prefers his rat much more, his precious rat Grushenka.

“Trevor!” He holds his hand out as the sickly toad jumps into his arms for a slimy embrace.

“Glad… you found your uhm, toad.” Fyodor tries to smile at Neville, “Erm thanks for earlier– too..?” Fyodor sounds uncertain as the toad's beady eyes stare directly at him. Blinking. With one eye at a time. Ready for an attack at any moment.

“You're welcome. Maybe that stick up your, uhm.” Neville blushes a bit in hot embarrassment. “Grandma says not to say the next word; she tells me it is a– uh- a naughty word. But, uhm- maybe it isn’t so bad! We could perhaps get along!”

Fyodor almost chuckles at the young boy, “Perhaps.” He continues to make his way up, noticing that rather huge front door.
“Wow, I’ve heard from Grandma that Hogwarts is magnificent; it looks much better than I imagined it to be.”

“Did you imagine it is bleak and musty? Maybe a couple of run-down doors with cobwebs?”

“Well–! Yes! I thought Grandma was just saying this to get me excited over nothing!” Neville exclaims as they trot down the path up to the front gates, far behind the rest of the crowd of first years.

“Maybe the dorms can be like that; who knows.” Fyodor shrugged nonchalantly.

“DON’T JOKE LIKE THAT!-- oh god, what if the bed has fleas!” Neville places his hands into his hair, gripping his short hair in stress.

“Oh no, the world's end, fleas at a prestigious school!”
“Oh god…. I want my grandma; maybe this is one huge mistake.”

“You and me here in the same boat, metaphorically and literally.”

They both were able to catch up with the crowd just before the doors opened slightly to the castle. Once the door slightly opened, there stood a rather elderly woman who managed to stand proud with her black hat and black hair. He wore deep emerald green robes that reminded him of the forest outside, and her face had a face of being stern, someone who wouldn’t bend the rules, but the face also spelled a different demeanor; it reeked of mischievy. He wondered if he was misreading the woman.

“This firs’ years, Professor McGonagall,”

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here,” Professor McGonagall opened the door. The entrance blew Fyodor’s mind.
He swore he felt like he was in one of the books he read at the orphanage. Those castles that kids would read about, with torches. Those same castles from the medieval ages. He could find a library where he could read up the history of this place. It is such a wonder. So marvelous and so big. He admired the layout and how there were small cravings and patterns at the doors or openings. The place claims it has magic, but he’d instead claim it has art. He is reminded of the prestigious schools in America and how they look similar to this. Oxford and Cambridge. Now, he stands here in a similar setting but for magic. Yet he will spend the next couple of years attending here. It's for free since the Ministry of Magic is paying for him.

Professor McGonagall turned around and started to walk forward. The first years followed her through the corridor and up the stairs. Fyodor marveled at the place's art and architecture.
“Blimey Fyodor, you look your in bliss? Has this been your dream? Questioned Neville
“Oh, no. This has never been my dream.”

“Ah… I guess you are a strange one. Can I ask why, though-?”

Fyodor almost stopped himself from walking. He would not just say he was an orphan and knew nothing about magic. This was the chance to change his history and change who he was. Fyodor has the opportunity and the resources available to become more now. He reminds himself, “Ah, I didn’t know magic existed until recently. You can imagine my shock when a professor came over and handed me a letter claiming I was special.”

“Oh! Your muggle-born!”

“Mhm!” Fyodor nodded, telling a half-lie and a half-truth. He doesn’t know if they were ‘muggles’ or ‘wizards.’ He wonders if the headmasters would tell him a lie or a truth about his parents—perhaps a half a lie and half a truth to cover any suspicious activities up.

As the crowd continued forward, they walked into a small chamber off to the corridor they were walking. The small chamber quickly became crowded with the volume of people. Fyodor panicked again, almost brushing his shoulders to people; he hoped this wouldn’t last so long.

Neville seemed to notice Fyodor’s discomfort of being near other people and placed himself a bit further, allowing Fyodor to have a smaller gap of personal space. It may have been a minor action of kindness, but for Fyodor, it felt reliving for someone to do that to him. He looked at Neville and muttered a ‘thank you.’ Maybe Neville is useful after all.

Fyodor could swear he heard many more voices than the ones coming from the chamber; perhaps that’s where the rest of the students were. Before he could ponder further, Professor McGonagall said, “Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a significant ceremony because your house will be like your family in Hogwarts while you are here. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your dormitory, and spend free time in your common room.”
Ah, Fyodor hopes he doesn’t get into Slythern. He wants to avoid living in the same house as Dazai and Nikolai.
He could not do anything in that house if he were in it. With those two clones? He would be lucky to get any sleep at night. With their constant annoying pesking and talking? Yea, Fyodor wants to be somewhere other than Slythern.

“The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has a noble history and has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope you will be credited to whichever house becomes yours.”
Fair enough, it made enough sense to have a friendly rivalry between houses.

“The Sorting Ceremony will occur a few minutes before the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as possible while waiting.”
She stared at Neville’s cloak before resuming what she was saying. “I shall return when we are ready for you; please wait quietly.” And with that, she left.

“Do you know how the sorting takes place, Neville?” Fyodor asked his fellow peer.

“No, my Nana never said how she got sorted– oh! I think I know those three over there. Come on, I’ll introduce you.” Neuville started to worm his way through the crowd.

“I’d rather not,” Fyodor said unpleasantly as he followed Neville's small space gaps. They both wormed their way up to the front to Harry Potter, the red hair, and another girl.

“Harry! Ron! Hermonie!” Neville waved towards them

“Neville!” Harry called out. Before they knew it, they were together in a small circle, “Who is that?”

“It’s–”
“Dostoevsky Fyodor, a pleasure to meet you three.” Fyodor cut off Neville. The three quickly glanced at each other, scheming in front of him. Tsk. Kids.

“Your name is Russian-? Isn’t there an author named Dostoevsky too-?” Hermine quickly asked, noticing their tension due to the sudden cut-off.

“I am indeed from Russia, but I’ve lived closer to Hogwarts and then spent time in Russia. We, uhm, moved when I was fairly young.” Fyodor quickly lied to their faces; he would not become some helpless orphan on day one; he came here on blasphemy and treacherous grounds.

“Oh! What town are you from–”

“Can we go back to my question? How do you think the houses are sorted?” Fyodor rebutted quickly; he did not have a town name in mind nor cared enough to put into research in towns near him.

“No need to be all snotty.” Hermonie rolled her eyes at Fyodor. “We were discussing that with Ron and Harry earlier.”

“Ron says there is a test,” Harry shyly imputed. I hope he’s wrong. I wouldn’t do so well on a test. What if I do poorly on it?”

“I hope I’m wrong, too! I don’t want to fight a troll!” Ron pulled his face in dismay, feeling desperate about this housing situation.

“A Troll?!?” Neville yelled, “My grandma wouldn’t like it if I got hurt! I don’t think she would like it if I got stuck in St. Mungos on the first day..”

St. Mungos? That sounds interesting. It must be a hospital of some sort. That place struck a cord within Neville. Fyodor noticed the way his demeanor looked saddened. Fyodor looked to the side and saw the Malfoy boy approaching from behind.
“Being stuck on St. Mungos on the first day? Seems like it’s something you and your parents would have in common.” The Malfoy seemed to chuckle at his joke, enjoying someone’s pain. Poor Neville Fyodor thought to himself; it is a shame that his parents are hospitalized if that’s what Malfoy is implying. Neville could have ended up in an orphanage if he had to go with his grandparents or anyone else. Depending on Neville's proximity to him, he could have gotten stuck where he and Atsushi got stuck. That thought was chilling, someone whose magical being also stuck with him.

What a revolting, putrid thought. He muttered an apology to God under his breath.
“Malfoy, why don’t you pick on someone else? You got nothing better to do?!” Ron defended Neville, who seemed to look at Ron with a few thanks.

“Hm, I don’t think I will. Just look at yourself, Weasly. You don’t even have a brand-new wand; it’s a hand-me-down. Your family is a disgrace to all of the pure-blood families out there, especially your father! Obsessed with muggles-”

“Don’t you dare insult Ron like that! Unlike others, he shows some care to people, unlike certain people. I bet Hermoine could beat you, and she’s a muggle-born witch!” Harry attempted to defend Ron.
Fyodor felt like he was watching a small circus, with how the boys interacted, defending each other like a pack of wolves.
If he could get them on his side, they would be useful. If Hermonie could beat this so-called ‘pure-blood,’ she must be the brain of this trio while the rest are the group's heart.

“Don’t you DARE compare me to THAT mud blood–” Students turned around to look at Malfoy when he said the word's Mudblood; it seemed to be some sort of ‘bad word.’
He heard mumbles around him saying things of the sort of:
“Did you hear him? He said that M word…”
“Oh…! That poor girl, being called such a bad word already…”
“Ah, it is a good thing that the Malfoys never changed. I agree with Salzar that muggle–”
“That mud blood should have known better than to mess with a Malfoy.”

“Why… I outa…!” Hermoine rolled up her sleeves, ready for a brawl.

“HERMIONE—” Ron, Harry, and Neville attempted to prevent her from starting a fight. “Do something, Fyodor! Professor McGonagall might come anytime! We don’t want trouble!” Harry Potter pleaded, his face looking very desperate.

“Fyodor..? Oh, the sickly-looking kid?” Draco pointed at him, “Why, I think he can barely fight his battles, so just look at him!” Fyodor’s lip tightened in a grimace. It wasn’t his fault he looked sickly; it was the opposite; it was the world’s fault that he looked so sickly. It was never his fault.

“Malfoy, are you making fun of such an unfortunate kid? Not everyone can afford your luxury 10-step hair care just to brush it back, revealing such a huge forehead–” Fyodor tried to bullshit his way out of this, trying to turn his appearance into a weapon; he was getting attention from people if it was any time to get people to like him, to get people to tolerate him. It is now. People have mixed feelings about Malfoy in the crowd, and whatever he chooses will be the crowd that Fyodor will be stuck with. “Is that a pimple, I see?” Fyodor approached Malfoy a little.
Malfoy’s complexion paled, and he covered his forehead with his hands.

“Why– why– POTTER- this is your fault–!” Malfoy turned on his heels and ran into the crowd of people trying to get away from Quintrip– Guantrip? Five people?
Quintet.
Yes, that’s the word; Fyodor turned around, facing the group. He heard a couple of chuckles in the background at the word battle and wits display. It was such an eventful first day; he wondered if it would be like this every day at Hogwarts.
Fyodor ran his fingers through his hair and realized it was pretty greasy– he felt shame on his shoulders after making it seem like he was living in poverty– there goes his first impression of being this sophisticated kid. All for these… kids. They better prove their worth in the long run.

He saw Ron open his mouth to comment on what had just happened. He felt a sudden chill and ducked. About twenty ghosts just happened to go through the back wall. White translucent ghosts glided over everyone's heads. They were arguing, calling each other names, saying, “Get your kids under control,” and “I'm trying, trying; it's not my fault my kids are just so much better than your kids.”

A ghost that looked short and a bit fat seemed to fly by. He is dressed in robes that remind him of home, a clergyman. He wondered if he followed the same faith as he did. Maybe it’ll be fine if a clergyman could do magic. Though how did he become a ghost? Perhaps the punishment for doing magic was to become a ghost; maybe that is it.

The clergyman, while flying over, mentioned something about “forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance–”

“My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name, and you know, he’s not even a ghost– I say, what are you all doing here?” The Ghost is wearing a ruff and tights, his hair having hair strands poking out of him as if he was electrocuted. The Ruff ghost reminded him of someone from Shakespeare’s play. He had noticed they seemed to glide into a chamber full of eleven-year-olds.
Yet despite his question, no one answered him back.
It was such a tragedy, being from beyond death to answer a simple lad.

“New Students!” Said the Clergyman. Friar smiled at them, his teeth slightly worn down. He looked down at them, questioning, “About to be Sorted, I suppose?”
Fyodor nodded alongside a couple of more students. These younglings must be frozen in shock, never seeing a Clergyman in their lifetime. Fyodor has seen a couple in his lifetime, usually to try to call out a supposed demon living in him. “Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know.” The Ghost’s eyes twinkled with pride; he seemed to care about his house so much that he showed such esteem and honor for his old home.

Fyodor admired the Ghost for a couple more moments before he heard the same sharp, stern voice command them to “Move along now. The Sorting Ceremny’s about to start,” said Professor McGonagall from the stairs. Fyodor looked at Friar again before the Ghosts floated to the opposite wall.
“Now, Form a line and follow me.”
Everyone got into a line and followed the professor. Fyodor noticed that Harry looked a little queasy and nervous; his legs trembled as he walked behind a sandy-haired boy. Ron followed right after Harry, then Hermonie.

Fyodor himself followed no one; he followed himself. But he was behind Nuville. As he was going through the chamber, back across the hall, he saw this pair of double doors leading to what he gathered, the “Great Hall.” he wondered what made the great hall, the great hall. Even more small carvings on the walls? More decorations.
Fyodor was ecstatic; he needed to find out what was inside this place. He just needed to know. Once he made his way through the double doors, Fyodor looked around in awe. Myriads of candles floated in the air, and several tables were decorated with golden plates and silver goblets. At the top of the stairs were the teachers. He saw the ghosts from earlier float around a couple of tables, all of their eyes. Students, teachers, and ghosts were in the first years– suddenly, Fyodor felt slightly nervous. What if it is a test? He doesn’t want to fail and look like an idiot like Malfoy in front of people, especially in front of Dazai and Nikolai.
Those two would tease the living jeezus out of him if he did manage to fail or fall like on the way here. Fyodor saw Hermonie whisper something to Harry and pointed up.
Fyodor looked up and saw the stars. He could swear he could see the Nebulas and Cosmos, each star twinkling in stark contrast to the dark, black, purple sky. He wondered if it was due to magic, a spell, or if they saw the sky above from inside. Maybe both.

Fyodor looked forward again, and he saw that Professor McGonagall had placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years, and on top of it, she had placed a pointed wizard’s hat. That hat looked worn down and dirty. He wondered if anyone who used the hat would get lice from it. Fyodor asked what they would do with the hat. Set it on fire? Make people commit to the hat, swearing they believe only in Merlin. Maybe the troll would hop out of the hat, and all the first years would have to fight it to prove themselves to Hogwarts to get sorted.
He could use Neville as a human meat shield; Harry could be his backup. Ron would be the distraction, and Hermonie would be the spellcaster if she beat Malfoy in a duel. If they’d work together, they could save the day, and Fyodor could prove himself worthy to his lord, to God above.
The hat twitched.
It twitched…?
BLASPHEMY.
Fyodor nearly screamed when the rim near the brim opened wide like a mouth and began to sing. He almost pushed Nuville out of fright.
Fyodor stared at the hat as it seemed to go on for a two-page song. He felt drawn to the hope that the hat would be set on fire. Though the information it spat in the song was useful, why did the dirty-lice-infected hat have to sing?

The hall burst into a loud applause as soon as the song ended. The hat bowed to each of the four tables and became still again. The…. hat bowed….? Fyodor would not have nightmares of this hat later today; he would not dream about a talking hat that bows to students. No way.

Professor McGonagall pulled out a rather long and large parchment paper, and she cleared her throat before announcing, “When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she announced. Fyodor hoped the hat didn’t have lice. He does not want to have to trim his hair back down. “Abbott, Hannah!”

A girl with a pale complexion, her red undertones shining through her face with her blonde pigtails bouncing up and down. She stumbled a bit to make her way up to the hat and sit down.
There was an audible pause in the air.
There was so much silence and anticipation about someone getting sorted. He wondered how long it would take to get to the ‘D’ section, where his name resided within the list.
Suddenly, the quiet came, and the voice rang out, “HUFFLEPUFF!” The table to his right cheered and clapped as Hannah sat at the Hufflepuff table.
He bets the clergyman is pleased that she is indeed in Hufflepuff.

Fyodor tuned out the rest of the Sorting, only paying attention to where the houses were and where he should sit down. However, the cheering should make it obvious where he should sit down. So Fyodor waited for his name to be called out. He was hoping Hermoine’s or even Neville’s name would go before him, but it turns out it was very likely he would be the first one out of the five to go first.

“Dostoevsky, Fyodor!” McGonagall called out for him.
With that, Fyodor made his way up the place, noticing Snape was indeed a Professor and wasn’t just lying about it. Man, this year couldn’t get any better than it was already.
Fyodor carefully picked up the hat and hoped and prayed ever so slightly that the lice had already fallen onto the girl's head and Bone’s before him.

“Oh? What is this? An interesting case indeed,” The hot spoke in his head. “It seems you have gone through a lot of trouble; you thirst for knowledge and helping those around you. Ravenclaw? Hufflepuff? You have a talent for knowing or comprehending things much faster than your peers. You are so similar to another worrisome student last year.”
‘It better not be Dazai’
“Ah, it seems you two are already acquainted! Slytherin would be a perfect house for you to quench your need to prove–”
‘NO, I don’t want a snake to be my house mascot. That’s demonic and against my ideals.’
“But it seems just perfect? Don’t you want to have the power to prove yourself to the world?”
‘I do, BUT NOT AS A SNAKE.’
“Well? Picking a different mascot over your ambition?”
“I’m here for more knowledge. Prove myself with wisdom.”
“Yet you have the cunning desire and ability of a Slytherin, so you pick wisdom? Then it must be RAVENCLAW.”

Fyodor heard the hat announce he was in Ravenclaw, and he swore he could hear Nikolai scream, “I TOLD YOU SO,” over several students. Fyodor puffed his chest out and went down to the Ravenclaw table.
Several people congratulated him, and he thanked them quickly before the next name was called out.
Fyodor kept his years out for his peers; he wondered where they would get sorted.

It turns out Harry Potter might be famous. He hears mutterings of the Potter at Hogwarts and hopes they can get the ‘The boy who lived’ into their house. If he remained friends with Potter, he would have a better footing in this society than his peers. Potter seems like a perfect person who can control and manipulate to strengthen his cause.
The Ravenclaw table sighed when Harry Potter got sorted into Gryffindor. He wished that he could have been sorted into Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. Then, he would have people he would know. Maybe the Friar would like him or accept him as one of his own.

He was still glad he hadn’t gotten sorted into Slytherin since the Malfoy brat had gotten in there. Maybe the Slythern house was the house of the pricks. The people he met so far in Slythern seemed to prove his point.

Fyodor looked down at his plate, awaiting his serving, and looking ahead to see food magically appearing before him. Lord, have mercy on him. All of the food looks delicious. Fyodor wants to bite into the turkey and pull the meat away from the bones as he chews on some juicy corn. There are some pumpkin-flavored desserts and sweets; he wants a little of everything. All of the food looks simply exquisite. He must have it all, or just enough to fill his stomach for the night and not be gluttonous. God did say gluttony is a sin.

The Headmasterer got his feet, Albus Dumbledore, he assumes. He looked proud of all of the students. His arms opened wide as if he was going to start preaching a sermon before his old mouth opened and said, “Welcome. Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I want to say a few words. And here they are. Nitwit! Blubber! Oddemnt! Tweak!” before the mad man sat down.

Fyodor tried not to stare at the old man; he simply wondered if the Headmasterer was insane or mad or if it was perfectly normal wizard behavior.

“Ay, you there,” someone from across the table called out. Fyodor looked around to determine where the voice could come from, “Over here.” It was a boy who looked a little older than he was, with short brown hair, wearing a paperboy hat, rectangular glasses that covered his eyes and seemed to have his eyes closed; what a strange boy. “Could you pass me the pumpkin sweet?” Asked the boy. Fyodor obliged, not wanting to make enemies already. It would be best for Fyodor to make friends; it would be wise of him to make more friends. Connections are essential, as well as a plan for the school year. “Name is Edogawa Ranpo. It is nice to meet you, says Fyodor; what are you interested in learning?”

Fyodor paused to think; what did he want to learn about? He wanted to know more about the world around him, but he knew little to nothing about it. He wishes to discover its secrets and figure out how to exploit it for the betterment of humanity. Fyodor came to Hogwarts to make a name for himself, but he also wanted to help humanity. He cannot reach this goal if he doesn’t know what is going on or get anywhere if he doesn’t know what’s happening. Fyodor could say he is interested in the history of Hogwarts, maybe the spells or potions. He assumes potions are a thing in this world.
“I’m most interested in learning how the Wizarding world works and how I could better it,” Fyodor decides, which is mostly true. He needs to seem ambitious and have a goal that follows his ideals. What he said is what he is planning to do.
Ranpo’s eyebrows raised slightly, and he smiled at Fyodor, “I see you fit right in here, then! I’m in my fourth year here. I am the smartest one here! Anyone who tells you otherwise is fibbing.”
Great, now he knows someone else with a huge ego. “Something tells me we will get along, my little underclassman!”
Fyodor nodded at Ranpo. “I agree as well; we will get along quite well.”

Quite a time passed, and Fyodor ate his food in silence. The food looked as divine as it tasted, but the temptation to eat more than he should have was strong. As soon as it vanished, Fyodor sighed and thanked the lord for getting rid of such devilish temptation in front of his face. He didn’t know if he was able to control his impulses. Fyodor could look at Ranpo, and he would rate the sweet entrees himself.

“Edogawa, you really should control your eating habits.” A woman with slightly purple hair and a yellow butterfly told Ranpo.

“But Akiko, they are so good. And we haven’t even started dessert yet!”

Desert… hasn’t even been served? It’s been ages? Hours even, and desert wasn’t available yet?
How could this be?

Fyodor thought this was the end of the line, that they would go to bed soon, but instead, he saw a bunch of pastries, ice cream, cakes, and other treats across from him. Fyodor hopes it’s like this every day. Maybe Fyodor needs to try all the treats one day, but he digresses and needs to control himself. He cannot be eating so many sweets on the first day. He will get a toothache and a stomachache.
Fyodor plopped a chocolate lava cupcake on his plate and poured some milk. This was enough to satisfy his greed, and a little bit wouldn’t hurt.

God wouldn’t mind if he ate a cupcake with milk on the side.
Fyodor enjoyed his chocolate lava cupcake.
Fyodor thought back to Atsushi.

Atsushi would have loved eating and spending time here. This environment was meant for Atsushi, whatever house he gets into. He would enjoy the food. Especially the tea cakes here, he would have staked his plate high with tea cakes and somehow had more room to eat more pastries. That boy needed to eat more; he was skinnier than he was. Poor Atsushi, what would he have done without Fyodor? His reading and praying buddy. He wonders what the the Headmasterer has done with Atsushi. Possibly just driving a nail through his foot, nothing that big, hopefully. Or they were waterboarding at Atsushi.
He certainly hopes that coming to Hogwarts isn’t some big mistake he will regret later. That boy seems to cry daily, which annoys his peers by earning him the nickname “crybaby Atsushi”. The children and near adults living at the orphanage aren’t so lovely to Atsushi; he adores Atsushi for being so strong and getting through his day in mostly one piece. He adores Atsushi for being a little more special than he is. He knows Atsushi is the key to his ambition; with that, they could both do something great.
He doesn’t know why he feels this certain way about Atsushi but feels a pull towards him, just like in a book and a story, where people get pushed together as an act of fate.
Fyodor wonders if the same fate in books will unite him and Atsushi in the future or tear them apart over changing ideals.
Distance may push the two apart.

Fyodor puts his utensils down and waits patiently for dinner to end to be led to the dorms. He hopes Dazai wasn’t joking around and that the luggage gets transported magically from the train to his dorm. If he finds out that Dazai is lying about that, expulsion or not, he will beat Osamu up for such a lie that cost him his education. His education came first, and he wouldn’t be able to achieve it if all of his stuff had gone missing on the first day.
How would he even explain to the teachers that his stuff went missing? That he left in the train like a dimwit?
A Ravenclaw dimwit? Would they even believe that someone lied to him and fed him false news that got him? To Sobtage him on the first day.
Do people even predispose others at Hogwarts? Sabotage them?
If there is a House rivalry between everyone, does that mean people can get away with Sabotaging if they are careful enough about it… has he been sabotaged already?

With that, his thoughts are interrupted, and the deserts finally disappear, and Dumbledor gets to his feet again.
Everyone got silent right after this. So silent. Fyodor swore he could hear Ranpo whimpering that his Desert had vanished from his hands.

“Ahem– just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First-year students should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.”
Dumbledore looked towards the Gryffindor table. Was he looking at Potter? Or the other set of red hairs. There must be the troublemakers of Gryffindor, or at least the dumb ones if they got caught in such an action.
“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not want to die an excruciating death.”

He heard that right…. Didn’t he? Dumbledore cannot be serious. Is this a school meant for wizarding schooling? Couldn’t he magic it better? Considering Dumbledor is a well-renowned wizard? He’s been here for less than a day and has spent less time in the wizarding world, and he knows that already.
“Yo, Penny, do you know anything about this?” Ranpo asked this blonde-haired girl. Her hair is straight, pleasant, and glossy, too. He wonders what texture her hair is.

“Edogawa, I don’t think he is joking. I believe he is telling the truth. Though, strangely, he didn’t tell the Perfects reasoning behind why we are not allowed to go somewhere.”

“Perhaps he is hiding something down here.” Ranpo shrugged. He swore he could feel Ranpo look at him and examine him.
That information did perk his curiosity. If Dumbledore was hiding something, it must be essential or just dangerous. Either way, he is not too stupid to go and look into the corridor later. Fyodor must focus on academics and religion—two things at once. Pray for forgiveness over his existence for about an hour at night and then work on whatever schoolwork he has.
It's not too bad if he asks himself—just a few Hail Marys.

“Now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” Dumbledore announced.

Fyodor felt his blood still for the millionth time. Another song? Fyodor thought the number of songs was absurd. Why does this drenched school have so many songs?

Dumbledor flicked his wand, and a long golden ribbon flew out. The golden ribbon then rose above the tables and twisted itself around into words. “Everyone pick their favorite tune, and off we go!”

Fyodor was not doing this today. He is not going to sing a tune.
As people began to sing, he fought the urge to cover his ears. The Ranpo kid was singing loudly. He thought it was an ear sore after everyone finished off at different times. Fyodor felt like his hearing worsened when he sat silently as the people around him sang various tunes. Tunes that made an attempt to replicate Pop, rap, and hip-hop. Fyodor supposes he is glad no one sang in an opera soprano tune. Fyodor would have lost it. Despite the majority of his table finishing off, he saw some Griffyndors continue singing slowly. Perhaps they were singing for a funeral of some sort of how sad it sounded, Fyodor thought to himself.

“Ah, music. A magic beyond all we do here! And now, Bedtime. Off you trot!”
Finally, Fyodor thought he would go into the dorms and sleep.

“Alright, everyone, follow me,” interested Penny.

Fyodor and several others followed Penny through the crowds and out of the great hall. They had to climb a tight spiral staircase to the dormitory.
While walking up, Fyodor almost passed out; he was not built for these stairs. He was lucky that Ranpo’s friend Akiko noticed him slightly wobbling up the stairs and lent him a hand. Ranpo stated that Fyodor needed to eat more.

“Honestly, Fyodor, do you not eat much?” Questioned Akiko

“I’m on a diet,” Fyodor replied, trying to hurry up the stairs; he’d not get questioned or interviewed here instead.

“A Diet? Of only air and chocolate muffins?” Rebutted Akiko, who looked slightly concerned for her underclassman.

“I did eat turkey?”

“Only a leg and a couple of scattered pieces of ham and rice.”

“You were observing me eat? Is that a bit too much, don’t you think?”

“How could I ignore you when you sat beside my friend? You also have such a strange aura around you; you are like this other boy and Edogawa sometimes, hiding things.”

“I hid no such ‘things’; I wear my emotions on my sleeves.”

“Yeah, and Edogawa doesn’t hide muggle candy in his robes.”

“Wait… You knew about that!?!?” Ranpo suddenly exclaimed from in front of them.

“You always eat a lollipop in class; it is hard to miss it,” Akiko replied.

“Aw.. I thought I was being sneaky.” Ranpo said to his dismay, dragging his feet upwards up the tight spiral.

Fyodor found the conversation between these two like a conversation between someone with sibling rivalry or two people who have been around each other for so long that it just becomes second nature. The two conjoined at the hip in how they talked and mirrored each other's body language. Fyodor is amused at what being together for only a mere couple of years can mean for companionship.

There are such caring people here, and he wonders if ulterior motives exist for their kindness. He hopes not; he doesn’t know how he can repay anyone. Maybe they would like a sermon, a talk with God, or a lecture about the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Perhaps he can talk about the history of Catholicism. It is interesting.
Primarily how people used to buy “indictments” pastors, claiming that these pieces of paper could get anyone out of hell if they paid a specific price. Fyodor finds the sins within the church to be outrageous since why would someone come to teach the word of God to chase people out of it by committing sins and acting in ways that chase everyday people away?
Such absurdism within the church should be punished by people who have the correct minds, not the wrong ones who claim it was the Devil that tempted them.
The only person to blame is the person committing the sin or the act of treason against God, no one else.
The Devil did try to tempt Jesus in the desert once upon a time, but he didn’t give in. If a Devil is so temptful, an average person should be able to resist and reject such a temptation.
Failure to reject such temptation is an act of weakness, Fyodor believes.

Fyodor and the rest of the crew finally climb the stairs to the dorm, where a locked door awaits them.

“Here in Ravenclaw, we must solve a riddle to get into our dorms. It is only worthy that the smart ones should enter. And if a Ravenclaw cannot get in? They must figure it out for themselves.” Penny announced the first years.
Fyodor thought it was too strict but could always wander back into a different dorm. He has plenty of allies in the Gryffindor house and two in the Slytherin house. Maybe if he hides from Malfoy, Malfoy won’t tell on him.
Though Fyodor doubts the riddles will be a problem, he is brilliant.

A bronze eagle-shaped knocker suddenly spoke, “Glittering points that downward thrust, sparkling spears that never rust. What are they?” Asked the eagle.

“Now, does anyone know– No, Edogawa, you cannot answer. You already know the answer to all of the riddles somehow,”

“Aw… you no fun.” Ranpo deflated.

“I’m asking about the first years of Edogawa, not you.”

“Tsk, Fyodor, you should know you are a smart cookie!”

“Uhm– Icicles?” Fyodor answered quickly. It was a simple riddle to deduce—ice sparkles.
The Ravenclaw peers clapped politely as the door opened up to the inside.

“Good job, keep it up, and you won’t sleep outside like this fellow.” Penny gestured at Ranpo. “The boy's dorms are to the left, and the girl's dorms are to the right. If you need special accommodations, please let me know as soon as possible. There are special rooms if you don’t feel comfortable in either.”

“Aw, you're too kind; I'm just a genius, and not everyone can keep up!” Ranpo chuckled to himself before heading inward to the dorms. “Come on, I’ll show you to your bed, Fyodor. You look tired.”

Fyodor nodded and followed after him. He hoped his stuff was sent to the boy's dormitory. He didn’t precisely fit the cis agenda that people usually have. Fyodor clutched his chest slightly as he went down to where the beds were located.

“You will be coming with me! And a few others, don’t mind them. Their names are one chaser and Captain of the Ravenclaw Quiditch team, little Roger Davies! And Eddie Carmicheal, he is, I believe, a year above you. Your stuff should be…. Over there!” Ranpo pointed to a bed with all his stuff accumulated on top. “Now, the change rooms are down the hallway to the left unless you prefer to change over here. After all, we will all share this room for a while.” Ranpo helped point out for Fyodor.

“Thank you, once again.” Fyodor made his way to his stuff lying on the bed and pushed it slightly to the side before moving his stuff one by one into a wardrobe next to his empty bed, which, to his surprise, was also clean. He made sure everything that needed to be hung was hung. He separated his clothing from what he would wear the next day: his school uniform and robes.
Fyodor then changed into his pajamas. They are sweet and silky. He wished they were made of silk, but they were polyester, the cheaper material he brought from the orphanage.
He could make extra cash here at Hogwarts and buy a pair of silk pajamas. That would be the life.

Fyodor walked down the hallway, noticed how silver and blue the dorm was, and went to the washroom. Fyodor is lost in thought. This was the first time he would spend time away from the orphanage. He doesn’t recall a single night of the orphanage.
He remembers his strict schedule of waking up early to get tutored for a while. The orphanage made sure he could read and write, but after they found him reading books on his own time with books bigger than his head, they stopped giving lessons. Instead, they gave him time in the church. They told him to pray and read the Bible.
They found his intelligence scary. How quickly Fyodor tended to pick up on facts and systems, finding out how they work behind the scenes. They called Fyodor demonic for that reason. They couldn’t comprehend how Fyodor understood abstract thoughts and ideas so quickly. The headmasters would send him away to read the Bible or confess his sins to a pastor.

They often thought Fyodor was possessed, so they sent priests to exorcise him sometimes. Fyodor doesn’t think it is such a big deal; it doesn’t hurt as much as it did anymore. If anything, it removed the demons within him, making him a purer person despite the occurrences of him screaming, falling, and kicking the pastors as they held the cross to his face, murmuring prayers that would make him feel like he separated from his own body. Fyodor felt like something else took control of his body whenever this happened. It is a scary occurrence, but after so many times, he feels like he is just demon-prone. Fyodor apologizes to God and prays that he will be protected against demons. Fyodor has a terrifying thought: maybe the headmasters aren’t too far off when they call him ‘demonic’. Perhaps he is a demon himself. Just look where he is residing currently, in a magical school. Fyodor makes sure to go to church on Sundays, and he doesn’t want to skip them.

Fyodor prays in the mornings and nights. Before any meal, he gives thanks to God for the life he was gifted. Fyodor has no time to waste away in his memories or whatever makes him slightly uncomfortable. Fyodor has a goal now. Fyodor spits out the toothpaste and gets to flossing his teeth.

Fyodor looks at himself in the mirror and thinks he should shower early in the morning. He doesn’t like how uneven his hair looks right now or how greasy it falls down on his face. It’s making his face feel greasy, and his hair is slightly shining in the candlelight with how much grease there is. Fyodor didn’t shower that much in the orphanage. He was never allowed to shower with the boys or alone; he had to shower with the girls.
Fyodor apologizes to God for thinking that God made a mistake with his body, but he knows God made it so that his body is just a challenge to overcome in the future, and there is no need to blame God for his body.

He cannot blame God. Fyodor cuts through part of his gums, making his mouth fill up with his blood.
Fyodor spits his blood down the sink and throws away the floss. Then he looks at himself in the mirror.
His hair is getting too long, and people will think he is a girl. He is not a girl, and he will never be a girl. His complexion is too soft, and his voice will not deepen. His thighs are too big– Fyodor’s thoughts whirl around his head; he tries not to break down on the bathroom floor– to dig his nails into the sides of his body. His body looks so wrong–
No, it’s not wrong. It’s a gift from God– God made it– God made it–
Don’t feel guilty– Don’t be selfish.
But his skin is so tight– it’s going to suffocate him– his chest is starting to look wrong– he doesn't look right– he looks too feminine–
Fyodor gasps for air–His chest hurts. Is he dying?
His chest feels heavy, and he gulps for more air. He tries to steady his breathing by focusing on something other than his body. He thinks about Atsushi and how he possibly is sleeping and prays for him. Fyodor feels all clammy and how sweat is sticking on his skin, how the shirt that loosely hung around his torso now feels tight with sweat, drenched with his sweat, and hearing the thrum of his heart. His heart pushes blood to the tip of his years to the bottom of his feet. He feels his blood circulate– he gets lightheaded and grips onto the sink. Fyodor gasps out for air again, feeling specks of his vision blur out, feeling all lightheaded. Fyodor wheezes in the air again and again until he eventually manages to inhale one good of air.

Fyodor breathes in and breathes out. He is fine. Atsushi is praying for him. He will be fine. Shibusawa is praying for him. He has to be okay. It’s the first day before academics. He is fine.
God damn it all.
It's already the first day, and here he is, having a breakdown in the bathroom at night right before going to sleep. He hopes Ranpo is already asleep; Fyodor looks at himself again in the mirror and sees his hair flaring upwards at different angles. His eyes have this hollow look to them. He looks appalling and despicably repugnant.
Like a wet rat. A wet rat who is attempting to find an excuse to mix his religion with magic.
Horrendous.

Fyodor splashes water on his face and fixes his hair as much as he can in his current state before returning to where he sleeps.
Perhaps the theory that his headmasters had in the orphanage was correct. Maybe he is a demon. The sorting hat did call him a Slytherin, and it was only by picking his schooling over his desire to become something in his life he became Ravenclaw.
He is a snake in a human's skin, wrapping people around his finger to think he could ever be human. His very existence must be shameful and sinful.

Fyodor slips by the bedside on his knees and prays.

His knees ache, and his back hurts. His palms are sweating.

Fyodor feels his eyes drooping over, his eyes closing.

Fyodor continues to pray.

Fyodor doesn’t know how much time he spent on his knees praying, pleading, and asking for forgiveness, but eventually, he slips into his bad with a slight creak when he is finished. He is thankful that everyone was asleep when he came out of the bathroom. Fyodor thinks about Atsushi sleeping, how Shibusawa may be doing wherever he is at his school, and Neville, Harry, and Hermoine sleeping in their dorms. Finally, he drifts into a deep sleep, thinking about how he could avoid Nikolai and Dazai while outsmarting his housemates and the school by climbing the ranks of being the smartest.

He has a lot to do tomorrow for the first day of classes.
He cannot wait.
He cannot wait to sin against his being. Fyodor clung to the hope that magic and Christianity would be fine, that his Orthodox ways could combine with the Wizarding world, and that he wouldn’t go to hell for all his sins.

He turns to his side and bites into his finger in thought.
His hair fell over his face, hiding him from any moonlight that could reach him, keeping him in the dark in the shade.

What would God think about his Blasphemous son?