Classes
Fyodor hears rustling around him; the sun is glaring into his eyes.
He feels a strange sense of déjà vu, considering the blue and silver blending into his vision as he opens his eyes.
Oh, it's the first day of classes, filled with anticipation and new beginnings; Fyodor begins to feel dread once more. He clutches his cross subconsciously, feeling as if there is a weight on his chest. He came prepared to commit blasphemy, yet he is still nervous. Fyodor feels a tug at his soul. Entangles him.
He wonders if the serpent mentioned earlier, the snake that shines a lovely green upon a plaque, the snake that threatens to take his ‘purity.’ The temptation and evil. He wonders if he even belongs in Ravenclaw.
He mustn’t think this way; he must belong.
He must make his way through the year, through this house, even if he might be an outlier.
An outlier is a serpent waiting to be caught by the sharp claws of a Raven.
“Oi, what’s taking so long?” Ranpo perks in, already dressed and ready for the day. “We have to make it to breakfast before all the good food is taken.” Fyodor assumes that what Ranpo means by ‘good food’ is sweets. He can already tell this bugger won’t leave him alone til he gets ready.
“Alright, alright, you can go down first. I still need to shower.” Fyodor swings his feet down to the floor, getting his supplies changed in the shower.
“Can’t you just shower right now?” Ranpo questioned Fyodor. He walked around the room, angling his head to look into Fyodor’s closet to see what goods he may have stashed away.
“No, my hair is all icky and greasy. I don’t want to make such a poor impression on the first day already.” despite what occurred yesterday. The tripping, already making a name for himself in front of the Potter boy, making connections, and overall all, he did NOT have a mental breakdown while brushing his teeth.
Hopefully, he can take a shower without having another one. He is not fragile; he is above fragility and aligned with greatness.
“Don’t you know any cleaning spells?”
“--No–” Fyodor hesitates for a second, knowing that his ‘backstory’ could be figured out if he isn’t careful. He will play the card of being a muggle-born. After all, it isn’t far from the truth. He doesn’t know where he descended from. He is a simple orphan whose parents died in a tragic accident. “ if you want your sweets, go down. I can find my way down myself,” Before Ranpo could reply, Fyodor hurries out of the room, leaving Ranpo mid-reply.
He had no time for chit-chat.
Fyodor needs to shower.
__
Ah, such a refreshing shower. The cold water cooled off his body, and there was an ever-so-slight burning sensation around his thighs and waist. Overall, it is a good shower.
Fyodor dries his hair out with a towel before making his way out to the dorm.
“Making me wait for my underclassman….” Ranpo looks sad; he looks at Fyodor with his glasses and sighs. He shows slight concern. Or is he upset at Fyodor?
He can’t tell the difference between them. He doesn’t know, so he assumes Ranpo is upset at him. Fyodor already messed up– he already made such a poor impression on someone, he should have just put on his robs and got along with the day– no.
Fyodor is better than this; he doesn’t need to rely on anymore. He knows better. He must act better than being all self-pitying.
No one will pity him.
No one will see him as weak here.
He is here to make a name for himself– not to receive pity for his upbringing or his lack.
“I apologize—I thank you; you waited for me. Hopefully, there are still sweets down for breakfast.” Fyodor rubs the back of his head to attempt to look shamefully at his actions, convince, and tell a story. It is a story of a sweet boy who feels sorry for making people wait too long. He needs to sharpen his talons. Grow a sharper and stronger beak, a beak that could tear off the words of people. The beak could crack into anything the Ravened blackbird desired, too.
“It’s alright! I know Akiko would save me some savory sweets on the side! She is my partner in crime.” Ranpo opens his eyes and looks up. He has a rather strange aura of being proud.
It was as if someone looked up to say their grace or thanks to someone, looking back into memories with joy or glee.
Fyodor wonders what is happening behind Ranpo’s mind and what he is scheming. What is Ranpo up to? What is Edogawa planning in his brain?
Something tells Fyodor that whatever Edogawa is planning is connected to Fyodor. Fyodor wonders if Ranpo sees the demon in Fyodor. Perhaps the snake, too.
Fydoor’s feathers are ruffled– “Then we wouldn’t want to keep her waiting? Don’t we?”
“Of course, of course!”
They both hurried down their robes, dragging through the hallways.
Fyodor sees why Ranpo waited for him; the place constantly moved from one place to another. Fyodor almost fell when the stairs moved around from top to bottom. He almost simply lost to the side and stumbled. He is so lucky to have the short-haired boy next to him, who is helping him out. However, he feels like Ranpo is staring down or judging his actions. Fyodor does not like that.
Fyodor uses his arms to balance himself out, ensuring he won’t fall to the bottom of the stairs. He’d instead not commit a tower of Babel. Where people thought they could build to God, reach heaven, and overcome their sins by building this tall tower.
God struck it down, and with that, God created languages. The men were not able to recreate the tower or make an attempt to build the tower up.
Fyodor wonders if King Nimrod ever had intentions of letting the people of Babylon ever attend heaven or if it was just his plan to get people to do his filthy work for him.
Making their way down, he wonders if the castle is like the Tower of Babel, where people are extorted for a particular purpose or if people had a purpose previously coming here. He thinks that he might be a bit stranger, considering Fydor came here bending his will and point of view on how he should deal with religion. It's just a funny little thing Fyodor noticed. He wonders who could forgive a child like him.
“Akiko!!!!” Ranpo hurries up to meet up with his friend.
“Edogawa and Fyodor! It’s good to see you two in the morning. I've saved some food on the side for both of you.” Yosano gestures at the two plates with two pieces of bread, eggs, and a side of fruits with a Greek salad.
“There's… no sweets?” Ranpo asked Yosano, looking at her eyes pleadingly, hoping that maybe she had stashed some sweets away from him.
“No, Edogawa. You have to eat better, and having an important meal balance is important to your health.”
“Aw..”
“Don’t ‘aww’ me, Edogawa. We both know you are a growing boy.”
“B-but… Akiko….. My treats…” Ranpo looks like he is about to cry over not having any treats available. What a sight, the supposed upperclassman looking like he is about to cry over not having any sweets for breakfast.
Ranpo slowly sat himself down and started to eat his breakfast really slowly. Fyodor then sat down and put his hands together in a slight prayer, thanking God for the food before he went in for his consumption as well.
Fyodor tasted the eggs and noticed how they simply melted in his mouth. He poured some of the yolk onto the bread and tried to hide the fact that his eyes lit up with the rich flavor bursting into his mouth.
“You seem like you're enjoying the food, Fyodor.” Akiko noticed a slight change in Fyodor's demeanor and noticed Fyodor straightening his back, which straightened out when Fyodor placed the piece of bread into his mouth.
Fyodor looked at Yosano and nodded before he swallowed his food down. “Is the food like this all the time?”
“You bet, though Edogawa over here never really enjoys his food,” Akiko poked at Ranpo. “He only likes the food if it’s sweets. You would think he would take care of his diet since he is so smart.”
“Savories aren’t my favorite! They taste all salty and icky! But sweets, they have an addicting taste.” Ranpo inputted into the conversation. His arms crossed, egg crumbs around his mouth. What an unpleasant sight.
“Tends why it is addictive, sugar.” Yosono rebutted. “You really have to mind your manners,” Akiko grabbed a napkin before cleaning Ranpo’s face from the crumbs. “If you keep this up, people may think we are together.” The doctor-like woman chuckles.
“You two aren’t?” Fyodor teases.
“WHAT- nooooo…. We aren’t. We are just good friends.” Ranpo’s eyes widen a bit, but he blushes a bit red. Fyodor smiles at that response.
“Then you have to mind your manners! See what I mean!” Yosano raises her voice slightly and crosses her arms, matching Ranpo from a few seconds ago with his arms crossed. Yosano whips out her wand and waves it a bit. “A couple of minutes before classes start, say, Fyodor, do you know what classes you have?”
Fyodor blushes a bit, “Erm- no.” Fyodor says in a tight and quiet voice. “Do you happen to know where the first-year classes are?” What a stupid question, of course. They know what the first-year classes are like at some point in their little lives.
“Well, I can simply deduce to where your classes are!” Ranpo adjusted his glasses and quickly looked around, “I see, I see. Your first class today is a free period. Man, what luck. But then you have Defense against the Dark Arts with Quarell!” Edogawa finished his speech and looked proud of himself, looking at Akiko for some sort of praise for his efforts to deduce such a thing.
Fyodor locked eyes with Ranpo, “Defense against the Dark Arts?” Fyodor wondered what it could mean and if it could be a defense against dark magic. Dark beasts? What could it mean?
“You’ll see what I mean! Now then, it looks like we have….Divination…” Ranpo looks sad, “It shouldn’t be a problem for me! I hope…. I don’t believe in this… palm-reading nonsense, and I heard the teacher is a total nutcase!” Ranpo lamented.
“Sure, it couldn’t be that bad, Edogawa. We have Transfirgation right after with Minvera. Could it be a little cool down for you?” Yosono tried to offer some consolation.
“Sure, sure. Transfiguration. It will be a breeze for me… but nothing but rotten luck for the first class!”
“We survived Professor Snape.”
“Oh yeah, true. I forgot about that.”
“The hooked nose teacher?” Fyodor questioned
“Yes.” They both answered at the same time.
“He’s the one that introduced me to this whole… Hogwarts place, handing me a letter at my home.”
They looked at each other with astonished faces, bewildered at this information. Ranpo narrowed his eyes at the mention of ‘home,’ but his eyebrows went up either way. Yosono’s expression and those near him seemed to make a shocked, astounded, or even stunted expression towards it.
“What?” Fyodor attempted to provoke an answer from the two, trying to figure out what was wrong with Snape handing him a letter.
“Professor Snape handing a letter doesn’t seem like the best…. The first impression you would have of magic seems terrifying.” Edogawa said with a matter-of-fact face.
“He is just… one of the harder professors you can get a passing grade on. He seems to be sour with his job. He always seems to apply for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position yearly but never gets the position.” Akiko further supplied more details about the weird man who introduced him to this world of magic. What irony, the man who pulled him away from the orphanage is the same man who also seems to torment students.
“It’s also rumored that he is one of the youngest Potion Masters in Hogwarts in over a century and one of the youngest Hogwarts teachers.”
“From what you two tell me, he isn’t the best of teachers.”
“Nah, he is one of the better teachers. He actually does his job and ensures no one blows up their cauldrons.” Edogawa finished his plate and got up, waving his wand around, making his book and another book appear.
Fyodor questions his sanity, and he wonders how many more professors contradict the first impression they make. God save him. Maybe the Frirar would help him.
“Here’s your book, Akiko! We should hurry up to our class. Fyodor the spell you want to use to get your books much faster rather than running around to get and leave them, especially with how these bookcases work. Accio! Look it up!” Edogawa yells off as he runs in the direction of his classes.
“I would love to stay for chit-chat, but it seems like we are short on time. We’ll see you around Fyodor. Don’t do anything stupid.” Yosano places her hand on Fyodor’s shoulders.
Fyodor suppresses a flinch; he hates physical contact. Akiko looks at Fyodor with warm eyes. Fyodor can’t help but see a serpent-like look go through them. She’s thinking, planning something against him. Fyodor doesn’t like it, not one bit. Fyodor does his best to suppress a glare into those inky holes that scream of ghosts and poltergeists in them. Her eyes draw him into the depths of disparity, akin to his eyes yesterday. “If you need anything, let me know. I can help you if you have any alterations.” Akiko tells him before she takes her hands off Fyodor’s shoulder, “Okay?”
“Okay,” Then she smiles before heading in the same direction as Edogawa.
Fyodor despises this; he has a free period and doesn’t know what to do. Perhaps he can look for a library to see what he can look up and learn in a few hours. It would take his mind off things. Maybe he could look for the Friar. He needs some prep talk and consolation about magic and religion.
Fyodor makes up his mind and walks in the direction he assumes should be the Hufflepuff tower.
“Is that Fyodor?” He hears a familiar voice
“I think it is!! His hair looks all clean!” Oh, Lord, Fyodor picks up the pace. He will not talk with these two idiots; he needs alone time.
“Where is he going?
“No idea, Osamu”
“Let’s follow him!”
And Fyodor books it running down the hallways; he will not be bothered, no way. His cross is flopping in front of him as he runs through the hallway. He doesn't have time to admire the architecture of the palace. His robes drag against the ground as he struggles not to trip and fall over them. He fumbles a bit, picking them up, but his robes will not get dirty despite the hurry to get away.
Fyodor cuts a corner and sees himself inside a tower full of stairs, and he grimaces before he can hear the two approaching him, catching up to him like he is some prey to be caught. Dostoevsky quickly raises his robes and starts to climb down the stairs. He lifts his feet one after the other, ensuring he has the best chance to escape and run away from them. The faster, the better.
As he looks above him, he sees the brown-haired boy and the white-haired boy approaching behind him. They also seem to be enjoying the chase down the hall.
Don’t they have classes at this time? Is it a free period for them both? Fyodor questions.
Fyodor suddenly feels light-headed. His chest clamors against him as he drops his robes to the ground to grab the railing, using the railing to push himself further down.
He gasps for breath, feeling his body pull against him. Fyodor needs to get iron pills. His anemia does not joke around.
Oh, what’s this? The air whirling upwards, and his hair is falling.
Fyodor fell to his knees, buckling forward with a slight tumble to a platform. His body gave up on him despite his desire to continue downward.
“Fedyaaaa, why do you— run— away—- from us like that!” Osamu panted as he also fought to catch up with Fyodor.
“Leave me..-- Alone..!” Fyodor attempts to put his superior authority into place.
“But you’re heading for the Hufflepuff’s tower.!”
“Good! That’s where I wanted to go.” He grits his teeth, conveying his upset at being followed.
“Now, don’t be like that!” Great, now the clown has joined in. What will he say this time to put him on a further edge than he already is? “We just wanted to catch up with our friend too! We met them yesterday as they got a little lost after sorting!”
“Who did you two torment this time…”
“You’ll see! Now follow!” Nikolai quickly hurried down the stairs, leaving Fyodor and Osamu to glance at each other before coming along.
Dazai wrapped his arm below one of Fyodor’s arms, helping him pull his weight upwards on the long set of stairs that seemed to spiral forever.
Fyodor really should look into iron pills.
__
Once they had finally made it up, Nikolai took a sharp turn to the right into the kitchen.
“They don’t have a normal password! But rather a tune!” Nikolai drummed his hands against specific barrels. What a lunatic, Fyodor thought to himself. These houses are all about being insane. At least now he could get into the Hufflepuff dorm room whenever he wanted, considering the tune is relatively easy to remember.
With that, the door slid open to the common room. “After you, Fedya~” purred Dazai. Fyodor already hated Dazai. This moment is another reason why Fyodor should get a restraining order on Dazai in the future.
“Nono, you go in first, ladies go first.” Fyodor threw a harmless joke around.
Dazai pressed his lips together and sighed, “For why am I the lady Fyodor? Aren’t you the lady here?”
Oh, he’s playing this game, alright. “I’m afraid not, Osamu, you are all dramatic and squeamish. Maybe you and Nikolai should go first.”
“I’m hurt, Fedya! I am not dramatic or squeamish. Are you saying guys can’t be either?”
“You seem–” Fyodor got pushed out of the way.
“I’m going first!” Nikolai shoved himself inside first. Well, that was one way to solve this whole fiasco.
“Aw man, that wasn’t nice!” Osamu hurried inside after Nikolai.
Fyodor followed in and saw how the place was decorated. The sun seemed to shine downwards into the dorm room. Pale yellow yet vibrant rays mixed in with orange penetrated the room, giving it a ‘homely’ feeling, as Fyodor would describe it.
Dark green fresh vines draped down over the second floor of the standard room. Fresh morning dew on each leaf, sliding down easily, hitting the floor with a little ‘plop’ as they conjoin onto the floor into a smaller puddle.
There is a pretty gray and tan circle carpet with patterns around it at the center and a sofa with books piled onto a coffee table. Fyodor assumes this is where the HufflePuffs do their work and hang out.
“Siggmaaa! Where are you!” Nikolai called out.
Sigma male?
Fyodor swore he heard someone curse behind the doors. Dazai pulled on his arm, dragging him to the door. Was it too much to ask to just talk to a Friar? To get some consolation and advice for his aches?
“Siiieeggugugugugmaaaa.” Fyodor tensed at how Dazai pronounced Sigma. The poor boy, Dostoevsky, almost feels an ounce of pity for him.
Oh lord, what is up with this school and weird hairstyles? Why does this poor boy have an almost as bad of a haircut as Atsushi?
Lord, have mercy on us all.
Our Father who art in Heaven-
“What do you two want.” The victim responded.
“I wanted you to meet this other first-year! Fyodor!” Osamu replied, “This is Fyodor, and that moody lavender-hair boy is Sigma. You two would get along.”
“Have you seen a friar nearby?” Fyodor questioned Sigma. He wanted to get out of there as soon as he could. He will no longer be spending any time in this palace. He needs answers.
Fyodor can’t help it. He has to be this desperate for any answer, or he might not just survive here, committing sin every day and begging for forgiveness.
That’s not how repenting works, and he could only do so many prayers in one night before falling asleep on his knees.
“The ghost?” Fyodor nods. “He should be somewhere in that direction.” Sigma pointed downwards into a hallway with a bunch of paintings.
“You aren’t even going to try to chit-chat with us?” Dazai replied exasperated.
“No.” Fyodor turned around and quickly started walking toward where Sigma pointed.
As he entered the hallway, he noticed a painting of a man with brown hair and slight curls. He had a blue and gold scarf around his neck. The man wore a navy blue coat that fell just above his knees. He looked a bit weird, but that was fine.
A ghost suddenly came out. It is the Friar!
“Ooo! Who might this lil fellow be?”
“Doestovesky Fyodor!” Fyodor tried to keep his voice down, but he couldn't help it. He is bubbling with excitement. He is getting to talk with the friar! He might be able to solve his issues, perhaps. “I'm a first-year Ravenclaw! I was wondering– pondering! If I could receive some advice–” Fyodor managed to sputter out, his face turning into the bright red that he came familiar with from these past few days.
“Advice? To Ravenclaw? What do you need, small one?” The Friar floated around Fyodor, making eye contact with him. “What seems to be amis?”
“Well– you know how you manage to do magic and contain your religion simultaneously. I was wondering if you felt any guilt at all.”
“I see. It must have been difficult for you to come to Hogwarts then under such pretense.” Fyodor nods. The Friar looks like he thinks for a minute, “I was just like you at some point. I wondered if I was doing the right thing to attend a magical school. My parents were muggles; they were religious muggles. I assume you are the same?”
Fyodor nodded once again, playing with his hands ever so slightly. He was getting a bit nervous about finding an answer to his problems and aches. Though he felt terrible for lying to the clergy member, he did not know who his parents were. He just knew his Christianity was the way to go about his day, to keep him sane and on the right path of righteousness and humanity.
He must go to heaven one day, or else he doesn’t know what his existence is all about.
“My parents were conflicted too; in fact, as soon as a witch came to our doorsteps, they tried to fill in a claim, a claim that might have ended my life by the end of the 5th day. The witch who came, Miss Galena, erased their memories. At first, I was offended. I was ready to meet my demise right then and there. Having an existence that was blasphemous in our own religion.”
Ah, so he still sees his existence as blasphemous? This is all so very disappointing and depressing.
“She explained that my magic, what makes me, me, couldn’t be a sin. It is something I was gifted with; how could God blame one of her own? I thought that over my years at Hogwarts, I wanted to do something with my magic. I wanted to help others in need.”
So he isn’t far different from Fyodor’s goals and aspirations to help people, though without needing to make a name for himself.
“In the end, I joined a clergy and became a clergyman. I went around towns curing people from the pox and making little children enjoy their stay at masses and homes during a time of horror….” Friar paused, looking afar. His lips pressed together in thought, his brain tinkering with what he should and should not add. “It was my downfall in the end. Being too kind led me to where 11-year-old me would have ended up, on a burning stock with the label witch.”
“Do you regret using your magic? Feel like it is punishment being a ghost?”
“No, no, never. If I could repeat my actions centuries ago, I would. As for being a ghost? I believe my soul was never put to rest. I had promised this little girl and her sibling that I would come later that week to come and cure their mother.” The friar had a glowing look to his eyes; he might have been pale and white and translucent, but Fyodor swore that he saw the friar glow slightly yellow. “Use your magic for good, not bad. That is my advice for you.” The friar said before giving Fyodor a head pat and floating away.
Fyodor stared at the ghost that floated away. The friar was no help. That friar is a fraud, committing blasphemy for the sake of helping people? Perhaps he was only doing so in the profound sense that he felt guilty about being alive and needed to prove to someone that his exit wasn’t a sin.
Fyodor knows he is a sin. He wants to get rid of it. But, from what Fyodor is understanding. Maybe he and several students are creatures of sin, crawling with it. The only way they could be useful to society is to commit blasphemy. Did it matter if he prayed? Did it even matter in the end?
Was Fyodor going to die unknown? Could nothing be done with his sin? Was he already cursed since birth?
Did his prayers– what he told Atsushi even matter in the long run?
Was the attempt to be open with someone just as futile as many other attempts when he was younger?
What was the point?
Fyodor darted his eyes down back to where the rest of the group was. He heard laughter and upset chatting. Suddenly, the hallway was too bright for him. He was seeing everything. Every little movement, slight shadows. His brain feels as if it were tingling. There is a slight ringing in his ears. His face feels heavy.
Then
It was black.
__
“Ah, you are finally here…” Spoke a voice akinned to him.
Who is speaking to him? What is this voice?
Fyodor looked around in the darkness, searching for the voice.
“Someone who you would rather come acquaint with rather soon, Dostoevsky, now awaken.”
__
“--yodor? Fyodor?” Someone was shaking him.
“Why is he just standing there?” Fyodor feels like he forgot something important.
“No clue? Maybe he saw something?”
“In the Hufflepuffroom?” How much time has passed?
Fyodor heard Dazai and Nikolai talk to each other before he slowly blinked his eyes, noticing they felt a bit weird.
What just happened? Fyodor looked around and saw he was in some unknown territory– The Hufflepuff common room.
Fyodor remembered talking with a friar, and his brain felt fuzzy.
“Are you okay? You look disoriented.” Sigma commented.
“I’m okay. How much time has passed?” Fyodor asked. He needed to know how much time he had before the next class arrived.
“About ten minutes–”
“So I must head to Defense against the Dark Arts now,” Fyodor said.
“I have that class, too.” Sigma imputed, “We can maybe walk together?”
“Of course you can. If I had to pick either of these two, I would have picked you. These two are missing a couple of knots in the head.”
“You know we are right here….” Nikolai said in an exaggerated, solemn tone.
“Well, in their defense, you do have a couple of loose ties in your brain!” Dazai replied to Nikolai, looking a bit cheerful and insulted at the same time.
“So rude.”
“So should we go then?” Fyodor asked Sigma, facing towards him.
“Mhm! It’s nice to meet you, Fyodor,” Sigma replied.
“Likewise, let’s hurry up before we get lost.” Fyodor then turned to walk out of the hallway and the common room. He does not want to spend a moment longer near those two.
__
Sigma and Fyodor walked down the hall together. They seemed to get lost, taking several wrong turns. Sigma nicely pointed out that ‘Hogwarts History of Magic’ provides a nice layout of classes.
Fyodor thanked Sigma for leading the way since he did not know what was in his textbooks. This may be why he had a free period: to study the area layout and not talk with a useless, self-deprecating friar. Sigma is a surprisingly pleasant person to be around. He could tell the kid carries a lot on his shoulder; it feels familiar to how Fyodor carries himself. He wonders what made Sigma this way. He desires to figure out what makes Sigma Tic.
They both finally made it to the classroom. There in the classroom was a teacher with rather tanned skin. He wore a white pagri on his head. He walked around the classroom, his face looking all surprised and scared. How the man carried himself spoke volumes about what type of man he was—a coward—a wretched coward who seemed to be two-faced. Or teaching about his phobias?
He doesn’t know, but he does know when something is fishy, such as when he sees a teacher behave this way.
“I don’t like the teacher.”
“What?!” Sigma sputtered out next to him. “We barely just sat down?”
“He has this aura, a strange aura. You know? When you look at someone, you simply cannot trust them.”
“I see….” Sigma does not see.
“Let me ask you in simple terms: Would you trust someone who only exhibited one type of emotion or personality trait?”
“Uhm–”
“No, you wouldn’t. This professor–”
“What about this professor?” Quirrell interrupted Fyodor, looming over Fyodor’s shoulder like a raven black vulture that seemed to catch onto a snake that has been slithering, or in fact, it felt more like the snake had caught a sweet raven in its grasps, threatening to choke the life out of the bird.
“Oh! Nothing!” Sigma exclaimed. Fyodor saw him blush a bit in embarrassment before shoving his nose into the textbook.
“And y-y-you?”
“Nothing, sir, just exclaiming how uhm— werewolves are—”
“AH! Werewolves! Those VILE creatures! They are indeed double-sided! 5 points to Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff!” Quirrell exclaimed before returning to the front of the classroom.
Fyodor chewed the inside of his mouth. He needed to be more careful, he assumed. Dostoevsky knows teachers tend to listen to the conversation even if they are cowards.
Sly little bats, Fyodor calls them. He opens his book and is immediately met with fascination. He spells, upon spells, how to create light from his wand and make it darker. Nox, Lumos. Both spells.
Fyodor turned his book a couple of more pages and saw beings. He was joking about the werewolf, thinking about the werewolf of “Little Red Riding Hood,” yet the book talks about how werewolves exist. If someone had told Fyodor here that he would be sitting and learning about various mythical creatures that only remained in tales told by books, he would have laughed and called them delusional.
Maybe Fyodor is delusional because he sits here and is entertained by everything he reads: unicorns, centaurs, vampires, and many more fictional–make-believe creatures. The book states he could find them all within the forest or worldwide in specific areas. How Romania had a vampire infestation in 1466, and how a muggle was ever so present to tell the tale of vampires. Yet no human can recall ever encountering them in modern-day situations.
As Fyodor turns the pages, he wonders if he has ever encountered a wizard without knowing. Out of curiosity, he wonders where Shibusawa is doing and ponders whether he is too a Wizard and will see him again.
What a drenched boy. Shibusawa wasn’t ever the most likable person around the orphanage, yet he stuck around like a weird tic that seemed to leach off Atsushi when it got a chance. He is a revolting boy, yet he misses him and his ideologies about the world. He would have small rants, and Fyodor would listen and continue asking questions to get the boy to talk. He wanted to know more about his adventures in France before he had to come here under some somber notice Shibusawa wouldn’t reveal.
As Fyodor sat through the class, he wondered if Quirrell had experience teaching or even defending himself against the Dark Arts. Fyodor is relatively new to all of this; he knows there must be more. Quirrell needs to gain the guts and experience of a teacher. He doesn’t want to know if that’s what the rest of the classes will be like and how they will turn up.
With teachers who cannot even teach the subject that they are getting paid to teach. Would this affect Fyodor’s future classes? Would it begin to harm his knowledge as he moves up the rank?
Fyodor would not sit idle and let this teacher ruin his education. He had an entire inner moral struggle and is still struggling to find the fight to continue forward with his sin. Fyodor knows that his sin is unwashable. It will forever taint his hair, his skin, and his soul. No matter what Fyodor could do, he would forever be skinned and deemed unforgivable in God’s eyes.
He could make the most of what he had as a Wizard—experience the sin. There were no religious reasons why he couldn’t stop and not perform them. The magic, after all, is imbued into his very blood—the dark red blood that seeps out when he bleeds, the dark red blood that supplies his heart with oxygen, and the same dark red blood that carries the magic.
Fyodor won’t ever be pure and doesn’t know if he is okay with it yet. He wishes he could just yank out the magic out of him, yet he knows the way of magic is a way of getting more knowledge of the unknown, a way to figure out who his parents were and what they wanted, to figure out where he came from in the world, and to make a name for himself.
Those two seemed respectable and sane goals. The next goal was to protect Atsushi if he didn't need any character development. Though, it would be nice to protect him for once, perhaps. Atsushi is special, and even Shibusawa finds it special.
He looks back down at his notebook and begins to write his notes from the book. He draws different conclusions about certain spells and notes how to pronounce certain spells.
He noticed that some spells, despite having a one-word name, have a sentence to cast them. This intrigued him because the spells were all mostly in Latin. Fyodor wonders if he could draft a Greek, Russian, or English spell. Maybe magic is tethered to just magic. He would have to experiment later once he knows it’s safe.
“Sigma,” Fyodor whispered to his friend.
“What?” Sigma gave him a sharp side-eye, trying to keep it quiet. He placed a hand around his mouth, trying to silence his words further.
“Take my notes later. This teacher is wasting our time,” Fyodor hissed back, passing his notebook to Sigma. Sigma would need it more than Fyodor would. Fyodor already understood the book; it was pretty simple. If he had any more questions, he could just re-read it.
Sigma looked at him like he was insane for drafting notes instead of listening to the lecture, but he took the notebook and slid it underneath his notebook. Fyodor thinks he will copy down the notes later when he has time. However, Fyodor will need it the next time he has this class to write more notes that match the following lecture—more personalized and stylized lecture notes.
___
They both walked out of the class. “I see what you mean about him being a bit weird. Maybe I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt of him being double-sided,” Sigma told Fyodor as he put his books away with a wave of his wand.
“Trust me, I know how people are as soon as I set my eyes on them.”
“A little too much like a raven, you think?” The dual-haired boy chuckled as he continued to walk down the hallway.
“Maybe just a little.” Fyodor smiled at Sigma, enjoying their slight banter. “I believe we have potions next?”
Sigma nodded, “I’ve heard rumors about Professor Snape already. He seems like a pretty scary dude.”
“He’s just a little bit of a git. He was the one who introduced me to this whole Hogwarts school and is also the one who introduced me to magic back at the... My house.” Fyodor hoped the slight change of words wasn’t noticeable when he said ‘house.’ He will not reveal that he is from an orphanage in any way. Not yet. Perhaps never if he can escape with no one knowing he comes from a cursed orphanage.
That place burns better with time. He hates it there.
“I see! Maybe you think he will favor you?” Sigma asked hopefully.
“I hope not; that would be poor teaching skills.”
“Aw…” Sigma sounded disappointed. He guesses that Sigma wanted to be let off a bit easier than the rest of the students. What a lazy bum.
Fyodor pushes the door open and allows Sigma to walk in first. The classroom is moderately organized and circularly arranged. They both take a seat together in the front middle. Fyodor has insisted they both sit where they both have the best visibility. It would be better for their education since Sigma wants to sit far away from people, but that position would have been abysmal for a learning experience.
Fyodor opened his book as they got to the classroom relatively early; the teacher was absent. He looked at words and noticed small, different methods of cutting. He blinked and wondered if his English was just wrong.
“Sigma, am I going insane, or do cut and slice mean two different things in potions?” Fyodor moved his book closer to Sigma to explain his meaning.
“Huh… I don’t see anything– wait, isn’t one slice, not a slice–”
“Yes, that’s the cut. Example.”
“Does it even matter if it goes in the same bowl–?”
“If you put in the slice into the cut for this potion, it reads here–”
“The… potion could explode..!??!?” Sigma made a slight eep noise. He was a bit more scared of being in the class already; he did not look like he wanted to explode on the first day of potions. Fyodor nodded his head to Sigma.
“We both have to be extra careful then. If the teacher already has a reputation for being harsh, you must take his instruction literally and pay attention to the directions and examples closely.” Fyodor instructed.
“It makes sense, makes sense.” Sigma nodded in agreement, then opened his book and pulled out his notebook.
They both began to take quick last-minute notes in the introduction section. They wanted to make sure just in case something came and hit them on the first day. They both would be prepared.
The class begins filling out, with students sitting at either side of Fyodor and Sigma. The chattering, too, increased in volume; people started to whisper complaints about having to sit next to the Hufflepuffs or how the Ravenclaws were snot up ‘know it alls.’ Fyodor wonders if this type of stigmatization happens due to the friendly competition between houses with the desire to prove oneself to be much better than the other. Fyodor ponders about it for a quick moment before suddenly the door swings open.
Like a bat, Snape walks into the classroom, his uniform forming dark wings behind him. Flailing around with the speed and velocity Severus had while walking to the front of the school, his head keeps up, keeping that sense of authority in place. He pulls out a wand seemingly from nowhere and flicks it, causing the windows to shut.
“Now then, I can teach how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the sense. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.” Snape looked around, making sure that everyone was paying attention. His eyes stopped on Fyodor and Sigma. “I see even some in this class come prepared with the tools that they don’t have to pay attention.”
Snape walked towards them both, and Fyodor put his pen down before nudging Sigma to put his pen down.
“Dostoevsky and Syronmyatnikov. As I asked Potter this morning, what would you get if I added powdered asphodel root to an infusion of wormwood?”
Fyodor thought for a second that the notes on his desk were surprising about the ingredients Snape listed and their effect. What would happen if you combined them? “I believe, sir, that it would make a rather strong sleeping potion.”
“... Correct. It seems that you have been using your time efficiently here. Put it to good use, and you may not be a complete imbecile. Do you, Syronmyatnikov, know what these two herbs symbolize?”
Sigma looked wide-eyed at Snape. Fyodor thought about it for a second, and he didn’t have an answer yet. He would also have to figure out what these two herbs meant later.
Fyodor shot Sigma a sad look. He felt pity for Sigma. Sigma was about to be chewed out by Snape after showing fear towards the professor before class even started.
Sigma’s eyebrows raised like he got a clue from Fyodor, “Sadness? Regret?” That Bafoon, why would he answer that? That was just Fyodor’s expression of pity towards Sigma, not an answer. Fyodor put the face of his palm on his forehead, withholding a groan.
Fyodor looked at Snape, noticing the man almost looked stunned if it wasn’t for Fyodor’s people ‘people-reading skills’™️. He looked calm on the outside, but he saw some sort of turmoil within his eyes; those hollow eyes he seemed to carry did seem to carry the two emotions: sadness and regret.
With perky interest, Fyodor wonders what Snape could have messed up in his life so that he could admit he lives a sorry life. Fyodor smiles with interest at that. What a man, what a sorry man.
“Incorrect; maybe you should follow your partner’s example and take better notes. 5 points from Hufflepuff.”
Sigma again turned red in embarrassment, with groans coming from the Hufflepuff side. Fyodor wondered if what he saw was truly a lie or if Snape was covering up his tracks of sorrow by deceiving a bunch of 11-year-olds to keep his sorry life a secret.
“Perhaps now we can get to the lesson, shall we? Without any more incapable idiots interrupting?” Snape said as he finally returned to the center of his class, picking up presumably the teaching book.
__
Fyodor feels as if his house just lost more points than gained any in potions; the same is true with Hufflepuff.
No matter your answer, gaining any points in Snape's class seems impossible.
“I didn’t imagine that the rumors would have been that accurate. Usually, children like to curate lies to scare others.”
“You think?” Sigma sounded irritated at his situation, considering his house was about to rank third out of the four houses. That's not bad, considering Grrifyndor is at the bottom of the list. He wonders what the house is doing or if rivalry even works with such a brave house.
“What’s your next class Sigma?”
“Oh! It’s flying! I’m a bit excited to learn how to fly on a broom. I never got to touch one when I was little. I imagine you’ve read about witches flying on a broom?” Sigma asked Fyodor.
“Yes, I’ve read about it, but I never thought I would be one of those ‘witches’ flying on a broomstick one day.” Fyodor chuckled. It’s true. He never thought his existence would be blasphemous.
They continued down to where their ‘flying’ class was supposed to occur. Fyodor’s ears twitched as he heard voices he called familiar and friendly from yesterday. It’s the Potter and the Ginger.
“Fyodor! Fyodor! I have something to tell you!”
“You know Harry Potter?!? The boy who lived? You didn’t think it was important to tell me this information!?” Sigma exclaimed, his eyes widening up.
“I didn’t think it was important–” Fyodor hissed at Sigma “Harry, Hello.” He tried to pass off his previous hiss with a polite wave.
“I got into the Quidditch team! Can you believe that? The first year isn’t supposed to be on a Quidditch team yet, but Minevera and the team captain made an exception!”
“That is simply Marvellous, Harry. I am outstanding that you can get on a team considering your lack of muscles.”
“Fyodor–!” Sigma tried to interrupt his rude remark.
“Ah–” Harry shrunk back at the mention of his lankiness. “Hopefully, it won’t be too physically excruciating?”
“Or you could build muscle and be prepared for physical activity,” Fyodor suggested, his hands moving to either side of his body in a shrugging motion.
“True, true. Did you know my father was a seeker??” Harry looked at Fyodor with star-struck eyes, trying to signal that he was proud of his father. What a pretentious brat.
“No, I did not. Who is your father?” Dostoevesky indulged the boy in his fascination with his father. He didn't think he had anything better to do and wanted this famous boy to be a playable card in the near future.
“You don’t know the Potters?!? They were two amazing wizards who died fighting the one who will not be named!” Sigma threw his hands into his hair, looking stressed out that Fyodor did not seem to know about the Potters.
“You don’t know? I knew you were muggle-born, but even Hermione knew about the whole…. What left me orphaned?” Oh, Harry is an orphan…. Fyodor would say he feels guilty about the boy; he did have that kicked puppy aura, but he cannot. He’s seen way worse auras around this school already. That being that Quirrel. (plus Dazai and Nikolai. Those two are something. He’s glad he hasn’t run into them).
“I’m sorry, but I do not. The news didn’t travel to me until recently. I was wondering why people were gawking at you like some type of celebrity.”
“I didn’t ask for fame; I just wanted a place to fit in,” Harry shyly admitted. Poor boy—very poor boy.
“I see, well, I mean. Everyone here is an oddball. I’ve already seen people with weird hair.” Fyodor side-eyes Sigma, who makes an offended face at his hair when insulted in front of someone so popular.
“That is so true! Someone was walking around with white hair, not to mention your friend? Ay? Getting close to people already? What’s her name?”
What.
“It’s a HE!” Sigma exclaimed, turning red in embarrassment.
Oh. The ‘she’ is.
“The name is SIGMA!”
“Huh– are you– implying that me–” Fyodor pointed at himself and then at Sigma, “and he is a conjoined– a couple–?”
“Oh—OH—” Sigma and Fyodor were flustered at this turn of events. Fyodor had no feelings towards the boy, but this wasn’t a possibility he was aware of happening so quickly within mere hours of meeting someone. Maybe if Sigma cut his hair—no, he wouldn’t be a hypocrite. Fyodor’s own hair is getting lengthy, and he isn’t a woman.
“Oh, my merlin! I’m so sorry!” It was Harry’s turn to turn red in shock.
“Blimey, you three, you all are turning even more red than my hair! And I’m a redhead!” Ron exclaimed.
They all replied by possibly blowing a fuse.
__
As class ended, Fyodor learned that flying a broom was scary. Sigma was able to get a hang of it before Fyodor did, but that was only because Sigma stated that he had previous experience with magic in his previous household.
Fyodor does not. Once he could hold the broom, the teacher instructed them to place it between their legs and float a bit.
Fyodor had sent the broom right between his crotch.
The boys around him had stared and even winced in sympathy for Fyodor. Fyodor then remembered, as a ‘boy,’ it was supposed to hurt. Then he had a not (very) delayed reaction to the broom that hit him up there.
After that class, Fyodor wondered how Harry had such good control of his broom that he landed himself on a sports team without trying out.
He would have to watch the Quidditch game once they were in session.
He would rate this day as quite a busy day overall. He had a 12-inch parchment essay due by tomorrow for Potions on the effect of Deadlyius. He wondered how he would write the essay since the book didn’t elaborate on Deadlyius’ effects or what it does. Fyodor would have to ‘hit the books’ later.
Fyodor also needed to figure out who was useful and who he could discard. Find a card and play with it. Find the joker card that he could play and bend.
Neuville has some talent to stick up for people; he would be great as a social defense if people hadn’t already begun to slander his name. He had apparently lost control of his broom earlier this morning, which caused the whole fiasco that led to Potter getting on the Quidditch team.
Malfoy must not been happy that his efforts were led astray in trying to make fun of Longbottom’s and Potter’s reputation as Grryfindor.
Hermoine would be extremely useful as a queen card. He could get by with her brains, and he could use her to fundamentally push his knowledge forward a bit more. He feels like she could rival Ranpo with how she absorbs knowledge.
Ron doesn’t have much to say about him; rather, he seems to be a bit loud and loyal. He also has this skittish feeling about him, like he is afraid. Yet he sees some calculations going on beyond those eyes. It feels like a snake planning its next move. He might have to be careful around Ron.
Ranpo, the same statements as Hermoine, knowledge.
Yosono is caring, but she will get into his way of trying to figure out the secrets of this castle unless she is interested. But he can also sense pain coming from her; how she acts and cares feels all acted out; she has cared for so many people before, like a nurse. He wonders if Yosono’s parents used her as a therapist or treated her as an adult as a kid, and she never got to experience being cared for, so she has to care for people around her to feel if she belongs in any place in the living.
Potter is interesting now. He is so used to seeing beat-down boys, and he could definitely use him to get around to what he wants. Potter has a cunning edge that seems to want to know more about his parents, prove himself to people, and not let his popularity outshine him. The best part of this situation is that Potter doesn’t have esteem, so praise will mold him perfectly to Fyodor’s will.
Fyodor would use him in the guise of wanting to help Potter out at Hogwarts. He would help him and become his sidekick to get what he wanted. Perhaps Fyodor is more of a snake than he anticipated. May God forgive him, but he doubts even repenting his sins would save his soul. Fyodor spent the day sinning, and God would not forgive him.
He doesn’t want to mess around with Dazai at the minute. Fyodor knows Dazai is thinking that Fyodor is planning something; therefore, he can’t do much then to act like he isn’t.
The same goes for Nikolai. He doesn’t know much about them and doesn't want to be dragged into what they do for a living or after classes. He fears for his sanity and his plans.
They may help him solve the mystery about his parents, but otherwise, he will have to succeed.
He has to and has turned away to morality beyond his grasp, turning to sin, like a demon in this place.
His figure is hunted with the guilt that perhaps Fyodor left his hair behind at the orphanage, yet he found another treasure at Hogwarts.
If he plays his cards right, perhaps he can bring something for Atsushi during the holidays.
But for now, he must focus on succeeding in his classes.
Make friends, hurray…..
Sigma is tolerable, at least.