Gallery of Cards

Fyodor ran through the tower with strength he didn’t know he had. His feet aching and his lungs struggled to breathe in and out with every breath he would take. Fyodor needed to get out, he needed to get out of the darkness. He needed something light yet like the darkness in the mirror he felt trapped. These walls were closing in on him like a witch's hand ensuring him in a ball. He felt like he was being watched, every move being carefully calculated– what he was going to do next. Visions of the past, spending his days in the dark at the altar– in a room isolated– being by himself at the orphanage in the darkness because he was deemed to be evil. He hated the darkness– he hated it. I Loathe it even. 

Fyodor wants to be in the light, he wants to be pure– he knows he will never be pure. He was born tarnished, being found on his own parents' cadavers. He was born a sin. His blood is a sin. Yet he continues to fight on– maybe the magic was right, he hates magic– he hates wizards– he hates them all. He cannot find his existence excusable yet denying his existence will lead him to becoming an obscurial, whatever that may be– it sounds bad. Denying his magical core would end with tragedy, as he has said several times as a mantra– save others– don’t save yourself. Perhaps this is what he must do. To excuse his sins differently by digging himself in as some sort of helper of those in need. Becoming a savior– no, he is no savior, he cannot be saving people when he can barely save himself.

Now that Fyodor thinks about it, he is more Slytherin and Ravenclaw. The only reason why he was put into Ravenclaw is that he hates snakes, snakes are a symbol of the devil. Yet in history snakes have been used to be the symbol of medicine. Perhaps he is that type of snake. A snake that helps others. Sure Fyodor is smart, he wants to do something with his knowledge one day, he wants to research his religion and dig deeper into the theology aspect, and spread the word in a church by becoming a pastor. But the thing is, he can’t ever be a pastor, the rules in the bible dictate him to be a nun, he doesn't want to be a nun, he wants to help others get to light, he wants them to become a better version of themselves. He wishes Atsushi was here to ground him. 

Fyodor legs shake as they manage to make it to the hallway. Fyodor isn’t so happy as his chest trembles, instead, he is genuinely scared. What are people going to think? What are his friends going to think– Did they even look for him? Did they care? Fyodor doesn't know therefore Fyodor makes his way to the dorms. Fyodor questions as his feet trudge through the ground wondering if it’s even worth it if going to dorms this late at night would get him in trouble, le or if he plays off pulling anall-nighterr whether that would be better for him. He could hide in the library and read books. He could do that instead of making it back across the school to his dorms risking being caught. 

He was already closer to the library since that was his original path previously. There might be teachers in there– but he could just pretend to have overslept in the library on a book. Yes– Yes. A book would be a nice distraction. He could just perhaps read a story about magical family history– maybe he could find a family that could resemble himself, his last name is Dostoevsky, it doesn't sound common therefore he could find someone or anyone named Dostoevsky. Perhaps they are ordered by alphabetical order and he could learn about his family, and connect with his roots more than before. It’s as if the roots in his past have been cut purposely and carefully when someone’s an orphan like himself and Atsushi. He has no family but God to turn to for advice. Such a tragedy but what if Fyodor was supposed to do it? Nothing. 

Therefore Fyodor got himself heading towards the library, he needed to hit some books and maybe take a nap before the next day would commence. He wondered what he was supposed to tell Ranpo or even Yosano. Fyodor would have to think of a lie to tell them later. 

Fyodor tipped-toed his way through the hallway making sure to keep quiet on where he stepped making sure the floor wouldn’t creak like when he was in the orphanage. He cast a lumos spell now that he was calmer and could think straighter than before. He walked through the very dark hallway making his way to the library. His steps are nice and soft, tender and slow yet they are at a pace fast enough to be in a hurry. Fyodor could hear the wind whistling outside of the castle, he swore he could hear footsteps as well. Therefore he made sure to dim his wand and place the wand close up to his chest almost embracing the light. He didn’t want to get caught sneaking out barely at the start of the year. He was barely a couple of weeks into his first school year in a normal school. Fyodor didn’t feel comfortable being caught nor want to get caught. 

He inched himself closer and closer to the door to the library and hoped to God that he wouldn’t be caught. Slowly opening the door with a slight creak he slid himself in. He saw another light from within the library and shoved his wand into his robes concealing the light. A staff member or teacher is in the library holding a lantern. He cannot distinguish the face from here but swears he sees a familiar head-wrap. Quirrell. For some reason Quirell hates Fyodor therefore Fyodor slides around the light. He was making sure to keep low and crawl around the shadows. He sees that Quirrell is talking to himself and sounds a bit frightened and upset at once. 

Fyodor is not one to judge but he thinks the man is going insane, that man as he has said a bit before, has no spine. Fyodor often wonders how Quirrell even became a professor at Hogwarts which shocks him to his core. Do they even do background checks on them? Fyodor would never know. He waited for the lantern to start moving before he would start moving alongside the shadows. He wanted to avoid being noticed and live his night in peace. He wanted nothing to disturb him tonight, he needed some me time after everything that happened today. He swore he got white hairs from being so stressed. He hates the feeling of being hunted, he just wants peace and time. 

Live Laugh Joy. 

That’s All Fyodor wants in his life.

He moves around yet another corner, moving with the curtains of shadows as the lights move. Fyodor sinks low squatting–maneuvering his head to the side to make sure he fits behind a chair. His neck is crooked and his back is hooked around like a snake. His legs shake with how his knees can barely hold his weight. He needed this man to leave, leave at once. Fyodor wants to be left alone– he cannot comprehend how selfish this man is, hoarding his entire library to himself. He could hear the madman muttering, talking rapidly to himself, horse whispering. Fyodor does not speak in tongues yet this professor does, speaking to the devil before his very eyes. 

He slowly placed the bottom of his palms to the floor making sure the floor wouldn’t creak and slowly made his way under a table. The table was plenty far away from the light of the lantern that Quirrell had, he just needed to wait it out from under the table. Leaning against the wood slowly feeling his hair reach and poke the tips of his neck, it all felt electrifying, he felt the rush. Fyodor is feeling the rush of his current action– where it will lead him– if he gets caught he’ll get in trouble. The only logical deduction he would have to serve detention. But if he doesn’t? 

He feels a grin creep up his face, this is all a calculated risk, and a calculated gamble. One wrong move that might just put a tally down his perfect record. Oh, the perfect Fydoor how has he fallen from grace? He grabbed the clippers and clipped his wings, he let himself fall from the ledge from where he used to stand among the worshippers; now he is nothing but sin, a stain. Yet despite this revelation, Fyodor smiles– if he manages to get away at night– he can spend time to himself. Time to explore, time to see the secrets of the castle. He’s a Raven yet he’s a Slythern by heart. The hat takes notice of people’s preferences, it takes notes of what people think before sorting them. Houses manage to align kids with what they believe they are. 

Align them to indoctrinate them to think in a certain manner. Fyodor has already been indoctrinated. Indoctrinated by the church. He cannot change more than so his morals from beforehand. 

Fyodor is breaking rules, he is clipping his wings and sharpening his fangs. 

Fyodor felt his warm breath rattle his lungs, He felt his chest move up and down slowly. Trying to control his breathing as much as he could— afraid that he would make too much noise. Quirrell himself was arguing with himself– talking about the boy. 

What type of boy? Fyodor questioned. He wonders who he’s talking about. Fyodor leaned a bit to the side trying to listen into the curious mad muttering.

“Nono– I can’t do that” The loud clatter of someone looking through books, he managed to drop a book on the floor before Fyodor heard his feet move from one end of the table to another. Pacing back and forth in distress. 

“But you must, you must. He must not be allowed.”

“But he’s just a child!” A loud slam was heard throughout the library, another book was slammed on a table. Fyodor clutched his robes near his chest feeling his heartbeat race, a loud rhythm beating against his ribs threatening to puncture his lungs. 

“A child who TARNISHED my reputation!” Fyodor heard a swish of robes before he heard the thundering of several books falling over. “HE NEEDS TO BE GONE, DEAD” 

“But he’s innocent!” 

Fyodor heard the book slam right above where he was hiding, out of instinct he almost screamed, Quirell above him screamed in agony. Fyodor forced himself to huddle himself closer to the wall of the table. He covered his mouth with both of his hands. He wanted to cover his ears as he heard the piercing yell of tormented anguish that ripped through the professor's throat. Fyodor looked over to see Quirrel’s feet and saw crimson droplets of blood fall to the ground. Had his professor gone insane? Mad? Talking to himself led to this?

“You will do as I SAY.” The voice growled, rather than the cowardly voice that he grew accustomed to he heard the two voices differences, one had a nasal undertone that managed the shake the chest from how low it sounded while Quireel’s normal voice talked all eliminated on the tip of his tongue rather than plunging his tongue deep down. Animasitsic is a word that describes the second voice that emanates from Quirrel. 

“I’m Sorry- I’m SORRY BUT-” Another piercing yell, Fyodor swore he saw flesh fall freshly down. Thick chunks of flesh fall next to the growing puddle of deep carmine. Fyodor felt his legs clutch to his chest, his eyes shaking as he saw all this unfold. The screaming didn’t seem to come to a halt. 

“I BEG- I BEG- STOP- AH-I BEG FOR FORGIVENESS- SORRY” 

Fyodor could only block the noises of breathing coming from his mouth. He couldn’t be caught– his safety was at risk– Fyodor’s eyes remained glued to the growing pile of flesh and blood floor that seeped down. Taunting him– he was going to be– he is the next victim– he needs to play his cards– he needs to remain invisible–. Oh God. 

It’s so morbid– is that fat– the tender fat layer of the skin– oh god. 

Yellow fatty tissue fell to the ground as deep black blood that reflected the mutilation of what became Quirell– he’s covered in blood– T

His blood- it’s?-they– He’s still alive. 

His blood is seeping into Fyodor’s robes– it’s seeping into Quirell’s white robes– turning the sandpaper white to a rouge color– matching a blush– matching–he can’t think. It’s hunting– it’s as if the devil came. Red as the devil.

Tissues are exploding in scarlet red yet some places on his face struggle to form beads of blood– ribbons of blood are spraying— his face– 

It’s raw. 

His face is split– like a flower. 

His face is like petals forming outwards, curling around on the edges with little dots on the edges forming hunting patterns as the torn skin attempts to shrink on itself but it can’t. 

There is still tissue on the edges despite being so mutilated. 

Fyodor feels a warm liquid in his mouth– his eyes look down, and his hands are covered in the same blood. He feels his pupils dilate before contracting rapidly. Everything turns in and out– it’s bright and dark at the same time. Blood– Blood is rushing to his head– is it his blood– his vision is blurry– it’s his blood right? Not Quirells? His robes are getting sticky. Blood–

Screaming– 

Hell. Satan?

Fyodor saw the man fall over and Fyodor stood still. Quirell’s face is in the same direction as Fyodor's. Quirell’s eyes are wide– they stare at Fyodor yet they see nothing– is he– is he dead? Fyodor thinks to himself, his hands shaking with tremors as he sees this possible corpse lying on the floor. 

“What should show him…” The voice emanated behind Quirell’s head– there was nothing– where was the voice coming from– before Fyodor could put together his thoughts the body rose and levitated itself up. 

“Yes- Yes Sir. I understand” Quirelll muttered, his voice sounding quiet and timid, yet it had a somber tone of giving up. Fyodor laid his eyes back on all the blood splashed around. He wondered how Quirell was even still alive– the tissues still lay on the floor, covering the floor with the epidermis and fatty layers. Out of all instances, Quireell should have died– his face was more squid– flower- than it was a face. “Vulnera Sanentur….Scourgify” Fyodor watched as the blood staining his robes evaporated into thin air. There was no blood in sight after Quirell managed to mutter these spells, no blood but the blood that remained in his mouth. 

Turns out it was his blood after all this time.  

“I’ll see it be done at the match” Fyodor heard Quirell walk away, all the books that were once on the floor were put back into their place and cleaned up. As if nothing was there to begin with. There was no evidence of Quirell’s breakdown– of the second voice– Fyodor waited for the sound of the door closing to get out of the cramped table. 

He heard the bang of the door slamming shut. That’s when Fyodor crawled out from under the table and cast a small Lumos. He clutched it like he was in the mirror again. 

Fyodor really should have just gone to the dorms and gone to sleep but he doubts he will be able to catch some Zs after this incident. 

Fyodor feels… scared… he hates it. Fyodor tightly clutches his wand, the wood creaking under the pressure of his grip threatening to snap in half. Fyodor hates feeling scared– who was the boy, who did he threaten– match. Was Quirell planning to harm someone at the Quidditch match that is not too long from now? Who is he targeting? 

Fyodor knows it isn’t him, he doesn’t play or participate in anything that requires matches, Harry is a possible target, he plays. 

People seem to refer to Harry as the boy, the boy who lived but Quirrell doesn’t refer to Harry as a boy but rather as Harry. 

He can’t be too careful, Fyodor's eyes remained glued to the floor, where the blood and tissues lay. 

Fyodor is still in shock. He can’t believe what he just witnessed– terrible. Fyodor feels his hair grayed with stress, his inky black hair standing on its end being scared for his life. 

Fyodor couldn’t even pray with how scared he was– he couldn’t pray. 

Satan has taken his soul…. He managed to get out of this unscathed– mostly untouched– 

He did it. He has the entire library to himself for the night– 

Fyodor feels his lips curl up into a smile. Whether it be hysteria or shock, he is grinning. Fyodor can feel the tickle on the back of his throat threatening to let out a chuck– a laugh. Fyodor holds it in he must. He cannot make noise that disturbs anyone possibly outside the library. He is free- he can read whatever he wants–Fyodor lets out a small chuckle that escapes past his lips. 

Fyodor will be alright now, he can read a book. 

Fyodor runs his hands through the spines of the books throughout the night, trying to pick what he should read. In all honesty, he finds the history of magic interesting, he gets to learn more about magic and why the wizarding world became so hidden. People like Fyodor fear them due to religious and superstitious reasons, some people fear them since they have a belief that wizards would control the population and hold them as lesser people. Fyodor knows that belief is incorrect since he struggles with his identity as a wizard thinking his very existence is a sense, a grudge against God yet he continues living and hoping to prove himself wrong. Fyodor is starting to accept himself more and more, he has the potential to use this so-called sin and make the world a better place. He could perhaps help Atsushi out at the orphanage and give him and himself a better quality of living there rather than a damp and dark one. 

Fyodor spends his time reading and learning more about the world around him, trying to block out what he has just seen. Yet when he scans the pages over the words seem to shift back into the very same horrid flower. Fyodor didn’t know what he could do, he felt his blood stick to his robes. He tried to wipe it off on his robes– but in the end, the only way he could clean his hands without leaving a trace was by licking off the blood. 

Sweet, very syrupy blood. His blood stuck onto the back of his teeth, He could feel the slight drops of blood sticking to the ridges. His blood felt watery yet dense with how his blood differed from water both substances having different yet similar textures. His mouth smelt like a jar of pennies, if there was iron– his mouth certainly had the same taste of iron bars. As if he snacked on a bunch of metal scraps. 

Fyodor shuddered remembering how he had to lick off his blood before reading but it had to be done, he didn’t want to stain the books and he certainly didn’t want to see Quirrell roaming the hallways and risk getting in trouble. Not that he would know he saw him have an entire breakdown that scared him possibly for life, but oh well what was he supposed to do? Fyodor saw the terrible gruesome scene and now all he can do is hope the images that hunt his brain will disappear from his brain. 

Fyodor flipped the page before his candle went out. 

He looked and saw that the sun was starting to rise. He thinks curfew is over already thus he makes his way toward his dormitory, he needs to freshen up– oh wait. He can just wand himself and he’ll be clean, that’s what most people do in the mornings. Though Fyodor prefers showers then wand magic, some people do prefer showers over wand magic. Fyodor only performs the spell when he notices someone else in the shower, he doesn’t want anyone to see his frail body. How different his body is from people– it’ll end badly– Fyodor doesn't want to think about how people would view his body if they found out he is ‘abnormal’ and doesn’t exactly fit into the binary people have created for other people to fit this role. 

Fyodor shakes his head before he wipes his wand out, pointing the tip of his wand toward himself. Just because he felt like it, he pointed it toward his head. He needed to release the inner demons somehow.  “scourgify” 

Fyodor looked at his wand, feeling a bit sad that the images still hadn’t left his brain. He turned his head and walked his way out of the library to the cafeteria. He needed nutrients and he is craving something sweet as of the moment. Maybe he can enjoy a nice sweet treat without trying to vomit on what he is consuming. 

He’d rather not vomit today at the cafeteria, that would be bad for his social outlook and overall his status in school. He needs to keep it up— he tells himself. 

He is just a chattering box that repeats the same memo again and again. Fyodor wonders if anyone thinks of him as dignified or a kicked puppy. Fyodor feels like he gives out snotty Bratt behavior sometimes– maybe he is a kicked puppy– he doesn’t like puppies they wine too much– and they make too many noises. Fyodor would rather not be a cat– he’d be happier being a wet cat– at least cats are cute. 

Wait.

Fyodor doesn’t want to be cute– he wants to be dignified. 

Fyodor pulls at his hair in frustration– what animal does he want to be? Is it really that hard to pick the animal he wants to be in this day and era? Fyodor thinks to himself and ponders if it really would matter in the end if he picks an animal he would like to be. Fyodor doesn't think it matters– but the school possibly sees him as a kicked puppy. 

UGH

He does not want to be a kicked puppy. He’d rather be a normal person who isn’t a kicked puppy. Fyodor wants to be a Sphynx cat– at least they are dignified and have this dominant aura that makes you respect them. Fyodor wants to be that type of cat. Not the wet cat. He doesn’t want to be a pitiful wet cat or a pitiful wet puppy. None of those options are digestible in Fyodor’s opinion. 

Fyodor opens the doors to the cafeteria to be met with a couple of voices echoing through the dining hall, there weren’t too many people up at this hour. You can see people enjoying their meals and taking their time as they feast. People eat warm eggs with crispy sausages on the side. The aroma of the place has a slight tea tang smell throughout the place. The younger students preferred to have tea in the mornings rather than coffee. While in some corners you could see students struggle to finish a scroll while downing just coffee and bread. 

Fyodor thinks to himself that coffee wouldn’t be a bad idea, he’s on an all-nighter and his hands are slightly shaking. He needs something to boost him in the morning before someone comes and bothers him. He strides his way over to his usual table– his specific table and specific seat where he sits every day, he’s glad no one has taken it yet, it is his unofficial seat where he sits. Fyodor fears that he might have hexxed someone if another student was sitting at his official unassigned seat. He was going to do so in transfiguration, but his seat was taken– someone sat next to Sigma in that class which almost led Fyodor to curse him. Luckily Sigma saw Fyodor’s face turn a bright red scrunch his eyebrows down together in frustration and suggested they move to a different area. Sigma was so understanding of his peculiar patterns and his mannerisms. He’s thankful for Sigma. He’s looking forward to seeing him today, he missed his daily reading sessions with him yesterday. What a shame. He was stuck in a mirror that no one would find out since it’s embarrassing to tell people you were stuck in a mirror– like who gets stuck in a mirror? 

Not Fyodor for sure, that would be awfully embarrassing out of him to be stuck in a mirror– Oh it looks like Fyodor has coffee. 

Fyodor hadn’t realized he was ordering coffee with his blank state of a brain, Fyodor looked at his coffee and it was black coffee. Rather bitter he thinks to himself, but what he can do? It’s something to energize him for now. Fyodor thinks about what else should he add to his food, therefore Fyodor just grabs a plate of eggs and cheese. Fyodor likes his cheese and eggs, not omelet style. Then the yolk’s texture overpowers the white’s texture in the egg. He likes his eggs scrambled in a specific way where you can barely taste the yolk. 

Fyodor munches his food happily, he thinks this is life, and he’s enjoying it. The scrumptious eggs. The peace and quiet—

“Oh! Fyodor, you aren’t purple anymore!” Sigma looks at Fyodor with a smile, he walks himself over to where Fyodor is sitting and sits next to him.

“What–”

“You aren’t purple–” Sigma calmly replies to Fyodor.

Fyodor nearly slams the coffee mug down, nearly breaking it out of sheer shock. “Since WHEN have I been PURPLE–?!?!?”

“You had an accident–”

“OH– Yes yes, I had an accident alright, but that doesn't explain why I WAS PURPLE” 

“You said it yourself–” Sigma looked at him as if he was insane– Fyodor is not insane.

Fyodor gritted his teeth “I was in the library”

“Then who was it?”

“Not me” Fyodor snapped back to Sigma. 

Sigma leaned a bit back from Fyodor, looking at him up and down. “Did you sleep?”

Fyodor snapped his head towards Sigma and glared at him, “‘Did you sleep’ WELL OF COURSE I SLEEPED.”

Sigma closed his eyes flinching away a bit from the sheer volume of his voice. He shrunk into himself a bit, Fyodor saw Sigma’s throat bob a bit as if he was thinking about what he was going to say or what he planned to say– “You’re–you’re just grouchier than normal–?” Sigma opened one of his eyes slowly assuming Fyodor was going to yell at him more. 

Fyodor looked at Sigma and felt his stomach drop– He just did it– Sigma had the same glare as Atsushi– but this time it wasn’t the bully's fault, it was his– should he apologize– that would be the Christian way to do so– but his ego– No. Sigma. 

Sigma deserves better than Fyodor. He has to atone– Fyodor shakes his head, he clutches the coffee cup again trying not to see Quirrell in his head– the sight was gruesome but now it’s hours later– no– it's not dark– he isn’t the victim– he is never the victim– he’s above that. He must take pity on those who are less than him– like Sigma. 

Yes–yes– Fyodor can apologize to Sigma– He can apologize to him– he’s just like a tender flower— a tender– A TENDER SOMETHING THAT ISN” T A FLOWER. Fyodor needs to think better. “I’m sorry about my attitude– I just didn’t sleep well today– thank you for the concern Sigma. I apologize again for my–” Fyodor gulps, this is harder than I thought it was going to be. “I apologize for my attitude” 

“...Apology accepted….. Just get better sleep next time if you can..? You can always sleep in my dorm, the Ravenclaw dorm is cold.” 

Fyodor almost chuckles– he lies, and he lets out a quiet small chuckle. “It is cold, you should see how many covers I add to my bed”

“Yea–! I saw– you have four layers” Sigma smiled at Fyodor. Fyodor feels his face heat up a bit– he made Sigma feel a bit better. He’s proud of himself for choosing something for Sigma rather than to make everyone miserable, Fyodor enjoys making everyone miserable– He sometimes spares Sigma from his behaviors since Sigma is one of the only normal people here that he can talk to on his level. Sure Neville is also normal but he just isn’t the smartest. He’s like a dulled knife, maybe with a bit more fining he can become a blade. Hermoine is on his level– just she’s…

Hermoine scares Fyodor– she always asks him to do homework with him, Fyodor likes to be by himself most of the time– sure he likes talking with people sometimes– Hermoine just scares him– she’s a bit overwhelming sometimes– wait.

Sigma was in his dorm… and saw his bed–

“You were in my dorm…” Fyodor slowly announced. 

Sigma saw the sudden shift in humor again, and nervously nodded “Yes…”

“And you saw my bed….” 

Sigma gulped on air before airing his neck– “...Yes…”

“Was it messy?”

“SORRY– what– WHAT– No- it was neat??”

Fyodor grinned to himself, he didn’t disappoint him and his dormmates, he actually did his bed for once. “Good. How’s the Hufflepuff Dorm?” Fyodor questions. 

“It’s warmer than the Ravenclaw and Slytherin Dorm for sure. I’m pretty sure the Gryffindor dorm has a better heater though, they get most of the funding due to Dumbledor’s favoritism”

“Alas…. His favoritism..” Fyodor sighs, it was a common trend for the Gryfindors to get away with breaking rules vs. the other houses. Perhaps it’s since Harry is in the house, he seems to be popular. Being the Boy who lived, why can’t Fyodor also be the Boy who lived? He’s an orphan too. He thinks Sigma is an orphan too, he has never heard the boy mention anything about his parents. That’s depressing actually. Maybe Fyodor is depressing. Either way, he is sitting here and enjoying some breakfast with Sigma. 

Not a bad morning, not bad at all– okay maybe Fyodor lied a bit again, can you blame him? He’s rather stressed at the moment, he needs more coffee–

“FEDDDDYAAAAAAA!!!!” Two voices yelled out at the same time.

Okay, his morning is ruined. He hates life. 

“Sigma, if I die from a caffeine overdose. Blae Osamu and Nikolai.” 

“Not if I die first” 

Both Fyodor and Sigma took a concerning amount of caffeine this morning while being pestered by Dazai and Nikolai, they were mostly pestering Fyodor and how he was purple yesterday. 

Fyodor almost repeated the same outburst as Sigma but alas, he played along. Fyodor is too tired to deal with this amount of energy tonight, he’d rather sleep and forget everything. He has a feeling Sigma would like to do the same before classes start.