The Chronicles of Theon Pastajoy: The Ballad of the Ultimate Cringe

Morning in Dreadfort brought no relief. The black snow, mixed with coal dust by Cersei’s order, crunched underfoot like the bones of fallen enemies. The air was thick with cold and the feeling of impending absurdity. Theon Pastajoy, whose «bald hedgehogs» on his forehead had turned a dark purple from the frost and yesterday’s beatings, sat in the middle of the courtyard. His mind, battered by PTSD and a pasta diet, was in a state of absolute, icy indifference. Cersei Lannister, wrapped in fox furs, held the «Mirror of Moments» before her. — Followers, you won’t believe this — she whispered into the artifact. — Pastajoy looks like he was chewed up and spat out by a giant today. Let’s see what happens next! — At that moment, the space between the stable and the torture chamber shimmered. The air rippled like the surface of a pond after a dead cow has been thrown into it. With a horrific whistle, a portal vortex tore open. It smelled of something alien: a mixture of parchment, old books, lemon drops, and magic. Ramsay Bolton froze, his eyes widening. Jaime reached for his sword. But Theon didn’t give a damn. He was so far gone that if a dragon’s head had poked out of the hole, he would have just handed it his own empty head. Slowly, staggering, he stood up. His colander, left over from his «horse trek,» hung ridiculously on the back of his head. Without a word, Theon stepped forward and simply vanished into the glowing maw of the portal. He fell out of the air directly onto the stone floor of a massive castle. Thousands of candles floated above him, and hundreds of children in robes sat at tables. Ahead, on a dais, stood an old man with a beard longer than the Boltons’ list of sins. — Name? — asked a stern woman in green. — Theon… Reek… Pastajoy… — he croaked, smearing coal dust across his face. They sat him on a stool. On his head, right on top of his pulsing «bald hedgehogs,» they placed a filthy, ancient Hat. The Hat shuddered. It froze, trying to break through the layers of PTSD, memories of the centrifuge, and the smell of boiled horsemeat. — Oh gods… — the Hat whispered. — I have seen the abyss, but this concentration of shame… You have no place in Gryffindor, heroes are needed there. You are not Hufflepuff, they need the hard-working. Ravenclaw? No, your brain is a noodle. Let it be SLYTHERIN! At least there they value survival at any cost. — Theon trudged toward the table in green tones. The Slytherins moved away from him as if he were a plague victim. The first lesson was Potions. Professor Snape, whose black hair shone just like the skin of that worm from Theon’s dream, strode past him. — Pastajoy… — Snape spat. — Tell me, what is the effect of a porcupine quill infusion if you add… marsh worm mucus to it? — Theon looked at Snape. In that dark gaze, he saw Ramsay. PTSD hit him like a tsunami. It seemed to him that Snape was about to pull out a knife and start slicing him into pieces for a «Weakness of the Greyjoy» potion. In a fit of panic and total cringe, Theon screamed: — REDEMPTION! — And with one sweep of his hand, he knocked all the retorts and flasks off the table. A stinking, caustic liquid soaked the hem of the professor’s robes. — GET OUT OF HERE! — Snape roared, his voice shaking the dungeon walls. — Out of my class, you noodle-brained brat! — Theon was upset, but he decided the sky was his element. After all, he was once the Prince of Pyke! He stole a broom from Madam Hooch and shot upward. — Clop-clop! Out of the way! — he wailed, ridiculous legs hiked high. But when he rose above the towers of Hogwarts, he saw not Hogwarts below, but Winterfell and the burned Starks, then the forest. It seemed to him that the Stark wolves were running after him to bite off his remaining fingers. Theon lost his concentration. The «bald hedgehogs» on his forehead blurred his vision. The broom bucked, and Theon went tumbling down, crashing through the roof of a greenhouse and landing exactly in a pile of dragon manure. At the feast for the new students, the shame became final. When huge pies appeared on the tables, Theon, whose stomach remembered only dry noodles and a dog bowl, tossed his fork aside. He grabbed a pie with both hands, buried his face in it, and began to devour the meat with a slurping sound. Grease dripped down his chin; pieces of dough stuck to his «hedgehogs.» — I am Ironborn! — he growled at McGonagall, who was trying to stop him. — We do not sow! We eat everything that isn’t nailed to the table! — Dumbledore stood up, his eyes no longer twinkling with kindness. — Theon Pastajoy — he said in a thunderous voice. — Your presence here destroys the very essence of magic. You are expelled. Immediately. — But Theon had nowhere to go. In the morning, he stood at the gates, sobbing and smearing pudding—thrown out of a window by someone—across his face. He crawled on his knees, begging for a second chance. — I’ll clean the cauldrons! I’ll kiss the elves’ heels! — he wailed. McGonagall, whose heart could not withstand such a humiliating sight, persuaded Dumbledore to keep him as «maintenance staff.» But she should have known better. Theon became a walking catastrophe. Potions: Theon decided to help Snape. He added a Pyke shell tincture to a cauldron of «Draught of Living Death.» An explosion occurred. The classroom turned into a giant aquarium, and Snape’s hair was permanently frozen in the shape of octopus tentacles. Transfiguration: Theon tried to turn a hedgehog into a pincushion. Looking at the lumps on his forehead, he entered a trance. The hedgehog turned into a huge, scaly rat with Ramsay Bolton’s face. The rat ate all the robe supplies and nearly ate a first-year girl (she was saved later, but she started stuttering). Charms: Flitwick asked them to lift a feather. Theon, remembering his centrifuge, spun his wand so hard he lifted Professor Flitwick himself into the air. He got stuck in the chandelier, and Theon forgot the counter-spell, suggesting they «shoot him down with an arrow, like in the North.» Herbology: Theon decided to «fertilize» the mandrakes. He brought a bucket of dragon manure mixed with snot. The mandrakes grew to three meters, found their voices, and began to sing in chorus: — Reek, Reek, it rhymes with meek! — The whole school went deaf for three days. Defense Against the Dark Arts: A new professor arrived. Theon volunteered to show how to fight a Boggart. The Boggart turned into Ramsay with a huge knife and began to torture one of the students. Theon fainted, having previously wet himself and the entire audience. Astronomy: Theon «fixed» the telescope. After his intervention, the device began to show not stars, but exclusively Director Dumbledore’s bedroom in real-time. When the whole class saw Dumbledore in a nightcap with little ducks, the director screamed so loud that century-old oaks fell in the Forbidden Forest. History of Magic: To «liven up» Binns’ boring ghost lesson, Theon decided to reenact the Battle of the Trident. He turned on all the taps in the toilets, flooding three floors. Binns got stuck in an imaginary net, and students floated on desks like rafts. Care of Magical Creatures: Theon decided that the Thestrals were his long-lost brothers. He tried to feed them raw meat from his hands, but the Thestrals decided Theon was easier prey. Hagrid had to fight Pastajoy off with a giant pumpkin. Flying (Finale): Despite the ban, Theon stole a «Nimbus-2000.» He tried to do a loop-the-loop but instead flew into the Great Hall window during a formal dinner. He flew over all the tables, knocking down candelabras, and landed exactly in a massive bowl of raspberry pudding. The whole hall went quiet. Theon sat in the pink goo, a mandrake wing hanging off his head, and one of Snape’s scorpions sticking out of his ear. Dumbledore slowly approached him. His face was pale, and his hands were shaking. — Out — he said quietly. — Go. Now. Forever. — Theon’s wand was snapped over his own knee. His memory of magic was erased, but his memory of the shame was left intact. Gilderoy Lockhart, standing in the doorway, watched Theon’s exile with envy. — Such cringe… — Lockhart whispered. — Such scale… I’ll never be able to top this. LOOL! —