Dmitry arrived in the Fine Dining Hall with the impeccable air of someone who frequently travelled by Portkey: robes laid neatly, not a wobble in his stance, his brown hair only slightly ruffled from the trip and quickly smoothed back down with the fingers that weren’t clutched around the handle of Artem’s travel tank. He took a moment to check that his trunk and broom-case were stacked up properly, waiting to be taken up to his dorm by the house-elves, and then peeked inside the tank. The eye-stalks of the streeler - currently glowing a vibrant shade of teal - peeked back up at him. Satisfied, the Russian boy stacked the tank on top of his trunk and walked over to the Cetus fire.
This all was to say that Dmitry was doing a very good job of hiding that he was sulking. Or not sulking. Sulking was for children. He was just… grumpy, a more mature emotion, and not only because of having to wake up in the very early morning to get here on time from Vladivostok, although that did not help matters at all.
His parents had completely overreacted about the poison thing. Even though a jealous girl trying to kill her ex-boyfriend had obviously nothing to do with him (and Dmitry didn’t yet have any ex-girlfriends of his own to be worried about either), the fact that a Pureblood from an esteemed family had managed to poison someone else while on school property right under the noses of the faculty had resulted in some very long conversations. There had been assassination attempts in his mother’s family in the past, which he had learned about before, but now it was re-told to him in a tone that said it was risky for him to go back to a place now known as an easy target. His parents had even discussed transferring him to Durmstrang, his father’s old school - and while there were a few people at RMI he wouldn’t mind never seeing again, Dmitry couldn’t imagine leaving behind the Quidditch team. He had a commitment!
Luckily his mother agreed that he shouldn’t have to transition to a new school for this (although not for the same Quidditch-based reasons). Instead, she had requested a meeting to talk about their security concerns, and after a very strange afternoon watching Deputy Headmaster Fell strutting around his family’s parlour, they reached an agreement that Dmitry was not fond of in the slightest: his personal guard Alyona, while not allowed to live at school, could stay in Boulder and was allowed to check in on him whenever she wanted given advance notice. (Dmitry was not aware that this agreement had come about less from the conversation and more due to the cheque that passed hands partway. His father’s business, and subsequent bank accounts, were convenient bargaining chips.)
Thus Dmitry now had a babysitter, basically, and while Alyona hadn’t insisted on accompanying him to the start-of-term feast, he had the knowledge that she was standing somewhere on the ground overhead monitoring him with one of the many weird devices their Head of Security had developed. He almost wanted to be poisoned, just a little bit, enough that she would have to go chasing down the criminal and leave him alone. And, assuming he wasn’t poisoned this year or nothing else changed to make his parents transfer him out of school, he also had the knowledge that next year his middle sister Nadezhda would be joining him at RMI. She was worse than Alyona.
He had many complaints and regrets. If he had known his first year at RMI would also be his last year of freedom, Dmitry would have taken more advantage of it. He wasn’t sure exactly how but he would have found a way.
Instead here he was now, staring at the house-elves walking past with trays of food. Regardless of what timezone his stomach was in, Dmitry was always fond of an extra meal, a fact that kept his stature round despite all the pick-up Quidditch he had played over the summer; when he spotted a train of elves balancing Chinese food on their heads, he snapped his fingers to call them over and filled up a plate for himself with ginger beef, dumplings, and sticky rice. Unfortunately the elves scurried off before he could ask for soy sauce and he was left snapping his fingers at another one. “Privet, hello, come here,” he called, trying to rein in his annoyance when the elf seemed not to hear him over the noise in the dining hall. Turning to a nearby student, he greeted them as politely as possible in his state before launching into his mission. “Hello, happy new term. Are you seeing soy sauce any place here?”