It started with a game set in the 1930s. Each season since has leapt across time—the current unfolding in 1978—but for Mihhail, the real enchantment lies in transformation. He began as Newt Scamander, later became a Weasley, then Bell, and now slips between the skins of Kreacher and Peeves.

“I love how the same universe births entirely new stories each time,” he reflects. “One year, one side triumphs. The next, it’s another. The unpredictability keeps you on edge. And the players—veterans who shine like stars, newcomers who are cool and awesome—it all blends into something unforgettable and fresh.”

Part of that magic is structural. Unlike many LARPs, where swords clash, here the battles are fought with wands, words, and secrets. Spells must be learned, intrigues plotted, conspiracies woven. For beginners,it is a spectacle. For veterans-a school of growth, where the real victories are in conversations, friendships, and the bittersweet emotions of coming-of-age.

In this universe, the point is not to kill, but to share joys and sorrows, create friendships and empathize with each other.

No LARP is free of the tension between player choice and story design. Some games have no script at all. The Hogwarts series, however, balances on what players call “rails”: a framework of storylines with branching paths. It’s not a rigid script, but rather a framework within which different outcomes are possible

To some, these approach feels overly restrictive. To others, it is a supportive tool. For Mihhail, this is an invitation to prepare—rehearsed speeches, staged duels, acting elements. The blend of improvisation and structure turns play into something akin to live theater. About seventy percent reamains raw reaction, and thirty percent is stepping onto a stage.

“It’s always a living process,” he says, “and the fact that it strays from the plan often makes it all even more compelling. The mix, creates emotions you can’t find anywhere else. ”

And those emotions run deep. LARP players use the word “glass” for moments so raw they bring tears. “These games taught me how to cry.” he says, “ There were times I wept four times in a single game—and every tear belonged to the game, to the the story.”

He remembers Emily, a fellow player, who endured a harrowing story twist. Her memory was magically erased, only for the truth to be revealed again minutes later. She relived the heartbreak twice, sobbing both times, and it was, Mihhail recalls, “as painful as it was beautiful.”

He has his own private scenes too intimate to share, but what matters is their weight. “The tears,” he admits, “are the pinnacle.”

The first: meeting Alexey from Riga and slipping, by story’s twist, from the 1930s into an alternate 1944—straight into a wizard concentration camp. In two hours, humiliation and suffering shattered their characters but bound them together. That’s where they became brothers, their bond spilling from fiction into daily life. “In real life, we talk almost every day. Alexey and his wife Masha have become people I now think of as family.”, says Mihhail.

The second: helping his friend Olya conquer her fear of to performing—growling, in front of an audience. They rehearsed together, he encouraged her, and when she finally did it, it was the triumph. 

The third: three days in Lithuania with Marina, who played Cassiopeia—emotional highs and lows so raw they remain unforgettable. “There are countless stories like these,” he says, “but the real treasure is how they live in your heart.”

Mihhail has been part of the roleplay movement for nearly twenty-five years. He began at fourteen with sticks and pots for props. Now, at thirty-eight, he sees the artistry: costumes sewn over months, characters with full biographies, plots rehearsed like stage plays. “The games have grown with us,” he says, “and have become true art.”

Yet even with artistry comes exhaustion. After a Sasha's game, emotions sometimes bleed over into life. “Bleeding,” they call it, when the character refuses to let go. Players swear they’ll never return—too much, too heavy. But weeks later, they’re the first to sign up again.

For Mihhail, it comes down to this: “I always dreamed of getting my letter from Hogwarts. And I did.” Five times he has walked the halls of a living, breathing Hogwarts, with plans for a sixth and a seventh. He thanks the game master, Alexandra Volkova, for opening that door.

What remains, above all, are the people. Dozens of extraordinary souls who are now part of his daily life. Friends who call, who laugh, who cry, who stay. 

“Characters come and go,” he says, “but the people remain.”

“That is the greatest gift these games have given me.”