"What's your brilliant theory?" Kane turned to Maxwell.
"We all know the four houses," Maxwell said. "Gryffindor values courage, Hufflepuff values kindness, Ravenclaw values intelligence, Slytherin values ambition.
So this whole thing is basically a setup to sort us into our houses."
He pointed subtly toward Hermione.
"That girl, Hermione, she stood up for her friend without hesitating. Brave and kind. She's probably heading for Gryffindor or Hufflepuff."
"As for the other groups: anyone who handles the situation cleverly or avoids danger with some finesse is probably a Ravenclaw.
And if someone steps in, takes control, and ends the whole mess, that kind of drive fits Slytherin perfectly. They'll take them in without question."
Kane lifted an eyebrow. As ridiculous as it sounded, the explanation held together surprisingly well.
After all, if this wasn't some kind of test, why would Hogwarts leave a bunch of first-years unsupervised in the entrance hall for this long?
With that in mind, he clapped Harry and Ron on the shoulders. "Didn't you two want Gryffindor?"
"Well, yeah." Harry and Ron nodded automatically.
"Then now's the time to be brave," Kane said in an ominous singsong voice.
"Be brave? You mean this whole thing is the Sorting Ceremony?" Ron's eyes widened as everything clicked.
"Emmm." Kane went quiet. If he was right, great. If he was wrong…
He settled on something noncommittal. "I never said that."
And with that, he stepped out of the crowd toward Pol Anrela. Harry and Ron scrambled after him. Even if you didn't deal any damage in a team fight, you still got loot if you showed up.
By now, Pol Anrela had pushed Hermione into a dangerous position.
No matter how talented she was, a month of study couldn't match a pureblood who had grown up surrounded by magic.
Just as a final spell, one that would give her boils on her head and pus on her feet, was about to hit, a dark claw shot out of the floor and crushed the curse in midair.
Malfoy, who had been hiding in the back and firmly planned not to get involved, recognized that shadow. The blood drained from his face.
Pol was finished. Completely finished.
Pol Anrela himself had no idea why his spell fizzled. He chalked it up to bad luck. Then he saw Kane and the others stepping forward, and his frown deepened. A Weasley nobody, Harry Potter, the boy whose recklessness had gotten his parents killed?
His eyes landed on Kane. "And some stranger I've never seen before. Don't tell me he's another Mudblood?"
In the crowd, Malfoy let out a helpless sigh and muttered to Crabbe and Goyle, "If Pol comes looking for me later, tell him I'm busy. And you two should stay away from him too."
Kane looked up and gave Pol a flat, unreadable stare. Should he bother talking? Or just take him out on the spot?
In the end, he decided he wasn't going to imitate some cartoon villain. He simply raised his hand. Even without candlelight behind him, shadows crawled across Pol Anrela's face like living ink.
Pol blinked, confused. "You Mudbloods need to learn some basic respect when you see purebloods at Hogwarts," he began.
He lifted his wand and recited the spell slowly and confidently. "Dol-or-caput!"
A red prank jinx shot toward Kane. Kane, Harry, and Ron didn't flinch.
Most of the students who recognized the spell didn't react either.
It was only the kind of charm that gave you a splitting headache. Nothing serious.
Only Hermione threw herself into a frantic attempt to block it, cycling through every spell she could think of.
Neville did the same. He pushed himself up, wiped his tear-streaked face, and practically dove in front of Kane as if he were shielding someone from a bomb.
None of it mattered. The spell hit Kane's open hand.
His health bar dropped by the tiniest sliver. Nothing else happened.
"You done?" Kane asked. "Good. My turn."
He curled his fingers slightly. The shadows gripping Pol's face tightened all at once, distorting his features like someone was squeezing his head out of clay.
The hall erupted into shocked whispers. This was far beyond any prank jinx a first-year could cast. Among the more knowledgeable students, a single word rose to the surface:
Dark magic.
Students who recognized it instinctively pulled everyone else behind them.
They had never seen magic like this. Shadow manipulation, wandless, powerful enough to lift someone into the air by their face and twist it purple-red like they were being strangled.
Magic like that? If the Aurors stormed in right now and dragged Kane off to Azkaban without a hearing, could anyone really argue?
Except for the few who had firsthand experience, Harry, Ron, and Malfoy, no one had seen Kane use these abilities before.
Even Hermione and Neville, who had just thrown themselves in front of spells for him, stared at Pol's contorted face in horror and rushed toward Kane.
"Kane, thank you for saving me, but he looks like he's dying. Let go. You don't want to end up in Azkaban, do you?" Hermione grabbed Kane's arm and shook it frantically.
Neville grabbed Pol's legs and tried to pull him down, but the harder he pulled, the worse it looked.
As for Kane, he had everything under control.
This was just a fight between kids. He wasn't some monster. Pol's purple, suffocating look wasn't real. He wasn't choking. The shadow pressure just triggered a physical response, forcing magic and blood into his face.
It only looked terrifying. It wasn't actually dangerous. Though it was definitely uncomfortable.
Nobody else knew that. As Pol's eyes started to roll back, most students stared at Kane with a mix of fear and awe. Mostly fear.
Even Harry and Ron edged closer and patted his shoulder. "If you keep going, he really is going to die," Harry said. "Come on, Kane. The professors are right outside."
Right then, the doors to the entrance hall swung open.
Professor McGonagall's voice cracked through the hall like a whip.
"What are you doing!"