Kane glanced at his wizarding robes, ignoring Harry's lingering awkwardness from the "flower garland incident." As they stepped off the train, they saw Hagrid holding a lantern high, calling out to the huddle of shivering first-years.
"Hey! Kane, Harry, Ron! Get over to the boats, we'll be setting off in a mont!" Hagrid waved them toward the shore before disappearing back into the crowd of students.
In the small boat, Harry and Ron stared in awe at the silhouette of Hogwarts, its windows glowing like amber jewels against the dark sky. They eventually turned to look at Kane, who sat there as steady as an old dog.
"How are you not even a little bit surprised?" Ron asked.
"I've had my mont of shock," Kane explained simply. What was he supposed to say? Oh, I already did the VIP one-day tour and slept in the Headmaster's quarters? If Harry knew Kane had been living in luxury while he was suffering at the Dursleys, their friendship might survive, but Kane could kiss "living off Harry's vault" goodbye.
A fourth student climbed into their boat—a boy who looked a bit wooden and dazed, clearly possessing a heart of gold but zero survival instincts. It was a familiar face.
"Neville looks like he's far too easy to bully, and I have to go with the girls' boat, so I've put him with you," Hermione said, her voice a rapid-fire blur as she stood on the dock. "You won't bully him, will you?"
Kane shrugged. "What kind of monsters do you take us for?"
"Good. Neville, try to get along with your new friends!" Hermione called back as she hurried away.
Ron, being a pure-blood, naturally knew the boy. "I didn't know you had an older sister in the Muggle world, Neville," he teased.
Neville's face turned beet red. "Hermione isn't my sister, she's just a friend. She's... she's very nice."
"Yeah, Neville... I rember you now," Harry added. "We heard she was helping you find your toad. Did you ever find it?"
"No," Neville said, his voice dropping an octave in sadness.
"I know the feeling," Ron consoled him. "I've got my new owl now, but I still keep my old rat, Scabbers. I hope you find that toad soon."
Once the boats crossed the Black Lake and they entered the Entrance Hall, Kane moved with practiced ease. He tapped a specific spot on the wall with the toe of his boot, and a section of stone rippled, forming a small bench.
"Whoa! How did you know the castle could do that?" Ron stared. Kane looked less like a first-year and more like a ghost who had haunted the halls for decades.
"Read more, talk less. Most of the walls in Hogwarts have hidden features like this," Kane lied smoothly, sitting down.
The three of them sat in the corner, a shared tension rising in their chests about the upcoming Sorting Ceremony. Kane, however, felt a pang of regret.
I spent all that ti with Dumbledore and forgot to ask how the sorting actually works. Sitting on a gold mine and I didn't even pick up a shovel... typical.
Suddenly, a commotion broke out across the hall.
"What's happening?" Harry stood up to look. "It's Neville's toad! It sohow ended up on the head of another student. Now that kid is telling Neville to choose: either kill the toad, or get thrashed."
"Poor Neville. That's a hard choice for him," Ron sighed. "Actually, it's not hard at all. Neville will always choose to protect his toad."
Kane's ears perked up. No matter the world, human conflict was always the best entertainnt. He grabbed Harry and Ron by the sleeves. "Let's go watch."
"Kane, be serious. We know Neville!" Harry protested.
"I am being serious. I'm going to 'protect' him. If it's just a symbolic shove, fine, but if the guy goes too far..." Kane led them to a pri front-row seat for the drama.
Neville was already in his "professional defensive crouch"—curled into a ball on the floor, protecting his head.
A boy with chestnut hair, looking disgusted by the toad that had just touched his face, was looming over him, delivering a series of kicks and punches.
"That's Boleyn Arella," Ron whispered. "From a fairly prominent pure-blood family."
The "fight" wasn't particularly dangerous—eleven-year-olds don't hit very hard, and Neville's defensive posture was solid. But Hermione, having just arrived, wasn't having it.
She whipped out her wand. "Stop it! Or don't bla for being unkind!"
Arella slowed down, looking at her. "And who are you?"
"Hermione Granger! Neville's friend!" she declared, her small face set in a mask of stern justice.
"Granger?" Arella glanced upward, searching his ntal directory of wizarding surnas. Finding nothing, he sneered. "Listen, you little Mudblood, you should turn around and walk away before I decide to give you a thrashing too."
The word "Mudblood" hit the hall like a physical blow. The room fractured: shock and anger from one side, cheers and snickering from the "Slytherin-leaning" crowd, and total confusion from Harry and Kane.
Ron's face went purple. He started rolling up his sleeves and reaching for his wand, but Harry and Kane held him back.
Before they could ask what the word ant, Hermione acted. With the "zero-fra startup" of a natural-born prodigy, she cast a spell that turned Arella's soft robes into a suit of rigid, immobile steel.
Ron cald down instantly. Okay, Hermione's got this.
"So, what does 'Mudblood' an exactly?" Harry whispered.
"It's a foul slur for Muggle-borns," Ron hissed. "It's about a hundred tis worse than the worst thing you can say in the Muggle world."
Kane scratched his head. "Wait... so does that apply to ?"
"I an, your magic is too weird for a Muggle-born, but a guy like that isn't using logic," Ron whispered. He and Harry moved slightly closer to Kane, flanking him—just in case Kane decided to stick the guy to the ceiling again.
Across the room, Arella's necklace glowed—a constant Finite Incantatem charm that broke Hermione's spell. As his robes softened, he raised his wand to retaliate.
Suddenly, Maxwell appeared behind Kane, his spectral form visible only to him.
"I believe I've figured out what this 'show' is really about, Kane," Maxwell murmured. "This is part of your Sorting Ceremony."
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