Professor McGonagall's Office.
Knock, knock, knock...
"Co in."
Kane pushed the door open. He had developed a Pavlovian headache at the re sight of McGonagall—though, to be fair, it might just be that his Sanity had been low for a bit too long.
"Kane Heiss, you only just left this office this morning," Professor McGonagall said, setting down her quill, her face tight.
"My apologies, Professor," Kane sighed. "What is my detention task?"
McGonagall raised her wand and pointed toward a nearby shelf. The shelf glowed obligingly, revealing a cluttered array of strange objects—the results of various Transfiguration assignnts from upper-year students.
"These are the High-Intensity Transfiguration assignnts I set for the senior years. Your task is to cast Finite Incantatem on them. If the spell is successfully broken, bring the item to . If it fails, they pass. Additionally, you are to write a five-foot-long reflection essay."
Kane shrugged. "I have a strange feeling this punishnt is going to make a lot of enemies."
"Not at all, Mr. Heiss. If a senior student's 'High-Intensity' Transfiguration can be easily undone by a first-year using a general counter-spell, it simply ans their mastery is lacking.
While I cannot guarantee everyone in Hogwarts is sunshine and rainbows, no one is going to take out their frustration over a failed spell on a stranger."
"If you say so... I an, that's a relief." Kane pulled out his wand and grabbed an exquisite stuffed doll from the shelf. With a light tap of his wand, the doll dissolved into a plain wooden plaque with a na written on it.
He placed the plaque on the desk. Curious to see who the first "unskilled" victim was, McGonagall glanced down.
Cedric Diggory?
McGonagall picked up the plaque, surprised. Cedric was an excellent student. What happened here? Had he just been having an off day when he perford the magic?
Before she could process it, another plaque landed on the desk. Percy Weasley? This made even less sense. Percy was older than Cedric and had been in top form that day. How was this possible?
Before McGonagall could wrap her head around the uncomfortable truth, a third plaque was tossed over.
Lee Jordan. Ah, well, that one was normal.
Then another: Penelope Clearwater. A Ravenclaw ace. Not normal again.
As a mountain of plaques—belonging to both honors students and average ones alike—piled up, McGonagall finally narrowed down the "truth" between two possibilities: either Transfiguration was a lie, or Kane had a massive secret.
She stood right beside him, watching as Kane casually picked up an object with one hand and tapped it with his wand in the other. Every single ti, the object reverted to a plaque instantly.
It was utterly absurd. And looking at Kane's drooping eyelids and hearing his faint, rhythmic snoring...
Well, the truth was clear: Kane Heiss was not normal.
It was understandable, in a way. Throughout history, wizards with a natural affinity for the Dark Arts ca in many flavors—ugly, evil, unloved—but they were never weak. Especially one like Kane, who seed to be a walking fountain of Dark Magic.
Giving him this specific detention task had been an oversight on her part.
McGonagall accepted the reality with her usual pragmatism. She reached out, gently shook Kane's shoulder to wake him, and spoke softly.
"Go back to bed. Your detention is considered complete. Just hand the reflection essay before class tomorrow afternoon."
"Oh, thank goodness, Professor! You're like a second mother to ." Kane looked at her with genuine gratitude, gave a polite bow, and bolted from the office.
After he left, McGonagall looked at the mountain of plaques from various year groups. She decided it was the perfect opportunity to "up the intensity" for those arrogant older students who were starting to get a bit too big for their boots.
The Next Day
Since there were rarely any classes on Tuesday mornings, Kane slept until noon before rolling out of bed. Harry was already at Quidditch practice, and Ron was presumably out playing Wizard's Chess.
Yawning, Kane walked into the common room and sat down next to Ron. "Hey. When are we eating?"
Before Ron could answer, Kane felt a strange atmosphere lock onto him. He looked up. Most of the older students in the room were staring at him with bizarre expressions—as if he'd done sothing world-shaking behind their backs that every primate except himself was aware of.
The mont they saw Kane looking back, they either looked away awkwardly or hurried off. It was completely baffling.
"What's happened now?" Kane asked Ron and Hermione, confused.
"No idea. George and Fred just told us that Professor McGonagall gave them a massive lecture this morning and forced them into extra Transfiguration drills. Apparently, it's because of you," Ron blurted out.
"Because of ?" Kane looked up at the ceiling. Was it yesterday's detention?
Erm...
Forget it. If their Transfiguration could be broken by his Finite Incantatem, their level was probably about the sa as his. Everyone's just a small fry; no one's really better than anyone else. Nothing to worry about.
Probably.
"Anyway, have you guys eaten? Heading to the Hall?"
"Count us in."
The three of them arrived at the Great Hall. The Quidditch team was still training; usually, a few reserve players would grab food and take it down to the pitch to save ti. So, it was just Kane, Ron, and Hermione at the table.
The mont they walked in, a barrage of stares hit them, all focused on Kane's face.
"Sothing is wrong. I feel a heavy sense of threat. What kind of lies did McGonagall spread in her classes?" Kane sat down, trying to ignore the pressure, and began to eat chanically...
Well, calling his eating "chanical" was an insult; he ate with deep passion.
Still, his eyes scanned the room warily, watching for a dinner knife or a stray jinx flying from a corner. He was still being watched by Death, after all.
If Death really wanted to, it could probably orchestrate a stray steak knife to the heart. Losing a Life Giving Amulet over a "clumsy accident" would be a terrible trade.
Ti ticked by. As he swallowed the last piece of bread, he relaxed slightly. Surely it would be safe to go to class now?
He acted on the thought. The trio, joined by a post-training Harry still in his Quidditch robes, headed for the Transfiguration classroom.
The whole way, Kane kept a sharp eye on every carbon-based life form they passed. Fortunately, McGonagall had been right—no one at Hogwarts was that petty.
Finally, Kane sank into his seat and let out a long breath of relief.
Unfortunately, that relief only lasted half a second.
Professor McGonagall spotted him in his seat and spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world: "Mr. Heiss, where is your reflection essay?"
"..."
"...Wow," Kane whispered awkwardly.
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