The Sorting Hat and Azkaban

"Hogwarts does not permit any form of coercion. Every student has the right to decide who they walk with."

Malfoy's face flushed red in an instant—a shade mingling shame, annoyance, and defiance.

He opened his mouth as if to argue, but under Professor McGonagall's overwhelmingly oppressive gaze, he finally let go with a sullen air.

He could even feel the stares from other first-years leaning toward Slytherin, which made him feel especially humiliated.

[Emotion Points +20] (from Malfoy's anger, shame, and frustration)

[Emotion Points: 450/100]

The moment his wrist was freed, Skofot immediately drew that hand back in front of him, gently rubbing the reddened mark with his other hand, head lowered, shoulders slightly hunched—a picture of lingering shock and silent grievance, too timid to speak up.

When Professor McGonagall's gaze turned to him, it softened noticeably, though her tone remained stern:

"Mr. Leoqi, stay close to the group. If anyone makes you uncomfortable, you may report it directly to me."

"Yes, Professor. Thank you." Skofot replied in a voice as faint as a mosquito's, nodding obediently.

He didn't look back at Malfoy's livid face, silently falling in with the crowd of first-years, blending in while keeping a precise distance from everyone—neither near Malfoy nor immediately heading toward Harry and the others.

Professor McGonagall watched his retreating back, then shot Malfoy a harsh glare before turning to lead the group onward.

Malfoy stood there, glaring venomously in the direction Skofot had vanished, then casting a spiteful glance at Ron, who was grinning triumphantly at him, before storming off with Crabbe and Goyle in tow.

He felt that the frail-looking Leoqi had played him for a fool—at least, made him lose face in front of McGonagall and everyone else.

And Skofot, in an unnoticed corner, gently flexed his wrist.

The red mark would fade soon, but the gains from that brief clash, and the misunderstandings and attention likely to brew from it, were what truly mattered to him.

The castle's great doors loomed ahead, ablaze with light.

Standing in the queue awaiting the Sorting, listening to names being called one by one, watching first-years dash to their House tables, Skofot's mind was mostly immersed in his system.

A week had passed since his last Card Draw; the cooldown was long over, and this occasion might just call for something new.

"System, Card Draw."

[Emotion Points -100]

[Emotion Points: 350/100]

A virtual panel materialized, and a new card spun to a halt.

[Scavenger—Class Introduction: A cleaner of the underworld, aesthetic of violence.

Buff: Killing Intent

Description: You can freely control and wield killing intent.

Debuff: Off-putting

Description: Others find you off-putting and instinctively fear you.

Debuff: Prohibition on Alcohol

Description: You get rowdy when drunk.

Debuff: Killing Intent Visualization

Description: Your eyes can see killing intent.]

Skofot—no, at this moment he was more acutely aware of himself as Votekai—stiffened almost imperceptibly as he read the new card's description.

This card's effects were the polar opposite of [Rabbit Rhymer], even two extremes.

What's more troublesome was that once equipped, the card couldn't be removed during the mandatory first week of wear.

He instinctively tried to cancel, but it was too late.

A cold, viscous aura, as if reeking of rust, instantly seeped from his very bones, replacing the fragile, brittle presence he'd had before.

The intangible air around him seemed to stagnate and cool slightly.

["Rabbit Rhymer" card forcibly replaced with "Scavenger" card. First wear timer started.]

"..."

He could feel that his perspective on the world had shifted a little; the air seemed to hold some barely perceptible, flowing traces (Killing Intent Visualization?), but he had no time to dwell on it.

"Hannah Abbott!"

"Hufflepuff!"

"Terry Boot!"

"Ravenclaw!"

When the name "Harry Potter" was called, a buzz of murmurs rippled through the hall.

The Hat lingered on Harry's head for quite a while before finally shouting, "Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindor table erupted in thunderous cheers, and the Weasley twins bellowed:

"We've got Potter! We've got Potter!"

Ron Weasley was unsurprisingly sorted into Gryffindor, running excitedly to the seat next to Harry.

At last—

"Skofot Leoqi."

Leoqi took a deep breath and stepped forward.

He could clearly feel that as he moved, the originally excited and noisy chatter around him unconsciously dropped several notches.

Many eyes fell on him, no longer carrying the earlier curiosity or pity, but instead a strange hesitation and... faint unease.

[Emotion Points +10] (from slight fear and confusion of surrounding students)

[Emotion Points: 360/100]

He sat down on the four-legged stool, and Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on his head.

The hat was large, almost blocking his view.

"Hmm..." a faint voice whispered in his ear, "Very complex... a rather contradictory soul... a desire to survive, a knack for calculation, a craving for recognition, oh, and some kind of... icy undertone?"

Skofot didn't respond, only focusing on restraining the "Off-putting" aura naturally emitted by the [Cleaner] card and any "Killing Intent" that might leak out.

He could "see" faint, ominous wisps coiling around him (Killing Intent Visualization).

"Where could you thrive? You undoubtedly possess Slytherin's ambition, you know how to use Ravenclaw's wisdom, even Gryffindor's decisiveness for a goal... but wait, what is this?"

The Sorting Hat's voice seemed to stutter, as if it had encountered something that scrambled its programming, "This aura... so cold... so... not of this place! This is Off-putting! Very Off-putting!"

The Sorting Hat's voice suddenly rose, becoming sharp and terrified, no longer a whisper but ringing out across the suddenly silent Great Hall:

"Azkaban!!!"

Those three words struck like thunder, exploding in the dead-silent hall.

Everyone froze, thinking they had misheard.

At the staff table, the blue eyes behind Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles narrowed sharply.

Professor McGonagall's hand holding the list froze midair, her face a mask of shock and disbelief.

Professor Snape's hollow black eyes locked tightly onto Leoqi, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Flitwick couldn't hold it together.

The students erupted in murmurs, staring at each other, unable to believe their ears.

Azkaban?

What kind of house was that?

Wasn't that the wizard prison?

Malfoy's mouth hung open; Crabbe and Goyle exchanged blank looks.

At the Gryffindor table, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were stunned. Ron stammered, "He—he said what? Azkaban?"

Skofot sat on the stool, wearing the hat that was still trembling slightly, as if frightened.

Under the influence of the [Cleaner] card's "Off-putting" aura and the possible leaking "Killing Intent," he now appeared to everyone as if shrouded in an invisible, chilling shadow.

He was sweating profusely; only he knew that inside, he was frantically cursing this damn card and this absurd turn of events.

Dead silence filled the Great Hall, every gaze fixed on the black-haired boy whom the Sorting Hat had just called "Azkaban."