Professor McGonagall's Piercing Screech

"What brilliant insight do you have?" Kane looked at Maxwell.

"We all know that among the four Houses, Gryffindor represents courage, Hufflepuff represents kindness, Ravenclaw represents wisdom, and Slytherin represents ambition. So this whole spectacle is a stage meant to sort you into the Houses that suit you."

"That little girl named Hermione bravely stepped forward to protect her friends. She's kind and courageous—perhaps she belongs in Hufflepuff or Gryffindor."

"Others, if anyone cleverly solves the problem or wisely avoids danger, will most likely be a Ravenclaw. If someone can step up, take charge, and settle this farce, then their abilities will match their ambition, and Slytherin will open its arms to them."

Kane raised an eyebrow after hearing Maxwell's explanation. It surprisingly made some sense. After all, if that were not the reason, Hogwarts had no need to leave this group of young wizards unattended in the entrance hall for so long.

With that thought, he patted Harry and Ron on the shoulders. "Don't you two both want to get into Gryffindor?"

"Of course," Harry and Ron nodded instinctively.

"Then now is the time to show our courage," Kane said quietly.

"Show our courage? You mean this is the Sorting Ceremony?" Ron mulled over Kane's words and said in shock.

"Emmm." Kane fell silent for a moment. If he was right, everyone would be happy. If he was wrong...

In the end, he gave an ambiguous answer. "I didn't say that."

With that, he walked straight out of the crowd toward Bole Anrera. Harry and Ron hurried after him. After all, even if you did not deal damage in a group fight, you could still share the rewards!

At that moment, Bole Anrera had gradually forced Hermione onto the defensive. No matter how gifted she was, she could not surpass a pure-blood young wizard who had been immersed in magic since childhood within a single month.

Just as the final curse—one that could make sores erupt on a person's head and pus ooze from their feet—was about to strike Hermione, a shadowy claw abruptly rose from beneath her feet and crushed the curse in its grip.

Malfoy, who had been hiding in the crowd and had decided not to get involved, saw that familiar shadow and instinctively went a little pale.

Bole was doomed. Completely doomed.

But Bole Anrera himself had no idea why his curse had suddenly failed. He only thought that his luck was bad.

Then he frowned at Kane and the others as they emerged from the crowd. A Weasley family pauper, Harry Potter, the boy whose parents had died because of him?

Then he looked at Kane. "And one stranger I've never even met before. Don't tell me you're another Mudblood?"

Malfoy helplessly covered his face and instructed Goyle and Crabbe beside him, "If Bole Anrera comes looking for me again, tell him I'm busy. And don't associate with him either."

Kane narrowed his eyes and gave the person opposite him a cursory glance. Should he toss out some trash talk, or just open with a zero-frame attack?

In the end, he decided not to imitate that stale villain routine. He merely raised his hand slightly. Though there was no candle behind it, shadows still crept eerily across Bole Anrera's face.

Bole Anrera watched this without understanding what was happening at all. "From today onward, I hope you Mudbloods learn to show the most basic humility whenever you encounter any pure-blood at Hogwarts."

As he spoke, he slowly waved his wand and carefully enunciated the incantation. "Arela Guoer Lanjin!"

A crimson prank curse shot toward Kane, but Kane, Harry, and Ron did not react at all.

The other young wizards who knew that this curse would only cause a headache for a few hours did not think it was a big deal. Only Hermione hurriedly waved her wand, trying every possible way to block the curse for Kane.

Neville did the same. He climbed to his feet, wiped away his tears, and charged straight toward Kane, carrying the tragic air of someone diving onto a grenade on the battlefield.

But none of their measures worked. The curse landed squarely on Kane's outstretched hand.

Only his health bar dropped slightly. Other than that, nothing happened.

"You're finished. Now it's my turn." Kane raised an eyebrow and lightly clenched his hand. In an instant, the shadow covering Bole Anrera's face suddenly tightened, seeming to solidify as it squeezed his face into an absurd shape.

This sight was far more shocking to the young wizards than some prank magic that anyone could cast as long as they knew the incantation. Some of the more well-read among them instantly found a precise term for this eerie magic and scene.

Dark magic!

The few young wizards who recognized it as dark magic quietly moved in front of the majority who had no idea what was happening.

They had never heard of dark magic that controlled shadows like this, but Kane had not even used a wand to knead Bole Anrera's face like dough and lift him into the air. His purplish-red face now looked exactly like that of someone being hanged.

For dark magic this dangerous, even if Aurors were summoned immediately and Kane was thrown into Azkaban without trial, it would not be undeserved!

After all, only a small number of people present knew of and had seen Kane's methods. Harry, Ron, and Malfoy, who had once been a victim himself, had seen them before. For most others, this was their first time witnessing such a thing.

Even Neville and Hermione, who had just wanted to loyally block the curse for Kane, hurriedly stood in front of him when they saw Bole Anrera looking half-dead, trying to stop him.

"Kane, thank you for saving me, but that guy looks like he's about to die. Let go of him, quickly! You don't want to go to Azkaban, do you?" Hermione anxiously grabbed Kane's hand and shook it nonstop.

Neville did the same. He kept tugging at Bole Anrera's legs, trying to pull him down, though it looked more like he was making things worse.

Naturally, Kane, the instigator of this second farce, knew his limits.

It was nothing more than a fight between young wizards. He was not some devil. Bole Anrera's dark purple complexion was not caused by actual suffocation. It was only because the shadows clinging to his face made his body instinctively flood his face with magic and blood in an attempt to resist them.

At most, it looked frightening. It truly was not very harmful—though it was certainly uncomfortable.

But the others did not know that. Seeing Bole Anrera's eyes beginning to roll back, most people no longer looked at Kane with admiration and praise, but with fear and a desire to keep their distance.

Even Harry and Ron slowly walked over and patted Kane on the shoulder. "At this rate, that kid really is going to die. Stop, Kane. The professors are right outside."

As soon as Ron finished speaking, the entrance hall doors suddenly flew open, and Professor McGonagall's piercing screech rang out. "What are you doing?!"