Kane turned and saw that it really was Professor McGonagall. He immediately let go.
Pol Anrela dropped to the floor. He was not choking for air; he was clutching his head and crying out in pain.
"Mr. Kane Heath, I need you to explain what happened here." Professor McGonagall leveled a stern look at him.
Kane glanced down at Pol. "Maybe you should ask the second person responsible for all this. Mr. Pol Anrela definitely knows more about how it started than I do."
Professor McGonagall swept over to Pol and checked him first. Other than some traces of dark magic, nothing seemed seriously wrong.
Dumbledore had already briefed her about Kane's situation. She did not waste time interrogating the injury itself. She cast a healing spell, easing the pooled blood out of Pol Anrela's head and back where it belonged.
"Now," she said evenly, "I am standing between you and Mr. Heath. You can tell me what happened, but you will not be the only one answering questions. So I expect the truth. Even if Mr. Heath attacked you, that does not give you an excuse to shift everything onto him."
Kane raised an eyebrow. Even with her warning, he had no intention of relying on Pol's honesty alone.
The shadow behind Professor McGonagall stirred. Cast by a distant lantern and cutting Pol off from her, it stretched itself apart, baring teeth and claws as it shaped a few crude English words.
"Watch your shadow. Tell the truth."
Pol's instincts screamed that the darkness at his feet was nothing more than a silent bear trap, one Kane Heath could snap shut at any moment.
Choosing survival over pride, Pol Anrela told the truth.
Professor McGonagall listened as he recounted everything: the toad Trevor landing on his head, Hermione defending Neville, his own insult toward her.
Originally, Pol had been confident. Neville was hopeless. Hermione was a first-year with no experience. Even if two more random students stepped in, he still felt sure he would not lose.
Then Kane appeared. And after a bit of trash talk, Kane's shadow grabbed him and started stroking him.
The longer Pol talked, the darker Professor McGonagall's expression became.
She turned to the others, her gaze lingering on Kane. "Is that accurate?"
"He is being pretty honest," Kane said, lifting a brow.
"Mr. Anrela," she said, "for insulting another student, once the Sorting is complete, five points will be deducted from your house.
Miss Granger, for standing up for Mr. Longbottom, five points will be added to yours after your sorting."
"Mr. Longbottom, please keep track of your toad. And finally, Mr. Heath."
She looked at Kane and let out a tired sigh. "I appreciate your willingness to protect your classmates, but your approach was far too extreme. Please apologize to Mr. Anrela."
Kane shrugged. "Sure."
He stepped toward Pol Anrela, stopped a short distance away, and gave a slow, shallow bow, though he did not lower his head even slightly.
"Mr. Pol Anrela, I apologize for acting impulsively."
His calm voice echoed across the entrance hall. Pol dropped straight onto the floor.
His legs refused to work. At least he could still feel his throat.
"I accept. I accept your apology, and I am very sorry too. I should not have said what I said, Kane. Please accept my apology as well..." Pol stammered.
"Mm. I accept." Kane straightened, looking down at Pol sitting helplessly on the ground.
Anyone walking in at that moment would have thought Pol was begging him for forgiveness, not the other way around.
"Can I stand up now?" Pol asked, voice shaking.
"You are the one scared to stand. I am not doing anything." Kane turned away from him and headed for the crowd, finding Harry and Ron.
"Kane, you are the best," Ron said, holding up a fist. With a small pop, his thumb flicked out.
"Yeah, keep your voice down," Kane muttered.
He noticed Professor McGonagall guiding the crowd out of the entrance hall. Soon the first-years gathered in the center of the Great Hall.
Professor McGonagall walked to a small stool at the front. On top of it sat a grimy linen hat.
Kane recognized it. It had been perched on a cabinet in Dumbledore's office.
"No way," he mouthed silently.
"Do not tell me the big mysterious ritual in the entrance hall was just a hat."
He shot an exasperated look at Maxwell, who was standing nearby, examining it.
Because of a few vague comments from that man, he had spent all that time making a spectacle of himself.
Suddenly, the hat's mouth split open.
After a bout of hoarse, grating singing, Kane was certain. It really was the hat.
Professor McGonagall unrolled a parchment. "The Sorting Ceremony will now begin."
She looked up at the cluster of young wizards. "Hannah Abbott."
A girl with double braids walked up, placed the hat on her head, and instantly:
"Hufflepuff."
The hall erupted in applause. Kane clapped along. He still leaned toward Maxwell. "Great idea you had."
Maxwell crossed his arms. "Smart of you not to tell your two friends what we thought the Sorting Ceremony was. Otherwise you would have been a lot more embarrassed."
"Even so, the one who should be proud is me, not you," Kane said.
"Mhm."
"What are you mhm-ing about? Is the Constant really that idle?" Kane asked.
Maxwell snorted. "Believe whatever you want."
With a sharp crack, one only Kane could hear, Maxwell disappeared.
With Maxwell finally gone, Kane settled down and continued watching the Sorting Ceremony. Behind him, two sneaky figures crept closer.
A hand tapped his shoulder. Kane turned on instinct and found himself staring at a lazy, casual, and undeniably ugly toad.
His voice trembled. "Holy... crap."