At noon, only five people ate in the Great Hall, so they all gathered around a single table.Kane already recognized Albus Dumbledore and Rubeus Hagrid.
There were two others—one was the professor who had previously only existed in Dumbledore's words: Severus Snape, a man with greasy hair and a perpetually sour expression.
The other was Argus Filch, the castle caretaker, something like… a disciplinarian? His appearance… rather resembled a vulture.
Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall should have been present as well, but she had discovered that one of the young witches or wizards who had already been sent an acceptance letter had run away from home.
As a result, the letter never reached its recipient, and now, without a doubt, she had left Hogwarts to search the world for that troublesome child.
After hearing Dumbledore's explanation, Kane silently broke into a cold sweat for that runaway wizard. What kind of grievance would drive someone to flee home like that? Tears of sympathy nearly slipped from the corner of his mouth.
Dumbledore, seeing this, smiled gently. "Everyone, eat."
As the quiet sounds of dining filled the table, Snape suddenly lifted his head and glanced at Dumbledore. "And that one is?"
"An unfortunate young wizard—Kane Heath," Dumbledore replied, then turned to Kane. "This is Hogwarts' Potions Master, Severus Snape."
Naturally, Kane wanted to leave a good impression on his future professor. After wiping his hands with a napkin, he leaned past Dumbledore and extended his hand.
Snape paused briefly, then shook it with restrained politeness. In that instant, he understood something unusual about Kane.
Inside the child's body lurked a bizarre, absurd aura of dark magic—illogical, like a madman's crude sketch. It felt as though it might burst out of him at any moment and lunge forward.
This child absolutely must not be sorted into Slytherin. And once term began, he would have to strictly restrain those troublesome Slytherins. Being marked by something like this… Hogwarts would suffer for it—silently.
Their hands separated quickly. Dumbledore spoke again at the right moment. "Under normal circumstances, most young witches and wizards would have already received their Hogwarts letters and begun shopping in Diagon Alley. Hagrid, could I trouble you to take the child there this afternoon?"
Hagrid thumped his chest with a booming laugh. "Of course, no problem!"
At that moment, Dumbledore suddenly remembered something important—one of those once-in-a-lifetime rituals.
He left the table in a hurry. Within minutes, an owl swooped down from the ceiling, clutching a magnificent envelope, and dropped it before Kane.
"This is a ceremony every young wizard must experience. Go on—open it."
Kane glanced at the slightly smudged ink on the envelope—it was obvious Dumbledore had written it just moments ago. Out of respect for the elderly, he cooperated and opened it.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore(Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Order of Merlin First Class, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot)
Dear Mr. Kane Heath,We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…
"Mhm. I'm going to frame this letter," Kane muttered after reading it through. He carefully folded it and slipped it into his coat pocket without creasing it.
"Oh, right—the wand mentioned in the letter?"
Dumbledore drew out his own wand. "This. Through the wood and the magical core within, it helps a wizard channel their magic. With guidance and intent, even simple magic can become something extraordinary."
"What I mean is… can a wand be customized?" Kane asked.
"…Ollivander's shop has hundreds—thousands—of combinations. Careful selection is not so different from customization," Dumbledore replied with a smile. "Or are you thinking of using some special materials?"
"Hey," Kane suddenly asked inwardly, "can you get me some living wood… or nightmare fuel or something?"
He knew Maxwell would hear him.
"Of course not," Maxwell replied, suddenly appearing across the table, hands resting on its surface with a smile.
"But you could infect ordinary wood with your own shadow. As for nightmare fuel? Judging by things, your sanity will hit zero in about two days.
When the shadow creatures come for you, just kill them yourself."
Kane, who had been calmly drinking pumpkin juice, suddenly choked violently.
Hagrid kindly patted his back—unfortunately, with a giant's strength. Kane nearly went flying, but at least he stopped coughing.
"Eat slowly," Dumbledore said kindly. "This is Hogwarts—food is the one thing you'll never lack again."
"I know." Kane steadied himself, then glanced again at Maxwell. "In the real world… what could possibly make my sanity drop?"
"Yourself," Maxwell shrugged—and vanished.
"Are you alright?" Dumbledore asked.
Kane shook his head. "I'm fine. Can I go to Diagon Alley tomorrow instead? I have something to take care of this afternoon."
"Of course. Tomorrow morning it is. If you need anything in the meantime, ask Hagrid—or come to me." Dumbledore smiled, accepting the request on Hagrid's behalf.
Kane shoveled a bit more ice cream into his mouth, wiped his lips, and slipped out of Hogwarts Castle.
Dumbledore watched Hagrid continue eating heartily and couldn't help coughing.
"Dumbledore, are you catching a cold?" Hagrid asked.
"Hagrid… I meant for you to follow Kane," Dumbledore said plainly.
"Oh! Right—the Forbidden Forest is huge. Wouldn't want him running into danger." Hagrid quickly stood and hurried out.
"I think what you truly fear isn't that he'll encounter danger," Snape said coolly, "but that he'll create something… far worse."
Dumbledore pressed a hand to his chest. "I have a very bad feeling."
Snape showed no interest in that ominous intuition—but someone else at the table did.
Filch rasped, "Dumbledore, weren't all the acceptance letters supposed to be sent out already? That boy's letter looked freshly written. Doesn't that mean he wasn't accepted by the Book of Admittance at all?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "No. I checked the records—the letter was indeed sent out two days ago. But it seems that when it arrived, Kane had already run away from home… and successfully at that."
Silence fell over the table.
"Oh, Minerva is absolutely going to storm into my office and slam the desk when she gets back," Dumbledore sighed.
Meanwhile, at Number Four, Privet Drive, Professor McGonagall stood before the house. Compared to a mysteriously vanished child, even the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter, seemed less urgent.
After all, no matter how poorly Harry lived, he was still alive.
But that missing child… his fate was truly unknown.
Adjusting her immaculate hair one last time, McGonagall raised her hand—and knocked on the door.