Those words chilled Valerius to the bone more than any vicious curse could have.
An ordinary professor?
Could an Animagus who could turn into a crane and weave a web of causality be an ordinary professor?
Skynet.
All the countermeasures Valerius had prepared, all the dark curses his ancient vampire kind took such pride in, became fragile wooden swords in a child's hands before that name.
He knew perfectly well that, before such a being, any struggle merely meant choosing a more painful way to die.
Rumor had it that Skynet had not only killed a marquis, but had also gravely wounded a duke. Had that prince not intervened, every dark creature in Europe might have had to relearn how to survive the night.
He struggled, forcing himself to rise from the heap of dead leaves.
His silk robes were already in tatters, covered in dirt and rotting leaves, yet he still tried to straighten his back, maintaining the last-and only-scrap of dignity he had left as a noble.
But his faintly trembling fingers and his face, as pale as water-soaked paper, betrayed him completely.
"Mr. Holmes."
His voice no longer had that theatrical, operatic cadence. Instead, it was dry and hoarse, with a trace of obsequiousness he himself had not noticed.
"I think this is a misunderstanding."
"We bear each other no ill will. My brotherhood and your Werewolf friends merely have a few minor differences over some... trivial matters."
He forced a smile, one uglier than a grimace.
"Moreover, I assure you that I have always abided by the ancient covenant. I have never disturbed a single unsuspecting Muggle during any unnecessary hunt, nor have I any intention of coming into conflict with the Ministry of Magic. I understand balance."
Those were the most humble diplomatic words he