Dumbledore didn't respond to that; he had no interest in the power struggles within the Vampire community. He steered the conversation back on track. "I heard from Quirrell that you wanted to talk."
"Yes." Gori sat up straighter, turning her back away from the stone wall, her tone more serious than before. "I can tell you the full content of the Prophecy of the Child of Prophecy, as long as you allow me to live in Hogwarts Castle for a while. Not too long, just until I contact my bloodline."
After listening, Dumbledore slowly shook his head.
" Prophecy? I'm not really interested." He said this in a flat tone, as if he were talking about something he didn't really care about. "I think right now, apart from you, probably no Vampire is interested in Prophecy. They seem to have a grander plan."
The Gori didn't show any anxiety about being rejected; instead, she smiled slightly.
"No, you'll be interested. My Prophecy is complete."
Dumbledore looked into his eyes and remained silent for a few seconds.
"Complete? Prophecy is uncertain; it's just one of many possibilities. The more complete it is, the greater the deviation." He said this with a certainty in his tone, but for a moment his gaze drifted into the distance, as if recalling some distant past.
The Gori shook his head, his tone unhurried. "But it mentioned that the Child of Prophecy will receive instruction from the Dark Lord during his first year."
After those words were spoken, the cave fell silent for a few seconds.
The sunlight filtering through the crack overhead moved slowly an inch across the stone wall, illuminating the pale face in the Gori and making the slight curve of his lips exceptionally clear.
Dumbledore's expression didn't change much, but something flickered slightly in his deep blue eyes.
If Dumbledore had any regrets or things he had to accomplish, Voldemort would certainly be one of them.
That name represented many things: the wars of those years, the people who died at Voldemort's hands. Dumbledore felt it was his responsibility to bring everything to an end, or at least to arrange a proper conclusion.
"Of course," the Gori continued, with a subtle pause in its tone, "I don't think there are many Dark Lord. Or perhaps it was that Nurmengard who escaped?"
Dumbledore silent for a while, Dumbledore finally spoke, his voice lower than before.
"We need to discuss the specifics further."
The Gori readily agreed, "No problem. Just let me stay safely in Hogwarts Castle for a while."
The following day, a dinner party.
The Great Hall was packed with people as usual, with steaming dishes laid out on four long tables. Candlelight flickered gently under the dome, illuminating the entire Great Hall brightly and warmly.
Herman sat in his seat at the Slytherin table, with a plate of freshly served roast chicken and several sausages in front of him.
He picked up his fork, ready to dig in, but his gaze habitually swept across the podium, and then he stopped abruptly.
There was one more person on the platform.
The man sat in the empty seat next to Quirrell, wearing a dark robe, with a pale face, sunken eyes, and distinct features, but with a grayish-white hue that seemed to have never seen the light of day.
He sat upright, his hands resting on the table, his gaze calmly sweeping over the students in the Great Hall.
When she saw Herman, their eyes met. Herman clearly felt the other person smile at her, Herman Herman goosebumps. It was the Vampire elder from the train!
Most students didn't notice the extra person on the stage, or even if they did, they didn't care, since they didn't know him.
They were busy eating, chatting, and passing notes to each other, occasionally glancing up at the professors' table but only briefly before looking away.
But apart from Herman, a few others recognized the face.
Neville sat at the Gryffindor table, his fork hovering in mid-air, his face pale.
He glanced at the Gori playing on the platform, then turned to look in Herman's direction. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
Ron was sitting next to Neville, chewing on a piece of bread. He noticed the change in Neville's expression, followed his gaze, and then froze, the bread falling from his mouth back into the plate.
On the other side of Neville, Hugo pushed up her glasses, her gaze lingering on Gori's face for a few seconds before she quickly rummaged through the memories in her mind, her face growing paler and paler.
On Herman's side, Draco had not yet noticed the unusual activity on the podium.
She was excitedly talking to the classmate next to her, probably about the next Quidditch practice.
Harry sat further away, a plate of sliced ham in front of her. Her knife and fork remained untouched on the plate, and her gaze was fixed on the podium. Her expression was unreadable, but it was more serious than usual.
Herman's roast chicken was still steaming on the plate, but he had completely lost his appetite.
He stared at the face in the Gori for several seconds, making sure he wasn't mistaken, and then slowly put the fork down.
At this moment, Dumbledore stood up.
He raised his hand and gently tapped the golden goblet in front of him. The crisp sound echoed in the Great Hall, and the voices gradually quieted down.
All eyes were drawn to the podium, landing on the white-bearded old man.
"Dear students, before we begin tonight's dinner, I have a few things to announce."
Dumbledore's voice wasn't loud, but every word carried clearly to every corner of the Great Hall.
His tone was relaxed, carrying a reassuring certainty.
"First, regarding Hogsmeade. Recently, a large number of dark creatures have been gathering near the school in Hogsmeade, and I believe many of you have already heard about it."
He looked around, his gaze lingering on some students' faces. "But don't worry, everyone. I've already contacted them and we've had a friendly discussion. They'll be leaving soon, and Hogsmeade will reopen to students very soon."
After those words were spoken, the Great Hall was silent for a second, then erupted in cheers from all the long tables, as if the room had been ignited.
The Gryffindor students slammed their fists on the table, the Hufflepuff clapped, and the Ravenclaw smiled easily.
Slytherin was no exception; Draco practically jumped up, clapping her hands together and flashing a bright smile.
"Great! I can go to Hogsmeade!" she said, turning to Herman with sparkling eyes.
Seeing her so happy, Herman, though he had been on edge, couldn't help but remark, "First-years can't go to Hogsmeade."
Draco's smile froze on her face, as if someone had pressed the pause button.
"What?"
"First-year students aren't allowed to go to Hogsmeade," Herman repeated. "That's the school rule; only third-year students and above can go."