Seeing that he had been singled out, Herman hurriedly stood up, forced a smile, and greeted Quirrell. "Hello, Professor."
Herman had originally wanted nothing to do with Quirrell. After all, he was a suspected minor boss, and Herman wasn't the protagonist, so naturally he wanted to steer clear.
Fortunately, Quirrell had no interest in chatting with a new student either. He merely nodded at Herman's greeting, then turned back to continue talking with Old Tom.
Herman pricked up his ears and listened cautiously from the sidelines, stealing glances at Quirrell, who was behaving normally. He privately confirmed one thing:
Judging by the current situation, Quirrell might not have Voldemort with him. After all, the hair on the back of his head was quite long and clean.
Yet his mind was a tangled mess, and he couldn't help wondering: Then where exactly was Voldemort hiding during the first book?
Besides, he had seen Hagrid at Gringotts a while ago, so the Philosopher's Stone plot probably hadn't changed. Would Voldemort still try to rob Gringotts as he had in the original?
Staring at the back of Quirrell's head, Herman suddenly found himself missing Harry a little. He wanted her to take a look at Quirrell and see whether she felt anything unusual.
Come to think of it, he still didn't know whether Harry was a Horcrux. In any case, with his current half-baked magical abilities, he couldn't detect any signs at all. After all, even Dumbledore in the original had once been kept in the dark, only confirming the existence of Horcruxes in the later books.
By the time Herman finished letting his thoughts run wild, it was almost time to leave. Just then, Hannah bounded out from the guest rooms like a cheerful little rabbit, dragging a suitcase as big as a small mountain, and said excitedly to Old Tom:
"Grandpa, I'm ready. It's time to go to the station." It was rare for Hannah to be in such a good mood. She had even forgotten her usual teasing about Old Tom being a heartless boss who exploited child labor.
"Hannah, this is Professor Quirrell. He'll be your Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor," Old Tom introduced him with a smile.
Hannah immediately became a well-behaved little lady and said politely, "Hello, Professor."
With a gentle smile on his face, Quirrell nodded lightly and said to Old Tom and Hannah, "Are you going to catch the Hogwarts Express? I happen to be heading there too. Shall we go together?"
Naturally, Old Tom wouldn't refuse. They were going the same way anyway, and it would give Hannah more time with her professor. "That would be wonderful. Hannah can learn a little more from you. I remember you were always top of your class at school, getting Os on your exams every year. If only Hannah worked even a fraction as hard as you did."
"It wasn't every year, and plenty of my classmates had better grades than I did," Quirrell said modestly.
"That's still very impressive." Like a devoted yes-man, Old Tom continued buttering him up.
Hannah didn't really want to go to the station with a professor. It would be far too stifling and restrictive, and she would have to act close and affectionate with Old Tom the whole way. But now, all she could do was stand awkwardly to one side like an outsider, watching Old Tom and Quirrell exchange rounds of mutual flattery.
Just then, Hannah suddenly spotted Herman nearby. Her little brain whirred like a motor at full speed, and she immediately called out to him, "Herman, aren't you leaving yet? Come with us."
Hearing Hannah's words, Herman understood perfectly well what she was up to. She clearly wanted to drag him into this awkward quagmire too.
Not only did Herman not want to travel with a professor, he especially didn't want to stay with Quirrell, a villain who might be harboring ill intentions. He immediately made up an excuse. "No, thanks. My parents are coming to see me off."
With that, Herman grabbed his suitcase and shot outside like an arrow loosed from a bow.
Herman was immensely thankful that he had packed everything in his suitcase beforehand. Once outside, he flagged down a taxi and immediately set off for King's Cross Station.
Left standing where she was, Hannah's mouth twitched as though she had received an electric shock. She muttered, "You're an orphan. Where did those parents come from?"
Of course, Hannah wasn't about to report Herman's lie to Quirrell. She could only privately mark another entry against Herman in her little black book.
As an important transport hub in the bustling city of London, King's Cross Station was packed with people coming and going, as noisy and chaotic as a pot bubbling over.
Herman carefully counted the platforms one by one and soon found the seemingly ordinary wall between platforms nine and ten that concealed a secret.
He looked around and soon spotted a strange fellow in an incongruous outfit standing nearby, his eyes fixed on the passing travelers.
Noticing Herman staring at him, the fellow curled his lips into a friendly smile, like an amiable old friend.
Almost reflexively, Herman hurriedly returned a slightly awkward grin, privately guessing that this must be a wizard assigned by the Ministry of Magic to watch over the platform.
After all, for someone dressed like that not to have been thrown out by station security as a vagrant or a madman, he must have used some wondrous magic.
Likewise, the area around the wall had probably been enchanted with something like a Muggle-Repelling Charm. Herman had just seen several people push luggage trolleys straight through the wall without drawing any reaction from anyone else. Without magic, how could no one have noticed?
Although he knew the wall was enchanted, the prospect of actually running into it with his eyes open still put Herman under considerable psychological pressure.
Herman felt a little regretful. If only he had brought a trolley. Having something in front of him would at least have made him feel a little more secure.
Just as Herman was trying hard to steel himself, he suddenly felt someone clap him sharply on the shoulder. Then a cold voice shot toward him like an arrow. "Herman Horace, you've been caught. Come with us to the Ministry of Magic."
Caught off guard by a voice that sounded like a police officer making an arrest, Herman startled like a frightened bird. He hurriedly pulled away, slipping his shoulder out from under the hand behind him, while whipping a pistol out from inside his clothes and turning around as fast as lightning. Only then did he see Harry looking at him with a mischievous grin.
"Don't joke around like that!" Herman said irritably, swiftly tucking the pistol away again. Compared with a wand, Herman was still more accustomed to firearms.
Based on what Herman had recently learned about the wizarding world, most wizards didn't keep Protego active twenty-four hours a day, nor did they own clothes with built-in defensive magic.
So, apart from powerful wizards like Dumbledore or those at the level of Hogwarts professors, who could immediately cast defensive magic when danger struck, other wizards could still be injured by firearms. If they were hit somewhere vital and didn't receive magical treatment in time, they could also die.
Harry looked at the spot where Herman had stowed the pistol, her eyes gleaming with curiosity, and asked inquisitively, "Was that a Muggle pistol? How powerful is it?"
"I don't know. I've never tried shooting a wizard," Herman explained. "But haven't there been newspaper reports about wizards being shot dead? Besides, pistols are among the least powerful Muggle firearms."
"Looks like I'll need to study them." Something seemed to occur to Harry, and she suddenly spoke earnestly, like a serious scholar. But she soon changed the subject like a fickle little monkey. "Why haven't you gone in yet? I've been watching you stare at this spot for ages."