At the sight, the vampire Gori frowned slightly. Things were developing a little differently from what he had expected. Normally, there should only have been one professor aboard the Hogwarts Express. But his brow soon smoothed again. It was no great problem; he still had a backup plan.
With that thought, Gori looked behind him and called out, "Aren't you coming out yet? The train has stopped. Are you going to wait until we've done all the work and reap the rewards without lifting a finger?"
At Gori's words, a group of people slowly emerged from the dark woods. Their clothing varied, with no uniform style. Some looked like wizards, wearing robes of all kinds; others wore Muggle clothing, some of it even quite fashionable. But there was something strange about all of them just then. They looked agitated, their expressions contorted, as though enduring some tremendous pain.
Their leader was a burly man who roared with a savage expression, "It's not time yet! The moon hasn't fully risen!"
Gori snorted. "Once the moon has fully risen, what use will you werewolves be? Are we supposed to wait for Dumbledore to come and wipe us all out? Or do you think you can make Dumbledore kill so many of you that he dies of exhaustion?"
"Filthy bat, don't push it. Watch out, or we'll tear you apart first!"
"Hmph. It's your turn to act. Deal with these two wizards, and we can board the train and find the child in the prophecy!"
"Hmph." The lead werewolf snorted, but offered no further argument. He raised his head toward the half-risen moon and let out a howl.
Immediately, wolf howls rose one after another, like a terrifying symphony playing in the darkness.
Listening to the howls all around him, Quirrell could not help frowning, inwardly lamenting his predicament. It seemed he had taken things too lightly and given his assurances too soon.
He wanted to turn and call for Marlene's help, only to discover that she had already flown onto the roof of the train and was preparing something. With no other choice, Quirrell glanced at the door behind him, thinking that things should still be manageable if he held the entrance.
As the howling gradually ended, the werewolves began to transform. Their powerful muscles instantly burst through their outer clothing, but no thick fur grew. After all, these were not complete transformations, and they still retained a little reason, but this was enough to let them resist most magic. Then the muscular werewolves charged wildly at Quirrell like fierce tigers descending a mountain.
Quirrell did not dare let his guard down either, hastily controlling his ropes to lift himself into the air.
Bang! Bang! Bang! One werewolf after another slammed heavily into the train with tremendous crashes. The werewolves that struck the door shook their slightly dazed heads, then extended sharp claws, trying to open it.
Quirrell waved a hand from midair. A rope suddenly appeared like a nimble snake, coiling around a werewolf's feet and flinging him away like a sack.
The vampires seized the opportunity to charge in as well, engaging Quirrell in a fierce back-and-forth struggle at the door. Gori waved his sleeves again, and the little bats poured out once more like soldiers ordered into battle. They moved swiftly along the train, flying to the vampires stationed around it to relay Gori's orders.
Upon receiving their orders, the vampires stopped attacking the windows and began chanting spells. As the incantations in that unknown language rang out, their eyes first turned vacant and lifeless, then suddenly began gushing blood.
Finally, like zombies under someone's control, the vampires slowly moved up to the windows, staring intently at the young wizards inside with their blood-drenched eyes as they began searching carefully for something.
The train compartments instantly erupted into chaos. Screams rose one after another, and some of the more timid students had already crawled beneath their seats, huddling up like quails. The prefects shouted themselves hoarse trying to maintain order, to little effect-with a pack of burly werewolves pounding on the doors outside and a crowd of vampires with bleeding eye sockets pressing against the windows to perform facial recognition, the only basic rule of "order" probably left was "don't look out the window."
"Aah-aah-aah!"
A particularly high-powered version of that scream rang out right beside Herman's ear. Draco practically launched herself at him, clutching his sleeve in both hands and pressing herself against him without a gap. Her head was buried behind his shoulder, with only one eye peeking cautiously outside. Now, at least, she no longer minded him taking liberties.
Ron's reaction was more direct. Like a startled little rabbit, she darted behind her twin brothers, leaving only half her head showing. She would glance at the vampires outside, duck back in a flash, then peek again and duck again, repeating the cycle.
The others in the compartment reacted in different ways.
True to his title of "Son of the Champion," Neville had already drawn his wand and taken up a position by the window. Though his knuckles were slightly white around his wand, at least he had not backed away.
He clearly had little confidence in his ability to defeat a vampire, but his sense that "I should be standing at the front" was certainly well developed.
Hugo presented an entirely different picture. He dug a book thick enough to use as a brick to hit someone out of his trunk. Large gold-stamped letters on the cover read The Complete Book of Dark Creatures. He flipped rapidly through the pages while reading at an astonishing speed. "Vampires, a type of dark creature, are said to have been created by the medieval dark wizard Dracula through a forbidden ritual. They share a common origin with werewolves but form a separate branch... oh, it lists their weaknesses here too..."
Harry cut him off. "Stop reading. They can't get in anyway."
She leaned against the seat back, her tone as casual as if she were discussing tomorrow's weather. She had seen plenty of vampires with Sirius already. Apart from being a little disgusting when they transformed and knowing a few bizarre spells, they were less trouble to kill than certain wizards.
They feared garlic and sunlight, and even silver could make them howl in pain.
George and Fred clearly had complete confidence in the train's defensive system. After all, they had personally tested its quality.
The two stuffed Ron under the table, then went up to the window and examined the ashen-faced vampires outside as though visiting a zoo. They even began exchanging opinions.
"How many teeth do you think Professor Quirrell can knock out?"
"I bet three. Vampire fangs fetch a pretty good price in Knockturn Alley."
"Then let's come search beside the tracks during the holidays. We might make a tidy little profit."
Before Herman could comment on the twins' business instincts, he suddenly noticed something that sent a chill down his spine: the vampires outside the windows were silently gathering around their compartment.
At first there were two or three, then five or six, and then half the window was filled with deathly pale faces and bleeding eye sockets. Those vacant eyes were all fixed on the inside of this compartment, utterly motionless.
Herman felt as though those gazes had physical substance. He could feel their weight even through the glass, and every one of them was directed at him.
It's my imagination.
He told himself that inwardly, desperately keeping his expression calm.
I'm not some chosen one. There's no reason for a bunch of vampires to target me.
Neville's right at the front, and Harry's sitting beside me. There's no way it should be my turn, a random NPC.
The others in the compartment clearly shared that assessment. Everyone turned their eyes toward Neville in unison. After all, of everyone present, his title of "Son of the Champion" was the most famous.
Harry even teased him offhandedly. "Well, look at that. I didn't know you had fans among dark creatures."
Neville flushed slightly and scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. "M-maybe they read the Daily Prophet... my gran says all that paper does these days is exaggerate."
Hearing Neville take the blame of his own accord, Herman felt much of the weight lift from his heart. But just then-
A voice sounded in his mind without warning.
It was like a needle gently piercing the inside of his skull, or an icy hand slipping down his collar from the back of his neck. The voice had a clammy, otherworldly quality, every word heavy as though steeped in blood:
"Found you."
Herman's back was instantly drenched in cold sweat.
I'm done for.
They really were after me.