"Not a vampire child!" Gori hurriedly corrected him at the top of his voice. "The child in the prophecy, the one destined to end the bloodline curse of vampires and werewolves."
"Oh?" Dumbledore's gaze shifted slightly, a hint of interest entering his voice. He had studied the werewolf curse for many years; after all, one of his students was a werewolf.
Although Dumbledore had made quite a few breakthroughs with the Wolfsbane Potion, he still had no idea how to eradicate the curse completely. Hearing Gori mention it now, Dumbledore could not help taking the matter seriously.
"How can you be certain the person you're looking for is on this train?"
Seeing Dumbledore's attitude soften, Gori knew his life was safe for the moment and hurriedly said, "A prophecy. A prophecy left by a great seer."
At the word "prophecy," most of the interest in Dumbledore's eyes instantly faded:
"A prophecy... I've heard far too many prophecies in my lifetime, but the vast majority are nothing more than illusions or delusions. There are always wizards who mistake hallucinations for glimpses of light and shadow upon the river of time. At least half that pile of Prophecy Orbs beneath the Ministry of Magic are that sort of thing."
As Dumbledore's tone grew indifferent, Fawkes seemed to sense his master's mood. The flames abruptly intensified, burning the black mist around Gori with a sizzling sound as great swathes of it began to dissipate.
Gori cried out in terror, "No! That seer was real! It was Grindelwald!"
Afraid Dumbledore would not believe him, he hastily added between ragged breaths, "During the wizarding war, Grindelwald personally made that prophecy to win the support of our vampire race and the werewolf tribes. He said the one destined to end the thousand-year curse would be on this very train today!"
In fact, those last words were unnecessary, because the instant the name "Grindelwald" left his mouth, Fawkes, who shared an understanding with Dumbledore, had already drawn back his flames of his own accord.
He gently folded his wings and settled back onto Dumbledore's shoulder, the temperature of his flames dropping abruptly. After all, that name had once come very close to belonging to his other master.
Dumbledore's expression changed as well. A trace of complicated emotion flitted through his bright blue eyes, something like nostalgia, yet also something like acceptance. He was silent for a moment before speaking in a much gentler tone. "Grindelwald's prophecy... That could indeed be reliable."
Outside the compartment, on the corridor floor, Herman lay on top of Harry and Draco, the three of them piled together. They waited a long time, but the expected explosion never came. Instead, two heavy blows struck him from beneath, one after another, like fists pounding his chest.
"How much longer are you going to stay on top of us?" Harry's muffled voice came from below, distinctly displeased. "You're heavy, you know? And something's really hot."
The second blow knocked Herman right off. He landed flat on his back, and Draco was flung aside as well. Only then did Herman realize what had happened. When he had lunged to the floor, he had pinned Harry beneath him, and Harry had been pounding his chest the whole time.
Harry was now rolling her shoulders, which had gone a little numb under his weight, and pointing her wand at his nose. Clearly, her anger had not subsided.
Herman hurriedly raised both hands, pleading his innocence. "That was the pistol! I'd just fired it, so it was a little hot. It wasn't anything weird!"
"I know it was the gun barrel." Harry gave him an irritated look. "Otherwise, I'd have used my wand to give you a taste of Diffindo already." Having finished stretching her shoulders, she looked worriedly toward the compartment door. "A grenade should be really loud. Why hasn't there been a sound?"
"Yeah..." Equally puzzled, Herman got to his feet and cautiously squeezed past George, Fred, and the others, who had also run out and were now huddled at the other end of the corridor. He craned his head to look into the compartment.
The sight left him stunned.
The compartment was brightly lit. More precisely, it was as though a blazing sun had risen in the night sky outside the train, illuminating the formerly pitch-black wilderness as brightly as noon. The light was intense without being blinding, carrying a warm and solemn air.
And at the center of that light, Gori, who had been so overbearing just moments ago, exuding the aura of a boss, now looked utterly bedraggled. His splendid robes were scorched black in several places, their edges curling and smoking, while his previously neat black hair hung messily over his shoulders.
With both hands, he held open a mass of ink-black mist, desperately wrapping himself inside it. Yet beneath the brilliant light, the mist kept evaporating and dissipating, exposing the pale, cracked skin below. He gritted his teeth, veins bulging on his forehead, clearly at the end of his strength, while the vampire lackeys who had accompanied him had long since fled without a trace.
Through Gori's wavering mist, Herman made out the source of that blazing sun. Not far away, Dumbledore hovered several feet above the ground, his snow-white robes fluttering gently in the air currents. Fawkes, the phoenix whose entire body streamed with fire, stood on his shoulder. Fawkes spread his wings and beat them slowly, every feather bursting with dazzling golden-red light, like the Golden Crow of myth, driving away every last trace of darkness.
Dumbledore also spotted Herman peering out from the corridor, and a gentle smile appeared on his stern face. He raised his voice, his tone carrying the particular warmth and teasing of an elder. "Mr. Herman, I may have forgotten to remind you that school rules expressly forbid bringing dangerous objects onto the premises. I'll be keeping these grenades of yours for the time being."
Only then did Herman notice several grenades floating beside Dumbledore, enveloped in blue halos, as though time had stopped for them.
No wonder he had heard no explosion. It seemed a wizard of Dumbledore's caliber had any number of ways to deal with Muggle firearms and explosives.
Herman scratched his head and agreed with an awkward laugh. "No problem, no problem. I won't bring them next time. But honestly, I only saw a rule against dangerous Dark Magic items. I didn't see anything about Muggle objects." He tried to give himself a way to save face.
"They aren't allowed this time, either." Dumbledore's smile remained unchanged. With a gentle flick of his wrist, the pistol and spare magazines tucked inside Herman's clothes flew out of their own accord and obediently joined the grenades wrapped in blue halos.
Only after doing all this did he turn his gaze back to Gori, who was still struggling to hold on. His voice was calm, yet carried unquestionable authority. "Now, it's time to address your situation. We were just discussing the prophecy."
Seeing Dumbledore, Neville finally felt reassured as well. At Dumbledore's words, he felt that, as one of those present who best understood what had happened, he needed to explain the situation to the headmaster. He took a deep breath and shouted, "Headmaster, this vampire just said he was looking for someone, something about a child in a prophecy. The bell-toller for vampires and werewolves, the boy who would end the bloodline curse."
Dumbledore nodded to show that he understood, then asked, "And who do you think he's looking for?"
Neville froze at once. Although he very much wanted to say himself, that seemed a little boastful. But if it was not him, who else could it be? Surely not Hugo or Herman, who had only learned the wizarding world existed this year!
"Probably... maybe it's me," Neville stammered.