At Neville's words, all the young wizards in the compartment tacitly agreed. No one objected.
Only Herman knew exactly what was going on, feeling rather like the only sober man in a room full of drunks.
Everyone's gaze settled on Neville, their eyes holding a measure of amazement and an admiration they took for granted.
In their view, only this glorious Son of the Champion, who had driven back Voldemort, warranted dark creatures risking an ambush aboard the Hogwarts Express.
This sudden vampire attack had to be a plot the Death Eaters had laid for Neville!
Herman looked at the unwavering conviction in every pair of eyes around him and very wisely kept his mouth shut.
He sighed helplessly to himself. Even if I told them, probably no one would believe me. These vampires were never looking for Neville. They were looking for me, Herman! I'm the protagonist, okay?
As his thoughts churned, Herman looked up at the bound vampire leader. Only then did he suddenly realize that he did not even seem to know the other's name.
Moreover, judging by what the vampire had just said, it seemed the entire vampire race had set its sights on him.
Sooner or later, he would have to find a chance to get to the bottom of this muddle.
For now, though, Neville had inadvertently drawn everyone's attention and taken the blame for him. That was something of a windfall, allowing him to remain hidden among the crowd and watch how things unfolded.
Meanwhile, the vampire leader, Gori, was already inwardly reeling, his mind filled with disbelief.
He stared hard at the righteous-looking boy surrounded by the others, utterly bewildered. Who is this kid? How can he be so full of himself?
When did I ever come here looking for this brat?
He had been so eager to speak to the Child of Prophecy that he had communicated through mental magic the entire time. He admittedly had not spelled things out.
But who could have imagined that every one of these wizards would assume the boy before him was the target!
Though Gori had lived for several centuries, he had spent most of that time sleeping in an ancient castle, rarely venturing into the outside world. He knew almost nothing about the present-day wizarding world.
His knowledge still stopped at the era of Grindelwald's defeat.
As for Voldemort, who had later stirred up trouble in Britain alone, word of him had never reached an old-established dark creature like Gori.
Only those impoverished, low-level vampires at the bottom, struggling to survive, would reluctantly collude with Voldemort for a mouthful of blood.
Thus, he did not recognize Neville at all, much less know what this supposed "Son of the Champion" title meant.
Seeing how certain all the young wizards-and indeed everyone around them-looked, Gori quickly calmed his mind.
Almost instantly, Gori suppressed all his questions and chose to remain silent. Let them misunderstand.
As long as the true Child of Prophecy remained unexposed, he would still have opportunities to make contact in secret and seize a chance to bring his target under control.
If he exposed the truth now and drew Dumbledore's attention and strict surveillance, approaching the Child of Prophecy again would be as difficult as reaching the heavens.
Besides, both the vampires and the werewolves were already divided into factions with differing opinions.
Not every dark creature wanted to end the bloodline curse completely. After all, that curse also granted them incomparable strength and almost endless lifespans.
After weighing the advantages and disadvantages, silence was the single best solution.
Dumbledore watched the strange scene before him, his gaze moving between the composed Neville and the abruptly silent vampire leader with his hidden wariness. A measure of uncertainty arose within him as well.
Could all the prophecies now truly point to Neville?
The responsibilities this child's fate holds are heavy enough already. Must he also bear the task of ending the curse of vampires and werewolves?
A faint trace of doubt passed through Dumbledore's eyes, but he did not pursue the matter in public. He merely looked gently at the students and spoke slowly:
"Most prophecies are insubstantial and untrue, or misinterpreted and misunderstood by the world. There is no need to take them to heart."
His voice was soothing, carrying a reassuring power. "Straighten your clothes for now, settle your minds, and rest a little. Professor Marlene will soon clear the collapsed mountainside ahead. Before long, we will arrive at Hogwarts, my children."
With that, Dumbledore lifted his wand slightly and gave it an elegant wave.
The wrecked compartment was instantly restored by magic. Shards of broken glass reversed through the air and fitted precisely back into the window frames, while crooked seats and scattered belongings all returned to their places.
In a brief instant, every trace of the harrowing fight vanished.
Even their bodies were guided by a gentle magical force and settled steadily back into their seats, as though that confrontation of life and death had been nothing but an illusory nightmare.
Everything around them returned to peace. Only Herman remained tense.
Through the window, he looked at the vampires outside, tightly bound in blood-red ropes and unable to move, then at the calm, unruffled Dumbledore beside him. All that remained within him was a wave of lingering fear.
Just now, he had truly experienced a life-or-death crisis at close quarters.
He had been too arrogant, too complacent.
He had always thought that with Dumbledore presiding over Hogwarts, there would be scares but no real danger. The greatest threat, Voldemort, would never set his sights on a nobody like him without cause either. After all, with Harry and Neville out in front, how would Voldemort even know who Herman was...
But reality had delivered a brutal wake-up call.
This world had already changed quietly as fate shifted.
Not only had Harry's gender and the identity of the Chosen One quietly changed, but countless unforeseen variables lay hidden as well.
To survive safely in this magical world full of lurking dangers, he had to grow stronger. There was no shortcut.
At that thought, Herman straightened his back slightly, his gaze becoming utterly calm as an unprecedented resolve arose within him.
He had to abandon his former complacency and laziness completely and go all in on the grind.
Before this, for instance, he had not even studied The Complete Book of Dark Creatures carefully, treating it as nothing more than leisure reading.
He knew nothing about the vampire race's current circumstances, habits, or weaknesses. Faced with danger just now, he had been almost completely in the dark, powerless to respond.
But compared with the heavy anxiety and renewed vigilance in Herman's heart, the other young wizards in the compartment had already relaxed completely, recovering their youthful liveliness.
George was the first to reach out, casually hooking an arm around Neville's neck, his voice full of amazement and teasing:
"Not bad, Neville! Who would have thought our Son of the Champion was also the vampires' Child of Prophecy, this so-called Bell Ringer!"
Fred leaned in right after him, his face full of curiosity. "So what's this new Bell Ringer title? Does it mean someone whose job is to wake vampires up?"
Hugo immediately answered with a clear explanation. "Vampires rely on prolonged sleep to sustain their eternal lives. If they sleep too deeply, they often become completely trapped in it and cannot wake up, eventually wasting away and dying because they cannot take in blood. In theory, they do need an outside force to wake them."
"Oh! I get it!" George clapped his hands in sudden understanding. "So Neville will open a special hotel someday and make money ringing a bell at set times to wake the vampires up!"
Fred nodded in wholehearted agreement. "It really is a money-making business. A monopoly, too."