Listening to Fred and George's ridiculous, bantering guesses, Harry shook her head gently and interrupted their jokes. "Truly pure ancient vampires always have their own blood servants to attend them. They would never entrust their lives and safety to wizards. Only blood servants whose lives and deaths they completely control, bound firmly to them, can earn their absolute, unreserved trust."
Hugo nodded repeatedly in agreement. Like a knowledgeable young commentator, he promptly supplied further secrets in a clear, orderly manner. "Blood servants are similar to half-vampires. They don't have a wizard's magic and can't cast spells, but their physiques are far stronger than those of ordinary humans, and their lifespans are greatly extended. However, whether they live or die depends entirely on a single thought from their master, so most are absolutely loyal. Even if they aren't, it makes no difference. Apparently, vampires are proficient in mind magic and can brainwash their blood servants, so betrayal is utterly impossible."
Ron listened in utter bewilderment, her thick red hair swaying slightly. She scratched the back of her head and blinked blankly, asking in confusion, "Then... what exactly did that vampire mean by 'bell-ringer'?"
As soon as she asked, the noisy compartment fell silent. The scattered conversations stopped abruptly, and everyone's gaze swung around, settling heavily on Neville once again.
Neville pressed his lips together slightly as an inexplicable yet bone-chilling guess quietly surfaced in his heart. A grave shadow clouded the boy's clear eyes. He lowered his gaze and said with some hesitation, "Perhaps the bell he mentioned wasn't a morning bell to wake people up at all, but a death knell that claims lives and souls?"
That brief remark swept through the compartment like a bitter winter wind, instantly freezing the air.
The entire compartment was deathly silent. A pin dropping would have been audible.
Those few softly spoken words sent a sudden chill through every youngster present, a terrifying dread that deepened the more they considered it racing up their spines. No one spoke up to disagree, because the guess fit the sinister, ruthless methods of dark creatures all too well-cruel and real. In that case, once they found Neville, his fate would be obvious.
Herman sat upright in his seat. A fine layer of icy sweat suddenly broke out across his back, and waves of cold spread through his limbs and body.
Inwardly, he could not help wanting to cry but having no tears, filled with helplessness and a sense of absurdity.
Ridiculous! This was absolutely ridiculous!
He had not even had the chance to attend a single lesson at Hogwarts yet. He had behaved himself and done nothing wrong. Herman selectively forgot his earlier clash with Britain's local "energetic organizations." He really had done nothing in magical society, apart from meeting the wanted criminal Black once.
How had he ended up tied to a whole nest of dark villains for no reason, and inexplicably saddled with that sinister, dangerous title of "bell-ringer"? This was sheer undeserved misfortune.
A heavy, oppressive silence shrouded the cramped compartment, leaving everyone struggling to breathe.
A moment later, the unpredictable Fred suddenly had a flash of inspiration. Remembering their earlier plans, he was the first to break the stagnant atmosphere. He put an arm affectionately around Neville's shoulders and teased with a grin:
"When the day comes that you really ring the death knell for vampires, don't mind us brothers picking up a few vampire fangs along the way! That'll save us risking our necks searching the tracks, and give us a firm hold on a new way to earn some extra cash!"
Clearly, the twins had never forgotten the money-making plan they had just devised.
Just then, a familiar creaking and rolling came from the corridor, the trolley wheels rubbing against the train floor with crisp little rattles.
A plump witch with a warm smile and a pair of shallow dimples in her cheeks slowly approached, pushing a trolley piled high with magical sweets.
She gently pushed open the compartment door, her eyes curving into a smile, her voice warm and a little cheerful:
"Headmaster Dumbledore just specifically asked me to hand out some sweets to every young witch and wizard to help settle your nerves. There's toffee, Fizzing Whizbees, Cockroach Clusters, Toffee Fingers, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans on the trolley. Take your pick. The children in the carriages farther back will probably only have Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans left to eat. Hopefully they'll have some luck and won't get the vomit-flavoured ones."
"How lucky! Can we have Chocolate Frogs, then? I only need a Helga Hufflepuff card to complete my set of the Founders of the Four Houses!" George's eyes lit up, and his interest was immediately stirred. As he spoke, he pulled several neatly stacked wizard cards from inside his clothes.
The portraits of the wizards on the cards were lifelike, nothing like the stiffness of ordinary portraits.
The figures paced back and forth within their tiny cards, raising their hands and pausing, their expressions vivid. They could even see Gryffindor's portrait move over beside Slytherin's card of his own accord. Perhaps because the portraits had lost their magic, the figures within them could not cast spells. Gryffindor actually rolled up his sleeves and engaged Slytherin's portrait in some fist-to-flesh "physical communication," lively and comical.
"Of course you can have Chocolate Frogs. But a friendly word of warning: it's best not to put cards of wizards who don't get along next to each other. Otherwise, the wizards in the cards might sulk and 'run away from home,' hiding in a corner and refusing to show themselves." The trolley witch smiled as she offered the thoughtful reminder, her tone familiar and gentle.
"Wizard portraits are actually this amazing. They have tempers and personalities just like living people." Hugo's eyes were filled with wonder and amazement.
Although he had seen moving magical portraits in the Daily Prophet, he had never seen wizard portraits so vivid and animated, with emotions of their own.
Brimming with curiosity, Hugo chose a Chocolate Frog too.
The others also reached out one after another, each choosing magical sweets in their preferred flavours.
Herman alone had no appetite. With layers of worries weighing on his mind, he had no interest whatsoever in sugary sweets. Still, to avoid seeming too different and conspicuous, he casually picked up the nearest Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean and silently tucked it into his pocket.
Once everyone had finished choosing, Hugo eagerly opened his Chocolate Frog wrapper. An exquisite wizard card drifted down slowly, its lettering clear and neat, prominently printed with:
Godric Gryffindor
A great medieval wizard, one of the four Founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
An acknowledged master duellist of the highest calibre, proficient in all kinds of combat magic and casting spells with weapons.
Throughout his life, he upheld courage, decisiveness, chivalry, and sincerity, stood by the ideal of equality between Muggles and wizards, and welcomed all students with courage in their hearts and pure kindness.
Meanwhile, George opened his own card too. Once he saw the figure on it, he sighed helplessly, his face full of frustration. "Slytherin again! I bet the pure-blood families secretly paid sponsorship money to promote Slytherin House. Otherwise, why would there be so many Slytherin cards?"
With that, he casually tossed the card to Fred beside him. Fred immediately caught it with a grin and placed the Slytherin card right next to his own Gryffindor card. Gryffindor's portrait, which had been resting peacefully in its card a moment earlier, was instantly enraged. He drew his wand, strode into Slytherin's card, and began another lively round of "friendly sparring."
George turned and spotted the Gryffindor card in Hugo's hand. Raising an eyebrow, he smiled. "Looks like you have quite a connection with our Gryffindor. I thought you'd get a Ravenclaw card."