Let us turn back a little, to Quirrell at the front of the train. With the werewolves joining the battle, he had to stay absolutely alert.
His wand movements, so effortless just moments ago, abruptly grew hurried.
He had only just bound a charging werewolf's ankles with rope and hoisted him upside down when another, more powerfully built werewolf growled and closed in, his claws sweeping straight for Quirrell's throat on a gust of rank air.
Quirrell had no time to draw back his wand. He could only lean sharply backward while swiftly turning its tip-a fresh rope materialized behind him and coiled around his waist like a supple tentacle, dragging him several meters backward and narrowly saving him from a blow that could have torn his throat open.
The claws skimmed the edge of his robes, ripping a slit in the hem with a sharp tearing sound.
Still shaken, Quirrell glanced at the tear, his expression gradually darkening. He steadied himself while quickly scanning his surroundings.
Although the vampires under Gori's control had not directly joined the fight, they kept surging toward the Hogwarts Express like a tide. Their target was clear: the door through which he had just stepped off the train, the weakest point when the Hogwarts Express activated its defenses.
"Trying to get around me and go straight for the carriage?" Quirrell frowned and thrust his wand downward.
A rolling jet of crimson flame erupted from its tip, forming a wall between the vampires and the carriage door. The scorching blast sent those pale faces retreating in panic, and sparks even singed the edges of several robes, sending up wisps of black smoke.
Fear appeared on the vampires' faces as they hurriedly stopped, clearly deeply wary of the flames.
The werewolves, however, were different.
The werewolf leader glanced at the wall of fire and gave a deep snort. Without the slightest hesitation, he strode straight into the flames.
Fire licked his exposed skin, scorching it black, but his knotted muscles seemed like armor that could not be burned through. He forced his way through several meters of flame despite the searing pain, blue smoke rising from his body without his steps slowing in the slightest.
At the sight, Quirrell could not help cursing under his breath. "I hate monsters like you with such high magic resistance. Completely unreasonable."
Though he complained, his hands never stopped moving.
He slashed his wand downward, and the blazing wall of fire vanished in the blink of an eye, as though it had never existed.
The vampires and werewolves alike froze. Before they could work out what was happening, an odd tremor suddenly ran through the ground beneath their feet.
They looked down, and every face changed. At some unknown point, the solid earth had become a dense mass of hemp ropes. As thick as children's arms, they overlapped and intertwined, slowly writhing, knotting, and rolling like living things, looking for all the world like an undulating sea of brown snakes.
"What is-" a vampire cried, but before he could finish, the ropes sprang up.
Countless tentacle-like lengths of knotted rope shot skyward like surging waves, closing in from all directions and sealing off the entire space before the Hogwarts Express's door in an instant.
The ropes rolled and coiled, wrapping, twisting, and tightening around every werewolf and vampire caught within. From a distance, they looked like tightly bound rice dumplings, unable to move.
The bound werewolves growled and struggled, but for every rope they snapped, more wound around them, tightening until they gradually could no longer even raise their arms.
Once he had confirmed that the battlefield was quiet for the moment, Quirrell let out a small breath of relief. He turned, intending to offer Gori a few words of bravado. "It seems these allies of yours aren't much good either..."
Halfway through, however, he stopped short.
The place where Gori had stood was now empty. Only a wisp of black mist lingered, slowly dispersing in the night wind.
"He ran?" Quirrell's heart tightened. He was about to warn the others when the werewolf leader's deep, hoarse voice suddenly sounded beside him.
"Looks like that old bat has found the person we're after." The werewolf leader was bound immobile in layers of rope, yet remained unhurried, his tone even carrying a hint of gloating mockery.
Quirrell's expression changed sharply as he understood everything at once.
Gori had never intended a head-on confrontation from the start. Entering through the train door had merely been a feint.
He had used that group of low-level vampires to feign an attack on the door, drawing all of Quirrell's attention and buying time, while having the vampires along the train search for their target through the windows.
Strong as the Hogwarts Express's defenses were, tearing open a window was not entirely impossible for a vampire elder who had lived for over a thousand years.
"Damn it!"
Quirrell spun around, about to rush toward the train door, only to hear the werewolf leader's even deeper voice behind him, a dangerous amusement in his tone:
"Little fellow, aren't you underestimating us werewolves? I suppose... young wizards like you have never seen a true pure-blood werewolf fight at full strength."
The instant he finished speaking, Quirrell could even clearly hear bones cracking and muscles violently expanding.
He instinctively looked back. The werewolf leader, who had been tightly bound, suddenly swelled an entire size larger. The muscles of his limbs bulged and expanded as though inflated, while blackish-gray fur grew wildly over his whole body. His face, which had still retained some human resemblance, elongated and changed completely, his muzzle jutting outward, his fangs protruding. His pupils became beastlike vertical red slits, glinting with a sinister ferocity in the darkness.
The ropes around him seemed like rotten material weathered by centuries. With a slight struggle, they crumbled to powder and pattered down.
The other werewolves followed closely, completing their full transformations one after another.
Beneath the moonlight, more than ten fully transformed werewolves, nearly two and a half meters tall, raised their heads together. Deep rumbles rolled from their throats, grinding heavily through the air like boulders tumbling down a cliff.
Quirrell's face paled. Almost instinctively, he flicked his wrist, and a rope materialized around his waist, hauling him sharply upward.
He hung in midair, looking down at the vicious wolves' fangs gleaming in the moonlight, inwardly thankful that he had reacted quickly enough. Had he been half a moment slower, a pair of claws might already have ripped into his abdomen.
Sure enough, before he had risen even two meters, the werewolf leader shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow. His four limbs kicked hard against the ground, launching him at the spot where Quirrell had stood.
His claws traced several silvery arcs through the air, their afterimages lingering. Had Quirrell remained there, he would likely have been torn to pieces.
Quirrell dared not delay. He waved his wand in midair, sending a succession of ropes cascading down like a waterfall, weaving layer upon layer of dense netting between himself and the werewolf leader.
Yet the strange sight occurred again.
The moment the ropes touched the werewolf leader's body, they seemed to be devoured by time itself. They immediately dried, cracked, and broke, scattering as drifting ash without holding him back for even a breath.
Quirrell's pupils contracted sharply. Taking advantage of that instant of obstruction, he swiftly retreated several meters, putting distance between himself and the werewolf leader.
"How is that possible?" he asked quietly, undisguised shock in his voice. "Since when have you werewolves had an ability like that?"
The werewolf leader landed back on the ground, his four limbs planted firmly. His nostrils flared, releasing two plumes of white vapor.
He seemed in a good mood. Lifting his head, he bared a mouthful of gleaming white fangs, his low voice seeming to grind its way out of his chest. "The curse in our blood offers more than claws, fangs, and brute strength. We lose the ability to cast spells when transformed, but magic doesn't disappear."
"Magic doesn't disappear," Quirrell repeated with a frown. As the prospective Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, he had done a great deal of lesson preparation, studying dark creatures, including werewolves, in depth.
But he truly had not known werewolves possessed such an ability. The books only described their immense strength and extremely high magic resistance, and said that before transforming, they could cast spells just like ordinary wizards.
Most werewolves lost their reason after transforming, while only a very few could retain it, but there had certainly been no mention of magical abilities as well.
It seemed his lesson preparation was still insufficient. He needed further research and study. Another visit to the Restricted Section was necessary, or he could ask Dumbledore. But when it came to Fantastic Beasts, would consulting a specialist be better, such as Professor Kettleburn, who taught Magizoology?
When it came to dangerous Fantastic Beasts, Professor Kettleburn certainly was an expert.