Stan sat down in his chair, head craned around so he could stare at Lavender. His wide, fearful eyes turned onto me. He seemed to get calmer as he realized I was there to protect them all from the werewolf we have strapped down. The bus jerked from a hard lane-change, and I used the make-shift stretcher to steady myself as other witches and wizards fell out of their seats. Why on earth didn't they ever bolt real bus seats down in this thing?