Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

"Why didn't you stop it! Crookshanks will use it to sharpen its teeth!"

Hermione stamped her foot, shoved her schoolbag into Nietzsche's hand, and quickly chased after him.

If you use a repair spell to fix a torn monster book, then it should be just like a regular book, right?

Hermione could only try to think the best of things.

But... was her backpack really torn because it couldn't withstand the pressure? Nietzsche picked up the damaged backpack from the ground, touched it, and realized that this kind of canvas material was unlikely to be torn.

'The tear isn't from a stitched seam,' Nietzsche examined it.

Surely Hermione didn't do this on purpose?

What bad luck.

(Fox suggests skipping around in the third part of the story, as this section is a bit tedious and drawn out. Readers who don't like it can skip directly to the fourth part, the Goblet of Fire. QWQ)

Europeans have been keeping a different schedule lately, so I'm taking the day off today... Hmm, I was originally planning to take the day off on the 11th, the day of the WBG competition.

In addition, there are a lot of things to do lately, including the follow-up chapters, and I don't know how much I can write. So, I'll just speed up the main storyline for now.

What? Ten thousand a day? I want that too!!

Chapter 155 The Prophecy Comes True

Hermione was even less interested in Potions class at 3:30 pm.

Nietzsche held up her textbook to shield her face, thinking that this must be the first time she had ever dozed off in Potions class... Hermione looked like she had stayed up all night, the kind of sleepless night.

"Moonstone is a powerful remedy..." Snape stood on the platform, explaining the new potion knowledge.

But Hermione wouldn't listen to a word she said.

No, she wanted to hear it, but her mind wouldn't allow it. What was worse, Nietzsche had "kindly" covered her head with his book, and just hearing Snape's flat voice made her feel even sleepier.

"Ah~~" The girl squinted her eyes and yawned a long yawn while lying on the table.

Not only her, but the entire Potions classroom was filled with a deathly atmosphere.

All the Gryffindors were frowning, and more importantly, Nietzsche didn't see Draco Malfoy, which was strange—generally, the lions would be happier if Malfoy wasn't there.

This kind of classroom atmosphere was clearly not satisfactory to Snape.

"I'm saying, there's a student missing from the classroom for no reason." He tapped the blackboard and scolded the students, "Theodore Nott, you've been snickering since the start of class, did you think I didn't hear you?"

Theodore was startled by the indifferent question and immediately covered his mouth.

Perhaps other professors would allow a slightly more relaxed first class of the semester, but Snape wouldn't. He would demand that his students be as rigorous as he was, and he wouldn't tolerate the slightest mistake.

“I don’t know what you saw in your last elective class, but remember, don’t bring any other emotions here,” Snape glanced at Harry.

But there are always some people who can't sit still.

Nietzsche soon learned just how Draco dared to skip Potions class...

Pansy Parkinson, who had an ambiguous relationship with Malfoy, slowly raised her hand and, with the professor's impatient nod, said, "Draco has been taken to the school infirmary because of the Magical Creatures class."

“Ha, that big, dumb professor… I think I get it now,” Snape said sarcastically. “That’s the importance of electives. You should all learn from Mr. Holmes.”

"It had nothing to do with Hagrid; he went and provoked the hippogriff himself!" Harry said indignantly.

“Five points deducted from Gryffindor.” The professor seized the opportunity to vent his dissatisfaction with the student’s performance. “Potter, I heard from the vice-principal that I don’t know if you will die, but your grades will certainly be affected.”

Nietzsche shrugged, not finding it unusual that Draco was in the school infirmary.

More than these concerns, he was worried about Hermione's mental state—it was only the first day of school, and she was already in a terrible state, not to mention the hidden illnesses she had.

After Potions class, Hermione, who was half asleep, was jerked off the table by Nietzsche's elbow.

"Professor!" she cried out in a panic.

"get out of class is over." Nietzsche looked at her frightened expression and chuckled. "Also, remember to wipe your mouth, so your drool doesn't drip into the cauldron under the table."

Hermione instinctively turned her back and wiped her mouth with her hand.

In reality, there was no saliva at all. After realizing she had been tricked, she became furious and first licked her dry lips with her tongue, then grabbed Nietzsche's sleeve and wiped them on.

The two of them seemed to be in a constant state of hostility.

It wasn't until dinner, in the lively atmosphere of the Great Hall, that Hermione sobered up considerably. The first thing she did was pull out her timetable and 'grade' the four elective courses she had completed:

"Arithmetic divination, the professor's math is not bad."

"Muggle studies is even more boring than the history of magic, but at least I know how wizards view Muggles..."

Here it comes, Nietzsche said, ladling meat sauce over the stew as he listened to Hermione's assessment.

The tone was just like that of an official from the Ministry of Education visiting a school, but what really intrigued Nietzsche was divination—after all, Hermione was quite interested in 'prophecy'.

"They all sound pretty good..."

“No, except for divination!” Hermione said coldly, her face falling. “In fact, it’s nothing like what Professor Glendale said—and—it’s so boring it reminds me of Lockhart’s days as a professor.”

When Nietzsche thought of this person, a picture immediately came to mind.

He must have been one of the outstanding graduates of Ravenclaw in a certain year...

Sitting next to Hermione was Lavender, also a student who had taken Divination. She was gesturing wildly at the two of them with a large spoonful of fried pork kidney with jam in her mouth, making a series of incoherent noises.

After Lavender finally managed to swallow her food, she heard her say, "Because Professor Trelawney divined for her a skull bound to a cross."

“What does that mean?” Nietzsche asked.

"It's nothing!" Hermione tried to stop her roommate, saying irritably, "It's just an abstract interpretation of a bunch of tea leaves, not some kind of prediction of the future!"

But Lavender had already opened "Seeing the Future Through the Fog" and started flipping through it.

Finally, on pages five and six, I saw the notes: the skull signifies that the road ahead is dangerous, while the cross represents suffering.

In short, your path forward is filled with hardship and considerable danger to your life.

“Utterly boring.” Hermione looked at the pensive Nietzsche and added, “She also made a death prophecy for Harry Potter once… but Professor McGonagall said she does this trick every year, and last year it was George Weasley.”

“No, it’s Fred. George said Trelawney got them mixed up,” Lavender corrected nervously.

Nietzsche suddenly realized.

She made a prophecy, but not a complete one—she only said Hermione would experience hardship, but that can't really be considered a prophecy in the true sense, since no one has a smooth life, and Hermione has already experienced even greater hardships.

But if that's the case...

“But surely it doesn’t make you hate her that much?” Nietzsche felt she was keeping a secret.

“She said I was deliberately closing my third eye.” Hermione had no interest in the strawberry pudding that was being served to her. “You just didn’t hear the tone, as if I had done something unforgivable.”

Lavender, however, raised his eyebrows and scanned back and forth between the two men.

"Are you sure Professor Trelawney is referring to this?" She winked at Nietzsche with amusement.

"Alright, I'm full!" Hermione said, grabbing Nietzsche by the back of his collar and shoving him. "I'm going back to rest now. I have three elective classes tomorrow."

What she was trying so hard to avoid made Nietzsche even more curious.

Unfortunately, Hermione didn't give him any chance, only nagging Lavender to remember to study Transfiguration tonight.

Helpless, Nietzsche could only sit in the lounge, organizing his alchemy textbooks, and was about to draft a letter to his beloved Mr. Quirrell, since there was no curfew at this time and everyone was wandering around the campus.

Just then, a figure crept in.

It was Draco, his arms wrapped in bandages, being helped in by Goyle and Crabbe.

“Damn Rubeus Hagrid…” he warned the group, “I’m going to tell Fudge about this, and we’ll talk about it when my father gets out. Humph, I’ll get that big oaf fired… Ouch, get out of here!”

Crabbe suddenly tilted to the left, bumping into his injured arm.

"It was this silly cat that bumped into my foot."

Crabbe and Goyle, with their bowed legs, swayed back and forth, which made Draco even more impatient.

Just as Nietzsche was about to teach Crookshank a lesson, Crookshank nimbly climbed onto Nietzsche's lap and curled up in front of the fireplace. Nietzsche ignored them, and after his cat had finished brushing its teeth outside, he carried Crookshank back to bed.

The second night of the new semester was no different.

Around midnight, Nietzsche heard a faint footstep and then felt a weight on his leg. He thought to himself: "The Crook Mountains have probably come up here to warm themselves again."

I simply didn't interfere.

"Meow~~"

Because he couldn't sleep soundly with something pressing on his legs, Nietzsche couldn't enter a deep sleep state so quickly, so in the middle of the night, he would always hear subtle noises outside the door.

After struggling to open his eyes a crack, he discovered something that sent chills down his spine—there was a figure on the bed.

Nietzsche's right hand stealthily reached for the pillow, where his magic wand was hidden, but the figure seemed to have read his mind. Immediately afterward, both of his hands were bound by a rope and tied to either side of the headboard.

'Hogwarts really is the safest place.'

This is the lounge! The lounge!

Last year it was Dobby the house-elf, who's it this year?!

"Who are you?" the figure asked first.

Nietzsche held his head high, the cold sensation on his neck confirming that it was either a magic wand or a sharp knife... whatever it was, it was very disadvantageous for him.

"Miss, this is a Slytherin dormitory. Before asking others, could you please tell me who you are?"

He intended to grab the other man's neck with his foot, but suddenly realized that Crookshan was still sitting there, staring at him with wide eyes and tilting his head, completely unaware of any danger, a stark contrast to his behavior on the train earlier.

So he could only look at the 'lady' again (judging from her voice).

"Little traitor!" Nietzsche, still not satisfied, looked up and scolded his Persian cat.

"You're not allowed to insult Crookshanks!" The other person sounded even angrier than he was, and pressed the wand against his throat harder.

"This is my cat!"

"this is mine!"

He and 'she' suddenly started arguing about the ownership of Crook Hill.