Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

In an instant, the entire spell damage department was swept away by the black, oil-like fluid, and everything was torn apart. But miraculously, the magic that Quirrell called 'dark power' could not destroy a single wall of St. Mungo's.

Even though St. Mungo had absorbed some of his magic, his destructive power still made Nietzsche unable to open his eyes.

The rubble and chairs in the corridor were silently rolled up and rushed into the room. He felt like a can being hammered around, with the screams of the purgers filling his ears.

The uncontrolled energy only disappeared after the scream stopped...

Because of the adrenaline, Nietzsche didn't feel much pain. He shakily crawled up from the rubble, standing there with his face covered in blood. He moved slowly to the doorway, and then all he could hear was his own breathing.

“Quirinas?!” he shouted, turning his head.

“I’m here…” Quirrell said, swaying as he crawled out of the rubble. “How are you? I just saw Obscurity rushing into your room.”

"It seems I was saved by the basilisk."

Nietzsche took off his clothes, which had been reduced to shreds, revealing the dark green 'anti-curse garment' underneath.

Fortunately, Obscurus was essentially magical energy, so he understood what it felt like to be beaten up—it was the impact caused by dark energy being blocked by the basilisk's scales.

All power vanished, and black cotton wadding drifted in the air like feathers, appearing exceptionally beautiful in the broken windows and sunlight.

He clutched his chest, squatted down next to the purger, and began inspecting the area, ignoring the filth and mess.

There were surgical scars behind his ears, suggesting he had undergone cosmetic surgery. His actual age was probably similar to the other two young Purifiers who died. The wound on his wrist was likely from playing the role of a 'saint' to suppress the Obscurus.

'Damn it, Irishman...' Nietzsche sighed inwardly.

Last December, the British Prime Minister and the Republic of Ireland issued a peace declaration, each taking a step back to permanently cease the use of violence by the IRA and spare Downing Street from mortar attacks.

After the bombing, he could no longer openly ask Mycroft to continue the investigation and had to conduct it in secret.

Nietzsche did not tell Scringer about the origins of the Purgers, otherwise, if Fudge had found the British government, the two Muggle nations would have been at war again.

"Fortunately, the Obscurial couldn't escape from St. Mungo's." Quirrell helped Scrimgeour up.

“War… I must tell Crouch of the International Department of Magical Cooperation about this.” Director Auror was still reeling from the sudden attack. “The Obscurials haven’t existed since 1927!”

Quirrell carried the Obscurial's corpse on his back and went ahead to return to his place.

They found an empty portrait with the name Delis de Winter written underneath.

Nietzsche tapped on the picture frame and called out twice. Because the portrait was connected to the principal's office, Principal Delis rushed out from the left side of the frame in less than a minute.

It looked like they had just run over from a distance.

"Little Nietzsche, what can't be discussed after school starts?"

"Just now, St. Mungo's Hospital of Magic was attacked by the Obscurials."

"what?!"

Chapter 208 is the transition before the summer vacation trip.

"So boring, so boring, so incredibly boring~~"

Inside 221B Baker Street, Sherlock, like an old man on his deathbed, lay on the sofa, switching between different programs and offering his opinion on the various news and entertainment tidbits: boring.

He did receive some requests, but due to his arrogant and almost conceited nature, he declined them all with various excuses.

“He hasn’t left the house for a week,” Mrs. Hudson said anxiously, standing in the doorway. “He doesn’t open the curtains or talk to anyone. If he dies here, no other tenants will come.”

Standing next to the landlady was Nietzsche, who had just come downstairs.

“Don’t worry, if he dies in this room, I’ll rent it… I won’t live here, but I’ll at least come back occasionally to reminisce.” Nietzsche made a wicked joke.

"Oh~ thank you, you're so thoughtful~" Hudson ruffled his hair.

The table was covered with various bottles of liquor, and the light from the television made Sherlock appear even lazier.

Nietzsche sniffed; he smelled a rotten odor. He then found a relatively clean spot to sit down and threw the invitation sent by the owl at Sherlock's face.

"Has something died?" he asked.

"Death is an inevitable fate, and how sweet it is~" Sherlock sang in a sarcastic tone, mimicking a Shakespearean opera, as he opened the envelope. "You're talking about John... right?"

Why do I feel like I'm talking about him?

"Because he has already entered the grave of marriage!"

“Oh, I thought your heart was dead,” Nietzsche said bluntly. “It doesn’t matter, I’ve always been very open-minded, anyway, I do have ‘two fathers’.”

This invitation was Watson's, but it was quickly forgotten by both Nietzsche and Shylock.

It's just a marriage, what's the big deal? They might even get divorced in the future... If Hermione were here, she would criticize them for overthinking, but that's just how it is, what's possible will happen.

Nietzsche told Shylock about the Irish Puritans and asked him for advice.

“Hmm… if you’re saying the Puritans originated from British black wizards who immigrated there, meaning they mixed in with the Puritans and fled to America,” Sherlock said, “and then, to survive, took up prostitution?”

The term "sex trade" he refers to is not a euphemism for certain illegal industries.

At that time, James I put pressure on the Puritans, so more than a hundred Puritans fled from the Netherlands to settle in the British colonies in North America, and they called the locals 'savages'.

Ah yes, just as Nietzsche thought—Thanksgiving is a time for them to give thanks to God for His blessings.

The group of people who came to the New World suddenly forgot everything they had suffered in England. Coupled with objective differences such as culture, the native Americans were labeled as 'evil servants'.

Therefore, the flesh trade is the true 'flesh trade'.

“That’s right. There was no magical government in the New World at that time, and dark wizards participated in that ‘bounty competition.’” Nietzsche’s thoughts became much clearer after being reminded, and he connected many things together.

Although the International Confederation of Wizards later intervened and drove the group away, they still left a considerable impact on the Muggle community.

"But why would they come here?"

If their aim was simply to retaliate against the magical world, they could have easily stayed on their home soil and wreaked havoc with the Magical Congress of America.

"Give me some inspiration." Sherlock looked up from the invitation and stretched out a hand, as if asking for something.

But Nietzsche handed over the headscarf.

He first rubbed it between his fingers, then got up, unfolded the headscarf, and stuck it to the television screen, letting the light shine through the rough fabric. Then, in one of the inconspicuous corners, he found the letter 'B'.

"What do you mean?"

“I suddenly thought of something.” But Sherlock didn’t answer directly; instead, he suddenly jumped to another topic. “John is getting married. Why don’t we help him choose a good venue?”

However, this did not stump Nietzsche, whose thinking was also surprisingly unconventional.

In other words, 'B' refers to a place name, and the only one related to Catholicism is 'Bath', with Bath Cathedral being world-famous for the 56 stories depicted on its stained glass windows.

The pattern on this headscarf should be from one of them.

“I have no objection,” Nietzsche said, already dialing the phone.

Once he connected with John Watson, he immediately changed his tone, becoming hesitant and stammering, which piqued the other person's curiosity.

“Yes, I just received your invitation… No reply? That’s Sherlock’s problem, he saw it first…” He saw Sherlock staring at him, pointed to the microphone, “Um… I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

"What is it?" Watson had no idea what the two people on the other end of the phone were plotting.

Shylock pointed to himself and waved his hands repeatedly, indicating that he was telling Nietzsche not to expose him.

"Well... the wedding... what are your plans for the wedding?" Nietzsche stammered.

“Not yet. Mary and I are planning our honeymoon... oh, not including you, and tell Sherlock too.” Watson lowered his voice and growled into the microphone, “Not including him either!”

“I will take good care of him, Dad... You just focus on planning your trip, I'll take care of the rest.”

Was Nietzsche really that kind-hearted?

Regardless of what others thought, John Watson was skeptical.

"is it?"

“Of course, consider it my blessing for you and Mary,” Nietzsche said, beaming. “So how about you come over in a few days, and we go together to choose a location? By the way, Sherlock is dying here.”

"Hmph! It's good that he's dead. At least I don't have to worry about him scaring away Mary's relatives."

Sherlock turned to look at the microphone, his resentful eyes seeming to see through the microphone and wires to the person on the other side.

“He’s not dead yet, but…” Nietzsche glanced at the wine bottle on the table and continued, “It’s only a matter of time. Besides, I’ve heard that there’s a bachelor party before marriage these days, so why don’t you take him out for a walk?”

The voice on the other end of the phone suddenly stopped, leaving only some muttering, which seemed to be Watson and Mary talking.

Five or six minutes later, he heard Watson say again, "Then he'll have to invite my friends, they've all retired now."

The voice was filled with excitement; the fish had taken the bait.

"Um...okay...no problem..." Nietzsche replied perfunctorily, "That's all for now, see you tomorrow."

As soon as he hung up the phone, he and Sherlock had already come up with an excuse, such as not having time for anything, or that it was too far away. In any case, they had never considered inviting Watson's friends, so they would just make do at the bathhouse and memorial hall over there.

Anyway... they didn't go to Bath for fun.

Chapter 209 Watson: I Have Two Lifelong Enemies

The next day, Watson excitedly drove the two men from Baker Street to southwest England.

The buildings from the ancient Roman era looked so elegant, and the entire street and the Royal Crescent were arranged in an arc. He never imagined that his bachelor party would be held in the Roman Baths.

They stood at the entrance of the Royal Crescent Restaurant, but each looked at their own things:

Watson's attention was focused on the bustling restaurant; Sherlock observed every passerby; Nietzsche, on the other hand, was looking at the Bath Cathedral, which was just across the street from Bath's old town.

"I'm going to have some fun, I won't leave until I'm drunk!" Watson stretched as he stepped inside.

In the center of the restaurant was a stage where two young and beautiful women were swinging back and forth on a swing. Their slender and supple figures made the British gentlemen on the first and second floors whistle and wave their banknotes.

Moreover, every few tables you can see a group of people playing cards together.

In this Royal Crescent restaurant, built in ancient Rome, people are far removed from intrigue and war, leaving only unrestrained desires.

Sherlock sat at a round table near the window and said to the waiter, “Let’s start with champagne. This gentleman, who is about to enter his grave, needs alcohol to control himself.”

"And add a few more chairs as well." Watson did not refuse.

But Sherlock snapped his fingers, stopping him from preparing the servants.

"Give me another fine cigar, and I won't need a chair."

"Wait...you said you would invite my friends."