Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

"Sorry, I'm not interested in Quidditch. I can call Warrington..."

“That’s even better!” Krum cleared his throat and explained, “I mean, I don’t really want to be stared at like a monkey.”

Since that's been said, Nietzsche had no reason to refuse.

However, the moment Durmstrang's students took their seats in Slytherin, if Nietzsche heard correctly, the entire Great Hall seemed to fall silent for a second before erupting in a series of sighs.

Perhaps because of Hermione, most of the Beauxbatons students chose the Gryffindor table, while another group chose the Ravenclaw table.

However, those Frenchmen all looked like wilted eggplants, and they all seemed rather sullen.

“Ignore them. That’s just how the French are, incredibly lazy,” Krum said, half-jokingly, glancing at the star-studded ceiling above him. “They’re only interested in beheading those in power.”

“But now Muggles don’t have a king anymore,” Theodore said from the side.

"Yeah, so they've become even lazier... In Beauxbatons, their daily exercise consists of walking from their dorm room to the classroom."

Looking at their grinning faces, Nietzsche suddenly felt a mischievous urge.

“Look at those people’s physiques. That shows that Beauxbatons is very rich. Even the school is so big.” His words made Durmstrang’s smiles gradually fade and turn into envy.

Because Nietzsche was right, Beauxbatons was indeed very rich.

So... by laughing at those French people, aren't they just making themselves look even more embarrassed?

Three headmasters walked in, and the students of Beauxbatons stood up quickly when they saw the headmasters, without feeling embarrassed. They did not sit down until Mrs. Maxim sat down.

Dumbledore stood between the two headmasters, smiling as he looked at the students from other schools.

Everyone expected him to give a long opening speech, but the result was a pleasant surprise. Headmaster Dumbledore simply and directly stated:

"The banquet begins!"

As soon as the order was given, the house-elves of Hogwarts brought the food to the table.

French fish soup, German pork knuckle, smoked sausage... these are delicacies they don't usually get to eat. The Durmstrang students weren't intimidated at all; they ate even more enthusiastically than the Gryffindors.

They also didn't pay much attention to their appearance; the sauce dripped all over their clothes, but they didn't even glance at it.

"I'm Poliaco, are you one of this year's contestants?" The boy sitting next to Krum wiped the grease from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, his mouth still full of food, and said indistinctly.

“That depends on the rules. Dumbledore said that participants must be students in seventh grade or above to register,” Nietzsche said calmly.

"You're not in seventh grade yet?" Poliaco seemed surprised. "The way you docked the ship... we thought you were some kind of professor, after all, wizards like to use all sorts of methods to prolong their lives."

Just then, Hermione suddenly ran over from the Gryffindor table, looking very angry.

When Krum saw her charging towards him aggressively, he instinctively pulled out a lipstick left behind by the previous witch from his pocket, but Hermione ignored him completely, and Theodore next to Nietzsche even offered to give up his seat.

“Those witches in Beauxbatons are strange… very strange!” she said sharply. “Now I understand why they covered their heads with scarves in the first place.”

Nietzsche tried to turn his head to see what was going on, but before he could turn his head halfway, Hermione twisted it back with even more force.

Don't look!

"Ouch... my neck..." he said, clutching the back of his neck. "Can't I look at the witches of Beauxbatons?"

“That’s right, you can’t look.” But Hermione peeked a few times, frowned and said, “Ron said they were Veela… Okay, she’s gone, you can see their reactions.”

Having received permission, Nietzsche turned his head and looked towards Gryffindor.

He noticed that many boys had turned their heads in the same direction, and some of them were speechless, such as Neville, whose face was as red as a monkey's bottom and whose hands were trembling. This displeased the witches of Lavender.

"Are you still eating this French fish soup?" A voice came from their blind spot.

Nietzsche first noticed the long, silvery hair that reached her waist. As his gaze moved upward, he saw a pair of deep blue eyes and lips that smiled slightly, revealing her teeth. For a moment, he was dazed when their eyes met.

It wasn't just him; many Slytherin and Durmstrangers were like that.

"Isn't taking Ravenclaw's and Gryffindor's enough for you?" Hermione said angrily, raising her eyebrows. "Why don't you go and take Hufflepuff's?"

"Hufflepuff's has long been finished."

The girl feigned innocence, causing several Slytherins to start grinning and picking up plates from the table.

No matter how Hermione looked at it, she felt that the other party was provoking her—as if they were using their charm to draw Hermione's attention to themselves.

Just as she was entangled with the witch, Nietzsche suddenly let out a roar.

"Stay away from me!" he said angrily.

Just now, he keenly noticed that his thinking had become sluggish for a moment, not in the way Sherlock described emotions, no... even worse, as if a machine had been filled with a large amount of gravel.

It was brutal and deadly; for Nietzsche, it was undoubtedly an act of aggression.

"What's wrong with me?" The witch seemed unaware of the seriousness of the situation, and she even winked at Nietzsche deliberately.

He was in a daze, and a voice inside him seemed to be saying: 'Quickly, follow your desires.'

But at the same time, another voice was muttering: 'You self-degrading fool, an animal unable to control your desires...'

His mind was in turmoil due to the persuasion and criticism, but this sense of confusion brought him to a slightly clearer state of mind.

"Either get out of my mind..." Nietzsche was indeed affected, but his self-protective mechanism would make his uncontrollable behavior even more aggressive, "or I'll make you stop."

Nietzsche raised his left hand and made a pinching motion with his index finger and thumb, as if he were squeezing an insect.

In an instant, the witch standing opposite Hermione could no longer laugh. She stared in horror, her throat, which was meant for singing, now only produced hoarse coughs.

"Hibiscus Delacour, dispel your power! Now!" Lady Maxim, sitting in the main seat, sensed the magic. She turned her gaze, stood up, and roared without regard for decorum.

Hibiscus's eyes flickered, and the students around her began to wake up. After noticing what was happening, they quickly pulled Nietzsche aside.

Of course, Nietzsche belatedly woke up as Hermione shook him...

"I'm sorry, madam... I don't know..." Hibiscus leaned on the chair, rubbing her throat, trying to ease the pain inside.

“At least you’ve learned a lesson—not everyone will be fooled by your lineage.” Mrs. Maxim lifted her dress and strode over to her. “Now, go back to your seat.”

Nietzsche felt a little uneasy under the angry stares from all around him, and could only cast an inquiring glance at Hermione.

However, Hermione said, "You've done a great thing."

Nothing major, just taking a day off to rest and sort out the plot.

After all that buildup in third grade, it's bound to be some exciting stuff later on, right? (Although Fox is still a little disappointed in the real Nietzsche.)

So the arms race starts in fourth grade! From fifth grade onwards, the plot begins to deviate significantly from the original story, after all, besides Voldemort, there's also Moriarty in there~

On the Rise of Emperor Darth (Incorrect)

Chapter 232 Snape's Reminder

The mixed-race Veela possesses a special ability:

They possess stunning beauty and the ability to captivate the opposite sex, an ability that undoubtedly creates a kind of confusion spell, causing people to lose control of themselves and become obsessed with the other person's beauty.

Although there are always a few exceptions among wizards, Fleur Delacour never expected that these few would almost cost her her life.

"This taught us a lesson—no matter where you go, you must at least learn basic respect." Hermione was delighted to see the other person's discomfiture. "Didn't you see you've become a laughingstock?"

However, her arrogance was thwarted by Nietzsche.

After Fleur was carried back to her seat by Madame Maxim, the wizards, who had just acted like idiots, were dealt with. Every single one of the witches glared at them angrily and scratched them.

“To be honest, that’s actually the normal reaction most people would have when they see a Veela,” Krum couldn’t help but interject.

“But there’s one abnormal one here,” Daphne said, glancing enviously at Hermione along with the other witches.

Mrs. Maxime returned to the main table, looking rather grim, as if she had been given the cold shoulder. However, Snape and Karkaroff, who were beside Dumbledore, were all smiles.

Nietzsche turned back and glanced uneasily at the Gryffindor table. He noticed a little girl next to Fleur.

She was probably seven or eight years old. Judging from her waist-length silver hair and blue eyes, she should be Furong's younger sister. She was eating her French mixed fish soup while glaring at him.

Nietzsche then had extra energy to think about other people, because Hermione was constantly stuffing food into his mouth, and his plate was never empty.

The bone scraps on the table were swept away, and a second dish—dessert—appeared on the golden plate.

At this moment, the two seats that had been empty in the main guest area were filled, and Nietzsche saw two people just coming in from the hall.

One of them was serious and walked very steadily. He first looked around at all the students in the auditorium before starting to eat his food, while the other was all smiles and shaking hands with every principal and professor.

After the two men sat down, Headmaster Dumbledore stood up again.

"They've finally arrived... Please allow me to introduce them: these are Barty Crouch, Director of International Cooperation at the Ministry of Magic, and Ludo Bagman, Director of Sport. Now, I declare the Triwizard Tournament officially open!"

Perhaps because everyone was too full, the applause in the auditorium was sparse.

Nietzsche also struggled to sit up straight and looked at the stage with Hermione, but he was more focused on Barty Crouch, who was dressed impeccably and showed no sign of a smile.

He had heard of the other man's name; when he was the head of the executive division, he had personally dismissed Sebastian Moran.

"These two Ministers of Magic, along with Professor Karkaroff, Mrs. Maxim, and myself, will serve as the referees for the Triwizard Tournament, judging the warriors in the competition."

Whenever Dumbledore introduced the details of the Triwizard Tournament, everyone fell silent.

Even the most boisterous George and Fred stretched their heads forward and opened their mouths in an 'O' shape, not wanting to miss a single piece of news.

Dumbledore beckoned to a corner of the Great Hall, and Nietzsche then saw Mr. Filch, dressed in an inexpensive tailcoat, walk to the front of the main table carrying a jewel-encrusted wooden box.

There was no sacred ceremony; Dumbledore simply tapped the box three times with his wand to open it, revealing a wooden goblet inside.

To be honest, it looks like it was just casually carved from a piece of wood. It's very rough and doesn't even look as good as the outer wooden box. The only difference is that there's a dancing blue-white flame inside the wooden cup.

“Every student who is over seventeen years old and has crossed the age limit can put in a piece of parchment with their name on it. The Goblet of Fire will select three warriors with courage, magical skill and logic.”

Dumbledore paused, looking at the eager eyes below, and warned, "Be careful, the Goblet of Fire has the ability to grant contracts. Once chosen, the warrior must see the game through to the end, whether he regrets it or not."

However, this last warning had no effect on these students.

George and Fred gathered a group of people together, and no one knew what method they were planning to use to put their names in, while Warrington and Cedric were already writing their names on the other side.

There are roughly two situations: those who want to participate but are not old enough, and those who are old enough and are ready to try their luck.

Just then, Karkaroff rushed over to the Slytherin table, put his arm around Krum's shoulder, and said gently, "Alright, after you've put your names in, go back to the ship and rest..."

He seemed to suddenly remember that his ship was still in the sky, so he stared blankly at Nietzsche.

“Don’t put it down!” Poliaco tugged at his sleeve, pleading, “We haven’t experienced what it’s like to spend the night in the sky yet…”