Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

“Even Moody can’t do much against wizards who are good at hiding; we can only wait for them to come out…” Hermione said with a sigh.

"Yes... wait for her to show up on her own... that's it!" Nietzsche suddenly realized something and exclaimed in delight, "You're right! We just need to wait, why are we in such a hurry?!"

Perhaps his voice was too loud, for a broom flew from the bookshelf corridor and gently tapped him.

This was Mrs. Pince's warning.

“Listen to me, Mien, we don’t need to worry about the competition at all.” He rubbed his head, then quickly turned his head and whispered in the girl’s ear.

How stupid, really... He was completely blinded by Hermione's safety.

No wonder Sherlock always seemed to lose in terms of momentum when facing Irene Adler; clearly, with such sophisticated instruments, even the slightest grain of sand could cause the conclusions to deviate.

"If we wait any longer, the match will start soon," Hermione said, somewhat puzzled.

"Since Mr. Crouch is under the influence of the Imperius Curse, he might put your name in the Goblet of Fire... Conversely, the person hiding in the shadows would want you to participate in the competition as planned more than anyone else."

Nietzsche excitedly hugged Hermione; indeed, she was perfect for reminding him.

So that makes sense:

Bertha's disappearance, as a staff member of the Department of Sports, meant she must have known about the Quidditch World Cup and the Goblet of Fire. Only after Voldemort, hidden deep in Albania, knew about it could the scene of the Death Eaters attacking the stadium have occurred.

So why was Crouch chosen as the target for the soul-stealing?

Of course, this goes back to the period when Bertha's personality underwent a drastic change; she must have learned something, something that could allow Death Eaters or Voldemort to control Crouch...

“You mean, no matter what, I’ll eventually get a hint?” Hermione asked, frowning.

"That's right!!"

"How boring... I usually lose interest in a movie once I know how it ends."

She was just basking in the glory of the Fire Dragon competition and had just poured her heart and soul into the game, enjoying the process of the three-way battle. But it seems that she was asking for too much. This was not a fair and just competition at all.

Seeing her listless expression, Nietzsche first glanced at the empty corridor before sitting down next to Hermione and putting his arm around her shoulder.

"How about going to Hogsmeade this Saturday to relax and see Rita while we're at it?"

Hermione pushed the book aside and remarked, "You have a quality that Mr. Holmes can't replace..."

"What?" he asked.

“Neither of the two Mr. Holmes is very attractive, but you—you always manage to get all sorts of eccentric people around you, except for me, of course…you're all around me.” She leaned affectionately on his shoulder.

Nietzsche was about to deny the last sentence when Hermione pushed a piece of chocolate into his mouth with her index finger.

What is this? Is it the nectar that he, like a bee, obtained from her?

As Nietzsche savored a chocolate liqueur, the familiar taste of which exploded on his tongue, he wrote a letter to Rita Skittle in the voice of an admirer.

On Saturday, he and Hermione left Hogwarts. The snow on the grass was trampled solid by the students. Hermione looked around cautiously, afraid that the Beauxbatons students might attack with magic.

Nietzsche, however, keenly observed that Viktor Krum took off his clothes, wearing only a pair of shorts, and jumped into the newly melted black lake.

“It’s only January, and he seems quite pleased with the climate here.” Hermione followed his gaze and remarked, “He’s really robust.”

“But he’s a Quidditch player, not a Winter Olympics swimmer,” Nietzsche said, moving to Hermione’s other side and blocking her view as he spoke, tilting his head back.

"Is this jealousy?" she asked with a smile, noticing her boyfriend's position had changed.

“Jealousy?” His lips twitched. “I hope you can seriously consider why a Quidditch player would go winter swimming… Is it possible that he’s preparing for the next game?”

Hermione simply clung to his arm and smiled happily.

She mimicked Irene Adler, blushing slightly as she raised her other hand to gently touch Nietzsche's face, whispering, "Thank you. It's so cute how you think of me."

"Don't be like that bad woman." Nietzsche saw through her 'scheme' at a glance.

To be honest, he's totally susceptible to that.

Because he grew up with Sherlock Holmes, he is always able to break through certain subtle attacks.

Hermione didn't care about any of that. As the third head of the Nietzschean, she naturally needed some means to control Nietzsche, as long as they were effective.

"Are you scared?" Hermione said.

"No."

"Then why did you pull your arm out?"

"cold."

"It's okay, you can put it in my pocket to warm it up."

"..."

Chapter 251 Operation 'Beetle'

The Three Broomsticks was the liveliest place in Hogsmeade Village, after all, everyone wanted to see Mrs. Rosmerta's magnanimity. The two of them even bumped into Ludo Bagman and a few goblins coming out of the door.

But the most eye-catching one was Rita, who was wearing a banana-yellow outfit and rushing over with a drink in her hand.

"Mr. Bagman, what are you and these fairies doing?" When she saw that he ignored her, she turned to the chubby photographer behind her and said, "Pozo, did you take a picture of the scene where the Director of Sports was arguing with the fairies?"

“Everything is ready, miss,” the photographer said.

“Great…we can dig deeper into this.” Rita finished her drink in one gulp and said excitedly, “I think there’s definitely something here that can ruin Ludo Bagman’s reputation. I’ve even thought of the beginning…”

"Miss, are those two people here looking for you?"

The snow in Hogsmeade Village seemed to never stop. Rita followed the direction the photographer's camera was pointing and, by the light from the display case, discovered that Hermione and Nietzsche were standing under the eaves of a house covered with icicles.

She threw down the cup in her hand and excitedly ran over with her crocodile skin bag.

“Are we really going to do business with people like this?” she said disdainfully as she overheard their conversation. “They just ruined the reputation of a headmaster and now they’re turning their attention to Mr. Bagman.”

“Miss Granger~ Mr. Holmes~~” Rita’s face immediately lit up with a smile.

Nietzsche frowned when she saw the photographer following behind her, and this subtle expression was immediately noticed by Rita, who was a special correspondent.

She fixed her sweet smile on her face and said apologetically, "You won't mind, will you? He's one of my assistants..."

"Can't you let him leave for a while?"

"No."

The photographer straightened his back and pushed his round belly forward, his determined look perfectly matching his resolute refusal.

However, Nietzsche did not like external factors. If it was a promise to be made by one person, then it could only be one person. So he took out a small bag from his pocket, weighed it in his hand a few times, and made the gold galleons make a beautiful jingling sound.

"How much is your monthly salary?" He walked past Rita, whose smile was gradually freezing, and stood in front of the photographer.

“Hmm… thirty Galleons, sir.” The man added sternly, “Miss Skeeter is a very generous person; I would never betray her…”

“Fifty Galleons.” Nietzsche suddenly interrupted his oath. “Here are fifty Galleons… It’s so cold now, how about we leave work early? Use the extra money to buy ourselves some warm butterbeer.”

He shoved the heavy bag into Pozzo's hands, and the latter's face, which had just looked as if he was about to die a heroic death, immediately broke into a smile.

He then handed the camera back to Rita, cheerfully barged into the Three Brooms Bar, and became one of the many wizards sitting at the bar admiring Mrs. Rosmerta.

“You don’t mind giving your assistant a day off, do you?” Nietzsche turned around and said calmly.

"Of course...cough cough! Let's go, let's go to Pig's Head Bar for a while." Rita finally lowered her head, her teeth grinding together.

The Hog's Head is the second pub in Hogsmeade Village, but it's usually deserted. It's hidden in a deep alley next to the post office, and when people go inside, it can only be described in three words: dirty, messy, and terrible.

The bar's floor was covered in grime, the lighting was dim, and you could see cobwebs on the beams when you looked up. It looked quite old, and Nietzsche even suspected that she had come to this kind of place on purpose.

The scattered patrons either covered their faces with canvas, revealing only their eyes and mouths; or sat in corners where the light couldn't reach...

An elderly man with a gray beard stood in front of the bar. When he heard the doorbell ring, he looked up and glanced at it.

“Look who’s here, huh? The most unpopular reporter…” He stopped wiping the wine glass and tapped the table with his wand. “Don’t I need to repeat the rules again?”

Nietzsche recognized the old man's voice—it was Aberforth, the ruthless wizard who had single-handedly confronted Fudge last year.

"Got it, got it. Three butterbeers, extra frothy," Rita replied absentmindedly. She first spread a layer of tissues on the chair before sitting down. "So, what do you two busy people want from me?"

"I was hoping to make a very good deal with you, but now... I'm having second thoughts," Hermione said haughtily, crossing her legs.

"Is it because of what happened before?" Rita looked at her smooth brown curly hair. "Actually, I really like what Mr. Holmes said when he stood up for Muggles at the Ministry of Magic: 'People have the right to know the truth.'"

"He's different from you! You don't care about anything else, you only care if the story will grab other people's attention..."

"Naive little girl, I know a lot about big shots, just a little bit, but it'll send chills down your spine... Do you really think Ludo Bagman is a good person? A... pfft... innocent person?"

Rita let out a laugh, seemingly mocking Hermione's limited understanding.

But then, Ni slammed his fist on the table, the sound of which silenced the other person.

To be honest, Rita was very uncomfortable with his cold and sinister gaze, but who would have a grudge against Galleon, especially since these two were supported by many wizards.

“I don’t know if you’re interested in commissioning,” Nietzsche said.

This was an olive branch that Rita couldn't refuse; she had no reason to refuse.

“Of course! That’s wonderful! I knew I hadn’t promised Gilderoy in vain… You’re just like him, a grateful person.” Her low voice was filled with delight.

“You can observe Hermione, you can interview her exclusively, but—” Nietzsche’s follow-up “but” extinguished her burning passion like cold water, “You can’t play your own game.”

"You don't understand! Actually, I quite like the names your supporters use for the pure-blood faction and the Dumbledore faction... What's it called again? The Last Man!"

Rita loved to use these tricks; the more controversial and conflict-generating the story, the more sales it would generate. However, Nietzsche forbade her special skills. So, what made her any different from ordinary journalists?

Sometimes, there's a reason why Ravenclaw is jokingly called a 'mecca for weirdos'...

“That’s not a good deal, you two,” Rita Skeeter said nonchalantly.

"And shall I add another piece of news?"

"That depends on how valuable your information is, enough to make me give up my special skill."

“A piece of news about Barty Crouch: he’s not actually seriously ill, but rather controlled by an Imperius Curse,” Nietzsche tempted. “Interesting… this Triwizard Tournament seems to be connected to dark wizards.”

Rita was stunned by the news, her index finger tapping incessantly on the table as if she were making a choice in her mind.

This news was so shocking that even someone like her, who had access to firsthand information from the Ministry of Magic, was unaware of it—the former Director of the Executive Division, now the Director of the International Cooperation Division, had been taken into custody.

In other words, a huge conspiracy is looming over the three-way battle for supremacy.

The problem is—does she really want to get involved?

“Darling, it seems she’s not qualified yet; at best, she can only write short stories,” Hermione said with a sigh, feigning regret.