Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

On the way to the reception room, you can see one or two house-elves dressed in neat little suits next to each door. They are like servants who serve the king in ancient times, guarding the place diligently.

Moreover, Nietzsche sensed a magical energy enveloping the area, which, if he wasn't mistaken, was probably an anti-appearance spell targeting wizards.

“The current Minister of Magic is digging his own grave. How dare he send house-elves away?” Marvolo followed closely behind the two, lowering his voice. “Some of these creatures are far more powerful than wizards.”

House-elves possess extraordinary magical power, which could be quite terrifying if used in war.

Nietzsche had already anticipated this... To be honest, he just hadn't expected Dobby to be so successful. But then again, wizards have always looked down on these little elves, and anyone who dares to speak ill of them will pay the price.

Hermione's brow furrowed with worry.

“The servile training they receive from childhood is useless. Once they are exposed to the right things, they will take root in their hearts.” She looked at Dobby, who was leading the way, and muttered, “This is simply handing over weapons and manpower to others.”

Dobby is a good example. He was trained by the Malfoy family from a young age, and the seeds of rebellion were sown simply by the legend of 'Potter defeating Voldemort'.

But the question is... who planted the seed?

Ni glanced around and noticed that all the house-elves were looking at him with curiosity in their eyes; clearly, they recognized him.

"Someone like you cares about these little elves?" He pushed open the door to the reception room and mocked without turning his head.

“What I despise is the potential of these creatures. Their magic is unlikely to improve, but it can still be used as a weapon…” Marvolo said. “If that good-for-nothing Lucius had been more careful, he wouldn’t have ended up in jail for a year.”

The defeated 'Voldemort' only wanted to mercilessly whip Malfoy's corpse.

Inside the room was a huge conference table, where Fudge sat opposite the Prime Minister with a worried expression. He breathed a sigh of relief the moment Nietzsche and Hermione entered, like a mule unloaded from its cargo.

Three blankets flew down from the wall above the fireplace and landed on the chairs of Nietzsche and the others.

"Great, you've finally arrived!" Fudge exclaimed happily. "I'm so sorry to bother you so late... The Prime Minister would like to hear your ideas about the wizard factory."

Dobby and Nietzsche exchanged a quick glance, then closed the door and stood in the shadows behind the Prime Minister.

Hermione kept a straight face and didn't dare to breathe. Although the Muggle Prime Minister smiled kindly, she still kept her head down and blinked dryly at the documents on the table.

“Miss Granger, you are in charge of the magical car factory. I would like to hear your handling of this…” the Prime Minister said slowly, “I have heard that an evil wizard has been resurrected in the wizarding world, is that right? His name is Voldemort?”

“Don’t say that name! Just call him—the Mysterious Man, that’s what we usually call him,” Fudge exclaimed.

Marvolo scrutinized the other person with a smile, then happily shook his leg, as if he were the one whose name inspired fear throughout the entire British magical world.

This reminder drew disdain from the opposite side, and also enraged Minister Gump, who was hanging on the wall. After muttering a few curses, he covered his face again, as if Fudge had completely disgraced the Ministry of Magic.

“Alright, Mysterious Man… because there’s a group of wizards who want to rule the world causing trouble, I was wondering if I could help you in some way, such as by properly safeguarding the factories we cooperate with,” the Prime Minister said.

Hermione turned her head and looked to Nietzsche for help.

However, he couldn't speak; according to the rules, only Hermione and Lockhart had the right to speak. But he wasn't idle either; he grabbed Hermione's left hand under the table with his right hand and wrote words on her palm with his fingertips.

'arsenal'

Nietzsche stared intently at the reflection of the smooth wooden table, thinking that the other party must be planning to take advantage of those wizards and facilities to produce a large number of weapons or equipment.

Couldn't a car company simply make some modifications to turn it into an armored vehicle during wartime?

Perhaps noticing the writing on his palm, Hermione silently grasped his fingers and said, trying to appear calm, "I'm afraid that won't work. The core of the wizarding factory is under the custody of the Ministry of Magic, and we cannot violate the Statute of Secrets."

As expected of Granger, Nietzsche loved watching her talk nonsense with a straight face.

"But the Ministry of Magic needs us Muggles to hunt down those—Death Eaters! What are we going to do? Those wizards can easily blow up an entire street!" The Prime Minister waved his hands menacingly. "Is the Secrets Act even useful?"

Fudge forced an awkward smile, unable to think of any reply.

The Prime Minister also turned around and looked at Hermione, seemingly hoping that she would change her mind and stand on the side of the Muggles.

He said, "Muggle villages are being massacred, what can I say... I have to hold a press conference first thing tomorrow morning and come up with another reason to cover up the crimes of those dark wizards. We need magical cars to protect the people."

These words touched Hermione, who grasped Nietzsche's wrist and fell into deep thought.

She felt confused—perhaps the magic car would become a weapon, but that would be used to protect innocent Muggles. On the other hand, she was also worried that it would pose a threat to innocent wizards.

As the leader of the magical cars and wizards, she must be responsible for everything.

Just when Hermione was at her most upset, Nietzsche calmly moved a document in front of her with Mr. Howard's signature on it. He was just a Muggle and had no way to defy the Prime Minister.

“I will recall the wizards and alchemical equipment and hand them over to the Ministry of Magic,” she said softly.

“Granger! You’re an Englishman!”

The prime minister stood up abruptly, about to launch into a tirade, but Nietzsche, under the influence of Occlumency, had an extremely cold gaze, as if looking at a dead stranger.

His black wizard robes reminded the Prime Minister of their identities—they were wizards.

Hermione hated the trolley problem, so Nietzsche simply flipped the trolley over.

“Do you think we would accept this kind of condemnation? Would we be held hostage by this reason?” he said hoarsely. “We have our own ways of protecting people, Prime Minister. At least we will not collude with a criminal.”

Nietzsche refused to budge; he had to buy the wizarding world, caught between Muggles and Voldemort, a moment of respite.

After a moment of silence, Fudge began to coax with difficulty, "But didn't I give you those little sprites? They can help you with most things..."

"Too little!" the Prime Minister snapped his fingers.

Dobby approached the Prime Minister respectfully and said in a humble tone, "That's right, Dobby and a dozen house-elves are only enough to protect Mr. Muggle's safety; they can't handle any other work."

“I can send you another batch of house-elves; you can have them help deal with those Death Eaters,” Fudge suggested, trying to ease the other party’s mood.

Perhaps because the magical world was in dire need of manpower, the Prime Minister nodded in agreement with his suggestion.

No one doubts the loyalty of the house-elves. Even if the Prime Minister himself doesn't fully trust these magical creatures who take pride in being slaves, those behind him do—whether it's Moriarty or Moran.

"As long as you give it a new outfit, you can become the new owner of the house-elves~" Fudge was still immersed in joy, thinking that he had done a very clever thing.

The Prime Minister was equally pleased, thinking he had won over a powerful group of 'slaves'.

"But would they target wizards?" he wondered.

“Of course, sir, you are Dobby’s new master,” Dobby said confidently.

It doesn't need to fake it, because it's just stating a fact, only without revealing who the real owner is.

But these were just small steps for Nietzsche. He was tired of the pretense of dealing with the Prime Minister, and next, it would be the turn of the purebloods—he would lead the house-elves, including Dobby, to hunt down the wanted Death Eaters.

It is both a sign of the little elf's loyalty to its new master and part of the plan.

Chapter 280 Shocking! Mrs. Hudson is actually...

At 10:30 p.m., 221b Baker Street welcomed a new guest—Tom Marvolo Riddle, who once caused panic at Hogwarts, is now known as Marvolo Sisyphus.

Looking at the polite and handsome Marvolo in front of her, Mrs. Hudson seemed a little curious.

"Who is this?"

"This is a homeless classmate of mine. Could he stay at my house for a while?" Nietzsche casually recounted a horrific story: "His mother died in childbirth, and his father was killed by a bad man..."

Did he lie? No.

Upon hearing this, Mrs. Hudson's eyes immediately showed pity, which made Marvolo's smile freeze.

“It’s alright, child… Little Holmes, you are far better than your father Sherlock. And what about you?” The landlady pulled a bunch of keys from her pocket. “I can clear out a storage room by myself.”

“No need for that,” Marvolo said, startled by her enthusiasm.

“That won’t do. You won’t enjoy spending too much time with Sherlock, especially not with a child like you…” she said tactfully. “Would you like a glass of milk? Ah, I thought life was more peaceful for you wizards.”

Mrs. Hudson didn't insist, but simply handed the spare key to the other woman's hand and told Marvolo that he could contact her anytime if he felt uncomfortable.

As soon as the landlady left, Marvolo's smile immediately turned cold.

He said angrily, "Now look what's happened, even a Muggle can...can...pity me! Bedtime milk? Am I a child? Huh? Even 'Snakeface' wouldn't dare talk to me like that!"

“Not just milk, but also chocolate chip cookies,” Nietzsche added.

"That's not the point! A frail old Muggle..."

Seeing Marvolo's arrogant and rude attitude, he calmly drew his wand and tapped the Horcrux inside his clothes.

“You’re not allowed to call Mrs. Hudson that. If you want to have an easier life, you’d better learn to respect her first,” Nietzsche threatened in a low voice. “This is Baker Street, not the wizarding world.”

However, he was just trying to scare them, but his serious tone really intimidated them.

After all, once Nietzsche starts performing, it's not easy for anyone to tell whether he's being genuine or not. It's not impossible that he might actually take the role seriously while performing. His main strength is adaptability.

"That Muggle...cough cough...is Hudson famous?" Marvolo couldn't help but start to doubt the landlord's identity.

With a mind that prioritizes power above all else, he certainly wouldn't understand the relationships between family and friends. He might even think that this Muggle has some enormous power behind him that makes Holmes so respectful.

However, it wasn't necessarily a bad thing; Nietzsche, without revealing any change in his thinking, came up with a funny idea.

He first pretended to look around the empty hallway, and after confirming that the landlord was taking the milk back to his room to heat it up, he drew the curtains on the platform between the first and second floors.

"Where do you think this is? The King, the Prime Minister, all kinds of ministers and police chiefs and other top figures in society visit here regularly. From Bowman Square in the south to York Palace in the north, all the lowly servants and maids are under her command!"

"You think ruling the world is just about killing people and controlling a few leaders? Let me put it this way, if you live here, even Dumbledore couldn't threaten you."

Nietzsche wasn't wrong, but all the idle workers on the street were paid by Sherlock and Mycroft, which is why they obeyed Mrs. Hudson and helped the Holmes family find out all sorts of trivial matters in society.

But with his portrayal, Mrs. Hudson seemed more like a secret figure who controlled both the British above-ground and underground worlds.

Having grown up in an orphanage, Marvolo had no idea about these things. He was suddenly confused. From the moment he entered Downing Street and met the Prime Minister to the moment he stood on Baker Street, he realized that the Muggle world seemed to be much more complicated.

“Troublesome…” He was completely confused. “But she’s just a landlord who collects rent, a Muggle with no power whatsoever.”

“What do you think this world is? Even if you are a king above all others, you don’t get to decide anything,” Nietzsche kindly reminded her. “If Mrs. Hudson is unhappy, you can sleep in the same office as Dumbledore.”

Moreover, he discovered that the other person's emotions seemed to be more pronounced after they had a complete body.

This means that Marvolo Sisyphus is no longer just a 'Horlogic' composed of memories, soul, and a vessel; under the control of the brain, he is finally a person.

A living, breathing person who can think and perceive the outside world.

Just then, a doorbell rang in the hallway, and then kind Mrs. Hudson came up with a cup of hot milk and a whole plate of chocolate chip cookies.

"What are you two still standing there for?" she asked, looking at the two of them with suspicion.

"Ah? I—I'm just not used to it," Marvolo said awkwardly, offering an excuse with a fawning smile. "Only a kind person like you would take me in."

“It’s nothing, Holmes paid me a lot of money anyway... Since you’re his classmate, I think it’s not a big deal to cook an extra meal every day.”

Marvolo: Huh? Someone like Nietzsche has to pay a large sum of money so properly?

To say he's naive is an understatement; he enjoys playing petty tricks, even going so far as to cooperate with Dumbledore to outwit Voldemort. However, calling him extremely cunning isn't quite accurate either, as his thinking often swings from one extreme to the other...

So young Marvolo learned a lesson from Nietzsche—that strength alone is not necessarily useful.