Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

Chapter 328 The Heart-Rending Curse? An even greater crime!

If you want to nurture your books, go ahead, it's no big deal. I'll be updating twice a month starting next month (I'll take a break a little longer... hehe~).

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After Halloween, the cold winds and frost of November arrived as expected. The joy that erupted on the Quidditch pitch seemed to be a celebration, because the person who had brought sorrow and trauma to countless people was about to leave.

On the day of the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match, Malfoy probably wouldn't have the chance to immerse himself in the atmosphere from afar.

Nietzsche leaned lazily against a pillar in the hall, looking at the blue-gray sky, letting the cold wind cut his face while listening to the distant roars of dragons, occasionally punctuated by Umbridge's curses.

"Draco Malfoy used the Crucifixion Charm to attack his classmate... He'll be detained by the Ministry of Magic... Tsk tsk tsk." Marvolo looked at the latest update of the Daily Prophet, his expression shifting between worry and laughter.

Rita Skeeter was a master at creating hype; Nietzsche only had to write a few words about the course of events and the purpose of the matter in a letter, and she could make up a respectable little biography.

The title above reads: "The Family Tradition of Death Eaters and the Dangers of Pure Blood".

At that moment, Umbridge and Malfoy, whose hands were bound with rope, came over.

"Wait! Where is Headmaster Dumbledore? I need to see the Headmaster!" Draco Malfoy shouted in a daze.

But no matter how much he shouted, he couldn't stop the little light on the Black Lake from getting closer and closer. The wooden boat carrying Scrimgeour and another member of the Ministry of Magic broke through the frost on the lake and came to rest at the foot of the cliff of the castle.

Hermione helped Nietzsche put on a deep red scarf, and the two of them looked down, their breaths billowing in the air. They could see Hagrid straining to tie the boat rope to the stake.

“Nietzsche! Hermione! And that… uh… new kid?” Hagrid greeted the three of them. “I heard from Harry and the others that someone like him, a Slytherin, is bound to become a dark wizard sooner or later… no offense intended.”

But Nietzsche wasn't angry. He knew Hagrid had always been an overly honest, big, simpleton who couldn't keep his mouth shut.

He looked toward the wooden boat that had been lured away and noticed that behind Scrimgeour stood a wizard dressed entirely in black, with even half of his face covered in black cloth, a style quite incongruous with the uniforms of the Law Enforcement Division's guards.

The man stepped over the gap between the wooden boat and the stone, even walking ahead of Scrimgeour.

“Broderick Bode.” The wizard gave Nietzsche a brief self-introduction, so brief that he revealed nothing except his name.

“Thank you, Hagrid… Mr. Bode is a Silent One,” Director Scrimgeour explained. “Miss Greengrass’s new department is highly classified, so some Silent Ones have been transferred from the Department of Mysteries.”

It seems to be a secret mission to protect Pi.

After pushing Malfoy and seven or eight others out from above, Umbridge quickly ran down from above with a fake smile.

Her dainty high heels wobbled on the smooth, crooked stone steps, and Nietzsche thought to himself more than once—fall down, slip and fall!

"Mr. Scrinker~ Ouch!!"

Perhaps it was the frost-covered stone steps that were slippery, or perhaps it was Nietzsche's own 'trouble aura', but Umbridge's obese body brushed past Nietzsche and fell squarely onto Scrinker.

How tragic... Not only do I have to go to work in this freezing weather, but I also have to be crushed by a passionate Saint-Chamont tank.

Umbridge, her face still flushed and apologetic, kept mimicking the giggling sounds of a young girl as she got up, which made Scrimgeour, who was holding his aching back, involuntarily take two steps back.

“Everything is ready,” Umbridge said.

“Very...very good, thank you.” Scrimgeour waved impatiently to shoo him away. “You can go now, I need to say a few words to them.”

But the pink toad still put on a pitiful look because it was being ignored, but it had to temporarily step aside because of the director's authority.

The plan is as follows:

Nietzsche used Rita Skeeter, the "mouthpiece of the Ministry of Magic," to pass on a message to the Minister and some high-ranking officials to lure the Death Eaters in and to prepare the Ministry of Magic for an attack by the Death Eaters at any time.

Attacking students was just a pretext, allowing the Ministry of Magic to arrest Malfoy openly. As for the Crucifixion Curse, which wasn't part of the plan... even better, it would only make his crime more serious, and even Dumbledore would be in trouble.

"Are you sure those Death Eaters... I mean, would really care about a child?" Scrimgeour glanced suspiciously at the courtyard steps.

Those are Death Eaters!

They're ruthless, murderers, arsonists—the kind of guys who start killing Muggles at Charing Cross Road and go all the way to Privet Drive without batting an eye... Would such people care about their own children?

“Who knows?” Nietzsche said. “At least that’s what Dumbledore thought.”

Although he disliked Dumbledore's conservative perspective, he had to admit that the headmaster's control over human nature and desires was something worth learning from.

Since Dumbledore believes that Malfoy cares about his son, he will definitely take action.

“I hope so. I’ve already reassigned wizards from various departments to other locations and mobilized all the Aurors to prevent the mysterious man from infiltrating the Ministry of Magic.” Scrimgeour rubbed his clothes, which had just been soiled, with concern.

Can the Aurors really deal with the mysterious man? The director couldn't help but feel a little dejected.

“You are ambushing Death Eaters, not Voldemort!” Nietzsche warned. “Sometimes running away is not just about humiliation, but about future victory... Sneak attack, run, that’s what you’re doing.”

“Those are all Aurors, every one that dies is one less.”

Scrimgeour's lament was not feigned; it was genuine for the Auror division.

The high casualty rate and the high training and selection process mean that even retired Aurors cannot be reused. Just look at Mad-Eye Han; he either goes insane, becomes disabled, or is forced to retire (sacrifice).

"Get on board, everyone." Bode led Malfoy, Sabine, and the others onto the ship by a rope.

A cold mist rose from the surface of the Black Lake, making the Silenced Baldr look like a ferryman leading the dead across the River Styx. They were leaving Hogwarts, but they did not feel the same joy they had felt when they first arrived at the school.

Scrimgeour was on one ship, Bode on another, while Malfoy and the others were kept separately.

"Wait!" Nietzsche pulled out a few Galleons from his pocket and threw them into the hands of the men.

"What is this? Charity?" Malfoy, whose wand had been confiscated, could only pierce him with his eyes, disdainfully tossing the Galleon into the pool. "Nietzsche, my biggest regret is that I didn't crush you in our first year!"

He pounded on the hard wooden boat with all his might, his thin, dry hands cracking from being held down, but he didn't stop.

“It’s tradition, Draco.” Nietzsche felt sorry for the Galleon that had fallen into the Black Lake. “I wanted to wish you a safe journey, but now… I can only hope that someone will put two coins on your closed eyes.”

Hold on tight, or you might fall.

The Chief Executive and the Silent One were carried by the ship into the ivy curtain, and finally disappeared into the white mist.

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Oh dear... let the fox think of a way to give Umbridge a dignified death...

Regarding the fox's personal understanding of Umbridge:

To be honest, Umbridge is defined as a 'pure-blood' in Wikipedia, but considering Malfoy's role as a 'ministerial advisor' and his extreme exercise of power in the original context, he is closer to a 'power-hungry' person.

That's right, it's 'admiration for strength'. Because of admiration for strength, he sided with Fudge (not a pure-blood believer), and because of admiration for strength, he defected to the Ministry of Magic, which was later controlled by Death Eaters.

It's true that they look down on intelligent magical beings, but putting that in the broader context of the spectrum sounds a bit like extreme nationalism...

To paraphrase a common saying from historical time-travel novels: "Officials don't care who the emperor is; they only care about who can maintain their power."

(In my personal opinion, Umbridge was not a pureblood in the true sense.)

Chapter 329 So Snape chose Lily

In fact, Snape had taken everything into his own hands, feeling a strange mix of emotions about Malfoy's departure... sadness? anger? A sense of shared loss?

No, none of those are true; even he himself couldn't be sure.

Professor Snape stood on the overpass and looked down. He didn't know what the right thing to do was. In the end, it seemed that he hadn't protected anything. Now it seemed that he hadn't even repaid some of the favors he owed.

Thinking back on it, he didn't really care that much about Malfoy... Strictly speaking, there was nothing he cared about.

For him, the surname 'Malfoy' meant nothing more than a mentor and a friend who had once been on the same side: because Malfoy also disliked Potter, who liked Muggles.

Like a sleepwalker, Snape stared blankly as the wooden boat sailed away, then returned blankly to the basement to prepare his lessons.

During Potions class the following afternoon, Snape was practically a zombie, numbly saying, "Turn to... Today's potions are..."

Looking at the quiet classroom, he suddenly realized something and thought, 'Nothing seems to have changed?'

Nietzsche and Hermione, needless to say, did whatever they were supposed to do during class time, and there was no need to worry about their cauldrons exploding; while the other students who were less skilled in potion-making were barely keeping up.

By the way, Harry Potter... Snape had no idea how obviously he was daydreaming.

"Done!" Harry looked at the seven or eight empty seats in the classroom and felt much better. He had successfully made the potion.

"What?" Snape snapped out of his daze, silently and quickly moving over to fix his gaze on the cauldron. "The Vitality Tonic looks promising, but I'll test it..."

Everyone understood what the professor meant; it simply meant to take a small sip right there on the spot, and of course, the person who drank it was the maker himself.

If the person testing the potion were a professor, perhaps they wouldn't even have to wait until fifth grade; a first grader would randomly pull out a bottle of potion and hand it to the professor.

“No problem,” Harry said easily.

The answer was so fluent that Snape looked up and stared at the other person's green eyes with suspicion.

"Did you make it yourself?" the professor asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Prefect Granger is sitting in the front row,” Harry said. “It’s just a matter of incorporating the magic from Mediterranean herbs to replenish the user’s magic.”

This feeling is amazing.

It's worth noting that Snape spent a significant portion of his Potions class instructing Malfoy or dealing with Harry and Malfoy's arguments. However, after Nietzsche kicked those people out, his energy naturally shifted to other people.

At this point, Snape naturally noticed Harry's change... his progress in Potions...

“You’re right, I don’t think your Weasley friend can be of any help either,” Professor Snape agreed.

Ron wanted to argue, but couldn't find any points to refute, because he couldn't help with potions at all; in fact, Harry was more likely to help him now.

Are you kidding me? You know, Harry's teacher was Nietzsche!

Snape held the narrow-necked bottle as if to look at it, but in his mind he was actually thinking about the relaxed and happy Harry in front of him.

'Not as foolish as Potter,' he thought.

"It's passable, I suppose." The professor twirled the potion bottle, then absentmindedly tossed it back.

Hogwarts, where everything seemed to be on track, made Snape wish he could go back to that afternoon more than ten years ago. A rather wicked thought inexplicably surfaced in his mind—how wonderful it would be if those pure-bloods and Death Eaters were no longer in Slytherin.

He suddenly realized this possibility without any warning:

If Dumbledore had been able to thwart Voldemort's ambitions back then, if Slytherin hadn't had so many Death Eaters, if things had been as harmonious as they are now, then he and she probably wouldn't have...

So, thinking about it that way, it seems like he doesn't owe Malfoy anything.

“You’ll stay after class,” Snape said stiffly as he walked to Nietzsche’s desk.

"Don't you need me to give you some time?" Nietzsche retorted, as if he were the professor in the classroom. "I thought you would need to mourn the departure of your former friend's son for a while, perhaps... to find a replacement."

"He is not a substitute!"