Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

“Oh! I see...you foresaw this!” He clapped his hands in delight and breathed a sigh of relief. “My God, Nietzsche, it’s so good to have you here. Thank you so much.”

“It’s what I should do, for the sake of the new world,” Nietzsche said with a faint smile, casually echoing the sentiment.

"For the new world! That's right!" Fudge's face turned red with excitement.

But Nietzsche didn't feel the matter was over. He sensed a new danger: a SHD official had died at the Ministry of Magic, and the Prime Minister could hold him accountable without fear of obstruction...

Yes, he might die, and die in this very confrontation, inside the Ministry of Magic.

Chapter 335 The Coldness Beneath Happiness

“Arthur, these are some snacks your wife sent you... She was very worried about you.”

"Thank you, but I told you not to bother with all this trouble, but Molly just loves knitting. We have money now, we could buy the kids nice clothes."

Below Westminster, Arthur Weasley, on his daily patrol, received a small gift from home under a decorated Christmas tree.

It was sent by his wife through a member of the Order of the Phoenix and an Auror Tonks. There was nothing special about it, just a small greeting card, a box of homemade cookies, and a red and yellow handmade sweater.

Nietzsche glanced at Tonks silently, finding it hard to imagine how much Dumbledore had infiltrated the Ministry of Magic.

"Hey! Kid, why aren't you home yet?" Tonks greeted him warmly. "I remember you were the student who followed... um... that Snape guy, weren't you? Go home now."

"Ahem, Tonks, Tonks!" Arthur Weasley hurriedly put away the gifts and called out in a low voice.

"what happened?"

"That's Fudge's advisor, and also the boss of those Muggles."

Tonks' hair first changed from a calm blue to an awkward yellow, and then under the light, it gradually revealed long purple stripes.

Nietzsche never imagined that a person's hair could change in such a way.

“I…I’m sorry…” Tonks said to Nietzsche, who looked somewhat gloomy. “You look a little young, sir? I’ve never seen a student council member in such a dangerous situation before…Merry Christmas.”

She hesitated for a long time, and in the end, she could only say a blessing.

What Nietzsche couldn't understand was why her eyes looked a bit... If he had to describe it, he could only say it was like finding a shivering cat by chance at a doorway piled high with snow in the dead of winter.

"Then where do you think I should be?" Nietzsche countered.

"I don't know, maybe...maybe I'm having tea in the office? Or maybe I'm unpacking the presents my parents left under the Christmas tree at home?"

Nietzsche reluctantly pulled a licorice stick from his pocket, put it to his mouth and chewed it. The sweet and fragrant taste mingled with his saliva as it slid down his throat, and he began to wander aimlessly through the Ministry of Magic like a ghost.

This quickly became unbearable for the cheerful Tonks, who seemed to take advantage of her age and put on an adult-like demeanor.

“Even if we Aurors and Order of the Phoenix members can’t stop the Death Eaters, aren’t there still those Muggles? The entire Ministry of Magic will be surrounded!” Tonks seemed to be advising him to leave.

Above the Ministry of Magic, people temporarily united by Voldemort celebrated Christmas in the snow.

Nietzsche pushed open a series of gilded doors, walked through several corridors, and said, "Shh~ I'm choosing a place."

"You mean areas where the enemy might attack?" Tonks's hair had turned a blue-purple color. "That's something we should be aware of, I think..."

"No, this is the place where I am going to die."

"The entire air network here is being monitored in real time by the Air Network Management Bureau of the Transportation Department... Wait... what? To die?"

Donxton stopped, quickened his pace, and followed Nietzsche down the corridor between the Ministry of Magic's Public Press Office and the Wizarding Examinations Authority, entering the elevator at the end.

Below is the Department of Mysterious Affairs, which is also the location of the new department—the ninth floor.

The next step down leads to the Trial Chamber, but there's only one passage in and out of the tenth floor, so it's unlikely to be a point of attack for Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Thus, Nietzsche and Tonks remained in the center of the Department of Mysteries' circular hall.

"Where do you think would be a suitable place for me to die?" Nietzsche spat out a piece of chewed licorice stick and chuckled.

"I don't understand... Are you kidding me?" Tonks' eyes were filled with anger.

“Of course—no,” he explained. “I will die, but not really. I need to fake my death to give the messenger Dobby another chance, so I have to be killed, but I also have to live.”

Nietzsche has been pondering this since yesterday: Who can kill him?

"Yes" means "sure" or "able". Aurors and the Order of the Phoenix are the least likely. Death Eaters...maybe, but they don't have the ability. Voldemort can, but he could die if he's not careful.

So he thought of Muggles, but not real Muggles, of course, Moran who might be mixed up in the 501st Stormtroopers.

There were twelve doors surrounding the rotunda. Nietzsche, curious, pushed open one and, in the glow of candlelight burning with blue flames, saw brains floating in a translucent potion...

It looks terrifying and perfectly fits the ancient Muggle stereotype of wizards.

"This is classified!" Tonks' hair turns fiery red when she's angry. She slams the door shut. "Very dangerous classified information... The Bureau of Mysteries researches things that can't be known to anyone."

"Even I and the minister can't know?"

"Yes...but it's dangerous, didn't you hear me?" Tonks was about to go crazy.

"Yes, I heard that. It sounds perfect for creating an accident."

Nietzsche, like a curious child, turned around when he saw that one door was closed, intending to open another door next to it.

The moment he pushed the door open, he almost thought he had stumbled into the universe. The entire room was filled with darkness and countless stars, which made him instinctively hold his breath.

“That’s the Space Hall… Enough!” Tonks shouted angrily. “You said you’re going to die? What’s going on?”

“I’m trying to figure something out,” Nietzsche said, his words rambling and his every move leaving Tonks completely baffled. “I’m thinking of a way to… a way to die together.”

"'Mutual destruction' and 'feigned death' are contradictory statements."

Tonks is right; putting those two words together is grammatically incorrect.

The problem is that Nietzsche always felt he was missing something, as if fate was guiding... Pshaw! No, he always scoffed at fate.

The execution chamber contained an empty stone archway, with many translucent black, silk-like substances floating inside. As the name suggests, this was probably a room for studying death.

"What do you think of this place?" Nietzsche asked, like a scholar.

He seemed very modest, but it would have been better if he hadn't been asking, 'What if I die here?'

“Don’t go over there!” Tonks grabbed his hand and explained, “Nobody knows what’s behind that, whether it’s the realm of death… If you try to lead the enemy in headfirst, you won’t be coming back.”

Nietzsche obediently closed the door and began selecting the next 'morgue':

This room is much more spacious than the previous ones, probably because it has been enchanted by spatial magic. There are only endless display cases inside, filled with crystal balls of all sizes that emit different kinds of light.

“The place where prophecies are placed,” Tonks said without hesitation.

“Useless.” Nietzsche slammed the door shut. “Not special enough for me.”

“Then I can tell you definitively that the things in the Department of Mysteries will not be treated differently by anyone!” Tonks’ breathing became increasingly heavy.

Nietzsche began to sift through his mind, searching for every crucial detail...

But everything he had gone through was solved by his keen sense of smell, with Hermione's help at most. From the Philosopher's Stone to Moriarty, and then to Voldemort's resurrection, nothing could be called 'good luck'.

In other words, the key point wasn't discovered by him, but rather by chance, except... her?

“Granger.” Nietzsche felt a dull ache in his heart, as if he had been punched in the gut, and he muttered to himself.

“Who?” Tonks said.

"Professor McGonagall borrowed a Time-Turner from here when we were in second year! Hermione returned it later, so where did you put it?"

“I’m not a Silenced, how would I know where it is…” Tonks muttered, “Maybe in the Time Chamber.”

Upon hearing this, Nietzsche immediately began his investigation. He started opening door after door, and finally found a room next to a locked love room that was filled with the sound of ticking.

He was filled with anxiety after seeing the room, which was filled with different clocks and had only a table, chairs and a lamp in the middle.

He walked in step by step, and Tonks' anxious calls gradually faded, automatically replaced by Granger's voice: 'When we meet again depends on you.'

Those who travel through worlds are not bound by any rules, but the timeline remains unchanged.

Nietzsche arrived at a vague answer: his future was about to become another Granger's past.

Chapter 336 Nietzsche's Confidence

Day three.

An owl bearing the Ministry of Magic's emblem flew through streets and alleys draped with mistletoe, past rows of bright yellow-orange against a gray-white background, and finally landed in front of a distinctive house.

It's easy to find a house covered in Baroque decorations in a group of blocky houses.

Gilderoy Lockhart, with a warm glass of whiskey in hand, lay on a wooden rocking chair by the window, enjoying an undisturbed Christmas... and of course, he hadn't forgotten to write Christmas greetings to his loyal readers.

“Merry Christmas, little one.” Lockhart took the thin letter and casually tossed the owl into the fruit bowl on the table.

The owl flapped its wings, shook off the snow, picked up a few dried fruits, and ran to the fireplace to warm itself.

The letter contained only a very brief sentence:

Preparing for coronation.

"What does this mean?" Lockhart sat up, letting the snowflakes falling on his face through the cracks in the window, and pointed with his wand, saying, "Reveal your true form!"

Nothing happened, so he stubbornly turned the paper over and over, even holding it to the fireplace in an attempt to heat it up. He almost burned the paper, which terrified him so much that he kept rubbing it with his saliva-covered fingers.

However, no matter what method Lockhart used, there was only one sentence on that thin piece of paper.

"Nietzsche is going to be crowned king? Couldn't he just say it outright?" He slapped his forehead in frustration. "Damn it, if only Quirinas were still here..."

The only thing Lockhart could understand was: someone's going to be king... or something like that.

But who would become King of England? Several candidates he considered quite suitable immediately came to mind, but he quickly dismissed the thought, thinking, 'What am I worrying about? Nietzsche always manages to get things sorted out.'

Indeed, with that in mind, Lockhart lay back in his rocking chair and used his quill pen to write blessings on a large number of greeting cards.

“That’s right, someone will definitely come looking for me then.” He muttered to himself as if reciting an opera. “Whoever it is, as long as it’s not me, I’m a great hero… Ladies and gentlemen, I am the ‘Star of Peace’.”

The piles of reader letters were all filled with admiration and praise for the new book, and Lockhart actually read them all and responsibly replied to each one.

His latest novel is a story about how Nietzsche dealt with the resurrected Voldemort, with the only minor change being that Nietzsche's name was replaced with his own.

But the response was great! He was a promising young senator among Muggles and a great pacifist among wizards. Lockhart always felt that this was probably the most glorious moment of his life.

The Christmas holiday coincided with the fourth day of the war preparation period.

Bod, drunk, stumbled home through the snow as he emerged from the tavern. He had no children, no wife, and as a Silence, he had dedicated his life to the great study of magic.