Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

"Cough cough... alright." Umbridge felt a chill run down her spine, so she quickly turned and left the room.

After she left, Daphne slammed the door shut. People are always complicated. As someone who had once opposed Hermione, she now felt a strange pang of sadness, followed by a great sense of grief and confusion.

Daphne had to admit that without Nietzsche's planning, she had absolutely no idea what to do next.

“I said,” she pursed her lips, offering a dry, forced consolation, “Now that the Minister of Magic is without Nietzsche as his pillar of support, he’ll definitely question Umbridge… You have to pull yourself together…”

But when she saw Hermione sniffling and raising her head, her voice grew softer and softer.

What kind of face was that? Dry, bloodless, with dark circles under its eyes from lack of sleep, and tears welling up in its eyes but refusing to fall.

Hermione really hoped this was a joke by Nietzsche.

Secondly, there's Dobby, who, as the only surviving key figure in the Ministry of Magic's battle, can be the only one to recount the entire story.

“They’re all dead… Waaah… My lord.” Dobby, without changing out of his suit stained with dark red blood and dust, said to the Prime Minister, weeping bitterly.

It couldn't fake its expression, because it genuinely believed Nietzsche was dead.

"This is too...this is not your fault, you have done your best." The Prime Minister suppressed his excitement and continued after a long while, "Dobby, go and call the Senate, okay? Sigh...this should be Moran's job."

“It is my honor, sir.”

Sobbing, Dobby went out and did indeed notify all the members of the House of Lords to go to Downing Street, including Gilderoy Lockhart.

However, as the banquet at the Prime Minister's residence began, Dobby gathered all the house-elves who had been assigned from the wizarding world to the Muggle world in the kitchen, with only one goal: to complete Nietzsche's great work.

"Quiet... Bob, stop eating bananas while I'm talking!" Dobby snapped his fingers, and Apparition appeared at the long table in the kitchen that corresponded to the banquet hall. "I've received orders—Secret Order No. 66."

The kitchen fell silent for a moment, so quiet that you could even hear the sticky sound of bananas on your teeth and tongue.

In less than half a minute, the kitchen was in complete chaos. House-elves rolled up their sleeves, stomped their feet, banged on the table, and some even used spatulas to splatter oil and water everywhere.

But Dobby was used to this situation. He stood quietly on the table, letting the house-elves below vent their emotions.

"But what exactly are the master's orders?" After everyone gradually quieted down, the tall and thin Kevin raised his hand and asked.

The master it refers to is 'Nietzsche John Holmes,' not the Prime Minister or other Muggles like Moriarty.

Every house-elf who comes here was chosen by Dobby from the Ministry of Magic, and therefore knows the significance of Order 66.

"Let's show our loyalty to Mr. Holmes once again!" Dobby raised his right fist, pounded it against his chest, and said with tear-filled eyes, "Tonight! Kill those who murdered our master!"

“But if Mr. Holmes dies, to whom will we serve?” asked short Bob.

“You’re so stupid, it’s Miss Granger, of course!” Dave tapped it on the head and scolded, “Didn’t you see her once before? You have no memory.”

The members of parliament at the Prime Minister's residence chatted while waiting for the dinner, but instead of a sumptuous meal, they were greeted by house-elves dressed in their finest attire.

When the Prime Minister saw the little fairies crowding into the banquet hall one after another, each with nothing in their hands, he felt a heart-stopping unease and fear—in the past, food had always been magically transferred to their faces.

Dobby and the other elves instantly surrounded the entire banquet table. With each spell, the councilors were petrified, frozen, controlled, or blasted to pieces...

"Do...Dobi?" the Prime Minister shouted. "Guards! Guards!"

“Have you forgotten? To reduce SHD’s budget and address security issues, the entire Downing Street is guarded by house-elves.” Dobby tilted his head and gently raised his right index finger. “Stop shouting. Those Purifier Muggles are all dead.”

As happened tonight, this magnificent rebellion is playing out in every little-known corner of Westminster.

"It was you? You've been planning this all along?!" The Prime Minister's voice cracked with shock.

“Excuse me, Mr. Holmes, please allow me to do this… Avada Kedavra—”

With a flash of green light, the Prime Minister died. To the wizard, his death was undignified, for he was killed by an insignificant slave. But to Dobby, it was a worthwhile death.

Only one councilman was still alive: Lockhart. He hid under the table the instant the house-elves attacked.

He had no idea what was going on. First, he received news of Nietzsche's death. To be honest, he was still very saddened, after all, they had made so much money together.

But... why are the house-elves suddenly going berserk? What's going on?

Dobby lifted the tablecloth and looked at Lockhart, who was begging for mercy with his head in his hands. He thought to himself that this man was a disgrace to wizards.

“I’m one of them! I’m not a Muggle!” Lockhart fumbled for his wand in his pocket, the sound of a Muggle falling jolting him so much that he could barely hold the wand. “I served Nietzsche!”

“Alright, alright... Mr. Lockhart, I know you,” Dobby said.

It was a house-elf, but watching Lockhart run away in fear, a ridiculous thought suddenly popped into its head: it seems that not all wizards are that strong.

"You know me?"

“Yes.” Dobby reached out and pulled him out, saying slowly, “I know all of Mr. Holmes’ friends, and now I need your help.”

"What is it?" Lockhart was almost used to the relief of escaping death.

"Take me to Miss Granger; only she can do Mr. Holmes's job now."

Chapter 345 The Death of Umbridge

Hermione may still have some doubts about Nietzsche's death, but a few days later, when Dobby, who had dragged Lockhart to the school, confirmed it, her heart felt like it was shattered.

"The great Mr. Holmes sent me out, dragging that damned Dark Lord and Moran down with him to be drowned by the Ministry of Magic," Dobby said.

This was witnessed by the person involved, and it extinguished Hermione's last glimmer of hope.

Great... Hermione suddenly scoffed at the word for no reason, because she wished Nietzsche had been a little more selfish.

When she caught a glimpse of a name in one of the textbooks out of the corner of her eye, she flew into a rage again, and her out-of-control magic violently swept the books up to the fourth-floor corridor.

"Didn't he love using his cunning tricks?" Hermione snapped angrily. "He called it the embodiment of 'cleverness' in Sherlock Holmes, and now look at him! That bastard left me all alone here!"

“Miss! We don’t want this to happen!” Dobby tugged at the girl’s robe that was dragging on the floor.

However, it dared not exert any force, and could only be dragged and swayed from side to side by Hermione's violent movements, not at all like a vicious villain who had just killed the Muggle Prime Minister.

Gilderoy Lockhart huddled against the wall, crouching down and numbly tossing firewood into the fireplace.

He knew that the fireplaces in the school were magically created flames that would never go out and didn't need to be filled with firewood, but he could only use this cyclical, mechanical method to escape the topic in the room.

Quirrell's expression grew even uglier as he rearranged the books Hermione had scrambled over and over again, obsessively aligning each book.

After a long while, Hermione slumped into a chair, looking up at the ceiling to avoid letting her tears fall.

“Daphne is right, we need to move on to the next step as soon as possible.” Hermione closed her eyes and said as calmly as possible, “Has anyone received any new information?”

She forced her head back from her daze and commanded herself to think.

But Nietzsche didn't say anything to her, only a few words like "I will need you," and then... and then nothing more. So she had to force herself to think about everything according to Nietzsche's logic.

The people in the fourth-floor office and the house-elves all shook their heads, except for Lockhart, who squatted on the ground, stretching his neck like a goblin, and humbly raising his hand.

“I received a message earlier that Nietzsche said he was ‘ready to ascend the throne,’” Lockhart said, glancing at everyone. “Judging from the current situation, perhaps he was reminding us to support Hermione.”

He originally thought it was referring to Nietzsche, but now that the man is dead, the only possibility is Hermione.

Hermione propped her head up with her right hand and tapped her left hand on the table. She thought to herself: Dobby purged the Prime Minister and some of the Purgers, could it be... no, it can't be me, I'm not the Prime Minister.

A teenager becoming prime minister would be a laughing stock worldwide.

“You,” she said suddenly.

"Who?"

“Lockhart... Yes, look no further than you.”

"How could that be!" He chuckled awkwardly and explained hastily, "It might not be me. I admit I'm not qualified. What about Quirinas? He was Nietzsche's personal butler; he's more suitable."

Hermione knew Nietzsche well and knew that everyone he used possessed corresponding talents.

Take Lockhart, for example. He doesn't seem to have much talent, and his magical abilities are rather mediocre among wizards. But the problem is, becoming prime minister doesn't require great abilities; it only requires sufficient social responsiveness.

“You’re a wizarding councilor in the Muggle world, with enough influence in both worlds…” she said confidently.

"But...but all my stories..."

“That’s not important.” Quirrell seized the opportunity to kick Lockhart while he was down, pressing down on Lockhart’s shoulder to prevent him from standing up. “What’s important is that everyone believes in you, isn’t it? From the moment you became a member of parliament, you were destined to become prime minister.”

Gilderoy Lockhart stared at her innocently, completely unaware of what had happened.

So he's preparing to become prime minister? No need for party infighting or issuing declarations anymore? Of course, most people have already been killed by house-elves.

“But…but I don’t know? I’ve never led anyone,” Lockhart said, looking flustered.

“It’s alright, what happened in Westminster is your opportunity.” Hermione tried to think about the whole thing in Nietzsche’s way and explained, “And don’t forget, SHD’s logistics are under your name.”

Creating momentum isn't difficult; all it takes is holding a few memorial services for those who died in the Ministry of Magic battles, and letting the surviving soldiers 'accidentally' reveal it.

Then people will know: Senator Lockhart was actually protecting everyone's lives!

Just then, Umbridge burst in. Seemingly oblivious to the atmosphere, she said in a coquettish voice, "Miss Granger, regarding Nietzsche's army at Hogwarts, whether or not... Minister Fudge hopes everyone will unite."

To put it nicely, it means Hermione has to relinquish control of the new Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts.

Dobby almost lost his temper. What does that mean? Nietzsche had just passed away, and before everyone even had time to mourn him, someone was trying to steal him away... He was just about to teach this pink toad a lesson when Hermione stopped him.

"What do you mean?" Hermione's lower eyelid twitched, and she said in a cold voice.

“You know, as the Ministry of Magic’s liaison, I should give the Minister a heads-up…” Umbridge’s words seemed to carry a hint of boasting as she continued, “Mr. Holmes’ efforts can’t be wasted, can they?”

Everyone present had eyes as dangerous as hungry wolves; Lockhart would act without hesitation at Hermione's command.

"Hmm," Hermione said dismissively with a nasal sound.

What a shameless bastard! He just wants to use this little bit of credit to climb back to the position of Vice Minister Wei. This kind of person is simply defiling the ideals for which Nietzsche gave his life.

“You mean… you agreed?” Umbridge said cheerfully.

“It’s a bit troublesome. If you want to take over Nietzsche’s resources, I’m afraid you’ll need to report to Downing Street.” Hermione slowly raised her head and said softly, “But Dobby will have to lead the way. I hope you understand.”

"No problem! Children, I deeply sympathize with your grief."

Umbridge could no longer hide her joy, and she sincerely praised the Dark Lord's powerful magic.

Just like the person Dobby killed, Umbridge looked down on the house-elf, only letting it grab her skirt before Apparition appeared.

But with a loud crack, they arrived at the quiet Prime Minister's residence. As Dobby pushed open the expensive solid wood door, they were stunned by the sight before them:

Many Muggles in suits displayed different postures: some had a silver fork stuck in their foreheads; some were scattered like broken stones; some had their heads shoved into the ceiling...

The stench that hit them confirmed one thing—they were dead.

"My God, what happened here?" Umbridge's voice was hoarse with fear. "Quick! Take me back! The Mysterious Man killed Muggles..."

"I'm sorry, please go die, just for the sake of the wizarding world, okay?" Dobby said the most vicious words with the most innocent expression. "It's okay, Dobby doesn't care if a few more people die."