Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

"No, no, no...no! All of them are stone..."

"Petrify them all!" Dobby was faster than her, and didn't need any wands.

Umbridge, petrified, was not completely dead; her eyes could still move, and she could still hear the final snap of her fingers.

As Dobby snapped his fingers, a silver whirlwind passed through her body, and then her obese body began to split into evenly sized diamond-shaped pieces of flesh, but not a drop of blood flowed out.

"Sigh~ Cleaning is still the most troublesome job."

Dobby clapped his hands lightly and went into the kitchen.

Chapter 346 Jedi...The Return of the Sith

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Chapter 347 The Whereabouts of the Soul Weapon

The reason Nietzsche didn't immediately appear is simple: there was no need.

Hermione had achieved her goal when she had pushed the whole thing to where it was supposed to be... This wasn't just about the trend of wizards and Muggles merging, but also about things connected to Dumbledore:

A secret... or perhaps Nietzsche's most uncertain conjecture to date.

He concealed his armor and helmet under his brand-new wizard robes and walked openly down the street. The road was so deeply dented that it was completely unusable, so people almost all used flying magic cars.

"Wizards—this is a word many people are familiar with; they do exist..."

"Regarding the view on 'wizards,' I think Senator Lockhart is right: We have the right to know the truth... Everyone has seen it, there are bad people among the wizards, so who will supervise them?"

Nietzsche heard news and interviews playing on televisions in an electronics store, with various hosts discussing the matter on screens of all sizes.

However, what caught his attention most was a video of interviews with SHD soldiers and the wounded. From the occasional flashes of signs in the scene, it could be seen that the St. Mungo's Hospital of Magical Injuries was packed with people, which seemed to have become content that could be exposed.

In London following the terrorist attacks, Muggles and wizards joined forces under the leadership of the British government.

At that moment, a car wobbled and flew down, hovering over the collapsed roadside. The driver, wearing a hat, leaned out of the window and waved his arms at Nietzsche.

"Where would you like to go, sir?" The driver was a Muggle.

The Muggle gently patted the car door with his arm, as if greeting a brother. Before Nietzsche could say anything, the back door opened automatically. Apart from the car model, it was no different from the Weasley family's car.

Perhaps seeing that he didn't speak, the Muggle said enthusiastically, "The road is impassable now, and even a wizard would need several months to fix it."

"A wizard?" Nietzsche didn't refuse, and lifted his long robe to sit down.

The car seat was spacious enough that he could stretch his legs out and only just touch the back of the front seat. Counting the distance to the left, it was about four meters wide. The height was about the same, but it was a hand's width higher than his previous car.

This car has everything you need, and it's as cheap as a used German sedan.

"Judging from your appearance, you're one of those wizarding enthusiasts, aren't you?" The driver skillfully started the engine, allowing the car to slowly lift off. "Where are you planning to go?"

The other person seemed to mistakenly think that Nietzsche was a member of some kind of Muggle group that worshipped and followed celebrities, but he didn't care about that. Instead, he started to think carefully about the driver's question.

Nietzsche peered out the window, and the city's broken streets came into view, gradually overlapping with the scenes he had witnessed during his time travel.

“Could you please make a trip to Little Hangleton?” he said, stretching.

"Then? Why would you want to go there?" The Muggle driver became nervous. Although Nietzsche couldn't see his expression, he could feel the car shake slightly.

Although he said that, the direction the car was traveling in did not change.

"Is there a problem?"

"That's no good place. You know, no one survived in Little Hangton village... Jesus above, I heard a bunch of crazy wizards killed them all. If you ask me, maybe that's how Old Tom died back then."

It seems that Lockhart has revealed everything that happened this year.

This was Nietzsche's simple way of gathering information—he didn't need to go to great lengths; he could simply sit in a taxi, strike a casual pose, and hear knowledgeable drivers reveal many secrets.

There's a joke in Britain: if you want to know about an official's scandal, just go to the roadside around them.

From being a stable boy in the past to a car driver now, all it takes is giving these people a small tip and saying some nice things to get to know them a bit; you can gain many secrets that aren't really secrets.

“Old Tom? I heard about this news.” Nietzsche struck up a conversation with him. “It is said that the villagers at the time believed that the murderer was a World War II veteran, but there was not enough evidence.”

“That’s right! That’s exactly it… The Riddle family died quietly, just like the whole village of Little Hangleton!”

The killer was certainly not some World War II veteran suffering from various psychological traumas, but Tom Riddle, Voldemort before he had Snake Nose.

His purpose in going to Voldemort's former murder scene was to investigate the whereabouts of the Horcruxes. For someone who considers himself noble, every carefully prepared Horcrux must be meaningful to him.

'It's really lucky that I didn't die...' Nietzsche recalled the voice that claimed to be Death.

The car was very fast, didn't need to consume fuel, and had an automatic obstacle avoidance function. When the car came to a stop in the valley, it was only just evening.

Nietzsche pulled out a few pounds and handed them to the driver before walking inside. It must be said that when he crossed the yellow and black police tape, he could feel a chill that was different from the drop in temperature.

The entire village of Little Hangleton was in ruins; the stone walls were blackened by fire, and the wooden roof planks were even whitened and would break like soot at the slightest touch.

This place was once a breeding ground for undead; judging from the intensity of the fire, it may have been swept away by flamethrowers...

He had originally planned to go to Riddle Palace for an inspection, but halfway there he found a narrow path beside the main road, which had been burned by wild grass. He clearly remembered that there hadn’t been this path before.

As Nietzsche walked down the dirt road, he noticed that the scorched earth had changed, as if it were being blocked by something.

"The curse ends immediately---"

Nietzsche stood on the edge of the scorched earth, took out his wand and waved it gently, and the silhouette of a black, gothic-style house gradually appeared.

Chapter 348 The Secrets of the Gaunt Family

In a village ruined by fire, there is a house with a Confusion Charm that repels Muggles.

Its location is at the foot of Riddle House, a house that should have been affected by the great battle when Voldemort was resurrected, but now it stands on desolate scorched earth.

"squeak---"

Driven by magic, the long-neglected wooden door emitted a piercing sound like something out of a horror movie.

The evening glow streamed through the doorway, casting rectangular beams of light into the dusty, cobweb-filled hall. Through diffuse reflection, this allowed Nietzsche to glimpse the entire interior.

Dirty earthenware pots and shards of glass were scattered all over the floor;

Beside the long-extinguished fireplace was an armchair, and a mummified corpse sat on it. Snake bones were tied to the corpse's arm like ropes, making it look more like a prisoner being interrogated.

There are three small doors around the house, two bedrooms, and one kitchen.

On the wall hung two clean profile portraits of long-bearded old men, their faces somewhat similar. One of them, which Nietzsche had seen in his second year of school, was a regular portrait of Salazar Slytherin himself.

"The only way?" Nietzsche turned around and looked at the path by the door, muttering to himself.

Marvolo Sisyphus once spoke about Tom Riddle's origins, mentioning how his mother, Merop Gaunt, fell in love with a Muggle, which was also the origin of Voldemort's hatred of Muggles.

'Maybe Riddle once passed through here, maybe Melop fell in love with that Muggle here,' he thought.

Nietzsche shook his head, using his Occlumency technique to break free from Merope's perspective... perhaps it was a side effect?

But when he came to his senses and started looking for other clues, something chilling happened: the mummified corpse that had just been sitting in the armchair was gone.

It vanished silently, as if it were a hallucination he had just witnessed. Then he noticed that the old man's face next to the portrait of Salazar Slytherin had turned his head to face the new world.

"Mofen! Mofen!" the old man cried, "Is it that bastard?"

"Hiss hiss hiss---"

Nietzsche followed the gaze of those sinister brown eyes and saw that the emaciated corpse held a woodcutter's knife in its left hand and a magic wand in its right.

Perhaps the other person's throat was already unable to speak. As soon as Nietzsche heard a series of hissing sounds like snakes, he immediately gripped the neck firmly with his left hand and instantly bent it backward.

Even though it was so deadly, the mummified corpse named Mofen still managed to unleash a spell.

Nietzsche lightly flicked the beam with his lightsaber, twisting it into a beautiful blue arc with runic magic before it could touch his body.

“Moffin… my poor child.” The old man in the portrait, his mouth full of yellow teeth, cursed at Nietzsche, “You bastard! A trespasser! The Gaunt family has no trash like you with Muggle blood!”

Who was the last person to say that?

In Nietzsche's memory, the last group of people who judged his lineage were either dead or crippled.

“It doesn’t seem to be him, Dad.” Morfen bent down and forcefully straightened her head again. “He didn’t use that magic to torture me… It’s really amazing that a living person has come looking for us.”

Before he could finish speaking, Nietzsche grabbed him by the throat, lifted him into the air, slapped him up and down like a sandbag, and finally threw him under the pillar of light coming in from the doorway.

But it turns out that this thing is not a zombie at all; it can talk and even laugh happily in the sunlight.

What's even stranger is that no matter whether Nietzsche used a chokehold, or used a lightsaber to sever the old man's arms amidst his curses, or used gravity magic to compress him... it was all useless; any injury could be healed.

"Fool, you can't kill me." Mofen retreated to the doorway, turning her withered face outwards, seemingly enjoying the warmth of the sun before sunset.

He gave up, offered no further resistance, and even threw his wand and rusty machete at Nietzsche's feet.

“The Gaunt family? You mean Merop’s son?” Nietzsche stepped forward, snapping the wand in half with his heel, and said to the lifeless, desiccated corpse, “It seems Voldemort was here.”

"Voldemort...what? Voldemort?" The old man in the portrait had never heard of this name before.

However, this is normal. Voldemort wasn't as insane as he became during his student days. He was secretly studying the dark magic of 'immortality' in a corner where Dumbledore couldn't see him.

Tom Marvolo Riddell.

“Disgusting!” The old man in the portrait stroked his beard, his face showing disgust. “She even put my name in there…just like her son, so self-righteous, a shameless thief who thinks he’s purebred!”

The man in the portrait who bears a striking resemblance to Salazar Slytherin is Marvolo Gauntlet, who, according to his words, was searching for something, something to be used as a Horcrux.

“Look what he’s done to my son! A corpse! My poor son…” Gunter said angrily, “And then he made Morfen watch over that thief’s treasure.”

"What treasure?" Nietzsche pressed.

But Gaunt didn't reply. Instead, he bared his teeth at Morfin, and the two secretly communicated in Parseltongue, which he couldn't understand.

Nietzsche felt no sympathy for a pureblood turned into a mummified corpse. He recognized the wand, stuck the lightsaber into the wall, and with a swing of his right arm, cut Salazar Slytherin's portrait in two.

This made Mofen sit up straight immediately, shouting and reaching out to stop him: "Dad! It's a ring! A ring that has been passed down in our family!"

The wand stopped; a second later, the lightsaber would have slashed through the frame and torn the portrait apart.

“Continue,” Nietzsche said mercilessly.

“I used to break wizarding laws by hurting Muggles, so I spent a few years in jail... Merope ran off with a Muggle after my dad and I were arrested, and that bastard came back once after I got home.”

To prevent Nietzsche from making any further moves, Moffin raised his right hand.