Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

On that black finger, where only skin embraced the bone, was a diamond-shaped black gemstone ring. He dangled the ring back and forth, and there was an inconspicuous emblem on the gemstone.

“I despise that little bitch’s bastard child. I told him to get lost and find his real father.” Morfin pointed in a direction. “It was that Muggle. But it was at that time that he stole the ring.”

“But I have to admit, that bastard’s magical abilities are stronger than my daughter’s, what a pity,” Gaunt added calmly.

His use of the word 'pity' was simply because Voldemort wasn't a true pureblood; the overwhelming absurdity and irony made Nietzsche laugh out loud inside his helmet.

Clearly, Voldemort was despised by the old-school purebloods and was caught between purebloods and Muggles.

Then, just as Morfin recounted, Voldemort took the Black Gem Ring when he wasn't looking, and through the sacrifice of Riddle House's life, turned the ring into a Horcrux, before returning it.

“My son became like this after he died…neither human nor ghost…that person defiled our family’s sacred object and made my son a slave under his control, he deserves to die!” Gaunt shouted like a madman.

Just by looking at Marvolo Gaunt in front of him, he could already picture Mrs. Black, whom Harry had mentioned.

Nietzsche couldn't help but wonder: Is every old pureblood like this?

"No one has discovered you all these years?" he said. "There's no powerful magic cast here."

“Everyone’s dead, who’s going to come?” Gaunt was furious about the fall of his family. “Those vermin at the Ministry of Magic, if they hadn’t insisted that my son had hurt some Muggles and arrested him, Merop wouldn’t have had the guts to run away!”

Upon hearing this, Nietzsche felt a growing respect for the Ministry of Magic.

“Hordeals, he turned your rings into something that would grant him immortality,” he scoffed. “Perhaps it was revenge. It seems Voldemort wasn’t much better to you purebloods.”

“This is an insult to Salazar Slytherin! An insult to our family!” he cursed.

It seems the Gaunt family had heard of this kind of black magic, which saved Nietzsche some trouble.

Morfin looked at him with hatred and said, "Since you know about Horcruxes, what do you want to do? If you just want to confirm, you can leave now."

"Of course not, I'm here to destroy Horcruxes."

Old Gaunt showed a delighted expression, seemingly surprised by the news, but then his face fell, and he looked at Nietzsche with a strange gaze, as if he was dissatisfied with his bloodline.

Of course~ In the eyes of people like them, how could someone of Muggle blood be qualified to destroy the treasures of a pure-blood family?

Voldemort, on the other hand, shared a similar mentality: he felt that only such priceless treasures were worthy of being his Horcruxes, and only they could demonstrate that he could trample on those who were 'high and mighty' under his feet.

“In fact, nobody knows you Gaunt,” Nietzsche said.

After exchanging a few glances, Mofen and Old Gunter said hoarsely, "You decide what to do. I'm already driven crazy by this."

The Gaunt family was ultimately buried in oblivion, and even Voldemort no longer used the name 'Gaunt' to refer to himself, which was clearly a form of revenge.

The flames surged from Nietzsche's wand, crushing the ring and causing Morphine's soul to utter a mournful cry. The black gem, unable to be consumed by the flames, also fell to the ground with Gaunt's sigh.

Perhaps it was an auditory hallucination, but Nietzsche heard a familiar cheer again, just like the one he had heard in the Hall of Death.

“That’s mine…” Gaunt stared longingly at the gem.

It's truly terrifying that even after her son was freed, she still maintained that arrogant and unreasonably conceited attitude.

“Yes, the whole house is yours now,” Nietzsche said nonchalantly, kicking the gemstone under the portrait.

Chapter 349 The Uninvited Guest at the Funeral

The robust, powerful, and melodious sound of Scottish bagpipes drifted from Westminster Palace, a place where people forgot all the troubles, sins, and ugliness of the world, and felt only remembrance and emotion for the heroes.

Nietzsche, having just destroyed a Horcrux in Little Hangleton, happened to arrive just in time for his own funeral...

Perhaps a normal person would find such a blunder unsettling or speechless, unlike Nietzsche who would secretly laugh from the shade of the trees outside Westminster Palace.

'Great, at least I can save myself from a complicated process when I really die,' Nietzsche thought to himself with a self-deprecating smile.

He saw many people, led by the Queen, holding flowers and placing them at the palace gates. Even more comically, he saw his own smiling face in many of the photos.

How young he was, still a novice wizard, which made more Muggles feel sympathy for wizards.

Nietzsche pursed his lips and saw his uncle, Mycroft Holmes, supported by the butler and leaning on a cane, walk to the center of the steps to pay his respects.

"The ending of the story needs no further explanation; all efforts to find the body ended in failure. Thus, beneath the magnificent tides of history, one of the greatest men of this era will forever lie in eternal rest..."

However, the more heartbroken the Watsons became, and the more somber Sherlock's face grew, the more Nietzsche secretly rejoiced, and the more he began to understand Death:

It felt like watching a very real and exceptionally interesting performance.

As the 'actors' led by Hermione emerged from the palace after watching the entire 'movie,' Nietzsche once again lowered his head and squeezed into the crowd, perfectly blending into the sorrowful atmosphere unnoticed.

He heard Ginny say, "Are you planning to work at the Ministry of Magic all summer?"

“Only this way can I feel more comfortable,” Hermione said from behind her veil, dressed entirely in black.

“Maybe you should go back… It’s not just you who’s sad, but your parents too. What will they do? You’re all they have left.” Molly Weasley said sadly from the side, “The Ministry of Magic won’t be short of a couple of days, child.”

Just as they stepped out the door, Nietzsche grabbed one of them, Marvolo Sisyphus.

Marvolo was initially puzzled, but when he looked up at Nietzsche in the crowd, he was stunned, as if struck by lightning. He didn't resist and was casually dragged into the Muggles holding flowers in mourning.

"You...you...you..." He couldn't even finish his sentence.

Without a word, Nietzsche dragged him outside and found a café to sit in.

There are not only Muggles here, but also quite a few wizards, so you can see several tables floating on the sunken road, and the shop assistants are delivering food by stepping on the floating stone slabs.

It's hard to imagine that such a dreamlike scene could appear in reality, so much so that Muggles were scrambling to take pictures.

“I’m still alive, yes, you read that right.” Nietzsche said lazily while sipping his iced hazelnut latte. “I just dealt with a Horcrux... Voldemort hid it in Gaunt’s old house.”

"You?" Marvolo stammered, "You're not dead? And you even destroyed a Horcrux?"

So Nietzsche slowly began to recount the story, including what he had heard from the Gaunt father and son about Mrs. Meloop.

The car's shadow, cast by the sun, occasionally swept across Marvolo's head. He swung his legs, which were dangling in the air, and his face turned extremely pale. Even after hearing about the Gaunt family's final downfall, he didn't raise his head.

He didn't drink a single sip of his Americano; he just watched the ice cubes slowly melt.

About ten minutes later, he said, "You know what?"

"Hmm?" Nietzsche raised his eyebrows in confusion.

He saw Mavolo's lips move a few times, but heard no sound, so he craned his neck.

But at that moment, Marvolo grabbed his collar with his left hand and slapped a cup of coffee across his face with his right. Small ice cubes slid down his neck and collarbone along with the coffee, eventually soaking his chest.

“You could have said you weren’t going to drink it earlier.” Nietzsche didn’t use magic to cleanse himself; he simply wiped his face with a napkin.

It's not about being seen by Muggles like before, but rather about allowing Marvolo to vent his emotions in a reasonable way.

“Do you know how much of an idiot you are?” Marvolo glared and cursed. “I thought you were really dead and almost left here... I didn’t expect Hermione to stop Dumbledore for my sake.”

“That’s why I came to find you right away~” Nietzsche innocently raised his hands.

"It was after dealing with a Horcrux, not 'immediately'!" Marvolo said, emphasizing his words. "Hmph, I bet you're trying to test Voldemort through me. Don't try to deny it!"

He tapped the empty cup and asked Nietzsche to order another coffee.

"You're not going to splash it again, are you?" Nietzsche asked cheekily.

"Aren't you supposed to be very smart? Why don't you try to guess?" Marvolo took a small sip of coffee, his face cold, and said irritably.

Nietzsche wasn't stupid. Whether he guessed right or wrong, he wouldn't gain anything, so he quickly got away from the trap, but at the same time thought: Hermione wouldn't be so rude, would she?

He quickly shook his head, unable to bear the thought of that scene.

“You’re right, that’s exactly why I came to see you,” Nietzsche said.

Marvolo rubbed his temples, shakily pulled a thin, long tobacco from his pocket, put it in his mouth, lit it with an illumination spell, took a deep breath, and exhaled a heavy smoke ring toward Nietzsche.

After one cigarette burned out, Marvolo finally perked up and lit a second one.

“After you died, Hermione forced me to open the connection several times… Voldemort didn’t die, but I sensed that he had lost most of his magic.” He paused, then said seriously, “Permanently.”

If Voldemort's magic power used to be a tank of water, now it's a teacup, its upper limit is locked.

This disparity only exists between adult wizards and young wizards. Clearly, even Voldemort, who was supposed to be 'undying,' had to pay a heavy price in the explosion.

As Death himself said, this feeling was worse for Voldemort than death itself.

"By the way, I think there's some news you'll definitely be interested in."

"What is it?" Nietzsche asked nonchalantly.

“Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange died at the Ministry of Magic… Voldemort wasn’t as lucky as you; he paid a heavy price to survive in those circumstances.” Marvolo glanced at him sideways.

Unlike Nietzsche, who, with nothing to do with him, still had the leisure to take the opportunity to kick Voldemort while he was down.

Chapter 350 The Plan Against Voldemort

Marvolo hadn't been seen for months, and his spirits had deteriorated to the point where he needed nicotine. His eyes were bloodshot, suggesting that Hermione had forced him to do many dangerous things.

“While you were away, Dumbledore and Harry also acquired a new Horcrux.” He rested his elbow on the table, expertly flicking cigarette ash to his feet. “It was found in the office of former Minister Umbridge.”

This is another very long story:

Five months after Nietzsche's 'confirmed death', the Order of the Phoenix returned to Black's ancestral home in Grimmauld Place to look after and train Harry, while also learning that they had obtained clues from the house-elf Kreacher and Sirius Black.

Sirius's younger brother, Regulus Black, was an important member of the Death Eaters, and through this, he discovered the whereabouts of the second Horcrux, the Slytherin Locket—a cave on the edge of a cliff.

At that moment, Mavolo pulled a small box from his pocket, with a black rope threaded through it.

"Dumbledore almost made a mistake; they got a replica made by Regulus in the cave. Fortunately, Umbridge had embezzled the genuine article that had ended up on the market and hid it in his office."

The rope was wrapped around Marvolo's arm and he was being swung around, but there was no magic on it, and there was a piercing mark in the middle of the box.

"You destroyed the Horcrux?" Nietzsche looked at the box with suspicion, not believing that the other party had the courage to commit such self-destruction.

"It was pierced by Dumbledore's sword, Gryffindor. I retrieved it myself." Marvolo's eyes were hazy in the gray smoke, and his voice sounded...

If Nietzsche heard correctly, it could probably be described as 'choking up,' but that's what made him most doubt his own judgment.

"It's related to...Melop?" He couldn't think of anything else that could make the other person so excited.

Marvolo took a drag of his cigarette, a sip of coffee mingling with the sour taste of coffee beans in his smoke rings. "A desperate, foolish woman was swindled out of her most valuable possession at a ridiculously low price, all for..."

It was all just so they could eat something so that the baby in their womb could be born alive—a fact both of them knew perfectly well.

“No wonder.” Nietzsche suddenly thought of something, and he wished he could run back to Little Hangleton and tear up the portrait of Gaunt.

"what?"

“The Gaunt father and son didn’t mention that they had a Slytherin locket; they thought I would be interested in such things.”