Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

This is the most ironic ending: their most prized possessions, the rings that best represent their superior bloodline and the Slytherin locket, one became a collar binding them, and the other ended up among merchants.

But looking back, the more the Gaunt father and son, the offspring of inbreeding, were still being petty and smug before they died, the more ridiculous they seemed.

“Hahaha...This is so funny.” Nietzsche mimicked the old Gauntlet’s wink like a monkey. “The ring he guarded until his death turned his son into a dried-up corpse, and the locket he hid was as cheap as a crucible.”

Marvolo was stunned. The melancholy that had just arisen was filled with the absurdity of reality, and then he laughed along with it.

Under the midday sun, the two laughed like lunatics at the cafe seat suspended above the pit, quickly returning to their daily routine of occasionally bickering and teasing each other at school.

The Gaunt family's dignity and obsession with pure blood were deconstructed into a source of amusement amidst the laughter.

"Fine, you're still as shameless as ever." Marvolo shook his head helplessly, and while Marvolo wasn't looking, he put the Slytherin locket away again, and continued, "So, how do you plan to investigate the rest of the Horcruxes?"

"Aside from your two family heirlooms and the Gaunt family's two treasures, there is another known Horcrux that is probably also a living thing."

“The snake? You mean the snake that was with Voldemort!” Marvolo said. “That’s possible. I’ve never seen the snake leave him.”

That was clearly the last Horcrux, so Nietzsche could only focus on the remaining Horcruxes.

They talked a lot, mostly by Marvolo, from the initial anxiety to how everyone got back on track, and the changes that happened to many people. He also talked about the new semester.

Among them, Marvolo mentioned one person—Holag Slughorn—who would be a professor in the new semester.

“I have a very vivid memory of this professor…” Marvolo said with a sinister smile.

Meanwhile, Hermione returned home with her parents and the Watsons, all of whom were in low spirits... especially John Watson and Mary, who were Nietzsche's nominal parents.

It's already early June, and Hermione, who usually loves studying, has suddenly become indifferent to the OLWs exams, simply sitting on the sofa with her mother in her arms.

“I don’t want to waste any more time at school,” she said softly.

If her daughter had said something like this before, Mrs. Granger would have thought she was joking or saying it out of anger because she felt bullied, but this time was different.

Support? Agree?

No, as Hermione's mother, Mrs. Granger did not want her daughter to be crushed.

“Don’t be silly, you can make up for your exams after school starts.” Mrs. Granger looked at her daughter with heartache. “Your friends are all at school, and you’re not the only one in the Ministry of Magic.”

“Perhaps Nietzsche also hopes you can relax a bit…” Watson chimed in, trying to persuade him.

Everyone here knows how busy Hermione has been these past few months, dealing with Voldemort's mess while also campaigning for the foolish Senator Lockhart to become Prime Minister.

A girl who should have been enjoying romance at Madame Patif's Tea House has instead become a workaholic ahead of time.

“But I need to do something. I don’t want to be idle and do nothing.” Hermione fiddled with her mother’s skirt, rubbing it in her hands. “Of course, maybe, given Nietzsche’s personality, he’d be happy to take the exam with me…”

As she spoke further, her voice grew softer and softer.

It's happening again. I don't know how many times this has happened. Every time a certain thing is mentioned, she automatically makes connections and subconsciously thinks: If it were Nietzsche, what would he do, and what would he and I do?

Silence fell over the living room once again... Yes, given Nietzsche's personality, perhaps this OWLs will become his way of relaxing.

Hermione blinked hard, as if struggling with drowsiness, and hurriedly got up, saying, "Okay, I know, I'm going upstairs to read!"

This is a lie.

She couldn't concentrate on reading; she just made an excuse to go upstairs to escape the Watsons. She didn't know how to face them.

'That damn bastard is really dead, why are you still chanting his name? It's no use chanting it, does Death release his soul?' Hermione cursed herself as she stood in front of the door, her hand hesitant to turn the doorknob.

"Meow!!" Crookshan scratched at the wooden door with its paws, making an impatient meow.

“Do you think he might be a ghost?” Hermione asked, picking up the heavy Crookshank. “Ghosts are all driven by obsessions… He’s your master, do you think he would have the kind of obsession that would allow him to become a ‘ghost’?”

"Meow~" Crookshan rolled his eyes carelessly, but still let the girl stroke his fur against the grain.

The world is broken and dilapidated, and the cat mends and plucks it up.

Hermione eventually opened her bedroom door, only to be disappointed: no blue and white ghost suddenly jumped out of the wall to startle her.

She idly touched her things, wiping dust off the photos, and occasionally carelessly knocking over calendars, books, time converters, and other odds and ends. There was no particular purpose; she just wanted to pass the time like this...

Wait, a time converter?

Hermione clearly remembered returning the item to Professor McGonagall, and judging from the alchemical symbols made of runes, it was exactly the same as the other converter left behind by Granger.

"Dad! Has anyone from the Ministry of Magic been to our house?" she shouted as she rushed to the stairs in her slippers.

"It seems not!"

"Are there any particularly strange people? Or have any strange things happened?"

Chapter 351 Professor Slughorn

The entire summer vacation... Strictly speaking, although it's already July, it doesn't really count as summer vacation for Nietzsche, who didn't experience OWLs at Hogwarts.

But this didn't stop him from covering his face with the newspaper and snoring softly, stretching his legs out and pushing hard against the ground to lift the front chair legs of the Royal Dining Room off the floor and shift his center of gravity backward.

He sat there for nearly three hours, with about a dozen wine glasses on the table. He kept drinking gin and whiskey, and then he fell asleep.

"Hey!" Someone ripped the newspaper off his face and pulled off his fake beard.

The sudden pain made Nietzsche fall backward. He rolled his eyes and looked up with annoyance, only to find that it was the late Mavolo.

“Didn’t we agree on… five o’clock?” Nietzsche glanced at the clock on the wall and said irritably, “It’s almost nine o’clock now.”

"How much did you drink?" Marvolo Sisyphus stared at the empty glasses on the table, his eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. He almost gritted his teeth to keep from yelling, "Don't forget, the money you're using right now is all mine!"

“Take it easy, I finally get a break.” Nietzsche snatched the fake mustache and stuck it back under his lips.

The money he secretly took from Hermione wasn't much; it wouldn't last a single day's expenses.

But so what? He travels back and forth between two worlds and even used his life to secure the connection between the Ministry of Magic and the British government. Why can't he enjoy himself?

Of course, Nietzsche only thought these words to himself...

Pushing aside the scattered wine glasses and numerous tissues on the table, the newspaper casually covering his face was covered with tiny markings in quill pen. Several stacks of the *Daily Prophet* lay under the lamp, their headlines strikingly prominent:

Gilderoy Lockhart is leading by a wide margin in the vote.

But that wasn't the purpose of his meeting with Marvolo; it was to meet another person who had a direct connection with Voldemort: Holag Slughorn.

Nietzsche was helped out of the Royal Hotel. He took deep breaths of the cold night air to calm his feverish head. The streets had been mostly restored, and at least bicycles could be seen on the road.

"Where is he now?" he asked in a light tone.

“According to the investigation, Slughorn is hiding in a Muggle house in Badley Barberton village. That fool still thinks he’s fooled everyone. All these years have passed, and he’s still the same.” Marvolo spread his arms.

As soon as Nietzsche grabbed his arm, he felt like he was being sucked into a drink through a straw.

Nietzsche was no stranger to phasing; he had experienced it many times before. But this time, miraculously, he didn't feel any pressure from any directions. It was just a blur before his eyes, as simple as changing a TV channel.

The noisy car engine sounds disappeared, replaced by the long, drawn-out chimes of church bells.

He found himself standing in front of an old war memorial. It wasn't exactly dilapidated, but it still had the desolation typical of a village.

"Are you alright?" Marvolo turned his head and looked at him curiously.

This wasn't a kind inquiry about whether he was feeling unwell, but rather a disappointment that he hadn't vomited up the alcohol and food residue due to the side effects of Apparition.

“On the contrary, it’s great!” Nietzsche blinked and took two steps in a daze. “But I feel even stranger than before. Could there be such a side effect? ​​Something’s not right. I haven’t learned about Apparition yet.”

The strange feeling of a sudden blur before his eyes was somewhat similar to the scene he experienced when he returned from another world.

Like everyone else, he was always forcibly shoved into a rubber tube and sucked into another space, forced to endure the compression of that space. But today, it was as simple as taking a single step forward...

He actually hated the side effects of Apparition, but now it seems he could try learning it.

The two passed by the church entrance, turned into a street corner where the lights were off, and went a little further in to see a charming little house built of stone and wood, nestled in a garden.

“Slughorn used to be my Slytherin headmaster, I know him well.” Marvolo suddenly stopped in his tracks. “For example, he doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

Nietzsche realized that there was magic set up in front of him; even if there was no trap, there must be an intrusion prevention spell.

“If he’s this careful, how will Voldemort find him…” Nietzsche took a few steps back in frustration, moving away from the dividing line drawn by Marvolo.

That was his purpose in coming here—he hoped Slughorn would make Voldemort give himself away.

Lacking trusted confidants and power, Voldemort will surely hide like a rat... If Voldemort learns to be patient, that won't be good news for Nietzsche.

But after pacing back and forth twice, he suddenly asked, "What's your relationship with him like?"

“Not bad, he should still remember me.” Marvolo tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and added calmly, “If he doesn’t have Alzheimer’s…”

“Then we can put on a show.” Nietzsche squinted slightly and gently scratched his fake gray goatee with his fingers.

Marvolo was immediately filled with respect. He knew that someone else was going to be in trouble, so they stood at the door of someone else's house and began to discuss 'pranks'.

If they had known each other a little earlier, perhaps they could have convinced the entire street to move.

"Your clothes need to be straightened... They need to look dignified and classy." Marvoro took out his wand and tapped the two of them, using a transformation spell to turn their casual clothes into very expensive wizard robes.

“Hmm, he’s a bit vain,” Nietzsche analyzed step by step, adding, “You must have presence.”

How do I explain this?

He pointed to his face; his youthful appearance was sure to make him recognizable.

“Dumbledore didn’t participate in the Ministry of Magic’s war. No matter how Slughorn looks at you, just say that you were affected by time and returned to your youth at the cost of two Death Eater lives,” Nietzsche said.

“That works too, it should scare him.” Marvolo agreed immediately. “He’s very timid.”

"Then what do we have to worry about regarding the invasion spell?" Nietzsche clapped his hands and said forcefully, "Since we're going to imitate, let's be even more decisive... charge in as fast as we can!"

When two of the most talented performers get together, it inevitably produces a negative reaction.

Chapter 352 A Couple's Journey

In the village of Barberton under the cover of night, two figures were rushing swiftly and silently toward the garden cottage. What would normally be a three-minute journey was shortened to less than twenty seconds with the aid of the braking spell.

It's a strange feeling, like I've turned into a broom that can't fly high.

Nietzsche lowered his body and deliberately rammed the garden gate with his shoulder, causing the hinges to snap and making a loud noise. He then raised his wand and used a lock-picking spell to blow open the front door of the house, with an effect similar to that of a directional explosive.

"Open sesame!"

"boom!"

Nietzsche's control over magic was so concentrated that a shockwave penetrated and spread throughout the entire room.

The doorknob, flying up like an arrow, stuck into the grandfather clock; fragments of chandeliers were scattered everywhere in the narrow porch; the piano, struck by the impact, emitted a series of uneven, mournful cries just before collapsing.

Just then, an iron chain emerged from the shards of the vase, moving very quickly, clearly indicating that the other party had been prepared. However, before it could wrap around Nietzsche, it was engulfed by the flames.