Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

"Will it affect your potions skills?" Dumbledore asked.

"You're insulting my professionalism!" Slughorn glanced quickly at the people around him. "He must be under some kind of curse. I can see that his magic and life force are suppressed."

Professor Glendale's face was lifeless; if it weren't for the sound of his snoring, Nietzsche might have thought he was dead.

Snape, standing nearby, said, "They barely managed to stay afloat."

"Ah~ it wouldn't be surprising if it were Severus." Slughorn habitually started with a few flattering words.

Although Dumbledore didn't elaborate further, Nietzsche could guess that it might be related to Horcruxes—Voldemort liked to inflict many powerful curses on Horcruxes, as the Gaunt family had already verified.

Nietzsche reached over Slughorn's arm and took a few chicken legs, filling his stomach while quietly observing the professors, each with their own thoughts:

Vice-Headmistress McGonagall was chatting with Professor Flitwick about the wizarding world; Professor Quirrell was frowning as he perused ancient documents; and Headmaster Snape and Harry were locked in a silent standoff, neither willing to yield...

Once the food was in his stomach, he regained some strength and looked at Hermione through dozens of students. After a while, chocolate cake, egg tarts, and pudding replaced the rich main course.

At such times, Headmaster Dumbledore would stand up and speak, and this time was no exception.

"Welcome everyone!" he called out, waving his purplish-grey sleeves. "I'm so glad to see so many familiar faces here... Don't worry, Professor Snape will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year..."

Apart from Hermione, who already knew, the other students all seemed quite surprised.

Nietzsche shifted his gaze back and noticed that Harry didn't react much either. Unlike before, when he would get angry at the mention of 'Snape,' Harry just sighed with a bitter expression.

"Professor Snape?"

Defense Against the Dark Arts!

The rest of the people had their mouths open and turned their heads to look at the main guest seat.

At this moment, Professor Snape coldly swept his gaze around the Great Hall, seemingly very dissatisfied with the students' astonishment, as if to say that his abilities were not up to par, since even the Slytherin table only gave a perfunctory cheer.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, quieting the students down a bit.

"Please understand your Professor Grendel; he paid a heavy price to stop Voldemort from wreaking havoc," the headmaster said. "The current situation is extremely volatile, and only Professor Snape can ensure your proper development..."

Snape stood up lazily; he always possessed a certain ability to silence students instantly.

“Some arrogant people always want to start drastic changes. As teachers, we are powerless to stop them, but we don’t need some unlucky souls to follow them to their deaths,” Snape said, staring in the direction of Gryffindor.

His voice was very slow, monotonous and unapproachable, yet the content revealed a gentleness.

Everyone stared at Snape in astonishment. Clearly, no one believed that these words came from the Slytherin Headmaster, considering how many points they had been deducted for no reason in the past.

Especially the Gryffindors, they all looked warily toward the main seating area, feeling that Snape was up to something new again.

But this time, everyone's guesses were wrong.

“Now, take out your textbooks…” Snape commanded.

Some even carried backpacks, like the Ravenclaws, who pulled out books like "Studies in the Development of Modern Wizardry" and "Defense Against Magic" from under their feet.

“Yes, that’s right, these are the ones. From now on, these kinds of books are not allowed in my classes.” Snape’s hooked nose was slightly upturned, making him look arrogant. “These theoretical things are of no use to you at this stage…”

He continued, "As Headmaster Dumbledore said, 'changeable,' what you need is more than just dealing with magic."

This was said rather subtly, but it probably meant that in addition to dealing with dark wizards, the students also had some more complex Muggle problems.

Headmaster Dumbledore noticed the students' confusion and explained, "Professor Snape has extensive experience dealing with all sorts of people. You will learn how to control your emotions and protect yourself from the dark magic."

Nietzsche raised an eyebrow, which was practically a blatant statement: Snape was going to impart his undercover experience.

Was he indirectly pushing Professor Snape to change? You know, his old headmaster has always been indifferent to the life and death of others.

“And the original Potions class will be taught by Professor Slughorn and…” Dumbledore paused and turned his head.

“Darth Vader, Headmaster,” Nietzsche said in a rough, hoarse voice.

“Okay, they will teach together.”

It seems to be going smoothly; Nietzsche has minimized his presence as much as possible and is gradually reintegrating into Hogwarts as an assistant.

Then, just as everyone was enjoying dessert and thinking about the new semester's courses, Professor Glendale, who was in the head seat, suddenly clutched his chest, his whole body jerked violently as if he had been electrocuted, and he fell straight to the ground.

Dumbledore was the first to react, and he rushed over to help the other person up.

Professor Glendale seemed to have gone blind, his eyes wide open, waving his arms wildly. He had completely lost his former wit and humor, looking like a pitiful Muggle old man tormented by illness and pain.

"It wasn't me...it wasn't me!" he cried out in anguish.

When he grabbed Dumbledore's arms, he seemed to have found his anchor, and curled up on the headmaster's lap.

“It wasn’t me, I didn’t… I didn’t kill her…” Glendale murmured, tears streaming down his face, his eyes vacant. “I’m sorry… I really didn’t mean to…”

“I know.” Dumbledore shook his head at Professor McGonagall, then helped his old friend up.

Many students stood up, wanting to see what was happening, but Professor McGonagall drew her wand and swung it forcefully, creating a cracking sound like whipping the air, pushing the students back.

And so, everyone could only watch as the principal helped the old professor leave the auditorium.

"Alright, your beds are waiting for you," Professor McGonagall restored order with her authority. "Prepare for class tomorrow. You don't need to worry, so... goodnight!"

The Truth Hidden in Chapter 360

Everyone was feeling terrible.

Professor Sprout hurried towards the greenhouse; Professor Snape was also discussing the patients' conditions with Slughorn; meanwhile, Trelawney, wearing round gold-rimmed glasses, took out a tarot deck and began to mutter incoherently, performing a divination...

It was a long time before Headmaster Dumbledore reopened the infirmary door.

“Thank you for your hard work, Horace.” He took off his half-moon glasses, his eyelids trembling slightly.

The headmaster made way for Nietzsche, Slughorn, and Snape to enter the room.

Now lying in his hospital bed, Professor Glendale no longer let out mournful screams. His lips above his mustache were even cracked and bleeding from dryness, and he had lost more than half his body weight over the summer.

He wept weakly, as if the professors surrounding him were torturing him.

“I didn’t hurt them, Aberforth…it all came at me…it’s not his fault…” Glendale suddenly uttered a name that puzzled Nietzsche.

Aberforth is Albus Dumbledore's brother, but this doesn't seem to surprise anyone.

“Both moisture and magic are being lost.” Slughorn extended a finger and rubbed it against the patient’s lips. “This reminds me of a kind of dark magic, somewhat like the process of converting an undead.”

“That’s the same as what Severus said,” Dumbledore nodded in agreement.

“Really? No wonder you’re the master who invented the ‘Dark Moon Potion’.” Slughorn continued, “When did you fall under this curse?”

Two months before the start of the school year.

Slughorn was stunned by the number. He raised his hand and wiped the sweat from his forehead haphazardly.

"Two months?!" he said weakly. "It's already a miracle that you were able to slow down the loss of body fluids and let your friend live for two more months. Albus, I've never heard of a 'corpse' being brought back to life."

“As you can see, he is not dead.” Dumbledore’s voice became indistinct, filled with uncertainty.

Not being dead means having a soul, which means still being a person and still being saved. The principal still held onto this hope.

Nietzsche gazed at the withered, emaciated old man, and upon hearing their conversation, he thought of another person—Möven Günter.

It appears that Voldemort, through some unknown dark magic, was able to transform those who died directly or indirectly at his hands into 'Infernals' by using curses, but with a subtle difference: their souls were defiled.

In the school clinic at that moment, only a lamp that would not burn out was still hanging above Nietzsche's head. He looked suspiciously at the thin, gossamer-like curtains that were being lifted by the evening breeze.

"What's wrong?" Dumbledore noticed his change and asked, "Mr. Vida?"

"It's nothing," Nietzsche said nervously. "Perhaps I'm mistaken, but I have a feeling there's an extra guest here..."

These words sent chills down Professor Slughorn's spine, and he subconsciously looked up and glanced around, as it sounded far too sinister and terrifying.

"Don't laugh." Nietzsche rubbed his ears, issuing a warning beforehand towards the window at the head of the hospital bed.

“Nobody here laughs.” Snape, watching his absurd behavior, couldn’t help but say to Slughorn, “Which former student has put someone in your lap to gain prestige?”

Slughorn awkwardly stroked his round belly, clearly acquiescing to this statement.

However, he did not forget his duty, so he said to the principal, "This is not poison. I cannot eradicate this curse all at once. At most, I can only temporarily stop the spread of the curse's effects."

Dumbledore bent over a little more; this was the first time Nietzsche had seen the headmaster display an emotion that could be described as 'fear'.

Even the most powerful lion and the bravest man have things they fear.

He suddenly pulled off the 'Deathly Hallows' necklace from Professor Glendale's neck, and nodded to Slughorn as if he had made up his mind: "Then I'll leave it to you."

The only record of the Deathly Hallows is in the Tales of Beedle the Bard, so they remain a mystery in the wizarding world.

Clearly, this powerful curse could not be cured by ordinary potions, and Dumbledore didn't seem to intend to place all his hopes on the two Potions Masters in the wizarding world; he chose another method:

The Deathly Hallows.

Of course, this is just a hypothesis and cannot be completely confirmed...

After Snape's figure disappeared into the darkness of the basement, Nietzsche grabbed Slughorn.

"So, the curse of the Infernal can't be eradicated?" His cryptic demeanor, coupled with his mesmerizing blue eyes, left Slughorn with almost no will to resist.

Death Eaters, none of the slightly loyal ones are mentally sound.

“Yes, this is good news for you, isn’t it?” Slughorn said in a muffled voice.

“You know that’s not what I’m asking,” Nietzsche pressed impatiently.

He was asking about the origins of the Infernal, a form of dark magic. Before Voldemort appeared, it seemed no one knew, not even in "The Poisonous Magic" or the tattered "The Secrets of Dark Magic."

It's as if this kind of dark magic was invented by Voldemort.

“The earliest image of the Infernal... comes from the three brothers in the Tales of Beedle the Bard.” Slughorn took two steps back in fear and said tremblingly, “No one but that person would bother to understand this blasphemous magic.”

"So, he can only wait to die?" Nietzsche said with a disdainful expression. "Just do as Dumbledore says."

Slughorn's office is not a traditional professors' lounge, but on the seventh floor. It looks about the same size as the principal's office, and there is a sandalwood round table in the center for gatherings.

Judging from the ornate decorations and the melancholy gazes of the professors, this place used to be a gathering place for the Slug Club.

Nietzsche poured himself a glass of mead, crossed his legs by the fireplace, and as he savored the sweet alcohol as it slid down his throat, he directed his quill to write complex reasoning on parchment:

Dumbledore... Aberforth... Grendel... The Deathly Hallows and the 'Morphin' corpse.

And then there's 'her'—a woman who seems to have caused Glendale shame and regret—who, from her intermittent mutterings, is also connected to Headmaster Dumbledore.

He connected everything together and conceived countless scenarios in his mind.

In a daze, Nietzsche saw 'Möffin Günter,' burned to ashes by the flames of time, travel through time and sit on the sofa opposite him once again... Since experiencing time travel, his fantasies have become more real.