Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

“Yes, yes, sometimes I can’t see clearly either.” Slughorn walked down the steps.

In fact, given Nietzsche's previous self-talking and eccentric performance, no matter how outrageous Hermione's actions were, Professor Slughorn considered them all within the category of 'normal behavior'.

Nietzsche, who was far away at the entrance of Gringotts, sneezed.

Chapter 373 Dumbledore Discovers Something Abnormal

This dinner party held at the Slug Club was not about Slughorn the spider's 'predation'; the theme of this first dinner party was probably 'web weaving'—weaving a large web called 'connection'.

Hermione was astonished by the size of the office as she followed the professor into it: it was a large hall that could be considered a small auditorium, with several smaller rooms for sleeping and working.

Dumbledore, disguised as Gandalf, was also there, wearing a tattered gray robe and carrying a large 'wand'.

“Albus!” Professor Slughorn exclaimed dramatically.

He opened his arms wide to the principal, seemingly welcoming him to the Slug Club dinner. His voice also drew the attention of many students in formal attire—who were watching him and the principal embracing tightly.

To be honest, Hermione saw a bit of Lockhart in Slughorn, only the former was more subtle.

“It’s been so long since we’ve gotten together…” The professor snapped his fingers, conjuring up a multitude of desserts and snacks out of thin air. “Fate is truly strange; who would have thought that two equally matched people could end up together?”

Hermione turned her head but did not see Marvolo, so it seemed that he was not among those invited.

This place is a gathering place for a new generation of wizards. You can see Weasley's red hair running around everywhere, and the quiet Astoria is also here. They are all dancing or chatting in the center of the hall.

Of course, there were also some old wizards that Hermione had never seen before, probably friends of Slughorn. They all looked like important figures, and they were smiling and chatting with the Hogwarts students.

The scene was very similar to that ball in Belfast, and Hermione could even see what their future would look like through their youthful faces.

“Yes.” Dumbledore’s eyes flickered a few times, and he quickly walked up to Hermione, saying, “You’ve really had a tough time, Mr. Vidar. As an assistant, you also have to act as a substitute professor. I thought only Horace would have to work hard, but I never imagined…”

Hermione calmed down and quickly grasped the headmaster's rough hand.

“It’s what I should do,” she said seriously.

For some reason, she always felt uncomfortable, as if Dumbledore's gaze was piercing her, so she quickly turned her head away.

“Sit down, Vida, everyone sit down!” Slughorn interrupted their handshake anxiously and gestured for everyone to sit at the round table in the club’s lobby. “I just happened to have prepared your favorite wine.”

Sure enough, Hermione found a small bottle of Northern Irish whiskey tied with a red ribbon on her desk.

If she remembered correctly, Nietzsche wasn't even an adult yet... But it didn't matter, she reluctantly pocketed it.

There was a very suspicious action: although the professor was calling out to the outstanding students he recognized, his eyes were fixed on the wall clock, which was very impolite, as if he was waiting for another guest.

If it were someone else, perhaps this wouldn't be a big deal, but for Slughorn, who values ​​etiquette and is also self-interested, this behavior clearly goes against his principles.

But who in this school could be more important than Headmaster Dumbledore?

Once everyone was seated, the main course was served. House-elves, acting like waiters, carried heavy silver trays and placed cheesy potatoes, pasta, and tacos from the center of each seat onto the smoky tables.

Everything here has been enchanted, even the light bulbs. They aren't electric lights; they're actually tiny fairies twinkling inside.

"I can see you've put a lot of thought into this," Dumbledore said meaningfully.

“Um… where are Severus and Minerva? Aren’t they coming?” Slughorn pressed his two thumbs together, peering at the tightly closed door.

"They also hosted a banquet in the main hall downstairs."

It was a long and arduous ordeal... Yes, Hermione loathed this kind of heavy socializing; she would rather spend time doing ten papers than listen to professors talk about the Ministry of Magic's development in front of her.

Especially Dumbledore; despite being the headmaster, Hermione was still very tired of the feeling of being interfered with.

“Have you heard of Miss Granger? It’s a shame, I’d love to get to know her,” Slughorn said regretfully. “Things are changing so fast these days. Back when we were young, we never imagined that Muggles and wizards would get together.”

Dumbledore sighed deeply at the matter, his shoulders slumping as if he had lost all his strength in an instant.

"Do you know who the current Muggle prime minister is?" the headmaster asked.

"How would I know? In fact, I'm more worried about whether the conflict between Muggles and wizards will become more acute."

“Giddon Lockhart.” Dumbledore looked at his old friend’s pupils, which were gradually widening, and continued, “Yes, that little Ravenclaw conman, so I’m not worried about what you’re worried about.”

Hermione pursed her lips, a smug smile playing on her lips.

But just then, she suddenly felt a burning sensation in her body, which was the alarm signal that the compound decoction was about to lose its effectiveness.

But... how is that possible? Hermione remembered that the improved potion was divided into four portions, enough for her to use for four days, and the amount she just drank in the girls' restroom was enough to last for three hours.

"I'm going to the bathroom." Hermione, still a little tipsy from the alcohol, stood up and prepared to leave the Slug Club.

“Mr. Vida, the washroom is in that room!” Daphne pointed to the room by the window and called out loudly.

Hermione touched the empty potion bottle in her pocket; it was completely empty. A potion should last for twenty-four hours according to the original recipe, so it was definitely shortchanged.

There are only two possibilities for this: Slughorn did something and Nietzsche knew but didn't report it; or Nietzsche did it himself.

She glared at the professor resentfully, startling him.

Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!

She seemed to hear Nietzsche's cunning voice again: 'This is also part of the plan~'

"I think I might need to go to the infirmary," Hermione said, clutching her stomach and feigning discomfort from the Polyjuice Potion, before quickly leaving the stuffy office.

Dumbledore blinked, first watching 'Veda's' departing figure, then glancing at the wall clock that had ticked for an hour and a half.

"Just as you said, an error of less than an hour. It seems your control over potions is even stronger than before," the headmaster said, leaning on his long, thick wand, as if he had already seen through Hermione's smokescreen.

"But why is there no movement from Severus's side?" Slughorn asked, utterly puzzled. "Is the Great Hall safe?"

"It seems this is easier than I thought." Dumbledore took a sip of Dragon Whiskey and breathed a cloud of hot dragon breath onto the medium-rare steak on his plate, heating it up and adding a touch of whiskey aroma.

Dumbledore initially received Slughorn's warning about Polyjuice Potion and assumed that 'Vidal' would cause trouble on Halloween.

As the principal, he was aware of the situation regarding Halloween each year, which is why he left several professors in the auditorium. Even if they couldn't prevent students from getting hurt, they could still catch the perpetrators and save the students as soon as possible.

But now it seems to be just some kind of signal—a Halloween prank.

"I think I know what's going on." Dumbledore finished his steak, which smelled of whiskey, stood up, and said loudly to the remaining students, "Have fun."

"Wait! What's going on?!" Slughorn jogged like a ball rolling on the ground.

He hated Dumbledore's way of speaking, which made him feel like he was being played by both sides... To be honest, he was a Potions Master, not some fool to be laughed at.

“You are safe,” Dumbledore said in a low voice, sounding helpless.

"Komavolo...that person's Horcrux..."

"Because I'm here." The principal interrupted his questioning firmly, hurrying back to the auditorium. "Also, Happy Halloween!"

Although Slughorn did not feel happy.

Chapter 374 Crossing Gringotts

"It should be about time now." Nietzsche, hiding on the street outside Gringotts, pondered what should be happening at Hogwarts recently.

Each bottle of Polyjuice Potion has a two-hour margin of error, which is enough for Hermione to give others away.

There will always be people who care about him who will discover his identity as 'Veda', and this is the message he is going to pass on to Headmaster Dumbledore, after all, he is conveying the message 'I am not dead' in this 'conspiracy' way.

He wanted Dumbledore to know that he had lost, and lost completely.

The headmaster and his old friend initially supported and taught Hermione with a concept of 'balance'. However, Nicholas's use of faked death to promote Hermione's change made their previous actions completely 'aiding the enemy'.

Of course, Nietzsche did this more to allow some people to guess that he was still alive, but only a few.

“I said, why isn’t it me keeping watch here?” Fletcher, who had come from the Pighead Bar, stood at the entrance of the cauldron shop, keeping an eye on all sorts of people coming and going in Gringotts, and nervously stamping his feet.

His clumsy, monstrous dance was actually an attempt to adjust to his new clothes, which looked expensive but were actually cheap knock-offs. Even the gemstone rings on his fingers were inexpensive glass products.

The suit clung tightly to Mundungus Fletcher's body, making the wizard, who was used to wearing loose robes, feel very uncomfortable.

“Since you’re nervous, you’ll play the role of a Muggle who’s depositing money in Gringotts for the first time,” Nietzsche reassured her easily. “Start counting your steps from the entrance all the way to the Thief’s Falls, and leave the rest to me.”

“But I…I have no money. The fairies will only open the door when they see money!” Fletcher rubbed his thumb and forefinger together slightly, indicating that he wanted some hard currency.

Nietzsche, as if by magic, flipped his wrist and stuffed two postcards into his hand.

One of them is a Muggle bank business card, a very common item, but to make it look more authoritative and to leave some trace, the other is Nietzsche's SHD official ID.

“You want me to lie to people?” Fletcher said.

"Don't worry, the fairy won't refuse. Just say you're representing the bank's manager and you're here to discuss cooperation. No matter what the fairy says about Muggle paper money, just go along with what they have to say."

"Will those fairies believe it? I mean... you have to give me some convincing information."

“Gringotts underwent a security check by the unravelers before,” Nietzsche said calmly.

The goblins are arrogant and very concerned about the security of Gringotts' wealth. The fact that Bill Weasley was hired by the Ministry of Magic to inspect Gringotts' security was a good smokescreen.

They wouldn't question Fletcher's authenticity because it all seemed too coincidental.

After reviewing the plan, Fletcher spat into his palm, combed his sparse hair, and strode confidently toward the Gringotts gates, easily passing two goblin guards carrying magical artifact detectors.

While waiting for news from his accomplices, Nietzsche observed the passersby in Diagon Alley through the reflections of bronze artifacts and mirrors.

This place is semi-open to Muggles. Many ordinary people who don't know magic dress up as wizards and monsters and come here through the Leaky Cauldron's passageway just to celebrate Halloween.

But who knows if a few strange people might have mingled among those revelers wearing ferocious masks...

"Happy Halloween!" a person wearing a banshee mask shouted, scattering candy everywhere.

Then a passing wizard or Muggle will raise their pumpkin bowl or cauldron to catch it, followed by several glasses filled with butterbeer clinking in the air.

Such a lively atmosphere is probably enough for all the Dementors in Azkaban to have a feast.

Where is it?

Nietzsche coldly hid in a corner, watching the crowd where it was impossible to distinguish who was a wizard and who was a Muggle, and he screened those who had Narcissa Malford points.

With each blink, different figures in the scene freeze in time, stored in the mind like a slideshow.

“First of all, she’s a woman… aha, an extremely xenophobic pureblood… she probably hates the Muggles and wizards here.” He chewed his licorice wand vigorously, scrutinizing a few of the less crazed figures.

Narcissa, who is usually wanted by the police, can easily blend into the Halloween celebrations in Diagon Alley by wearing a mask.

If Nietzsche were to filter out the characteristics and behavioral logic slightly, he could see several slender 'witches' retreating from the celebratory crowd to the surrounding teahouses and ice cream shops:

Walking unsteadily, with an unstable center of gravity, and wearing high-heeled boots, he couldn't possibly be a wizard on a mission.