Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

Hermione's heart, which had just begun to rise, immediately plummeted to the bottom, and she felt as if she had swallowed a whole bag of sour popping candy.

"Wait a minute~" She pouted fiercely and bit Nietzsche's nose, then continued, "I was just talking about what I promised. You still have two weeks to prepare something to show me your sincerity."

The office door opened, and Professor Slughorn burst in carrying a huge stack of books.

Hermione pushed aside the arms that were holding her back and shifted her hips to the left to create some space, while Nietzsche quickly pulled out several parchment sheets filled with potion papers and covered OWLs' exam paper, looking just like a student sneaking a peek at an extracurricular book during class.

“Miss Granger, what are you doing here?” Slughorn asked hurriedly.

“Ahem…I…” Hermione’s mind raced, and she came up with a brilliant idea. “I was just about to ask you some questions about potions, but I didn’t see you, so I chatted with Mr. Vida for a while.”

"What's the problem?" Slughorn turned his gun around again, looking at Nietzsche with a wary gaze.

Nietzsche remained silent, scratching his beard. How would he know what potion question Hermione had asked? Could it be about the Christmas date?

So annoying, can you please stop bothering me?

"The problem is the ingredients for the potion!" Hermione interjected. "I want to practice making potions in my spare time."

“Oh dear, Miss Granger is so helpful. You could have just asked directly,” Slughorn said readily. “I don’t recommend giving extra help to bright students, so what do you want?”

"The eggs of the Fire Gray Serpent, I am preparing some antidote for Madam Pomfrey."

Hermione answered fluently, clearly having been prepared all along, and was simply using this opportunity to achieve her own goals—she had completely transformed into Nietzsche's image.

The answer was so perfect that neither Slughorn nor Nietzsche had any doubts.

“It’s very simple. First, light the magic fire in an area where it won’t spread. After it burns for a while, a kind of earthworm with extremely high temperature will appear in the ashes, which is called the fire ash snake,” Slughorn explained.

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said with a smile.

"By the way, Miss Granger, do you have time to attend my Christmas ball...?"

However, Hermione didn't give Slughorn a chance to invite her. Before the professor could finish speaking, she quickly picked up a few notebooks and left the lavishly decorated office, which disappointed the professor, who sighed heavily.

Nietzsche, however, didn't have that pleasant expression. He kept a cold face and fiddled with his wand.

"Are you very free?"

“No!” Slughorn said, his nerves on edge. “I just came to let you know that you should cover my class this afternoon.”

Tsk---

Nietzsche clicked his tongue. It was annoying to think that someone like him, who hadn't passed the OWLs, had to teach students.

Chapter 382 Pre-Battle Mobilization

An OWL exam paper was passed from Hogwarts to the Ministry of Magic's Wizard Exams Administration.

This is really strange. It's only December, and there are six months between the two OWL exams. Yet, no Ministry of Magic employee would ignore this special file.

There is only one reason:

It comes from Hogwarts and has Albus Dumbledore's signature on it.

But what surprised the director of the Wizarding Examinations Authority was the candidate's name. After weighing his options, he picked up the exam paper and walked out, taking the elevator to the main hall, passing through the golden iron gate, and knocking on the Minister of Magic's door.

"Please come in---"

Fudge's desk was covered with all sorts of files, and a plate of barely touched chocolate liqueurs sat on the edge of the desk.

"Gardvin Robaz, what's the matter?" The minister hurriedly poured himself a potion, frowning as he looked at the busy director of the Bureau.

Fudge's body became very bloated from sitting for long periods of time, and he even suffered from coronary heart disease and insomnia... To put it simply, if he wanted to sleep at night, he had to drink several glasses of champagne, red wine, whiskey and sleeping pills in that order.

A great deal of paperwork was piled up in his hands, and there was no escaping it, such as the magical weapon expansion plan and the herb cultivation circle.

So his frown wasn't a sign of displeasure with the visitor, but rather a sign of frustration that had been worsening ever since the Ministry of Magic advisor 'disappeared'.

“I have received an OWLs exam file, sir.” Gadwin took two steps to the table and respectfully handed over the document.

“What’s the big deal…Dumbledore…it’s just a name. He’s not some madman who kills indiscriminately,” Fudge said, a cigar between his left and right hands.

"It's a matter of name, sir. I'm afraid we've found the former head of SHD."

Fudge squinted and glanced around listlessly for a few moments before finally seeing, through the cocoa-scented smoke, the man who haunted the entire British Muggle government and much of the wizarding world—Sherlock Holmes.

The youngest and most wizarding Sherlock Holmes.

As the newly appointed director, Gadwin was very good at reading people. After watching the minister go from being nonchalant at the beginning to becoming serious later, he immediately felt at ease, even though he himself could not confirm the matter.

"Should we inform Mr. Holmes of CI6 privately first?" he suggested.

“Dumbledore probably has no reason to lie to me.” Fudge flicked off his cigarette ash, pondered for a moment, then swiveled his chair to the portrait of Eurydice Gump hanging on the wall and said, “Have Prime Minister Lockhart help me schedule a time.”

The current prime minister is Lockhart, and he is quite satisfied, at least he doesn't have to worry about whether the Muggle prime minister can understand what he says.

------

In Manchester, southern England, a mother and son stand on the east bank of the River Iwell.

They were dressed in expensive clothes, but their faces looked like those of prisoners who had never had a full meal. These were the only two remaining members of the Malfoy family.

“Take this and leave.” Narcissa handed over the Hufflepuff Cup she had taken from Gringotts, saying coldly, “This is your pass to leave England, and it’s also what that person asked of you… Leave this place.”

Snowflakes falling from the sky onto the water's surface accelerated the freezing of the Irvine River.

Narcissa looked up at the gray sky, where dozens of Dementors were hidden at the top of the clouds. They were Voldemort's henchmen sent to the mother and child.

"And what about you?" Draco Malfoy pulled his coat tighter and put the gold cup into his pocket.

A loud horn sounded from the harbor; clearly, this ship would be his only way to leave Britain without being detected by the Ministry of Magic.

Once he leaves Britain and reaches another continent, he can escape everything here: the threat of death, the hostility of Muggles, the anti-gravity cars and motorcycles flying everywhere, and then live a life surrounded by trauma.

“Lord Voldemort needs me.” Narcissa’s hands clasped together. “Whether I succeed or fail doesn’t matter, as long as you’re alive.”

Even if Dumbledore really died from the curse, she didn't think the Dark Lord could defeat the power of the whole of Britain.

This made Draco's heart as cold as a Siberian winter; his blood seemed to freeze, and taking even one step forward was extremely difficult.

"No!" Draco's voice trailed off, like an old radio with no signal. "Let's go together, I can't go alone... Please, I don't want you to end up like Dad... Yes! And Professor Snape too!"

He seemed to have found his anchor, and pulled on Narcissa's arm.

Narcissa remained unmoved, but the terrifying reality was that Snape had long since betrayed the Dark Lord, devoting himself to Lily's child.

Just then, a rat scurried out of the harbor's sewers. It was Peter Pettigrew, who, with the help of the Confusion Charm, twisted into human form as he ran among the passing Muggles.

"It's time to go..." Peter Pettigrew said, hunching over and bowing.

“You got that thing.” Narcissa turned her head and saw the cracked ring on her silver finger.

Her tone became arrogant again, which annoyed Peter, who was not pleased with either side. He felt as if a stone was pressing on his heart, making it hard to breathe. To be honest, if it weren't for the Dark Lord's orders, he wouldn't want to get involved with the Malfoy mother and son.

That disdainful look in his eyes seemed to say: putting you in charge is a sign of respect.

“That ring was given to you by the Dark Lord. It’s a family heirloom of the Gaunt family. Sell it after you disembark and start a new life there.” Narcissa’s eyes only softened when she was with her family.

"Woo---"

The port horn sounded again, as if urging them on, or perhaps celebrating.

“Let’s go, child… it wouldn’t be good if the patrolling wizards saw us…” Peter called out from the side.

He reached out to grab Draco's sleeve, but the moment he touched the wool fabric, he was forcefully slapped away. Suppressing his anger, he awkwardly retreated to the side and forced a smile.

As Malfoy and her son were saying their final goodbyes, no one saw the shadow in the rat's eyes.

Fine, everyone ignores Peter Pettigrew, everyone thinks he's just a disgusting, shameful rat, but he doesn't think he's done anything wrong—he just wants to live, even if it's just barely hanging on.

Draco walked onto the deck carrying the Hufflepuff Cup, his palm outstretched in a sharp manner.

“Give it to me!” he commanded.

“Young Master Malfoy, I’m just keeping it safe for you…” Peter frowned, annoyed by the other party’s distrust.

“I told you, give it to me! That’s something my mother fought for!”

"If you insist."

Peter Pettigrew, with a stern face, silently rolled up his sleeves, revealing his alchemical hands that shimmered with silver light. Draco quickly removed the ancient obsidian-like ring from his index finger and put it on his own hand.

In that instant, Draco felt a strange chill.

It's probably because the weather is too cold...

Chapter 383 Christmas Eve

"Before Christmas arrives, I think I need to announce something..."

That evening, Dumbledore made a rare appearance in the Great Hall, excluding holidays. His deep purple wizard robes were adorned with white snow, making him look as if he had just rushed back from outside.

That's right. Although she is the headmaster of Hogwarts, she rarely appears in public, and Vice-Headmaster McGonagall has gotten used to it.

The students below ate and drank as usual, only occasionally taking a moment to look up.

“Demstrong and Beauxbatons will be making a friendly visit to Hogwarts after Christmas,” Dumbledore said with a playful wink. “Therefore, this means that some of you will be exchanging students with them.”

The news was so sudden that it took two minutes for the lively auditorium to gradually fall silent. Nietzsche even saw a few boys snickering inexplicably, probably thinking of Hibiscus.

Actually, he didn't know what Dumbledore was up to, but... he'd just keep listening for now.

"Don't worry, there will be plenty of spots available. Students in their fourth year and below will all have a chance. Consider it a way for us to help those students who didn't get to experience the Goblet of Fire," Dumbledore said kindly.

"Oh---" "Yay!" "Damn!"

Frustration, joy, and irritation echoed simultaneously across the four tables.

The first group consists of upperclassmen who missed the event; the second group consists of lowerclassmen who were able to experience this large-scale event; and the third group consists of unfortunate fourth-graders who missed the Goblet of Fire but were just over the top.

Who wouldn't want to see the French Veela and the German Quidditch... Of course, the former is more important.

Nietzsche glanced to both sides and noticed that Professor Snape had a strange look on his face, while Professor McGonagall was also silently glancing at the headmaster. Professors Flitwick and Sprout were whispering to each other, and it seemed that the other deans were unaware of what was going on.

'Dumbledore's provisional decision,' Nietzsche concluded to himself.

Ron below was already wailing and lamenting his bad luck: he wasn't old enough for the Goblet of Fire, and now he was going to miss out on such a perfect event.

The exchange of lower-year students among the three colleges... is quite strange.