Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

Oh, no one is singing Christmas carols at Hogwarts. It's just the cold wind carrying snow sweeping into the hallway, making the bells hanging on the mistletoe and chandeliers ring violently.

Ever since Dumbledore dropped this bombshell, the entire school has been engulfed in heated debate:

Some people think Durmstrang is better, while others think Beauxbatons is more beautiful. The former is boasting about the Bulgarian Quidditch team that won the Quidditch World Cup, while the latter is the unpretentious Veela and... still Veela.

"Be careful of their eyes." George had his feet on a chair, surrounded by a group of bewildered little wizards.

It was Christmas Eve, and as Nietzsche entered the auditorium, he heard them gathered around the fireplace, talking about the 'legends' of the Beauxbatons students.

“The Goblet of Fire…some of you weren’t even enrolled back then,” George said vividly. “A Veela came back then, and she would hook your souls with her eyes and immerse you in false fantasies.”

"Hiss---" The young wizards gasped.

"They will make you forget who you are, forget what you want to do, and fill your mind with their exposed hair and tall figures... and then you will do many things that seem like you are under the Imperius Curse."

This clearly demonstrates Professor Snape's skill; obviously, George and Fred directly and vividly used the 'common hints used by dark wizards' mentioned in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Under this subtle suggestion, the young wizards would unconsciously conjure up a beautiful and alluring Veela in their minds.

And then at this time...

"Hey!" Fred clapped his hands suddenly from the side, startling the confused little lions and snakes. "Look! They're already under a spell before they've even met. Wizards with weak wills like you can't resist it at all."

What do the Weasley twins think of Veela?

That's just a hybrid with magical creature blood, not some TMD concept!

“It’s not your fault. Your senior Ron is just as easily influenced. I remember he stuck a chicken leg up his nose, right?” George said.

“Yes, I remember it very clearly.” Fred nodded in agreement.

"That was just daydreaming! Stop talking nonsense!" Ron, sitting next to me, blushed with anger and loudly defended himself, "Everyone bumps into a wall when they're walking. Who dares to say they'll never bump into a wall in their entire life!"

Veela had a great influence on Ron. According to Snape's wizarding psychology, the more sensitive a person's personality is, the more easily they are affected by magic.

Harry and Neville, those two heartless bastards, just chuckled to themselves; neither of them stepped forward to speak up for Ron.

Amidst this joyful and playful banter, the banquet began. A feast even more lavish than the opening banquet suddenly appeared on the four house tables as Dumbledore entered, a scene comparable to the Goblet of Fire.

"I hope you will get used to these delicious foods. Of course, eat as much as you like," Dumbledore said kindly.

"You plan to divide the schools according to food?" Quirrell, sitting next to the professor of ancient magic literature, looked at the students below and asked curiously, as if he had guessed the principal's intention.

"Are you suggesting we all fight?" Dumbledore said, pulling a blanket out of thin air and covering the listless Grindelwald. "Humans are complicated, so complicated that they can easily fight over something trivial."

If you like French fish soup, go to Beauxbatons; if you like German sausages and roasted pork knuckles, go to Durmstrang. It's that simple.

Grindelwald, the first Dark Lord sitting between the Headmaster and the Dean, looked as thin as a frozen old man, clutching the wool blanket draped over his shoulders.

“Very…” He struggled to open his eyes, parted his dry lips, and said hoarsely.

"What?" Dumbledore didn't hear clearly, but leaned closer with the smile he usually showed when facing his students.

"It's warm... cozy."

"You're sitting in the auditorium now."

Grindelwald shook his head, expressing his inner thoughts through simple gestures and a few words.

“Wool socks… Albus, I’m talking about wool socks, not a stove.” He grinned, looking like a stroke-stricken Muggle.

Nietzsche enjoyed the delicious fish soup while listening to Slughorn boast about his past achievements in his youth, all the while glancing at Hermione below.

He has a date tonight, he can't mess it up.

Halfway through the banquet, the enchanted dome above Hogwarts Great Hall suddenly lost its gray snow cover, and a 'crunching' grinding sound came from above, which, judging from the shadow, resembled a giant fire dragon.

Nietzsche was startled; this meant his surprise plan could begin.

“It must have been attracted here…” Quirrell was the first to take out his wand and stand up to say.

“Let me do it,” Nietzsche said, wiping his mouth and deliberately speaking first. “I’m better at dealing with some huge creatures.”

Quirinus Quirrell used to introduce himself like that, Nietzsche mimicked his tone and took on the task, quickly walking out under Hermione's expectant gaze.

Quirrell: This sentence sounds familiar.

Snowy days and fire dragons go well together. When the snowflakes slowly fall on the black scales, and a pair of orange-red pupils suddenly appear against the white background, this fantastical scene is what Nietzsche loved to see most.

Smaug was lying on the dome of the auditorium, its tail dangling from the edge of the wall.

"Ready?" Nietzsche closed the hall door, let the dragon's tail coil around his body, and lifted him onto the roof.

"Roar---" Smaug lazily lowered his head and reluctantly roared in agreement.

That won't do. He's doing this for this day, and we can't let our fire dragon slack off.

“To the Gryffindor Tower.” Nicholas rubbed Smaug’s face vigorously, held her head, and whispered after brushing the white snowflakes from the tip of her nose with his cheek. “I only have one night left. Don’t let me down.”

The expectation in his eyes was genuine, which instantly captivated Smaug.

What could Smaug, the dragon, do? She was just a dragon who only slightly liked Nietzsche, and she couldn't stand those pitiful, almost pleading eyes.

Smaug sighed (actually, she just spat out a bunch of sparks), obediently lowered her head, and let Nietzsche jump onto her.

Two spiky wings spread out, slicing through the surrounding air and swirling the goose-feather snowflakes outwards from the castle. Instead of flying high, it gently crawled around the castle roof like a gecko.

With the resistance of its wings, the dragon lightly leaped over the U-shaped corridor and followed the roof to the top of the Gryffindor Tower.

Her tail was coiled up like a snake, her limbs gripped firmly on the edge of the tower top, standing tall in the cold wind, while Nietzsche hung upside down, looking into the lounge through a small window framed with mistletoe in the wall.

Great, there's not much people around. Now we just need to wait for Hermione to come back.

Chapter 386 A Date with a Tight Time

After the Christmas feast comes a grand ball. The students have no idea what will happen next, but they all know what they should face. But before that, please allow them to dance to the music of the fairies.

People hid in the auditorium, slowly enjoying warm butterbeer and beautiful melodies:

Snape hunched over, his gloomy gaze peering through the floating bottle containing the glowing elves at Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley in the center of the dance floor—watching their shy smiles.

Professor Slughorn had already stepped down from the main guest seat, and was now elegantly holding a glass of red wine, mingling among several students with good grades.

Hagrid was drunk and snoring loudly as he lay on the table.

Meanwhile, Marvolo Sisyphus observes the young wizards on the dance floor from an outsider's perspective, seemingly curious about the activity, yet politely declining any invitations from witches...

"Senior---" Hermione saw another third-year witch being pushed by her friend.

It must be said that Mavolo is indeed very handsome. He has the appearance of a typical fair-skinned and delicate person, but when he speaks to people, he also has a lazy tone of 'not caring about anything'.

“I…can I wait a bit?” Marvolo declined the invitation, swirling the wine in his glass. “I haven’t finished my drink yet.”

The Hufflepuff witch blushed and ran away shyly. This was the third time. However, looking around, there were still many girls in the crowd teasing each other, and they were all secretly glancing at the few people at the edge of the dance floor.

“You know they won’t let this go, right?” Hermione said with a smile.

“Boring.” Marvolo took a sip of his chilled lemon sparkling water. “I have no interest in such complicated things. To me, it’s no different from wasting time.”

"So aloof... It's a pity some girls like that." She joked.

Besides the two of them, Astoria Greengrass of Slytherin was also hiding nearby, while most of the others sitting on the edge of the dance floor were just resting nearby after playing.

Hermione pulled her hand out of her pocket, snapped her fingers twice in front of Marvolo, and a vial of potion appeared in her hand.

"A weakened form of aphrodisiac...it won't completely drive someone insane; it'll preserve some consciousness." Marvolo grinned, laughing unrestrainedly. "Don't say I made it. Also, have fun, prefect~~"

It's a very small bottle, only about the height of a thumb, but that's what Hermione made from the Fire Cobra egg.

However, she did not leave immediately. Out of gratitude, she put away the aphrodisiac with a blank expression and, as if nothing had happened, decided to give Mavolo some practical advice.

“If you want to completely dissuade them from this idea, I have a good suggestion,” Hermione said, tilting her head.

“Tell me about it,” Marvolo said, perking up his ears.

"Just join in. Whether you're doing it for your own benefit or simply want to avoid these tedious social interactions, finding someone similar to yourself as a cover is enough."

Hermione ignored him, lost in thought, and secretly glanced at Marvolo of Astoria with her eyes darting around. She slipped between the lamps, left the Great Hall, and quickly slipped into the Gryffindor common room.

The lounge was empty; not a soul was in sight. The yellow glow from the fireplace and the half-closed windows made the place seem desolate.

"here!"

She turned her head and looked in the direction of the sound, only to find Nietzsche's head sticking upside down into the window from above.

Hermione smiled happily when she saw the head hanging in the window. It was a rare smile that could calm all of Nietzsche's anxieties, a smile that one could only see three times in a lifetime.

Without any ulterior motives or self-interest, she devoted herself entirely to the other person, filled with an irresistible fondness for them.

"Wait a minute." Hermione lowered her voice and turned back to her dorm.

She pulled out a small bottle of wine that Professor Slughorn had given her from under her pillow, took out her wand, and pointed it at the wax-sealed neck of the bottle.

“Fragmented,” she said softly.

The cork and the wax seal on the bottle were neatly cut off. Then she took out a small bottle about the size of a thumb and used a transformation spell to manipulate the aphrodisiac inside, turning it into a jet of water that jumped into the bottle.

Soon, Hermione smelled the sweet aroma of strawberries, the tartness of hand-drip coffee, and the fragrance of flowers with morning dew.

"Restored as new."

She then used a repair spell to glue the broken, slender bottle neck and the thick bottle body back together, and shook it slightly to fully mix the aphrodisiac with the mead. Only after doing all this did she begin to change her clothes.

"Krok Hill?"

"Meow---"

Crookshanks burrowed into Hermione's blankets; he didn't want to run around with two two-legged creatures in the dead of winter, who knew he might end up using it to warm his hands.

It must have been very cold outside with heavy snow, but none of these external factors could extinguish Nietzsche's passionate heart.

Finally, he saw her shadow, elongated by the firelight—Hermione had taken off her plain black school robe and put on a navy blue wool coat, with only some buttons fastened, revealing her legs through the parted hem.

Wearing tall boots with a band of dark brown fur around the opening, Nietzsche couldn't help but imagine the sensation of it brushing against his skin.

The Blood Pact Necklace was taken out from inside her clothes and hung conspicuously on her chest.

At that moment, the dragon gripped the edge of the tower with its claws and stretched its neck to the windowsill, while Nietzsche rolled over, exposing his entire body to the window, and stretched out his right hand to Hermione in the lounge in the wind and snow.

“Beautiful…Minister of Magic.” Nietzsche’s brow softened as he formally extended an invitation, “Would you mind attending a banquet I’ve prepared as compensation for my previous rudeness…?”

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle at first, then quickly pursed her lips.

“That will depend on your performance, Director of the Homeland Strategy Bureau,” she said matter-of-factly. “You should know that our relationship is not suitable to be discussed openly, and I have paid a higher price for it than you think.”