Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

Having been discovered, Nietzsche looked awkwardly at Mary; now only she remained conscious.

"Um... how about we find a place to sit down and talk?" Nietzsche walked over, unsure how to explain everything, and after a long pause, he cautiously asked.

Mary also saw Hermione, but she only glanced at her, keeping her attention focused on Nietzsche.

Their breaths turned into white vapor in the cold air, eventually gathering in the middle. The girl didn't want to get involved, so she helped Mary support Watson, who had fainted from fright.

“Of course,” Mary said coldly.

They dragged Watson along with difficulty to the base of the Eiffel Tower, taking the elevator that went up from the bottom.

The glass room was eerily quiet. Nietzsche opened his mouth, wanting to speak several times, but the shame and embarrassment of being caught in the act overwhelmed him. He turned to look out of the elevator...

"Snapped!"

The collision of flesh against flesh, the friction of skin against skin.

Nietzsche was admiring the Arc de Triomphe, hotels, and Haussmann Boulevard outside the window, all covered in white, when he suddenly felt a burning pain on his left cheek.

The first thing Mary Watson did after freeing her hands was not to hug her or wipe away her tears, but to give her a resounding slap. After that, she turned away indifferently, her softened expression proving that she had calmed down a bit.

“I thought you would stop me.” Nietzsche covered the slap mark on his face and whispered something in his girlfriend’s ear, feeling wronged.

“That’s what you deserve,” Hermione replied in a low voice, supporting Watson.

He tilted his head back slightly, and it was obvious that his girlfriend was trying not to laugh, but she couldn't refute him, so she could only swallow her bitterness.

The second-floor platform is made up of four glass corridors, including a macaron bar, two shops, and the Verne restaurant where they are now sitting, offering easy views of buildings such as the Louvre and Notre Dame Cathedral.

Money was never a problem, at least not for Nietzsche; everything was paid for with Victor's personal business card.

"A strawberry sparkling water, two champagnes, and a hazelnut latte," he said, glancing at the couple before him.

“No.” Mary stopped the waiter, staring at her adopted son who had been dead and then suddenly resurrected, and said deliberately, “He is not yet an adult. Please replace one of the champagne glasses with milk.”

Throwing a tantrum... Okay, okay, he deserves it.

“Actually, that was my and Hermione’s champagne.” Nietzsche wasn’t going to admit defeat either, and dragged his girlfriend into it as well.

A strong wind blew, and the fire, following Mary's gaze, suddenly spread to Hermione. She stomped her foot under the table, and then could only help explain the faked death and purpose of the 'Final Case,' as well as Nietzsche's subsequent whereabouts.

Then came plans involving time travel and breaking down the barriers between the wizarding and Muggle worlds... in addition to the truth behind the Prime Minister's death.

As the two beautiful ladies came to understand each other and began to blame Nietzsche together, Watson's eyelids fluttered a few times, and then slowly opened as Beethoven's piano music played in the restaurant.

Nietzsche noticed that his father stared at him with wide eyes and rapid breathing, then looked blankly at his wife beside him.

“He is real,” Mary nodded in confirmation.

"Really?"

Watson looked on with suspicion, slowly extended a finger, and tentatively poked Nietzsche's hand, as if he thought he hadn't woken up from his dream. But then came a slap.

It happened so fast and suddenly that Nietzsche, who was thinking about how to start a conversation one second, innocently covered his right cheek the next.

"I'm just checking." Watson cleared his throat, snapping out of his earlier lapse in composure, and placed his left hand, which had just been slapped, back on the cane given to him by the military academy.

Hermione took a sip of champagne and turned her head toward the window. Had she just seen her two fire dragons?

It looks really good (double meaning).

"And now?" Nietzsche asked.

“Now I believe you are the real Nietzsche,” Watson said casually, as if he had just swatted a bug.

Okay, at least the two sides of the face are symmetrical.

Chapter 397 Mary, the 'Experienced'

Four people—a newlywed couple and a newly engaged couple—entered the same building through two different doors, stayed in two different hotels, and finally met at the same tourist attraction... albeit in a less than friendly manner.

In the words of divination professor Sibyl Trelawney: 'This perfectly illustrates the capriciousness of fate.'

“I thought Mycroft would tell you, after all, he was the first person besides Hermione to know about this.” Nietzsche shrugged, trying to quickly move on from the matter.

“I thought we were the first people besides Hermione to know,” Watson retorted.

"Do you really want to waste your time on this? Or would you rather enjoy some French food and have a quick get-together? Or ask some questions that can be considered 'questions'?"

Watson impatiently grabbed a tissue and put it in his collar, but even so, he still wasn't going to let Nietzsche off the hook and kept staring at him.

Overall, everything was still within Nietzsche's acceptable range, except that he was a little uneasy about Mary's squinting gaze as she slowly ate and ate... not because she was frightening, but because of a sense of shame and irritation.

Mary, being a teacher, was the first to change the subject.

"So you're traveling behind your parents' backs?" She cut a piece of scallop with lemon juice and placed it on Hermione's plate, then continued, "Or perhaps, are you on an early honeymoon?"

"Hmph, it's no big deal. Didn't he hold a funeral ahead of schedule?" Watson mocked from the side.

But the next second he would regret interrupting—his wife Mary stepped on his instep with her high heels and stomped on it, forcing him to stiffly tilt his head back and gulp down a mouthful of champagne.

The battles fought under the table are always more intense than those on the table.

Honeymoon and travel... Although Nietzsche and Hermione were well aware of this, it's one thing to know it in one's own heart, but quite another to have it exposed to one's face.

“It’s fine if you don’t answer, but I hope you can take some necessary measures.” Mary nudged her husband with her elbow, speaking almost in a commanding tone. “You don’t expect Sherlock to be a better father than you, do you?”

Watson automatically picked up on the keyword 'better than Sherlock,' and instantly became serious, even pretending to shake the empty champagne glass.

“Yes, yes… In that case, please protect him.” He said softly.

He, not 'she'?

Mary's eyebrows drooped as she looked at her husband with a suspicious expression. If she hadn't misheard, this sentence, in a traditional sense, should have been addressed to the man, not the woman... unless it was a request for an orphan's care.

But she overlooked a premise—normal.

Because 'Sherlock Holmes' has absolutely nothing to do with 'normal' or 'serious'...blah blah blah, Watson didn't think he had said anything wrong, and it certainly wasn't something he was talking nonsense about while drunk.

"I don't expect the son of a masochist (Sherlock) who has only defeated himself twice to have any sense of responsibility, and I suspect that this psychological phenomenon is even more pronounced in Nietzsche," commented Watson, a former army doctor.

He looked directly into Mary's eyes and spoke so earnestly that Nietzsche was brought to his senses.

"Hey!!" Nietzsche bared his teeth and shouted angrily.

Hermione, however, fell into deep thought. She knew that this was not the right occasion to recall certain scenes that were easily censored, but if she thought about it a little in Nietzsche's opinion, she would find that Watson was absolutely right.

Of course, Nietzsche's defenses were breached not because it was slander, but because it touched on a part of the truth.

Masochist... Hmph, according to psychoanalysis, everyone has some kind of illness, he doesn't think it's a big deal.

“See, absolutely right.” Watson glanced at the two little ones of different shapes and said confidently, “Nietzsche has a kind of responsibility that is close to pathological on a macro level, so our Granger should be responsible for the micro level.”

“That’s called ‘complementarity’,” Nietzsche interjected.

"When did you learn to give such vague explanations, hmm?"

Watson snapped his fingers, signaling the waiter at the Verne restaurant to refill his glass, which he then drank with the air of a victor.

What a bad day! Nietzsche, shaking his right leg and propping his head up, stared blankly at the two fiery dragon shadows swirling above the clouds. He just wanted to finish his meal and leave, and he wanted to speed up the flow of time so that all of this would pass quickly.

This is his trial, and the milk in front of him is his only defense.

“Then you’ll have to be patient with me.” Mary’s eyes showed sympathy. She took Hermione’s hand at the table, patted it gently, and said softly, “I understand you. If you’re unhappy, you can come to me.”

This sounded strange no matter how you looked at it. Watson, who was next to her, slowly turned around and tilted his head to look at the two ladies.

"Excuse me, what do you mean by 'you understand'?"

“I was talking about Sherlock,” Mary interrupted her husband’s question with a smile, speaking in a tone similar to that of someone coaxing a child. “As you just said, we all understand what’s going on.”

Watson blinked, feeling that she was referring to more than just the Holmes family, but he couldn't find any evidence.

Nietzsche took a sip of milk and chuckled to himself: In the past, when Watson accompanied Sherlock on investigations, he was often arrested for damaging public property, and Mary always paid for his bail.

"To lift a stone only to drop it on one's own foot, that's what you call it," he said, uttering a vague, milky inverted sentence.

In short, no one was unhappy at the gathering, except that when they returned to the Grand Hotel, Nietzsche and Watson both walked like lame ducks.

Hermione finally felt relieved after watching the couple leave.

“Come on, Mr. Reason.” She patted Nietzsche’s backside, her attitude becoming arrogant with the recognition she received. “We have to get up early tomorrow to get going, so you can catch up on your sleep while lying on the dragon.”

“Or you could go to bed earlier,” Nietzsche suggested.

"Of course you can, but... do you know how?"

"Just don't make me unable to get out of bed."

As the elevator ascended, Nietzsche's legs weakened.

Chapter 398 Visiting Beauxbatons

The next day, the two fire dragons bid farewell to Paris. They bypassed the city and headed towards the Spanish border, as if by prior agreement, only flying low when passing lakes or woodlands.

Its spiked wings flapped like bellows, stirring up ice crystals and snowflakes from the tips of the branches.

Nietzsche had no interest in appreciating the snowscape beneath him, which resembled a cake covered in icing. He was too lazy to even think; he simply lay on Smaug's body, hugging her neck and dozing off to make up for the energy he had lost the previous night.

So the important task of commanding the two fire dragons was handed over to Hermione, who was quite energetic, like a vampire who had just drunk blood.

'Perhaps I shouldn't have bought so many clothes,' Nietzsche sighed.

Last night he watched Hermione's exclusive fashion show, taking off his clothes and then, an hour later, happily changing into another new outfit, and repeating the process over and over again.

That's really strange. The biggest sign that Watson got married was that he got fat, but when it comes to himself, there are signs that he's going to lose weight.

"I see it!" Nietzsche heard Hermione suddenly shout from ahead after some time had passed.

I really envy her for having that kind of energy. They exercised all night, but he was the only one who was exhausted.

Nietzsche, like a sloth, turned his head and looked down, discovering a magnificent palace surrounded by the Pyrenees Mountains. From an overhead view, there was a crossroads running through the fountain square.

This is Beauxbatons...

Built more than 700 years ago, later than Durmstrang and Hogwarts, it is therefore larger and brighter.

Smaug flapped its wings and slowly descended while circling the magic school, finally landing in the middle of the main avenue of the enormous castle's main gate, which resembled an ice sculpture.

"Good day," Mrs. Maxim's voice rang out from below the fire dragon.

Nietzsche slid down the fire dragon's tail like a slide, and after his feet touched the granite bricks, he shook his head and looked around, only to find that Principal Maxim had already led several groups of wizard students out to greet the two of them.