Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

What is the problem?

Marcus scratched his head, and with his large frame and bewildered expression, he looked just like the dazed woodland troll in the book illustrations.

"Professor, how could a Muggle possibly defeat a wizard..."

"Yes, that's right. So what's the difference between you and a Muggle if you lose your magic?"

He blushed deeply from Snape's sarcasm, but still stammered as he tried to seize this last chance for victory.

"But he's already... I'm the Quidditch captain! With his small frame, I could take him down with one punch! Professor, this isn't fair!!"

"Idiot!" he roared at Marcus. "He didn't need the Revival Charm to hold on until now, what difference would a few more punches from you make? If you're going to duel, then show some fighting spirit! You coward who can't even admit defeat!"

Malfoy immediately lowered his head, now he could only pray that the Dean's anger would not fall on him.

"Draco..."

Hearing that drawn-out call, he shuddered amidst Harry and Ron's snickers.

"professor?"

"If you can't even face failure, how can you talk about ambition and ideals? Since it's a duel, you need to be prepared to lose... Minerva, the rest is up to you."

When Snape looked at Nietzsche with his cold gaze, a strange sense of nostalgia was revealed—a look usually seen only by middle-aged or elderly people reading memoirs.

Then he left, and he left very quickly and lightly.

Minerva McGonagall was also a little puzzled. Could it be that Snape's potion experiment had been successful?

In fact, Nietzsche wasn't very confident at the last moment either; he couldn't even move at the time, so Snape's final verdict was beyond the expectations of Harry, Malfoy, and Nietzsche.

Just as Snape said, the meticulous Hermione had naturally prepared an escape route... but it was even better than losing.

"Potter, Weasley, since you were just bystanders, I'll be lenient with you. Go back and rest now, and don't disturb them! And you... all of you, go back!"

Before leaving, Professor McGonagall glanced at Nietzsche, who was chatting happily with Hermione.

The terrible injuries on his body could not quell his passion for the bet, until Madame Pomfrey could no longer bear it and lowered the pale blue curtains to isolate the beds of the group.

Perhaps it was the potion taking effect; after a while, Nietzsche's arm, which felt like it had been stung by a bee, gradually began to feel a tingling sensation as if an electric current was passing through it.

He lay in bed, his excitement replaced by drowsiness, and gradually drifted into a dream under the moonlight.

For Nietzsche, dreams were a new adventure.

When Nietzsche woke up again, his bedside was piled with all sorts of snacks, each containing a card with either a blessing or a name.

At first, Nietzsche had no idea who these people were, but after seeing 'C. Warrington' on the crucible-shaped cupcake, he smiled knowingly.

"What should I do..."

After getting up, Hermione kept flipping through her textbooks for Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

She had planned to go to class this morning, but Madam Pomfrey stopped her. Even though Hermione's wound had healed, she was still required to stay here for a day for observation and was forced to rest.

Nietzsche lazily waved his wand, pulling aside the wand that had been blocking the two of them.

"Can't you just shut up for a second? Look at this sunshine, this is a rare forced rest time."

"Because of you, I missed Transfiguration and Charms classes!" Hermione glared at the cupcake on Nietzsche's stomach, her anger flaring. "Who knows what kind of knowledge I'd miss..."

At the same time, I was also a little surprised: when did he become so popular?

Hermione was the first to get up, so she could see people coming and going from Nietzsche’s sickbed. They would stay for a while, seemingly leaving their things behind, and each time, the number of people would not exceed three.

Those Slytherins were very low-key.

Of course, Hermione also received some gifts, but apart from her roommates, they were just some wizards she had tutored regularly, nothing compared to the pile of snacks next to Nietzsche.

"I'm afraid only 'savior' Harry Potter can compare to you..."

"Really! How could they not give you any?" Nietzsche said, taking out some licorice sticks and honey taffy, feigning anger. "You know how difficult it is to get Miss Rule-Abiding to make an exception just once. She's so inconsiderate."

"Is strength... really that important in Slytherin?"

Hermione tossed a honey candy into her water glass, and as she watched the clear water gradually turn pale yellow, she felt a pang of toothache.

The honey water had a moderate sweetness; it's hard to imagine how sweet it would be if she just ate it.

“It’s because of our victory… Hermione, we’ve shaken the Slytherin tradition,” Nietzsche said, beaming. “Just imagine what they’ll think when they see Malfoy unable to say those things in front of me.”

Warrington and his ilk will launch a fierce counterattack.

Even if they cannot replicate this victory, they will not give up, simply because hope remains, and a history of 'success' will forever be etched in their memories.

Nietzsche is hope itself.

Not to mention, Warrington already had a grudge against Marcus.

Having witnessed the truth, how could Slytherin be content with this?

“Hermione, breaking down the barriers between the House has begun!” Nietzsche carefully picked up the cards and exclaimed, “This is what life should be like... not suppressed and bound.”

Pureblood does more than just mean the purity of one's bloodline.

In the isolated social environment of the magical world, after a thousand years of development, it means that most of the magical world's resources, connections, and abilities are a manifestation of the inner yearning for power.

In other words... some people don't hate purebloods, but rather hate themselves for not being purebloods.

This is why Nietzsche had to confront the challenge.

He must trample the authority imposed by the purebloods underfoot; if there must be any power, it is only the will to power deep within his own heart.

"But even if you one day represent all of Slytherin, what about Gryffindor? What about the other houses?"

Rather than saying Hermione was swayed, it's more accurate to say that Nietzsche simply brought out her inner thoughts.

Hermione longed for the four houses to become a true unit. She was fed up with Gryffindor's arrogance and meaningless individualism, and Nietzsche also loathed the bloodline tricks.

“But you’re here too!” Nietzsche praised with the cadence of a bard, “In Gryffindor under Hermione Granger’s rule, there is only one true heroism, and that is…”

Hermione pursed her lips tightly, holding the glass in both hands. The two sat on the warm blue and white boat, and verses were passed back and forth between them without pause.

She took it in a low voice: "That is, to still love life after seeing the truth of life, Romain Rolland."

Nietzsche always inadvertently removed Hermione's conservatism and hesitation.

Little did he know that Hermione's transformation after witnessing firsthand that the wizarding world wasn't as wonderful as he imagined would be far more rapid than he had ever thought.

It was like meeting Merlin in person! Hermione was fascinated by the feeling of being understood so well. She had never imagined that she would have a friend who understood her so well. The current situation felt so romantic to her.

If we forget that the infirmary also has Draco Malfoy...

"I...I don't think I...did disturb you two."

The bed curtains were pulled back, and Professor Quirrell, wearing a reddish-brown headscarf, poked his head in.

"Professor... Professor Quirrell!" Hermione immediately straightened up, her gaze hurriedly shifting away from Nietzsche.

“Please don’t…don’t mimic me, Miss Granger.” Professor Quirrell looked somewhat displeased. “I thought you…you weren’t as morbidly humorous as the other students.”

Hermione was always very restrained in front of the professors, so she immediately said nervously, "I'm sorry."

But Quirrell suddenly changed his expression and casually sat down on the edge of Nietzsche's bed, laughing with him.

“Just kidding, Miss Granger doesn’t stutter at all when answering questions in class.” The professor waved his hand and pulled a notebook from his pocket. “I’m just here to ask about some details from last night.”

The levitation spell that Nietzsche uttered yesterday was so absurd that Professor McGonagall mentioned it to Dean Flitwick this morning when she was complaining about several students dueling without permission.

Upon hearing Nietzsche's name, Fritwick immediately thought of that eccentric child.

Quirrell, who was enjoying fish porridge, overheard the news of the duel and came over immediately after finishing his Gryffindor lesson.

“Don’t worry, Miss Granger, this is just a little experiment between us.”

"An experiment?" Hermione had never heard of it.

“Based on a whimsical idea of ​​Nietzsche's, I think... I think the potential of standard spells is enormous.” Quirrell explained haltingly as he recorded Nietzsche's dictation, “It’s a completely new system of spells!”

Just by listening to Nietzsche's imagination, one can imagine how he broke Malfoy's arms.

This power is not just about "lifting up and flying high," but more like "strangulation."

Imagine if Nietzsche had broken Malfoy's neck instead of his arm?

Chapter Thirty-One: Quirrell's Second Life

Quirinas Quillo has been yelling ever since he returned to his office from the infirmary.

"Hmph, trash!"

"Waste snack!"

Of course, it wasn't Professor Quirrell who was cursing; the voice came from inside his headscarf. The unfathomable master naturally knew about the Malfoy family, and the cursing hadn't stopped since the door was closed.

Quirrell, on the other hand, sat in a chair with a smile on his face and a pale expression.

"Thinking I was dead, so they turned to the Ministry of Magic. What did that little piece of trash say again?"

"Little good-for-nothing snack" naturally refers to Draco Malfoy.

“School board member, master,” Quirrell said calmly.

"He didn't pay attention in class, and even when he was in a duel with a third-year wizard who had repeated a year, he couldn't beat a Mudblood, a damned traitor..." The voice changed the subject thoughtfully, "However, that Mudblood is indeed quite capable."

Quirrell narrowed his eyes slightly, rested his head on his right hand, and slowly stroked his chin with his fingers.

Clearly, his master had noticed something, but Quirrell didn't intend to hide it, since it was pointless, so he simply laid it out to see what his master thought.

Do you think I should continue?

“Why not?” After a few seconds of silence, she continued, “He’s a good Slytherin, perfect for using as a shield… It would be troublesome to look for things under Dumbledore’s nose.”

"That research..." Quirrell asked excitedly.

But his master laughed dismissively, "It's nothing special, just a derivative of standard spells. Dark magic can bring the dead back to life, grant immortality... Killing someone with a strangulation spell is not as convenient as a killing curse."

The Killing Curse is one of the three unforgivable curses. This murderous spell seems quite ordinary coming from its master.

Quirrell breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing the mocking laughter.

They just looked down on him; they didn't reject his research. This meant that Quirrell could, in some ways, begin a second life, just like when he was a student...loving magic and studying it.