Hermione, let's start the revolution at Hogwarts

"Your son was..."

"Yeah, I know, I just beat him up. Your son didn't lose any weight as a result." Watson nodded perfunctorily and interrupted Penny.

He knew the Dursleys, and like Nietzsche, he had no favorable impression of them.

"What is your relationship with him?" Sherlock suddenly changed the subject. He found that the child who was chatting with Nietzsche was standing behind Dudley, and keenly noticed that the boy had a small scar on his forehead.

"Harry Potter?" Vernon frowned and said warily, "We are his guardians!"

"Well, not parents." Sherlock rubbed his hands. "Don't you think that Potter and Dudley Dursley are too different in size? It seems that this kind of guardian must be some kind of foster care or entrustment, and it is forced."

Vernon quickly turned his head, glanced at Harry, and then took a few steps back.

"What do you want to say?" He was a little afraid.

"You are abusing a child, and it is very likely a child of your immediate family. Generally, this kind of abuse is to fill a psychological void... In other words, you feel inferior because of this child, Potter."

Sherlock was sure because Vernon was Harry Potter's uncle and guardian at the same time.

If it was voluntary care, the nutritional gap between the two children could never have been so large, and coupled with what Nietzsche called "bullying," it is easy to see that the guardian's status was forced or deliberately applied for.

Penny looked flustered and whispered to her husband to hurry up.

She could no longer bear every word Sherlock said, so she grabbed the birdcage that Harry was holding and walked out, forcing Harry to say goodbye to Nietzsche and hurriedly chase after his aunt.

"But since they don't like the child, why do they want to be guardians? Pure psychopath?" Watson was a little puzzled.

Sherlock put his arm around Nietzsche's shoulders, seemingly teaching him.

"You discovered the blind spot - why? The Dursleys don't want people to find out that they are abusing a child of their immediate family, so they resort to cold violence. Think about what they call Nietzsche...'freak'?"

Nietzsche understood that his father was analyzing them psychologically.

"So they hate Harry because he's a wizard, and so they look at anyone who passes by furtively just to worry about being noticed by other ordinary people?" he said with sudden enlightenment.

"Not entirely true," Sherlock said. "I said that sadists like this are motivated by inferiority complex. They only get excited when they see others are worse off than themselves."

In reality, the Dursleys hated themselves for not being wizards.

But Harry didn't think too much about it. When he noticed the look on Dudley's face when he saw Nietzsche, he suddenly felt that this summer vacation would be more comfortable than before.

"What do his parents do?" Penny started asking as soon as the car door closed.

"I don't know." Harry sat in the back seat, resting his hands on the back of his head. "I don't care how much money someone has when I make friends with him. Who knows... maybe he has some connection with the police."

He also heard from Ron.

Vernon gripped the handle of the car nervously and said, "Listen...Petrina and I have never been abusive..."

"I don't know!" Harry yawned, annoyed. "Is it considered abuse if you throw my wand and suitcase into the trash?"

"Who said we were going to throw it away? We were just putting it in the storage room for temporary safekeeping... That's right, we were just worried that you would lose it." Penny forced a disgusting smirk on her face.

But Harry turned his head away with disdain and looked at the scenery outside the car window.

He only found out about his past last year. He had a group of friends at school, but after returning here, his so-called 'relatives' treated him like a dog that had rolled around in a sleazy place.

By the way...Nietzsche's father said they did it out of inferiority complex.

Summer vacation should be joyful and full of sunshine, not the first day when you are dragged out of Baker Street before you can even enjoy Mrs. Hudson's morning tea.

Unfortunately, Nietzsche enjoyed this.

Still wrapped in a blanket and without even having time to change out of his pajamas, Nietzsche came to the white building in west London with his last bit of stubbornness. This is a famous British humanities college.

The sign at the door reads - Diogenes Club.

Talking was prohibited inside, so Nietzsche could only watch Sherlock communicate with the front desk using sign language that he could not understand, and then followed him to one of the rooms.

"This is the living room." Mycroft's voice came from inside.

He was holding a newspaper and walking back and forth naked on the wooden floor, his belly slightly bulging, which was the aftereffect of socializing. Behind him was an old man pushing a food cart.

"Would you...like to borrow my blanket?" Nietzsche felt it was a bit irritating and looked up at the ceiling.

"Why?" Mycroft asked in confusion. "This is the Diogenes Club, where all the lonely and unsociable can keep to themselves... This is Diogenes' barrel."

It comes from the original cynicism, not the later 'cynicism'.

"Taking off all your clothes doesn't mean you have given up worldly desires." Nietzsche complained, and then turned his anger to his father, "You dragged me out of bed just to... disgust me?"

He threw off his plush slippers and fell on the sofa wrapped in a blanket.

Unfortunately, his uncle just nodded in agreement and then shouted at Stanley to push the cart faster.

"I want to know how you're getting on," said Mycroft leisurely.

"Moriarty..." Nietzsche started with a bombshell, raised his chin towards Sherlock, and said proudly, "A man who dares to be friends with the professor of magic and even takes advantage of wizards."

"What a coincidence, there is a famous astrophysicist named James Moriarty at Oxford University recently." Sherlock added torpedo.

Not only was he not idle, he also took out a book called "Asteroid Mechanics" from his pocket and threw it on the table.

It seems that Sherlock has already approached it once with his own method.

"Evidence," said Mycroft calmly, folding up his paper. "The man you two Holmes are accusing is an Oxford professor, a philosopher, and a friend of the present Prime Minister."

But the problem is that none of this was done by him.

Moriarty could sense any movement. Take the recent murder of the American ambassador for example. He did almost nothing but watched - Voldemort asked Quirrell to make poison and then had someone kill him.

Even if Sherlock knew that someone was tipping off the dark wizard, he could do nothing about it.

"He is the 'Napoleon' of the criminal world. Most of the cases in London are now related to him!" said Sherlock.

"But the evidence only shows that one of the Home Secretaries is collaborating with the enemy. We don't even know where they are going to drop the undetectable gas." Mycroft said, "By the way, why didn't Watson come today?"

Sherlock and Nietzsche touched their noses at the same time, lowered their heads and looked at each other.

The latter was full of confusion. When he picked him up yesterday, both of them were fine. How come one of them was missing today? Come to think of it, his two fathers might have had a conflict over his marriage again.

Nietzsche: You dragged me here just because Watson is not here?

"He's engaged to Mary." Sherlock sniffed.

"Don't worry, I'm still here..."

"You can't use magic here." He rejected Nietzsche's proposal.

"I really can't use it, but I didn't say the professor can't use it." Nietzsche blinked, "Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, believe me, he can at least guarantee your absolute safety."

So the matter was settled, and Watson's absence was filled by Nietzsche.

Nietzsche was pulled into the case of the terrorist attack. As far as he knew, the poison gas that Quirrell handed over was made by Voldemort, and the Home Secretary and the Knight who betrayed the Four Orders Temple were the guides.

"Regarding poisoning... I never thought that the purebloods would drop a gas bomb into the middle of a city out of thin air." Nietzsche reminded.

"Tell me what you think, wizard."

Mycroft's words were a hint for Nietzsche to open the door to another world for the remaining two people.

"Let's first talk about Voldemort, to whom the purebloods once served," Nietzsche said. "He hated Muggles. How could such an arrogant and power-loving person casually kill an ordinary person?"

And Moriarty obviously took advantage of this.

"If I wanted to destroy the entire British system of government through death, what should I do?"

Nietzsche's words made Mycroft understand what kind of people his opponents were - their attitude towards Muggles was based on the belief that 'weak sheep should be given to strong shepherds'.

"Then you have to clean up the entire parliament..."

"Capitol Hill, the next attack will be when the entire British government is present," Sherlock analyzed calmly.

This is really not good news for them.

Volume 1: Chapter 77: The Muggle Detective and the Wizard Professor

Wizards, even Sherlock, thought that this group of people was not easy to serve.

Mainly because he had never come into contact with it, even his own brother had never told him: "Look, Sherlock, there is actually a group of people in Britain who are capable of changing the world."

He was well prepared for this...

"What are you doing?" Nietzsche had just turned two pages of a book in the bedroom when he heard impatient footsteps in the living room.

He opened the door and saw Sherlock dressed like an old street juggler, wearing a grey scarf and a tattered robe. He didn't know which trash can Sherlock had dug out of it.

Moreover, looking from the side, Nietzsche found that his father's nose bridge seemed a little high...

"Are you wearing a fake nose?" he frowned and said impatiently, "I should have mentioned that Quirinus Quirrell was a relatively easy-going man and served as a professor of Muggle Studies."

That's right! Today is the day Quirrell visits Baker Street!!

There was no such plan at the beginning. Nietzsche just mentioned it casually in the letter to Quirrell, but he didn't expect that the other party would agree to it.

"To be precise, it should be a 'former' professor." Sherlock corrected himself by kicking the floor, "and a poor fellow who was used by Moriarty."

Nietzsche's face darkened and he walked up to him and pulled off his nose.

At this moment, Mrs. Hudson's laughter and some scattered conversations suddenly sounded at the door. Good, it seems that Quirinus Quirrell has arrived.

"I'm the professor of defense at the academy. From Nietzsche, I know that a genius is absolutely inseparable from the influence of the environment..." Chilo's energetic praise made the landlady laugh even louder.

But he deliberately omitted the word "dark magic", making it sound like a self-defense and combat elective course in an aristocratic school.

"He is much more obedient than his father. You are too kind... Come with me."

Sherlock immediately threw his funny tall hat onto the balcony window and sat down with his legs crossed.

"From what I've seen so far, he doesn't seem like the... timid, cowardly person you described." He never hesitated to laugh at me, and said with a raised eyebrow, "He's actually quite attentive, a little bit---"

"Easygoing," Nietzsche insisted.

But Sherlock just pursed his lips in anger and sat up straight. Now he heard that the footsteps had stopped.

Then, just as he had thought, Mrs. Hudson opened the door for Quirrell, rang the doorbell symbolically, and stepped halfway into the house with her feet outside the door frame.

"Nietzsche's teacher...Sherlock, please take on the responsibility of being a 'father' and have some professional ethics." She greeted him simply.

When Quirrell walked in, Nietzsche thought he had recognized the wrong person.

Is that Quirrell?

He looked nothing like a wizard: he was dressed like a late 19th-century British cavalryman, in a cobalt-blue tailcoat, a black bow tie, a vest, and heavy leather boots.

He looked like someone who had just walked off the set of Raiders of the Lost Ark.

After a quick glance around, Quirrell spotted Sherlock in his 'home clothes' and sat down next to Nietzsche awkwardly.

"Aren't you a Muggle wizard?" he said.

"I am indeed a Muggle wizard." Nietzsche was also a little surprised.

"Are you sure...your dad isn't a wizard?"

“…”

Nietzsche's puzzled eyes flickered between Quirrell and Sherlock, and then he knew what was going on.

Obviously, a wizard like Quirrell who likes to travel is more like a normal person than Sherlock... Sorry, please forgive Nietzsche's thoughts, but this is a fact.

You have to know that his father is a real stay-at-home dad who never goes out except when he is assigned a task.

Looking at the heavy atmosphere that was gradually solidifying, Quirrell laughed and said, "Mr. Holmes, I heard that you have been having a headache because of some dark wizards recently. In return, I am willing to provide all the help I can."

The two of them were sizing each other up from the moment they met.

"Why." Sherlock just smiled, very quickly, no different from a muscle twitch.

"With Nietzsche's help, I am willing to do anything as long as it does not violate my personal morality." Quirrell did not give too much explanation, "Believe me, it is not easy to catch a dark wizard who dares to kill people."

"It sounds like thugs... bodyguards or something..."

Faced with such almost derogatory words, Quirrell did not feel any displeasure.

This made Sherlock have some thoughts in his mind: it seems that the relationship between his son and this wizard is going to get deeper, and he doesn't know whether it is a good thing or a bad thing.

"You can think of it that way." Quirrell made a 'zipper' gesture in front of his mouth. "If necessary, you don't have to reveal the details... My job is to identify the murderer."

But Sherlock's mind was not on this.

"What about Moriarty?" He poured the other a cup of tea.

To be honest, it is rare to find a wizard who can be so humble.

"Don't even think about it... Of course, I'm not speaking for him." Quirrell moistened his throat and continued, "In the whole thing, he already knew that Mr. Holmes would intervene, and he had no interest in ruling."