Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

Author: The Painting Fox

Summary:

Nietzsche-John Holmes, a child forcibly adopted by the Watsons during a mission, begins his madcap HP magical journey.

Hermione Granger: "You shouldn't hit your classmate, Mr. Right!"

Nietzsche, Sherlock Holmes: "To become a superhero who defies the powerful, Miss Conformity~"

He will have a series of titles in the future—the third Dark Lord, Superman, the Minister of Magic's secret lover... (Sorry, it seems like something serious has been mixed in).

But the first hurdle he faces is:

Sherlock Holmes, who looks like Iron Man, and Professor Snape are at it again, exchanging sharp words!

Volume One

Chapter One: Letters from 221 Baker Street, London

"The gale whipped up dark clouds, between the clouds and the sea..."

"Shut up! Nietzsche! You've messed up my thoughts! Watson, have Mrs. Hudson take him away!"

"Hey, I'm the landlord, not your servant... Clever Nietzsche, would you like a cookie?"

At 221 Baker Street, London, in room 221, a boy pulled back the living room blinds, looked at the gray sky, and stood in front of the arched window reciting a collection of essays aloud.

Not long after, several gunshots rang out from the other end of the living room, along with the muttering of a middle-aged man.

Nietzsche turned around and what came into view was a "surprise" on the table—not some delicious food, but a corpse.

Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, was startled when she entered, but she didn't seem too surprised, as if she was used to it. She was just a little annoyed by the bullet holes left on the innocent wall.

Well... Nietzsche has to admit, he did it on purpose.

The man at the dining table who kept whipping the corpse was none other than the famous Sherlock Holmes. Nietzsche always felt that his adoptive father was very similar to the playboy named Iron Man in his dreams.

Sherlock Holmes and Tony Stark have completely opposite personalities.

“Why don’t you call for the all-powerful Jarvis assistant…” Nietzsche muttered to himself, taking a raccoon-patterned cookie from the tray.

"If I really had that omnipotent robot butler of your dreams, then Watson could retire in peace," Sherlock muttered to himself, glancing behind him with disdain.

John Watson, who was taking notes nearby, was somewhat inexplicably caught in the crossfire.

"Ahem... Nietzsche just had a very rich imagination. Alright, child, I think you should go and play with that little girl at school... Did you discover anything?"

"The time of death was approximately two days ago. There were no gunshot wounds, no fighting, no history of illness, and no other signs of illness; it was as if..."

Nietzsche, leaning on the table, sniffed the pleasant smell of gunpowder and continued, "Like being killed by magic."

"Interesting. Our little superhero who used to run rampant at school has started to believe in magic."

Sherlock rubbed his stubble, took a puff of his pipe, sank into the sofa, raised his left hand, and fired another shot at the wall. The sudden sound made Mrs. Hudson scream.

"Sherlock!!"

Nietzsche calmly took out a newspaper from his bag and tossed it onto the table.

The headline above boldly proclaimed, "A Bizarre Death: Yet Another Case of Incompetence by English Police!"

“Dad, this is the latest newspaper. Another murder occurred this morning. The victim was a church member. People are starting to believe that this is a disaster sent by God. Even some people in the police department think it is impossible.”

“I’m not you… never mind, nothing is impossible in this world!” Sherlock tilted his head, grabbed the newspaper, and asked casually as he read, “What do you think?”

“God is dead.”

This was Nietzsche's calm reply.

"My God..."

And this sound came from Mrs. Hudson, who looked up and closed her eyes in a sigh.

Watson, however, closed his notebook and looked at Nietzsche in disbelief.

How did you find out about the police station?

“Dad, I ran into Inspector Lestrade after school today, and he told me about it,” Nietzsche said with a hint of exasperation. “Please don’t make that face, after all, you can all hide a human head in the refrigerator.”

"What? You even put a...head in the refrigerator?!" Mrs. Hudson was even more shocked.

Sherlock and Nietzsche exchanged a glance.

The father and son coughed a few times in succession, then got up in perfect unison, put on their trench coats, as if their nerves were connected, their movements were extremely synchronized, and they left the room without a word.

Only the elderly father, John Watson, was left at home, facing the landlady's questioning.

Yes, Nietzsche had two adoptive fathers—Sherlock and Watson.

And she also has a busy foster mother—Marie Motzstein.

Although it won't be long before she changes her name to Mary Watson.

Although Nietzsche was adopted by the Watsons, he actually spent almost every day enjoying time with Sherlock Holmes due to his busy work schedule...

At least for Nietzsche, dealing with human heads and dismembered corpses every day was very interesting.

"Alright, you brat, you've achieved your goal." Sherlock patted the ash from his cigarette and twisted the tobacco in his pipe. "So, what trouble have you gotten into at school this time that I have to clean up your mess for?"

"You'll find out when you get to school."

Nietzsche gave him a disdainful look.

"I really don't know how Aunt Eileen could have taken a liking to you looking like this... If you just duck into a pile of beggars now, I guarantee someone will drop a coin into your hat."

"You antisocial little lunatic, you were transferred to another school last time because you went too far... What was the name of that fat kid you beat up again?"

"Dullie Dursley, a cake piled high with lard."

This wasn't the first time Nietzsche had beaten up a classmate.

"You're not much better!"

Sherlock scratched his stubble, which hadn't been trimmed in a long time, and suddenly appeared outdoors from indoors, causing his eyes to narrow.

Just as his eyes adjusted to the light, a postman rode by on his bicycle across the newly paved cobblestones and swiftly shoved an envelope into Nietzsche's hand.

His voice was deep and resonant, and judging from the lines on his hands, he was probably in his early fifties.

"Mr. Holmes, your envelope."

Nietzsche looked away from the postman and his fingers habitually touched the paper.

It's not commercially produced paper; it's very rough, and you can clearly feel the tiny bumps when you touch it. There's also a mark on the cover that's the same as the sealing wax symbol.

A shield containing a lion, a snake, an eagle, and a badger.

The boy looked at the letters under the markings, somewhat puzzled: "Hogwarts? I don't remember filling in that school."

However, Nietzsche didn't say much. He just walked and thought for a while, and when he turned onto Baker Street, he calmly opened the letter.

It says:

Dear Nietzsche John Holmes, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed is a list of required books and equipment.

The semester is scheduled to begin on September 1st. Please send your reply via owl as soon as possible.

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore.

Vice Principal: Minerva McGonagall.

Sherlock Holmes peered out curiously and asked, "What's written on it?"

"A magic school... Don't you think it's a coincidence that such a letter was sent out within days of a religiously motivated murder? Is this a warning?"

Nietzsche frowned and handed the envelope to his disheveled foster father.

He's the real expert when it comes to finding clues.

When Sherlock received the letter, he first touched the texture of the paper, then sniffed it, and finally, after confirming that Nietzsche had read it, he stuck out his tongue and licked it.

They even smacked their lips in lingering relish.

"Ancient handmade parchment...with a hint of chocolate sweetness, interesting...was that just a letter from a human?"

"Otherwise what? There are no mobile phones that look like miniature televisions these days."

"The letter emphasized that you must reply with an owl, but animals are not capable of delivering mail and require professional training. Even if it is a threatening letter, it is far too unprofessional."

Sherlock's face fell, and he threw the letter into the trash can with some disappointment.

"So this is a prank?"

"So the whole book list was just to make it seem real?" Sherlock then tossed it into the trash can. "Maybe it was just to fool naive kids like you."

Whether it was a prank, a threat, or a real school, the final clue, no matter how real, rendered everything a mirage.

No owl was specified!

The only thing that is certain is that their residence was exposed.

“Who would go to that kind of magic school?” Nietzsche said dismissively. “From now on, I will dedicate myself to all of humanity!”

"Just because of the dreams in your head?"

“I always felt that those things really happened. Father, you have to admit that some things cannot be described by language. Language itself is a kind of symbolic order, a kind of violence.”

Just like his name.

Nietzsche and John Holmes sought to break free from this conventional framework.

"So that's your reason for hitting your classmate?!"

As the eccentric father and son walked to the school gate, a voice shattered their illusions.

Looking in the direction of the sound, I saw a girl with brown curly hair, freckles on her face, and chocolate-colored eyes. She was standing at the door, frowning, holding a few books.

He, Nietzsche, encountered the person he would never find trouble in his life.

Hermione Granger!!