Hermione, let's start a revolution from Hogwarts!

Damn it, why would she subconsciously defend Nietzsche?

No, no, this is just her dislike of the conflicts between academies caused by stereotypes, and it's definitely not about defending some glib-tongued guy.

"Who knows? Slytherins are all ambitious people. Maybe you've never really seen through him... People change. Look at Percy, he wasn't this arrogant before he became a prefect."

Looking in the direction Ron was pointing, you could see Percy proudly puffing out his chest, his prefect badge gleaming.

Harry didn't want to be stuck in the middle of the group.

Even Harry, who had little social experience, could sense Ron's general anger and disgust towards Slytherin, which stemmed from the conflict between his father and the Malfoy family.

Ron believed that it was Hermione who helped him out of that predicament that day, and that Nietzsche had little to do with it.

But Hermione and Nietzsche were both people who helped Harry, putting him in a difficult position and causing him some annoyance.

"By the way, I mean seriously, what if Nietzsche was like those Slytherins?"

“He’s still better than those idiots like Malfoy…” She slung her backpack over her shoulder and strode past Ron, adding casually, “Especially compared to you!”

Ron stood frozen in place, staring blankly as Hermione disappeared into the crowd.

Then she pulled Harry aside and said, "She actually thinks Gryffindor is inferior to a Slytherin?!"

It wasn't that Harry didn't want to make friends with other people, but apart from Ron, whom he met first, and Hermione later, everyone else had a... a strange sense of expectation towards him.

The wizards' constant attention made him feel like he was being watched.

Only a very few people don't know this, and of those three, two are by your side, and the other is in a opposing college.

"That's right, sigh~ girls' minds are so hard to guess."

Harry shrugged, his heart filled with anticipation for his old friend from Slytherin.

He hoped that the name he used to frequently use to intimidate Dudley wouldn't be as cold and heartless as the Slytherins.

Hermione, back at the dining table, leaned back wearily in her wooden chair, feeling frustrated as she looked at the few remaining rubies in the Gryffindor hourglass above her head.

In fact, Nietzsche wasn't the only one who was viewed with prejudice; Hermione was the same.

“Oh? Who angered the future Headmaster of Gryffindor?” Lavender sat down next to her, his eyes full of playful mockery. “Let me guess… it must be George and Fred, who were caught last night.”

"What the hell is the Headmaster of Gryffindor?!"

Suddenly, a makeup mirror appeared in front of Hermione's eyes, which the Indian girl Parvati opposite her had taken out of her handbag.

The person in the mirror exuded an imposing aura, with a serious expression. Her brown curly hair made her look like an angry lion, a stark contrast to the jovial Lavender beside her.

“If you don’t like that, there’s another one…McGard.”

Seemingly seeking validation, Parvati kicked the nearest Nawi, and the chubby boy, who was sitting there deep in thought, noticed the lion turning its head and involuntarily began to look away.

“Yes…it does look quite similar.” Neville quickly added, seeing Hermione’s raised eyebrows. “Of course, the main reason is your excellent Transfiguration.”

Excellent, a perfect self-rescue.

Although Hermione knew he came up with it on the spur of the moment, she still found it very helpful.

Hermione, who had more or less adopted some of Nietzsche's communication style, was no longer as dull as she had been in elementary school. Although she retained her preaching habit, at least no one dared to think she was wrong.

Thus, the nickname "Little Wheat" began to circulate among some people.

"Ha! You little traitor!" Lavender was somewhat taken aback when he heard Longbottom's self-rescue.

“Regarding instruction on Transfiguration, I remember now… Mr. Longbottom seems to have been there before you all.” Hermione casually crossed her right leg over her left and took a notebook from her bag. “First come, first served, ladies.”

What a joke! Does she really think she has no way to deal with these people?

"I will definitely give my full support to Dean Hermione's great cause."

“Very good, Neville Longbottom. I hope you can become a knight who breaks the old guard at Hogwarts. At least you won’t have to worry about failing your exams.”

Hermione squinted, somewhat enjoying the awe in Neville's eyes.

That's right! She was very unhappy with some of the conservative wizards in Gryffindor. It wasn't just Gryffindor; the whole of Hogwarts was being made to look like it was run by four schools.

It has become a four-way struggle.

"Hmph, you're practically a Gryffindor who's even more Slytherin than Slytherin himself..."

Lavender watched the top-secret documents slip through her fingers, feeling resentful. Hermione, after hearing her complaints, smiled slightly.

Is there anything wrong with it?

There's nothing wrong with that; Hermione firmly believes that she can do some things even better than Nietzsche.

Chapter Twenty-One: Potions Class Mayhem

This year's House Cup won't be so easy for Slytherin.

Don't ask, the answer is always "damned Mudbloods" and "Professor McGonagall's favoritism." But thankfully, those two Gryffindor idiots lost almost all their previous points because of their nighttime outing.

However, at present, the biggest threat to Slytherin is still Hermione Granger, the ruthless score-farming machine and the hand-raising maniac.

Even the real Headmistress McGonagall was considering whether to designate Hermione as a candidate for Gryffindor Prefect in advance.

Because Nietzsche went to Professor Quirrell's office every night, he didn't speak much on Wednesdays and Thursdays afterward, occasionally chiming in with the teachers, and averaging only two or three extra points per class.

Because of his mistake, Hermione quickly caught up with Gryffindor.

There is only one potions class on Friday mornings.

Daphne looked around, but she couldn't find that person at any of the tables.

“Gryffindor has caught up with Slytherin in terms of grades because of two Charms lessons,” she said, taking a sip of warm milk.

Even Malfoy had to admit that most of his credits came from Nietzsche.

“That’s impossible!” Prefect Lucien said, frowning. “The Gryffindors are always partying and going out at night, and they never speak in class. How could they have changed so much?”

Opposite him sat Malfoy, with Pansy Parkinson on his left and Gore and Crabbe, who had just been discharged from the hospital the day before, on his right.

The two looked much better; the potion made with white sage essence hadn't left them with any hidden injuries.

"Because of Granger, I overheard other people talking in the school infirmary. It seems there's a small group within Gryffindor centered around Granger, and most of Gryffindor's grades are from them."

That's indeed the case.

Neville, Lavender, Parvati, and other new Gryffindor students, thanks to Hermione's tutoring and pre-training in Charms, excelled in their two Charms and Herbology classes.

Hermione is finally free from having to do everything herself.

As soon as Malfoy looked up, he saw Neville Longbottom's smug face.

At first, he raised his hand tremblingly, but the positive feedback from his friend's surprise and the professor's praise greatly boosted Neville Longbottom's confidence.

"Then why don't we create an organization like a club?" Malfoy said dismissively.

“But what can we do?” Daphne shattered his fantasy abruptly, and said calmly, “What I mean is, even if we invest the time and learn those facts, the professors won’t be paying attention to us.”

She was right.

Herbalism, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts... not to mention Professor McGonagall, the Head of Gryffindor.

"Boosting the morale of others while diminishing our own..."

“No, Pansy, she’s right.” Malfoy slammed his fist on the table, furious. “These professors have all been fooled by him, unless we can attract more attention than Nietzsche.”

After some mental reflection, Malfoy came up with an idea that even he himself had to admit.

If Slytherin wants to win their seventh consecutive title this year, it means that they must personally curry favor with Nietzsche, and what Malfoy least wants to do is lower his noble head to others.

This was especially true for Nietzsche, who came from a Muggle family.

"What about others?"

"Who knows, they're either in the library or already in the Potions classroom."

However, just as Daphne had guessed, Nietzsche had arrived at an underground classroom. Walking down the corridor and turning a few corners, one could see the dungeon stone walls leading to the lounge.

While the others were still leisurely enjoying their breakfast, he was already fiddling with the crucible while holding a piece of bread in his mouth.

“Nietzsche Holmes, even if you bring in Professor Quirrell as a shield, your confinement will only be extended…” Snape stood in the center of the classroom, his dark eyes fixed on him.

His eyes were always so empty and indifferent, like two abandoned train tunnels.

“Let me guess, this whole series of plans has been going on for about six months.” Nietzsche gave him a polite smile and said softly, “I’m sorry, but my confinement may indeed need to be extended.”

But Snape saw his smile as a provocation.

The professor moved closer to Nietzsche's face, and now he could hear Snape grinding his teeth, adding to the somber atmosphere of the cold, mad scientist-like classroom.

"Do you think your little bit of cleverness is enough to challenge the dean's authority...?"

“If you are referring to the tacit acceptance of academic tradition, my answer is—wrong.” Nietzsche feigned sudden realization and continued, “Authority versus authoritarianism, Slytherin is clearly the latter.”

"You just hope that coward Quirrell will protect you, don't you?"

Snape glanced at the students who were gradually entering through the door, and the sarcastic smile on his lips slowly faded.

This student is just as despicable as his Muggle father.

Friday's Potions class was a joint class for Gryffindor and Slytherin, so the students from both houses were practically shoving each other as they entered.

Suddenly a girl sat down next to Nietzsche and put her textbook on it without asking.

“I don’t think you’ll mind something like this, right?” Daphne smiled at him. “There’s no name engraved on this table.”

“Of course I won’t kick you out,” Nietzsche replied with a smile, glancing behind her.

Good, Daphne Greengrass, a Malfoy diplomat, breathed a sigh of relief; at least she didn't show much disgust.

Unfortunately, the next second, two stacked potion books came crashing down, and a pair of hands pressed down on them, pushing them aside and knocking over Daphne's own textbooks.

"I swear, I was not the one who drove you away."

It wasn't Nietzsche, of course, because Daphne saw the names of the owners of those two books on their covers.

“Didn’t you see there are already people here?” Daphne wasn’t angry; instead, she looked aggrieved. “When did Gryffindor become so domineering… If you don’t mind, you can sit at the table next to Nietzsche’s.”

Hermione crossed her arms and looked down at the golden-white venomous snake.