Chapter 5: Why Are You Refusing Too?

On the same day that Snape visited Sherlock's home, Hermione faced a similar situation.

At the door was a tabby cat, which, before Hermione and her parents, transformed into an elderly woman dressed in a deep green robe. She claimed to be a professor from a magic school, here to inform the Muggle-born wizard.

Muggle… a term wizards used to refer to ordinary people.

To be honest, Hermione didn't particularly like it.

When the woman, identified as Professor McGonagall, noticed her mother's skepticism and her father's furrowed brows, she transformed a single armchair in their living room into a lion...

However, Hermione felt some resistance, admitting to herself that she had just stepped out of the pages of a book, only to be thrown into a strange new world.

"So… can I choose not to go?"

Professor McGonagall, initially brimming with confidence, was met not with the excited shout of "I want to be a wizard!" from the little girl but rather with a refusal.

"Why not, dear? Don't you want to learn what I can show you?"

"Actually, I don't want to learn any magic," Hermione said, thinking of Nietzsche. She mustered her courage, pouted, and quietly added, "I want to attend the medical school where my parents graduated and become an excellent medical expert, contributing to humanity."

"Sorry, but if you don't pursue your studies, you could be in danger. The magic accumulating within you could erupt."

The Grangers fell silent.

They naturally knew about their daughter's "secret." One year during her birthday, after being stifled at school all day, Hermione came home so excited that the entire living room began to float.

That day, the Grangers experienced what felt like a "space odyssey."

"My parents can take me to the hospital!"

"First, Muggles don't know about magic; second, Miss Granger, if you were discovered by Muggles, what would happen? Would you be treated as a miracle or an abomination?" 

Professor McGonagall gently spoke the cruelest truth in the kindest voice.

Hermione wasn't unaware of this reasoning; she just didn't want to confront it. To avoid going back to being ostracized as a "bookworm," she hadn't even shared this secret with Nietzsche...

No, no, it was perfectly normal not to tell him!

Hermione shook her head, lost in thought. Under Professor McGonagall's gaze, she continued to ask, "Can ordinary people study there too?"

That sounded familiar; Professor McGonagall felt she had heard this question somewhere before.

"Why do you ask? Is it because of your parents..."

Mrs. Granger's brows raised slightly as she observed her daughter's flushed face. She chuckled, "No, it's because of a friend she knows at school... her only friend."

"Mom!!"

Professor McGonagall's expression changed.

From shock to curiosity, and finally to realization as she caught a glimpse of the teasing glint in Mrs. Granger's eyes.

No wonder it sounded so familiar. McGonagall's thoughts drifted back to a summer more than a decade ago, shortly after she had become a professor and visited a girl's home in a Muggle village.

But that girl was there for her sister, while the Hermione before her was there for a friend.

"That seems... unlikely, dear. You should think about this: even if your Muggle friend attends school with you, being alone among wizards will only make them feel more isolated."

"It's okay; I'll be there!" 

Hermione frowned slightly and replied to her gentle encouragement.

At school, though only Nietzsche would engage with her, discussing various topics, Hermione felt a sense of duty after understanding Nietzsche's inner struggles:

This person had some serious issues.

So, eventually, she reassured herself that she, Hermione Granger, was there so that Nietzsche wouldn't get expelled for hitting someone.

Even though sometimes she felt those people Nietzsche wanted to hit somewhat deserved it.

"Ahem... how can you think like that?"

"It's okay; he helped me when I felt out of place, so I think loneliness is something I can accept."

Yet in McGonagall's eyes, Hermione was the most unusual one.

She patiently said, "But how do you know he would accept being around wizards? Here's what we'll do... next time I take you to Diagon Alley for your school supplies, I'll bring him along to have a look around. How does that sound?"

Professor McGonagall felt like a genius.

Wasn't this a much more reasonable approach than the school principal, who didn't lift a finger and left everything to the vice-principal?!

"Well… okay."

Hermione couldn't think of any better solution, so she decided to go along with Professor McGonagall's plan.

After the professor left, however, her once serious little face finally crumbled, and she flopped down on the sofa, clutching a plush pillow and squirming like a worm.

She radiated an aura of unease.

"Say something," Mrs. Granger kicked her husband.

Mr. Granger, feeling helpless, reluctantly set his newspaper aside and cleared his throat.

"Hermione, try to see it differently. What if your friend can accept that you're a wizard? Besides... from what you tell us about Nietzsche every day, he doesn't seem like that kind of person."

"No, I just... just..." Hermione curled up her feet and buried her face in her knees, mumbling, "I just don't want to go to an unfamiliar place."

"Regardless, in a few days, when we go shopping together, you'll see him."

Hermione didn't respond; she simply slouched her arms and listlessly trudged upstairs, shutting herself in her room.

Mr. Granger suddenly clapped his thigh, recalling something, and hurriedly pulled his wife over from the dining room.

Superman.

A word flashed through her mind.

During the height of superhero comics, Hermione had seen Nietzsche frequently flipping through them. On an afternoon just after exams, she sat next to him, holding a letter delivered by an owl.

The girl looked at the comic, nervously asking, "Nietzsche, I mean, if... if we were superheroes, what would you do?"

But his answer left a lasting impression on Hermione.

"If we were superheroes, you could become a greater medical doctor, and I could research more powerful weapons... machines."

Unfortunately, just when Hermione had begun to dream a little, reality struck her down once more.

Thinking about how she couldn't keep an eye on Nietzsche, she worried that once he got to high school, he might become even more reckless. She hoped that the next time she returned, it wouldn't be to a prison or detention center in England.

So, she and Nietzsche were definitely not friends!

More like enemies...

In the following days, Nietzsche didn't come to invite her to the library, and Hermione could only sulk at home, punching her pillow.

Meanwhile, at 221B Baker Street, Nietzsche was being taught by Watson how to avoid "being jolted by recoil" and attending Sherlock's "crash course in fighting."

As a military doctor, Watson was extremely strict in this regard, but to keep Nietzsche from getting bored, he enlisted the help of retired Captain Philips to custom-make a matching cane, just a bit shorter than his own.

"Inside, it has a sword... capable of firing 9mm caliber ammunition." He suddenly turned to his fiancée and asked, "Am I being... a bit neurotic, plus a tad insane?"

Mary couldn't be bothered to lift her head, still touching up her makeup in front of the mirror.

"Is it?" she thought the firepower was too low.

Thinking about how she had raised her little cub for ten years, only for him to go among a crowd of wizards, made her somewhat anxious.

Wizards!

What did wizards represent... they were so evil they would poison apples.

"Last year, you thought it was dangerous for Sherlock to shoot guns at home." Nietzsche greedily inhaled the acrid smell in the room, "And today, you're giving him a military bulletproof vest."

Watson slapped him on the head, grumbling, "Yet you'd rather tell Irene Adler your secrets than tell us."

Sherlock took a puff from his cigarette, looking quite pleased.

In his hands was a detailed analysis of Snape's personality, along with notes regarding the case.

"Watson, later, accompany me to the Diogenes Club; we need to meet someone."

"Uncle Mycroft?"

"Uncle... can you not be so affectionate?" Sherlock shot Nietzsche a sideways glance. "He's only praised you for your 'sharp intuition.' He's said the same thing about Watson."

"Dad, you just don't want to admit that Uncle Mycroft is smarter than you."

"Very well! Extra training tonight!"

"No!!!"

Nietzsche, looking at the weapons hanging from his clothes, felt like he had already reached his limit just walking from the doorway to the staircase.

Superman Nietzsche hadn't even taken a step before he was crushed under the weight of life's burdens.