Chapter 237

A dead man has come back to life and is embracing the Minister of Magic in Paris during the Christmas holidays.

"Oops~ I didn't expect there was a gift." Hermione gently hooked her fingers and let the red wine placed on the table fly over. She pretended to smile in surprise, like a fox deceiving its prey, "Maybe you can Relax beforehand.”

This is relatively light. After Room of Requirement, she knew how to tug at Nietzsche's heartstrings with every word.

"Let's talk about it later." Smoke rose from Nietzsche's throat, and in the end he did not choose to cross the line.

Appetizers had to be served before the main meal, so after Hermione personally tried on each of the newly prepared clothes and had them rated by Nietzsche, they walked out to the street and started the first night of their honeymoon.

They could see the news introducing wizards, and even heard pedestrians talking about Lockhart.

This was a crazy era...at least for those conservative Muggles and wizards, but Nietzsche, who initiated this change, just held Hermione's hand, hid among the ordinary people, and became one of them.

Nietzsche was wearing a dark brown trench coat and a peaked cap, with his right hand around Hermione's waist and his fingers stroking the burgundy coat. At this time, he was no different from the Muggles around him who were looking up to admire the Eiffel Tower.

The whole world is like a mirror, allowing him to be deeply immersed in it and yet outside of it.

"Excuse me...excuse me!" A hoarse French voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts.

He was a middle-aged man with a beard stained white by snowflakes. His eyes were shining and he rushed over in a hurry. His mouth was trembling and he changed his greetings in Spanish and German.

"Hello." This was one of the few French words Hermione learned from watching movies.

"Can you allow me to draw a...portrait for the two of you? I am a painter..." The man seemed to be worried that the others would not understand. He took out a paintbrush and made a few gestures, and patted the folder. The wooden frame in the crook of the arm.

Nietzsche discovered the clue instantly: the brush was too clean.

Not only is it as clean as a new pen, but it is also very neat, not that rough feeling. You must know that Parisian painters who are popular in classicism usually paint in oil, and their utensils are more difficult to clean.

"Of course." Nietzsche said, maintaining that smile.

"Great! Thank you so much..." The man set up the wooden frame ecstatically and took out the paper from his bag. "Please put your arms around this lady, yes, that posture just now! Turn your face right!"

Piccoquo --- The artist's name is written on the back of the canvas.

This name seems familiar. Nietzsche seems to have seen it somewhere. It seems that it appeared in the French Revolution?

"It seems to be a wizard." He tilted his head slightly, grinned, and made a voice that only two people could hear.

"Exposed?" Hermione asked doubtfully.

"I don't know...it doesn't look like that. He's probably a down-and-out French nobleman."

Nietzsche stared closely at the dancing 'paint brush'. The three of them stood in the light snow for more than an hour. It was not until the original orange snow gradually turned into the golden color of the iron tower that they saw Picoqui exhale a breath of cold air. .

The two people in the portrait leaned closely together, and the classic decoration made Hermione's eyes a little softer.

"How much?" Nietzsche waited for a few minutes and was the first to ask.

"No need to pay." Pikokui blinked several times, hurriedly packed up the equipment, shook his head and said, "Of course, it would be better if you are willing to give a little extra tip, you two are kind-hearted."

Nietzsche grabbed the other person's right hand holding the paintbrush and instantly became alert.

"Victor asked you to come?"

Other than that, he couldn't think of anyone else who could let a wizard pretend to be a Muggle and follow behind him, and stage such a dramatic scene.

"Who?" Picoqui raised his head blankly.

"Didn't anyone tell you that your brush is too clean? Wizard." Nietzsche said softly.

However, Picoqui did not show any panic when his lie was exposed. Instead, he showed joy, as if to express, 'It turns out you are also a wizard.'

"Of course someone has paid, that guy... I thought you knew each other." He turned around and said, "Of course I don't just write casually, my ancestor was the court painter of Louis XVI! You two are indeed very good at it. take..."

Following the gaze of the wizard painter, Nietzsche scanned the passers-by, and finally zeroed in on a couple standing in the corner, hiding under an umbrella.

It's not that it's very conspicuous, but because Nietzsche knew Mr. and Mrs. Watson.

The other two have been watching Nietzsche and Hermione, that is, they have been watching since Picoqui was painting. No, maybe they noticed earlier... From their eyes, Nietzsche read surprise, panic and Confuse.

Finally, Watson rolled his eyes and fell straight into Mary's arms.

Chapter 396 Watson: It’s so difficult for me

As early as December, Watson, who was married, always had a lot of expectations for the future. With the death of his adopted son, he gradually thought more about his unborn biological son---hoping to be like Nietzsche. ..

That great? That smart? Different from ordinary people?

Thinking of this, he would lie in bed again and complain to his wife Mary: "Maybe it would be good for our son to be ordinary, at least he will not leave us suddenly."

"Maybe you should pack your mind and face the ever-changing future." Mary kissed her husband's forehead and leaned on the pillow and said patiently, "We can go to Brighton to spend a wonderful weekend."

"Hmm~" Watson snorted through his nose.

Seeing him staring blankly at the ceiling, his wife forced a smile, pursed her lips, and sighed at being left out.

"I miss him too...in my own way."

Yes, she was Nietzsche's adoptive mother, and of course she would be sad about it. Watson thought that he was too petty and was always immersed in the sad past and forgot about the present and the future, so he recovered from his melancholy.

When Nietzsche left the two of them, it was not because everyone had their own new life.

"Paris," he said softly, holding his wife's hand. "I heard from Wendell Granger that France is perfect for a honeymoon, and he will definitely want us to go."

Now that Mary has taken the initiative to bring it up, Watson decides to make up for what he missed.

"Then I'll buy a plane ticket tomorrow. Remember to pack your things." Mary lay down and added as soon as she turned off the night light, "Don't tell Sherlock, otherwise he will definitely want to go with us."

"OK."

The cozy bedroom fell into a silence surrounded by the sound of cars, but after five minutes, both of them laughed at the same time.

This is the reason before.

Watson followed Mary to France, trying to bury his sorrow with the beauty of his new life, but this was not an easy task, especially when he could hear the French people's speculations about wizards, and Nietzsche's shadow filled the streets. Hit.

He used what he learned from the three Sherlock Holmes to make poor guesses about the people passing by.

"I'm sure there are some wizards hiding here now." Watson held his cane and walked with his wife on Haussmann Avenue after Christmas.

"But can you find it?" Mary asked.

Then, the two of them walked along the avenue to the Venus Hotel. When Mary was checking in at the front desk of the hotel, Watson, who was bored, caught a glimpse of the open-air lounge on the second floor, said hello, and walked up alone. .

But just as he was looking at the dazzling bar and thinking about what to drink with his wife later, he heard the room name announced by the receptionist downstairs:

Louis XVI.

‘Why would you have such a silly name? ’ Watson complained in his mind.

He was curious to see which special guy had such 'good luck', but as soon as he turned around, he saw a familiar figure walking into the elevator. A second before the elevator door closed completely, he caught a glimpse of a side view. Face.

A ridiculous thought came to Watson's mind: That man really looked like Nietzsche.

But this idea was immediately rejected. You must know that the man was covered with shopping bags and was not wearing a wizard's robe. How could he be his adopted son who had died long ago, let alone that he was not yet an adult.

He didn't tell his wife about this unrealistic guess until...until he saw the backs of the young couple under the Eiffel Tower.

"Do you feel..." Mary stood on the street, frowning, and said intermittently.

"It's very similar!" Watson said decisively, "I know what you are going to say, because I have seen it before."

He wanted to get closer, but the flow of people was too heavy. At this time, many people wanted to visit and rest on the second floor of the Eiffel Tower, so he was stopped on the opposite side of the road. He wanted to squeeze in to have a look, but he was worried that he might have mistakenly recognized the person. .

Watson urged himself in his mind: 'Think of a way... take a look, just take a look. ’

Just when the young couple was about to leave at any moment, Mary grabbed the oil painter who was passing by with his easel, and without any explanation, she stuffed a handful of euros into his arms.

"Go and draw those two people..." she said, pointing to the couple under the Eiffel Tower.

"What?" The painter numbly took the banknotes and said in a panic, "How did you see...Okay."

So the painter who was walking on the roadside with his head inexplicably lowered his head accepted the sale midway. They watched the other person walk through the crowd at a strange speed and walked to the couple to set up his easel.

Watson stared intently, not catching any gaps or reflections in the glass, and immediately took his wife a few steps forward whenever he had the chance.

Blue eyes, brown and black hair, a straight waist...is he Nietzsche?

He couldn't believe that the dead would be resurrected, but he hoped that his inner wish would come true. Then, the painter who had finished painting seemed to point towards him, and then he saw the couple turning around and looking at come over.

Is it Nietzsche and Granger? !

There was no mistake. Watson felt that he could not mistake these two people. He looked still alive. However, when his eyes met with Nietzsche's, his heart suddenly twitched, his eyes darkened, and his center of gravity was unstable. The ground fell backwards.

Nietzsche was discovered and looked at Marie awkwardly. She was the only one who was still unconscious.

"Um... why don't you find a place to sit down and talk?" Nietzsche walked over and didn't know how to explain all this. After holding back for a long time, he cautiously asked.

Mary also saw Hermione, but she only glanced briefly, and the rest of her attention was focused on Nietzsche.

The breaths of several people turned into white air in the cold weather, and finally gathered in the middle. The girl didn't want to get involved, so she helped Mary support the stunned Watson.

"Of course." Mary said coldly.

They dragged Watson and trudged to the bottom of the Eiffel Tower, taking the bottom-up elevator.

It was surprisingly quiet in the glass room. Nietzsche opened his mouth and wanted to speak several times, but was buried by the shame and embarrassment of being caught. He turned to look outside the elevator...

"Crack!"

The collision of flesh and the friction of skin.

Nietzsche was admiring the Arc de Triomphe, the hotel and the Boulevard Haussmann covered with a layer of white outside the window, and then he felt a burning pain on his left face.

The first thing Mary Watson did with her hands free was not to hug or wipe away tears, but to give a loud slap. After that, she turned around indifferently, and her relaxed expression proved that she had calmed down a little.

"I thought you would stop it." Nietzsche covered the slap mark on his face and whispered to his girlfriend in grievance.

"You deserve it." Hermione supported Watson and also gave a low response.

He tilted his head back slightly, and it was obvious that his girlfriend was holding back her laughter, but he couldn't refute it, so he could only swallow the bitter fruit.

The platform on the second floor is made up of four glass corridors, including a macaron bar and two shops, as well as the Verne restaurant where they are sitting now, and you can easily see the Louvre, Notre Dame de Paris and other buildings.

Money is never a problem, at least not for Nietzsche, everything is paid for by Victor's personal business card.

"A glass of strawberry sparkling water, two glasses of champagne and a glass of hazelnut latte." He looked at the couple in front of him and said without authorization.

"No." Mary stopped the waiter and stared at her adopted son who had long died and suddenly resurrected and said deliberately, "He is not yet an adult, please replace one of the glasses of champagne with milk."

Playing a little temper...Okay, okay, he deserves it.

"In fact, that was the champagne for Hermione and me." Nietzsche was not going to admit defeat, and dragged his girlfriend into the water.

The wind was strong, and the fire followed Mary's gaze and burned Hermione in an instant. She stomped her foot under the table, and then she could only help explain the fake death and purpose of the "final case", as well as Nietzsche's whereabouts afterwards.

Then it involved time travel and the plan to break the barriers between the wizarding world and the Muggle world... except for the truth of the Prime Minister's death.

When the two beautiful ladies came to understand each other and began to blame Nietzsche together, Watson's eyelids trembled a few times, and then slowly opened gradually to the Beethoven piano music in the restaurant.

Nietzsche found that his father stared at him with bulging eyes and rapid breathing, and then looked at his wife beside him in a daze.

"He is real." Mary nodded to confirm.

"Really?"

Watson was full of doubt, slowly stretched out a finger, and tentatively poked the back of Nietzsche's hand, as if he thought he had not woken up from a dream, but followed by another slap.

The speed was very fast and even more sudden, so that Nietzsche was still thinking about how to talk in the last second, and innocently covered his right face in the next second.

"I'm just confirming." Watson cleared his throat, woke up from his previous gaffe, and put his left hand, which had just been slapped, on the cane given by the military academy.

Hermione took a sip of champagne and turned her head to the window. Did she just see her two dragons?

It's really beautiful (double meaning).

"What now?" Nietzsche asked.

"Now I believe you are the real Nietzsche." Watson said nonchalantly, as if he had just hit a bug.

Well, at least both sides of the face are symmetrical.

Chapter 397 'Experienced' Mary

Four people, a newlywed couple and a newly engaged couple, walked through two doors, entered the same building, stayed in two different hotels, and finally met in the same tourist attraction... although the way they met was not very friendly.

In the words of Professor Sybill Trelawney of Divination: 'This fully demonstrates the fickleness of fate. '

"I thought Mycroft would tell you, after all, he was the first person to know about this besides Hermione." Nietzsche shrugged, trying to quickly cover up the matter.

"I thought we were the first people to know about it besides Hermione." Watson said unyieldingly.