"We got Potter! We got Potter!"
The moment the Sorting Hat announced Harry's House, the Gryffindor table erupted in cheers that echoed throughout the Great Hall.
The young lions scrambled to shake Harry's hand, each one treating it like an honor.
Ron was sorted second to last—and, unsurprisingly, he was placed in Gryffindor as well.
His brothers cheered wildly, their enthusiasm finally easing the tension on his pale face.
Lewis glanced toward the neighboring table.
Harry and Ron were both looking at him with a hint of regret.
Lewis didn't mind much.
The only thing worth considering was Dumbledore.
In his eyes, the greatest white wizard had many admirable qualities—but also a major flaw.
He was far too obsessed with the conflict between good and evil.
That obsession led him to make decisions that didn't quite suit the role of a headmaster.
His attitude toward Dark Magic.
The existence of the Restricted Section.
His obvious favoritism toward Harry.
And those yearly "adventures" arranged for him.
Dumbledore might be a great wizard—
But not necessarily a good principal.
Still, Lewis was under his roof.
As long as he stayed at Hogwarts, Dumbledore's influence was unavoidable.
Unless…
He avoided interfering with the prophecy.
That was what Dumbledore cared about most.
As long as Lewis maintained a normal level of interaction with Harry—and didn't get too involved—
Dumbledore likely wouldn't see him as a threat to the prophecy.
And if that was the case, he wouldn't interfere.
Lewis had no intention of becoming a side character in someone else's story.
He was here to live his own life.
And he had no plans to stay low-key either.
After all—
Teachers always favored top students, didn't they?
"You know Harry Potter over there?"
A voice suddenly came from beside him.
"Yes."
Lewis didn't elaborate. He withdrew his gaze and turned to look.
The speaker was a brown-haired boy, staring intently at the food on the table—specifically a bowl of fish stew.
"Are you that hungry?"
Most young wizards cared about their image. Being seen as greedy was embarrassing.
This level of fixation was… unusual.
"Yes… I forgot to bring any money. Didn't eat anything on the train…" The boy swallowed.
"I'm Lewis Green. Nice to meet you."
"Stephen Cornfoot."
Lewis recognized the name.
A background character in the original story—barely even that.
Yet here he was, alive and real.
For a brief moment, Lewis felt his understanding of this world deepen.
[You feel yourself integrating further into this world. At the same time, your presence begins to influence it. The anomalies caused by you will gradually reveal themselves.]
"…Influence? What influence?"
Before he could think further—
Albus Dumbledore stood up.
Time for the speech.
In his previous life, Lewis would've grabbed something to eat first.
But here—
That wasn't necessary.
Dumbledore spread his arms wide and beamed at the students.
"Welcome! Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!"
"Before we begin our feast, I would like to say a few words."
"Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
The strange words left everyone confused.
But Lewis had heard a theory.
"'Nitwit'—Ravenclaw, who see others as fools.
'Blubber'—Gryffindor, who mock weakness.
'Oddment'—Slytherin, who see others as inferior.
'Tweak'—Hufflepuff, who hold everyone together."
If that interpretation was correct—
Dumbledore was reminding them to overcome prejudice.
Though ironically—
He didn't always practice that himself.
Lewis was suddenly glad he hadn't been sorted into Slytherin.
At that moment, Stephen's eyes widened.
In an instant—
The empty table filled with food.
Roast beef, roasted chicken, honey-glazed drumsticks, pork ribs, lamb chops, steak, sausages—
Boiled potatoes, roasted potatoes, fries, mashed potatoes with gravy—
Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, soups—
Pumpkin juice, orange juice—
Pumpkin pies, pork pies, apple pies…
And—peppermint candies?
The feast exploded into life.
Stephen immediately began devouring food.
Lewis followed suit.
To be honest—
This was the most luxurious meal he'd had since arriving in this world.
Halfway through, Stephen leaned over.
"Lewis… why are you eating with two wands?"
The Ravenclaws nearby turned to look.
Lewis replied calmly, "These aren't wands. They're chopsticks. I'm of Chinese descent—this is perfectly normal. You can ask that senior over there."
He pointed toward a beautiful Asian girl.
Cho Chang nodded.
"He's right. My mother taught me to use chopsticks too."
The main course lasted about half an hour.
Just as Lewis leaned back, satisfied—
The food vanished.
And then—
Dessert appeared.
Puddings, ice cream, apple tarts, syrup cakes, chocolate trifles, jam doughnuts, fruitcakes, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding…
Lewis and Stephen both let out miserable groans.
They had already eaten their fill.
Now, faced with all these desserts—
They couldn't eat another bite.
Tragic.
At the Gryffindor table, another commotion broke out.
Nearly Headless Nick popped out from the table—
His half-severed neck a gruesome sight.
Several first-years nearly threw up on the spot.
Finally, dessert ended.
Dumbledore stood again.
"Now that we are all fed and watered, I must give you a few notices…"
"First-years should note that the forest is strictly forbidden to all students."
His eyes briefly flicked toward the Weasley twins.
"Also, Mr. Filch asks me to remind you that no magic is to be used between classes in the corridors."
"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week."
"And finally—anyone who does not wish to suffer a most painful death should avoid the corridor on the right-hand side of the third floor."
Lewis's mouth twitched.
If you want people to go somewhere—just forbid it.
This old man was absolutely doing it on purpose.
If he really wanted to keep people out—
He could've just sealed it.
"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!"
The teachers—and most older students—froze.
Dumbledore flicked his wand.
Golden ribbons formed lyrics in the air.
"Everyone choose your favorite tune!"
"Ready—sing!"
The result—
Complete chaos.
And the Weasley twins, naturally, chose a funeral march—
Making everything even worse.
At last, the song ended.
Students began filing out under the guidance of their prefects.
And then—
Lewis saw her.
A face that should not have been here.
Gray hair.
Green eyes.
A high forehead, sharp brows, and a strikingly heroic beauty.
Only—
She lacked the scar.
Lewis's pupils contracted.
Before he could stop himself—
He called out her name.
"Cirilla!"