The next class was Herbology, shared with Hufflepuff.
The greenhouse classroom was located to the southeast of the castle—a large, independent structure filled with magical plants and herbs.
It was managed by Professor Pomona Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff.
Not only was it used for teaching, but it also served as part of Hogwarts' supply system. Many of the ingredients in Snape's potion stores came from here.
Professor Sprout was a short witch with flowing gray hair, usually wearing a heavily patched hat and covered in dirt. She spent most of her time tending plants and didn't care much for appearances.
In short—
kind, optimistic, and warm-hearted.
A perfect Hufflepuff.
Her teaching style matched her personality—lively and engaging.
As usual, Lewis performed exceptionally well.
With his perfect memory and Scholar's Touch, his brain functioned like a massive database.
Everything he had scanned could be recalled instantly.
Of course—
recalling knowledge didn't necessarily mean mastering practical application.
But for answering classroom questions?
It was absolute dominance.
The Ravenclaws quickly got used to it—and took pride in it.
Answering questions wasn't particularly impressive.
But answering every question perfectly?
That was something even they admired.
After class, Lewis quickened his pace toward the Great Hall.
Stephen thought he had found a kindred spirit.
But Lewis wasn't rushing to eat—
He was rushing to finish eating.
So he could get to the library faster.
After hastily finishing dinner, Lewis headed straight for the library.
To his surprise—
He was the first student there.
Even earlier than Hermione Granger.
But instead of reading—
He started with homework.
Unlike the Muggle world, Hogwarts didn't assign problem sets.
Their homework consisted mostly of essays—
summaries, reflections, explanations.
And instead of word counts—
they measured length in parchment.
Teachers didn't count lines.
They measured how much parchment you used.
After three classes—
Lewis had nearly two feet of assignments to complete.
Most students came to the library to write—
consulting books while doing so.
After all—
copying was easier than thinking.
But for Lewis?
Homework was trivial.
His mind already held all the information he needed.
And—
he had mastered the art of padding essays.
Years of experience as a student paid off.
More importantly—
He had his enchanted pen.
With a simple dictation—
the pen wrote everything automatically.
Thanks to Scribing Spell.
Other students were far more impressed by the pen than his writing.
To them—
it was just an expensive magical tool.
Lewis didn't mind teaching them the spell—
but no one asked.
Only after finishing his homework—
did his real task begin.
The Hogwarts library was the largest collection of magical knowledge in Britain.
Built over a thousand years—
supplemented by donations from countless alumni.
Even noble families, the Ministry, or organizations like the Death Eaters—
couldn't match it.
To Lewis—
half of Hogwarts' value lay in this library.
When Harry and the others arrived—
they immediately spotted him in a corner.
Buried under a mountain of books.
Three to four feet high.
"Merlin… no wonder he's so good," Harry whispered in awe.
Hermione bit her lip.
"The term just started. I'll catch up soon."
But Lewis's reading method…
was strange.
He didn't read page by page.
Didn't skim.
Instead—
he flipped through books like shuffling cards.
One pass.
Done.
Even thick books—
took less than a minute.
It looked absurd.
Impossible.
But—
his expression was completely focused.
As if he were truly absorbing everything.
Students stared.
Even Madam Pince frowned.
Irma Pince—
the strict librarian feared by all students.
To them, the library under her control felt less like a study space—
and more like a dictatorship.
She approached Lewis.
"Young man, this is not how one reads. You won't learn anything like this."
She didn't know about Scholar's Touch.
Naturally, she couldn't understand.
So Lewis demonstrated.
Flawless recall.
Word for word.
Madam Pince left with a strange expression—
occasionally peeking back at him.
The other students were stunned.
This… is what a genius looks like?
They all arrived on the same train.
So why was the gap this wide?
Except Hermione—
everyone else gave up competing.
Especially Ron.
His attention shifted to Lewis's completed homework.
"Um… Lewis…"
He hesitated, face flushed red.
Lewis glanced at him.
He understood immediately.
Copying homework.
On the first day, no less.
He sighed—
and pushed the parchment over.
As long as he wasn't disturbed.
Lewis's goal was simple:
Memorize the entire library this term.
After scanning another stack of books—
he stood up and returned them.
The library was massive.
Two floors.
Thousands of square meters.
Bookshelves stretched up to seven or eight meters high.
Some books required ladders to reach.
Magic wasn't allowed here—
so no shortcuts.
As he wandered deeper—
he saw it.
A restricted section.
Blocked off.
Marked clearly:
Restricted Section.
Even from a distance—
he could feel it.
Chaotic.
Powerful.
Magical energy radiated from within.
In the wizarding world—
truly powerful knowledge carried magic within it.
Even written words could hold power.
By Lewis's estimate—
there were at least a thousand such books inside.
If half of Hogwarts' value lay in the library—
then half of the library's value lay there.
A treasure within a treasure.
But Lewis glanced at Madam Pince—
and turned away.
Not yet.
He understood the situation clearly.
The ideology of the "light side" rejected dark magic.
Even if that contradicted Hogwarts' original traditions.
And while he didn't agree—
Dumbledore was still in charge.
Lewis had no background.
No protection.
If he touched forbidden knowledge too early—
he would attract suspicion.
So for now—
he would behave.
Study what was allowed.
Stay within the rules.
Sneaking out at night.
Reading forbidden books.
Entering the Forbidden Forest.
That was for the Chosen One.
Harry could get away with it—
because Dumbledore needed him.
But ordinary students?
Hogwarts did expel people.
Lewis made a silent vow:
"If I start causing trouble like Harry Potter… I'm a dog."
But for someone who viewed others as NPCs—
and carried pride deep in his bones—
how long could such restraint really last?