After deciding to be a model student, Lewis became highly active in every class, constantly engaging with professors.
Just as he had analyzed before—
Dumbledore only cared about that prophecy of his.
As long as Lewis didn't get too entangled in "Harry Potter and His Annual Adventures," he wouldn't attract much attention.
So there was no need to keep a low profile academically.
With Lewis's active participation, Ravenclaw's points steadily climbed.
The professors all liked this Muggle-born prodigy.
The only one who could rival him—
was Hermione Granger.
After seeing him in the library, Miss Know-It-All seemed to have marked him as her biggest competitor.
Whatever he did—
she wanted to outdo him.
It wasn't until History of Magic that Lewis's point-scoring streak came to an end.
Not because he couldn't recite everything perfectly—
with his mental database, that wasn't an issue at all.
The problem was—
Professor Cuthbert Binns.
This ghost of a teacher was the embodiment of indifference.
When class started—
he simply drifted through the wall.
Didn't take attendance.
Didn't ask questions.
Didn't interact.
Just droned through the textbook in a dull, monotonous voice—
until the lesson ended.
No interaction.
No questions.
No points.
Thus, History of Magic became the most boring subject in Hogwarts.
If Lewis were still in university, he'd love this kind of class.
A teacher who didn't care?
Perfect for slacking off.
But now that he was trying to be a good student—
it was just frustrating.
The other obstacle—
was Potions.
The classroom was located in the dungeon.
Officially, the cold environment preserved ingredients.
But Lewis—and most students—suspected it was simply Snape's personal preference.
The moment he stepped inside—
he felt uncomfortable.
Even Hogwarts' ambient magic couldn't dispel the cold, oppressive atmosphere.
Glass jars filled with organs lined the walls.
It felt like walking into a medical specimen room.
Even Slytherins avoided relaxing here.
And when you added Snape—
greasy hair, pale face—
the temperature seemed to drop another few degrees.
The first Potions class made that very clear.
Snape swept into the room like a bat.
Silently.
The air turned colder.
Like Flitwick, he began by calling roll.
And just like before—
he paused at Harry's name.
"Oh yes…"
His voice was soft, dripping with disdain.
"Harry Potter. Our new… celebrity."
Then came his speech.
"Potions is a precise science and exact art…"
"There is little foolish wand-waving here…"
"Many of you will hardly believe this is magic…"
"I can teach you how to bottle fame… brew glory… even stopper death…"
"That is, if you aren't as dunderheaded as I usually have to teach."
Then came the questioning.
Like McGonagall, Snape liked to intimidate first-years.
But unlike her—
his "random" target selection was anything but random.
He picked people he disliked.
Lewis expected Harry to be targeted.
He was ready to watch the show.
But then—
he noticed something.
Snape was staring at him.
Lewis froze.
Wait… I'm the target?!
It made sense.
From how Snape treated Hermione—
it was clear he disliked students who showed off.
Maybe it was a lingering resentment toward James Potter.
Either way—
Lewis had already attracted his attention.
And perhaps—
his connection with Harry didn't help.
He was the only Ravenclaw first-year friendly with Harry.
"Green! Stand up!"
Snape snapped.
"If I add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, what do I get?"
A classic.
Lewis answered instantly.
"A Draught of Living Death, Professor."
"Where would you look if I asked you to find a bezoar?"
"In a goat's stomach."
"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"There is none. They are the same plant."
Snape came in with a flurry of attacks—
and Lewis blocked every one.
But Snape wasn't done.
He escalated.
"What is a bezoar stone formed from?"
"It's not formed from waste. It's a stone extracted from a goat's stomach."
"When should fluxweed be harvested?"
"During a full moon."
Six or seven questions in—
Lewis answered all of them without hesitation.
The other students were stunned.
Then—
Snape asked:
"What is the use of a drowner brain?"
Lewis froze.
Drowner brain?
Since when does Harry Potter have that?
His mind raced.
That's from another world…
Why does Snape know it?
Did he transmigrate too?
No—
that wasn't it.
Ciri.
She was already here.
This world—
had changed.
The main storyline hadn't shifted much.
But something—
was different.
Lewis made a mental note.
He needed to investigate later.
But for now—
he answered.
"A drowner brain can be used in healing potions."
He paused, then added quietly—
"It also has strong aphrodisiac effects on males."
Silence.
Snape was genuinely stunned.
Drowners were a relatively recent magical creature.
Their brains—
an even newer potion ingredient.
Most research was limited to advanced circles.
And yet—
this first-year knew.
Especially that last detail.
It had only been discovered last year.
By accident.
With his own experimental dog.
Snape stared at Lewis for a long moment.
Then turned sharply to the class.
"Why are you all still standing there?! Why aren't you writing this down?!"
Lewis smiled faintly.
Watching Snape's frustration—
was satisfying.
But that satisfaction didn't last long.
Because after failing to trip him up—
Snape simply moved on with the lesson.
Without awarding a single point.
Blatant bias.
Utter shamelessness.
Still—
Lewis had achieved his goal.
In front of all the first-years—
he had just put on a flawless display.