After Ravenclaw's crushing victory over Slytherin, quite some time passed.
The chill of winter gradually faded, and the young wizards' school life quietly turned to a new chapter.
In Ravenclaw, many students began to notice something unusual—ever since that Quidditch match, their star, Cirila, had been getting closer and closer to a first-year: Lewis.
From time to time, people would see her ditching her good friend Penelope, chatting and laughing with Lewis along the corridors on the eighth floor.
This sight caused countless upper-year boys to beat their chests in despair.
Ravenclaw's number one beauty—the girl none of them could win over—was actually this close to a freshman.
Was being good at Quidditch really that attractive?!
For a time, Lewis became the target of endless envy and jealousy.
As for Lewis himself, this kind of jealousy from other boys had zero impact on him.
If anything, it gave him a slight sense of pride.
But in truth, he was far more innocent than they imagined.
Because he really hadn't developed any further relationship with Cirila—at least, not yet.
At eleven years old, he was only just beginning to mature physically.
Though… not small, all things considered—but still far from fully developed.
The reason he met Cirila so often was simple: they were practicing magic in the Room of Requirement.
After learning there was hope of returning home, the girl from the Witcher world had become extremely proactive. She actively sought Lewis's help to improve her strength so she could contribute to his "small goal."
And it had to be said—when it came to magic, Cirila's talent even surpassed Hermione's.
Of course, in terms of raw intelligence, she might not match Hermione.
But her innate talent? On another level entirely.
As the bearer of the Elder Blood, she had been called a natural "Source" by the sorcerers of her world.
When it came to magic, people didn't worry about whether she could learn—it was whether she would lose control.
After arriving in the Harry Potter world, her magical instability vanished, and her true talent fully emerged.
For example, relying only on memory, she managed to reproduce several Witcher Signs Geralt had once used.
Through teaching her, Lewis came to a clear conclusion—
Cirila was not a "scholarly" caster who mastered magic through study and theory.
She was a "feeling-based" caster.
She might not fully understand spell structures or casting logic, but she could mimic them instinctively—and brute-force her way into mastery.
The simpler the spell, the faster she learned.
She had even mastered Fireball in a single day.
Sometimes, Lewis couldn't help but wonder if there was an orc living inside her brain.
Of course, this talent came with a downside.
The more precise and complex the spell, the harder it was for her to learn.
Spells like Mirror Image, Identify, Hold Person, or Tasha's Hideous Laughter—she simply couldn't grasp them.
But that didn't matter much.
In combat, she didn't need them anyway.
From Lewis's observation, Cirila favored simple, brutal, fast-acting magic.
Her favorites were evocation spells—Burning Hands, Frost Nova, Fireball…
Especially Burning Hands, a close-range spell.
Frankly, Lewis felt like she wanted to abandon ranged magic entirely and just crush enemies with melee and spells combined.
Truly worthy of being Geralt's adopted daughter—a future witcher.
Maybe… he could help her develop into a proper spellblade?
While Lewis and Cirila were busy with their "extracurricular training" for the floating city and interdimensional travel,
most other students were already overwhelmed just keeping up with their regular studies.
Easter break passed in a flash, and as summer approached, so did final exams.
The library was packed with students flipping through books.
Lewis no longer spent as much time there as before,
but whenever he did, he would almost always see Hermione—along with two very unwilling tagalongs.
Miss Granger, with her partial Ravenclaw tendencies, was truly a non-typical Gryffindor.
She genuinely loved studying.
And she genuinely wanted to compete with Lewis academically.
Hermione: Fine, I can't beat you in extracurricular knowledge—but in class material? I refuse to lose!
There was a stubborn pride in her.
As for Harry and Ron—the typical Gryffindors—they were suffering miserably.
They spent their days sighing and yawning, not only struggling through mountains of homework, but also forced to follow Hermione's brutal revision schedule.
They simply could not understand why anyone would start revising two months before exams.
Nor could they understand Hermione's expectations—
As her friends, she absolutely refused to let them embarrass her in front of Lewis.
Finally, one day, the two suffering boys found an opportunity to escape.
They sneaked up to Lewis and told him, in mysterious tones, that Hagrid had something amazing to show them—and invited him along.
Lewis almost laughed.
You two actually thought of me when there's something good? Not bad.
But he instantly knew what it was—Hagrid's dragon egg had arrived.
To be honest, he wasn't eager to get involved.
Seeing the egg meant getting dragged into a whole chain of trouble—
the Forbidden Forest, Voldemort, the trapdoor…
All of which went against his low-profile principles.
But after thinking it through, outright refusing didn't feel right either.
For one, he had been meaning to explore the Forbidden Forest—there were valuable ingredients there for permanent enhancement potions. Having Hagrid as a free guide was too good to pass up.
For another, he genuinely wanted to see the Philosopher's Stone—alchemy's ultimate secret.
It might be his only chance to witness it firsthand.
Low profile or not… that was too tempting.
Besides, he had never seen a dragon in this world before.
In the end, he agreed.
"Great!" Harry and Ron cheered. "If you're coming, Hermione won't be able to stop us!"
Lewis: So I'm just a tool to suppress Hermione, huh…
Sure enough, on the way to Hagrid's hut, he had to endure Hermione's cold glares.
As they approached, Lewis suddenly felt something strange.
Inside his pouch, a peculiar energy surged.
He checked—
It was the Scholar's Moonstone.
What's going on?
He frowned, puzzled.
"Knock knock knock."
Harry knocked on the door.
Putting the matter aside for now, Lewis focused ahead.
Hagrid's door was heavy—ridiculously heavy.
Lewis strongly suspected the half-giant used sheer weight as a security system. Even Alohomora probably wouldn't work on this thing.
"Coming, coming!"
Hagrid's booming voice came from inside.
He cracked the door open, scanned the surroundings carefully, then finally let them in.
Inside, all the curtains were tightly drawn.
Hermione immediately grew suspicious. "Hagrid… what have you done this time?"
Hagrid widened his eyes. "How can you accuse me like that? Raising animals isn't wrong! It's part of my job!"
The more he explained, the less convincing he sounded.
The four of them began looking around curiously.
Finally, Hagrid sighed. "Alright, alright… I was going to tell you anyway. But you must promise—not to tell anyone!"
"Of course!" "You can trust us!" "Show us already!"
Hagrid crouched down and used a poker to open the fireplace.
They leaned in—
Inside the burning coals sat a strange, oval object.
A black, rugged egg.
Even surrounded by blazing heat, it showed no sign of damage.
Its shell was rough, covered in spike-like protrusions—dry, uneven, anything but smooth.
A dragon egg.
Seeing it, Lewis's thoughts immediately went somewhere… questionable.
If dragon eggs were this rough…
Then the mother dragon must be extremely tough internally, right?
And if that's the case—
Then the male dragon…
Yeah.
There's no way it's anything but a spiked mace.
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