Faced with Professor Snape's question, it was clear that Harry, who had no knowledge of potions, couldn't answer at all.
After all, it was his first time encountering anything related to potion-making—and even some pure-blood wizards might not know the answer.
"Professor, I don't know," Harry finally said after a moment of silence.
Hermione, sitting next to Lucas, was still holding her hand high in the air. Lucas gently pulled her arm down.
If she kept raising her hand like that, Gryffindor might lose even more points.
There was no way for them to interfere in whatever was going on between Snape and Harry.
"Why didn't you let me answer?" Hermione whispered to Lucas, frowning slightly.
"Maybe Professor Snape just wanted to have a chat with Harry," Lucas replied casually.
That's when Hermione noticed something strange—Lucas was still holding her hand.
The warmth of his hand made her face turn red, but instead of pulling away, she lowered her head, trying to hide her embarrassment.
"Very well," Snape continued, voice icy. "Then tell me, if I asked you to find me a bezoar, where would you look?"
This was a textbook question—any student with even basic knowledge should know the answer. But clearly, Harry didn't.
He looked down, ashamed.
"I don't know, Professor."
"What's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Snape's cold gaze bore into Harry, and his voice, soft and menacing, made the boy feel even smaller.
"I… I don't know, sir," Harry muttered, face burning.
"I get the feeling Professor Snape is targeting Harry," Hermione said, her voice low, ears still flushed as she glanced at their still-linked hands.
She had met Professor Snape once in Diagon Alley. He'd seemed cold back then too, but at least polite—he'd even answered a few of her questions.
But now? He seemed like a completely different person.
"I'm not sure either," Lucas said after a pause. "But I do believe Professor Snape is a good man."
In truth, Lucas wasn't sure how to explain it all to Hermione. The situation was… complicated.
Snape had been betrayed, heartbroken in the past, and now he was forced to teach the son of the man he hated most—and the boy who reminded him of the woman he loved.
His bitterness toward Harry made perfect sense to Lucas.
"Your mind is empty," Snape sneered. "Clearly, fame isn't everything… is it, Mr. Potter?"
His words stung like thorns. Then he turned his attention to Lucas.
"Lucas Geralt, answer those three questions."
"Of course, Professor."
Under Hermione's watchful gaze, Lucas let go of her hand and stood up calmly.
Harry had already slumped back into his seat, and Ron was quietly trying to comfort him.
"The combination of powdered root of asphodel and an infusion of wormwood creates a powerful sleeping potion, known as the Draught of Living Death," Lucas recited smoothly.
"Bezoars can be found in the stomach of a goat—they're used as antidotes."
"And as for monkshood and wolfsbane—they're the same plant, also known as aconite. There's no real difference, Professor."
Luckily, Lucas had reviewed potion materials in advance, and these were pretty standard questions.
Snape gave a small nod of approval.
"It seems you spent your vacation studying well."
"Alright, let's begin the lesson."
Since it was their first Potions class, most of it was spent on theory. Hermione was furiously scribbling notes, and Lucas found he couldn't slack off either—not with Snape watching him now and then.
By the time class ended, it was almost time for the owl post to arrive. Students made their way to the Great Hall in an orderly fashion.
Instead of returning to the Slytherin table, Lucas followed Hermione over to the Gryffindor table.
"Good afternoon, Harry," he said politely, sitting down beside him with Hermione.
"Hey, aren't you in Slytherin?" Ron asked, eyeing him with mild curiosity.
"I am," Lucas replied casually. "But no rule says I have to sit with Slytherin."
To him, it didn't matter where he sat. And honestly, the pure-blood Slytherin crowd was full of arrogant types he found hard to stomach.
Boom!
An unexpected explosion startled them. A boy sat in shock, holding his wand with a dazed expression as the cup in front of him lay in pieces, charred.
"He was trying to turn the water into tea," Ron explained. "It actually worked this morning."
Just then, the sound of wings filled the air. Owls swooped into the Great Hall, delivering letters and parcels.
Lucas and Harry, however, didn't receive anything.
Hermione glanced at Lucas, then seemed to remember something but chose not to say it aloud.
"Well… Lucas, you didn't get any mail either?" Harry asked, noticing.
"I'm an orphan," Lucas said simply.
The words left the group in stunned silence. Harry opened his mouth but didn't know what to say.
He still had his aunt and uncle—even if they treated him horribly. But Lucas had no one.
It made Harry feel a strange pang of sympathy—something he hadn't expected to feel for someone else.
Ron looked just as surprised. Based on Lucas's manners and composure, he had assumed the boy came from a well-off Muggle family, maybe even aristocracy.
"Why are you all looking at me like that?" Lucas said, a bit exasperated. "I inherited quite a bit, I have a house of my own—I'm doing alright."
After all, with memories from a past life, he wasn't going to spend time feeling sorry for himself. If he had parents in this life, it might've actually made things more awkward.
"Lucas…" Hermione said softly, holding a letter in her hand as she looked at his calm expression.
"What is it?" Lucas turned to her.
"N-nothing," she said quickly, looking away