Daily Prophet

"You're here." Oren dropped onto a bench in the courtyard. "This is the secret base you found? Sure, there's no one else around, but it looks freezing in winter and scorching in summer."

Hermione took out a jam jar with ghostly blue flames floating inside and handed it to Oren.

"Use this to warm up." The little witch hesitated before asking, "Did you read this morning's Daily Prophet?"

"Don't mention it. Bane dragged me into the Forbidden Forest first thing this morning, saying some Rune Snake was running wild and that he wanted me to see it."

"And then? We chased that stupid snake all day. We spent the entire morning running through the Forbidden Forest, breathing in exhaust fumes, and didn't even see its ass."

"When we finally caught up, those centaurs who bragged about being unmatched in mounted archery nearly got killed by the snake. Bane snapped three of his precious bows."

"It was that close, that close! I was about to use a phoenix feather to shake Dumbledore over here."

Harry glanced at Oren. He was holding a blood-dripping sack. "But you did deal with the snake in the end, right?"

Oren dumped the snake's head from the sack onto the ground. "Hmph. I'm going to use its skull as a bowl."

Perhaps because he had moved too much, the cold weather made Oren shiver.

Oren stuffed the jam jar back into Hermione's hands. "Put this little thing away."

With a wave of his hand, he summoned a panda made of blue flames. It seemed almost alive as it rolled around on the ground, looking utterly adorable.

Of course, that was only if one ignored how every patch of grass it passed over had been burned into glass. Oren scooped up the flaming panda and hugged it, its warmth driving the cold from the entire courtyard.

The little witch swallowed. "What kind of magic is that? Is it Bluebell Flames too?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Oren had no intention of teaching Fiendfyre to the three of them. He was afraid they would play with fire and burn themselves alive.

"But why is it so hot?"

"I was born with immense strength—magical strength."

Hermione asked skeptically, "Then why does it have an animal form?"

"Don't ask. Dumbledore taught me, that's all. If you don't believe me, go ask him."

Hermione thought, Fine, fine, fine. So you're bullying people because the headmaster gave you private lessons, huh?

Harry said, "If you haven't read today's Daily Prophet..."

Ron chimed in, "Then you'd better not read it."

"Why? What happened? Go on, I can take it."

Oren silently prayed, Please don't let Gringotts have gone bankrupt. This young Master Black hasn't even entered the family vault yet.

"It's about your family. There might have been just a tiny bit of embellishment," Hermione said, gesturing with her fingertips.

Oren sighed in relief. He had thought it was something serious. That was it? That was it! He had already transmigrated, after all. Even if he had been born from a crack in a rock in this life, Oren could accept it without batting an eye.

"That Rita Skeeter person said your mother... was from some small French pure-blood family... and that she used a love potion on Regulus and gave birth to an illegitimate Black child."

The little witch carefully watched Oren's expression as she spoke.

"She also questioned whether an illegitimate child whose father had vanished, whose mother had died, and who had been raised by an old Muggle was qualified to inherit the Black family."

"That's all? I thought it was something serious. I won't take such a small matter to heart."

Oren was a magnanimous person. Once he got the chance to hit that woman with the Cruciatus Curse a few times, the matter would be settled.

"I'll give her a quick death... Ah, no, I mean, I'll send her a lawyer's letter. The kind stamped with Headmaster Dumbledore's official seal."

Harry and Ron patted Oren on the shoulder, their eyes carrying the same determination as if they were about to join the Ministry of Magic.

Ron said, "That person is just a liar fishing for attention. No one will believe her."

Oren spread his hands, showing that he did not care. "Here, have some candy. This is premium candy from the headmaster's private stash. I got it by trading—cross that out—robbing him with a troll's head."

Hermione took a Lemon Sherbet and asked worriedly, "Oren, are you really not angry at all?"

"Of course. How could such a kind and amiable person as me get angry?" The Fiendfyre panda in Oren's arms grew another degree hotter.

Ron, who was standing closest, felt that his hair was probably about to become curly like Hermione's.

"What are you lot doing here?" Snape felt the unusual heat in the courtyard and could not help frowning.

Oren turned around and saw Snape limping toward them. A thought flashed through his mind: strike while he was sick and finish him off.

"Professor Snape, isn't it? Are you out for a stroll?"

Snape's pupils shook as he watched Oren charge toward him while carrying a Fiendfyre panda.

"Professor, with such snowy scenery, wouldn't a traditional duel where we stop at the proper point be absolutely splendid?" Oren smiled like a little devil.

Snape tugged hard at his sleeve, cursing inwardly, You damned little troll, just wait until my leg heals.

A burst of noisy footsteps came from the courtyard entrance, and Dumbledore rushed in at a pace utterly unsuited to his age.

He straightened his crooked hat and sighed in relief. Fortunately, Oren was only using Fiendfyre for warmth.

When he had sensed Fiendfyre's magical fluctuations from that phoenix feather, he had broken out in a cold sweat, terrified that Oren might burn someone.

"Headmaster, why are you here?" Oren froze for a moment.

Snape seized the chance, yanked his sleeve free, and fled the courtyard at top speed.

"Ahem, my child, your way of keeping warm may be a little extreme." Dumbledore used the Summoning Charm to bring over a coat and draped it around Oren's shoulders. "Come, I'll teach you a spell specifically for keeping warm—the Warming Charm."

Oren reluctantly extinguished the Fiendfyre and began learning the Warming Charm.

"There, my child. Now you won't feel cold in winter."

Dumbledore thought, You little ancestor using Fiendfyre to keep warm—who would dare let you get cold?

Oren cast the Warming Charm on the three of them and nodded. Not bad. It really was much more convenient than Fiendfyre.

The three stared at Dumbledore's retreating back and shut their mouths, which had been hanging open so wide they were nearly dislocated.

Ron said, "Oren, are you really sure your surname is Black and not Dumbledore?"

"Of course it is..."

Even Oren was a little unsure now.

Hermione kept comparing Oren's face to Dumbledore's in her mind. The more she compared them, the more confused she became. They did not look alike at all, so why did the headmaster care about Oren so much? Something was off. Very off. Ninety percent off, at least.

Oren said, "Come on, it's lunchtime. I spent all morning in the Forbidden Forest with Bane, drinking northwest wind."

The moment they entered the Great Hall, an older Slytherin student blocked them at the door.

Oren looked at the guy, who bore some resemblance to a troll, and asked, "What do you want?"

The troll-like youth said, "I'm Marcus Flint. Nothing much. I just wanted to take a look at the Black young master raised by Muggles."

Oren rolled his eyes. This Slytherin is incredibly rude. It wasn't as though I was a violent person, but maybe I should give him a Hulk-slam-Loki lesson. I should be strong enough.

"Mr. Flint, Slytherin loses ten points for your hostility toward a fellow student. Go find Filch and serve seven days of detention." Professor McGonagall dragged the boy out of the Great Hall by his ear.

The little snakes around them sucked in a breath, then scattered like startled birds and beasts.

"This is the first time I've seen Professor McGonagall punish someone so... decisively." As Hermione spoke, she secretly glanced at Oren several times.

"Tch. What a pity. I wanted to put it into practice."

Harry asked, "Put what into practice?"

"Speak no words of strange strength and chaos. In other words, I don't say anything—I just use brute force to beat that guy until he loses his mind."

The three curled their lips. Fine, Oren was strong enough to pull that off.

Ron asked quietly, "Do you have any more of that spicy sauce?"

"Almost none." It was extremely precious, and Oren was reluctant to feed it to Ron, this wild boar. "I have this, though. Pickled mustard greens are pretty good too."

Oren pulled out several packets of pickled mustard greens and handed them around. He himself wolfed down the food before him. He had a big business deal to handle that afternoon.

"I thought you'd be furious after reading the Daily Prophet." Cho Chang walked up behind Oren and pulled the hairpin from his hair.

"Unidentified Ravenclaw senior Cho Chang, why are you taking apart my hair?"

"Hey, hey, hey! Why do you even wear your hair in a bun?"

Resistance was futile. Cho's hands were quick, and so were her feet. The moment she finished, she ran.

Oren irritably tried to undo the Nezha-style hairstyle, but the two little knots on his head would not come apart. In the end, Hermione stepped in and restored his hair to normal, sparing Oren from leaving with twin buns on his head.

"Hey, hey, hey, I can barely understand why you two are blushing." Oren glanced at the other two before pointing at Hermione. "But what's with you? Something's wrong with you!"

Hermione said, "Um, your hairstyle just now looked pretty good. Why don't you consider changing your hairstyle?"

"Exactly, I think it suits Oren too." Cho ran back to the Gryffindor table with a book in her hand.

"If you don't like it, I have other hairstyles too. Flower crowns, phoenix crowns... Personally, I highly recommend the Coiled Serpent Bun."

"You two! You two! Ah..." Oren slumped lifelessly in his chair, allowing Cho and Hermione to work on his hair.

Harry suggested, "Why don't you resist a little?"

"Forget it. I'm tired. Let the world end."

Ron said, "Why not shave your head? Just switch to short hair."

"One's body and hair are gifts from one's parents. It would be improper. It does not accord with the rites of Zhou."

Ron was utterly baffled.

Fine, the main reason was that Oren did not know how to cut hair, and he was too lazy. He had grown used to having long hair over the years.

"I'll get myself a golden crown next time. Let's see what they can do then."

Cho snorted with laughter and stuck the hairpin back into his bun.

"Well, well, well, who's this? Isn't this Miss Black?" The twins shoved Cho and Hermione aside, craning their necks like wild geese as they stared at Oren.

Shing! Oren pulled half of his five-foot goose-feather saber from its sheath.

"Hey, Young Master Black, that won't do! That won't do!" Fred grabbed the hilt and pushed the blade back into its sheath.

"How could they turn our handsome Young Master Black into this? It's simply outrageous!" George slapped his thigh in heartfelt indignation.

"You two, don't leave after lunch. I've got a big business deal. This time, we can pull off something huge. Also, help me take this hairstyle apart."

The twins...