Professors

The next day, Oren struggled out of bed. Even after leaving the bathroom, he was still muttering.

"Now that I've bathed, it's time to burn incense."

There was no incense, so he could only spray some cheap perfume into the air and call it good enough.

"System! Check in!"

Ding. Check-in successful. Congratulations, you have obtained a Wild Goose Feather Saber.

Oren's vision went dark, and he collapsed straight onto the floor.

"System, I'm happy you gave me equipment, but it'd be even better if you remembered that I'm a wizard."

The system: ...

Seeing that it was already noon, Oren took out the map and prepared to head to the kitchen for some fries as breakfast.

After eating and drinking his fill, Oren's itchy hands reached for another dessert. The sweetness nearly gave him a chemical chokehold.

Following the map, he felt his way to the headmaster's office. The stone beast at the entrance glanced at Oren and opened the door.

After looking around for ages without finding Headmaster Dumbledore, he could only pull out the most conspicuous book on the shelf and start reading.

Hmm, Secrets of the Darkest Art. It was a little childish as serious material, but perfect as a preschool textbook. Oren had been reading for quite a while before Headmaster Dumbledore finally returned.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. The three Unforgivable Curses? Interesting."

Oren waved his hand and fired several streaks of green light at the floor.

"Headmaster, you're finally back. This book's pretty good, but it's too conservative."

"Say, if I used a curse as a marker, could I create a branching Avada Lightning Chain?"

"Look at this Cruciatus Curse that tortures souls. Could it be modified to harm non-existent beings like ghosts?"

"And this Horcrux thing—wouldn't it be simple to anchor a soul? Why split the soul apart?"

Dumbledore had only just returned, yet he nearly failed to catch his breath and blacked out on the spot.

"Child, I need to talk to you about Dark magic."

"Fiendfyre must not be used carelessly! Uncontrolled Fiendfyre can even burn down an entire city!"

"And those are the three Unforgivable Curses. Using them on people recklessly will land you in Azkaban!"

"Azkaban is the wizard prison!"

Listening to Headmaster Dumbledore lecture endlessly beside him, Oren only wanted to say: Master—no, Headmaster, please stop lecturing. Your student knows he was wrong.

After finishing today's ideological education lesson, Dumbledore sent Oren away. He suddenly felt that Voldemort, that Little Tom, had been nothing special after all.

Oren had merely flipped through a few pages and proposed the idea of Avada Lightning Chain. Not only Dumbledore, but even the portraits of former headmasters hanging on the walls looked at Oren with newfound respect.

Leaving the headmaster's office, Oren rubbed his head, swollen from Dumbledore's nagging.

He grumbled inwardly: It was hard enough finally getting the chance to learn magic. If I have to fear the Ministry of Magic ahead and Azkaban behind, why am I even attending a magic school? I might as well buy a household magic book and teach myself at home.

Shaking his head and tossing out most of Dumbledore's droning, Oren took out the map and began his plan to wander around Hogwarts.

After spending half an hour roaming Hogwarts like a street loafer, Oren ran into a short wizard.

"Hello, young wizard. You must be the talented child Dumbledore mentioned."

"You may call me Professor Flitwick. I teach Charms."

"Hello, Professor Flitwick." Oren took the opportunity to ask several questions about first-year Charms.

Professor Flitwick patted Oren's knee and said,

"Oren, you'll definitely become an outstanding Ravenclaw."

Watching Professor Flitwick's retreating back, Oren thought to himself: The internet really didn't lie. I'm genuinely taller than he is.

After exploring most of the castle, Oren left it.

"Thank you, Professor Sprout."

"You're welcome, Oren. You'll definitely become an outstanding Hufflepuff in the future."

After bidding farewell to Professor Sprout in the Greenhouse, Oren headed toward Hagrid's Hut while munching on a pie.

As he ate the pie, he thought: The internet really didn't lie. The Hufflepuff head's cooking is genuinely good.

When he reached Hagrid's wooden hut, Oren pulled out two packets of seeds the system had given him long ago.

One packet was watermelon seeds, and the other was cantaloupe seeds.

Looking at the enormous pumpkins in the vegetable patch beside the hut, Oren's eyes went wide. If he could grow watermelons and cantaloupes just as large, wouldn't he be set for life?

As for whether the climate was suitable or whether the soil was fertile enough, those were concerns for scientific farming. This was a magic school—who still cared about science?

"Hello, Oren."

Hagrid emerged from the forest, leading a fierce-looking hound.

"Come back, Fang."

The huge dog charged up to Oren and then... licked his face with slobber.

Oren: ...

This dog was a lot like Hagrid—both were gentle, just a little intimidating-looking.

Wiping his face with his sleeve, Oren said, "Hagrid, I came to see you."

"Me? Then you're the first young wizard to come looking for me on your own in several terms."

Oren's mouth twitched. Why did that sound so pathetic?

"Hagrid, I came to ask how you grow pumpkins so huge."

"I have two packets of fruit seeds here. These things taste much better than pumpkins."

Oren began introducing the two fruits. Hagrid became more interested the more he listened, and the two hit it off immediately and started planting!

Hagrid, a British Hercules, and Oren, a humanoid baby dragon, cleared two more vegetable plots beside the pumpkin patch in less than half an hour.

Covered in mud, Hagrid leaned against the fence and said, "Oren, you're the strongest young wizard I've ever seen. Er... you're stronger than most adult wizards too."

Oren, who looked as though he had just come out of a coal mine, leaned against the fence on the other side and gave Hagrid a perfect smile, flashing eight big white teeth—assuming one ignored his soot-blackened little face.

"Come on, let's go inside for a cup of hot tea."

"Hiss..." One sip of tea, bitter enough to seem concentrated, stirred Oren's memories. Before he had transmigrated, the elders in his family had also liked brewing their tea extremely bitter.

"Come try my special Rock Cakes."

"Crunch, crunch. Hagrid, these biscuits are pretty good. Really tasty—solid ingredients, and quite crunchy too."

"Crunch, crunch. Right? I think my cooking's pretty good too."

After saying goodbye to Hagrid, Oren returned to the castle carrying a bag of Rock Cakes.

As he munched on the Rock Cakes, crumbs fell all along the way.

He followed the map toward Gryffindor Tower, though that old man walking a cat behind him had been watching him with an unfriendly gaze the whole time.

"Good heavens, child, what have you been doing?!"

The moment she opened the door, Professor McGonagall saw Oren looking as if he had just finished mining coal.

Professor McGonagall put on a stern expression and said to the cat-walking old man behind him,

"All right, Filch, leave this to me. You may go."

Filch, who had been walking the cat, could only leave unwillingly.

Professor McGonagall wiped at Oren's soot-blackened little face several times. When that did not work, she took out her wand.

"Scourgify."

Watching himself become clean again, Oren took another surprised bite of Rock Cake.

Professor McGonagall's eyelid twitched violently at the sight of the Rock Cakes. She took away the bag and said,

"Hagrid's Rock Cakes are as hard as slate. If you don't want to end up in the hospital wing tonight with a stomachache, hurry up and walk around to digest them."

Oren: ??? Am I being officially ordered to loaf around?

This time, Oren wandered all the way down to the castle's underground levels.

He grumbled inwardly: How could I possibly get a stomachache? I'm Oren, the humanoid baby dragon. How could a few little biscuits send me to the hospital wing?

"Isn't this Mr. Oren Black, the talented one Dumbledore mentioned?"

A large bat emerged from the shadows around the corner of the corridor... all right, it was Professor Snape.

"Come. Let me see exactly how talented you are."

Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed Oren by the back of his collar, the collar of fate, and carried him all the way to his office.

Pressing Oren into a chair, Snape asked,

"What is Sirius Black to you?"

Oren: ???

He had wanted to ask what the hell that guy was, but seeing Snape's interrogative posture, Oren immediately decided not to say a single word.

Snape looked at Oren, who clearly believed that confession would mean a lifetime in prison while resistance would mean going home for the New Year, and said,

"Very well. Then let me see exactly how talented you are."

The table was covered with ingredients and cauldrons.

"Come, make Boil-Cure Potion." Snape took out a piece of parchment with a potion recipe written on it.

Oren's mouth twitched. What was difficult about following a recipe?

"Where did Dumbledore find a juvenile troll like you? Damn it, snake fangs need to be crushed before they go into the cauldron! Use that head of yours, stuffed full of dragon dung!"

"Stir! Do you understand what stirring is? The fingers of a troll dead for three days are more nimble than you!"

Twenty minutes later—

Snape shook the potion in his hand and nodded in satisfaction. Oren wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, thinking that this was far harder than cooking porridge.

"Come on. Dumbledore said you seem to have a talent for Dark magic. Let me see what that's about!"

Before Oren could resist, Snape grabbed him and carried him into an empty classroom next door.

Oren was full of question marks. You're an old professor at max level, bullying a newly enrolled beginner? And you call it testing my talent? Aren't you just picking on an honest kid?

His eyes darted around. He probably could not compete in magical power, so it looked like he would have to get close and throw some fists.

Oren opened with a flashbang-like Lumos. Unfortunately, the old bat had come prepared, and it failed to blind him.

"Not bad—wandless, nonverbal casting. Dumbledore really ought to hire you as a streetlamp."

Oren: ...

"Move! Even windblown reeds dodge spells better than you do!"

"I heard you spent all day planting with Hagrid. Did Dumbledore take a fancy to your talent for farming?!"

Oren dodged several Stupefys in a miserable state, continuously closing the distance with Snape.

At last, they were close enough.

"Professor Snape! What's wrong with me farming?!" Oren shouted as he rapidly closed in.

Bang! Snape kicked the door open and stormed out with a dark expression. Only, the way he walked looked slightly limp.

Oren came out last. He had no wounds on him, but his clothes were torn to shreds, as though he had just suffered a defeat at Xuanwu Gate.

Dragging his exhausted feet, Oren headed toward Gryffindor Tower.

Professor McGonagall said in surprise, "Good heavens, child! I only looked away for a moment. What happened to you now?"

"It's nothing, Professor McGonagall. I just ran into Professor Snape. He said I was talented and wanted to teach me dueling techniques."

"Professor Snape clearly favors practical teaching. Although I got a little hurt, my dueling skills improved greatly."

"And Professor Snape truly deserves to be the Potions professor. No matter how serious the injury, his miraculous potions can heal it."

Professor McGonagall repaired Oren's robes with a spell, then stormed off, seemingly intending to go trouble someone.

Oren muttered, "Which fool managed to anger Professor McGonagall? Looks like he's in for a terrible time."

With that, he hummed a little tune and headed toward Gryffindor Tower.