Chapter -1 First Encounter with Hogwarts.
"Slytherin!"
A loud voice rang out, jolting him from his daze.
He squeezed his eyes shut, still feeling the remnants of a painful impact, as if he had just been hit by a truck. In front of him, he saw a surreal image of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows," its cover stained with his own blood.
"Slytherin?"
He instinctively muttered a response.
"That's right! I never make mistakes; you're a born Slytherin!" a soft voice chimed in his ear, sounding like a friendly whisper.
"And this is what you wanted, isn't it?" the voice continued, brimming with pride.
That's when he realized how strange the situation was—what was that voice above him?
Suddenly, he opened his eyes and instinctively reached up to grab whatever was on his head, feeling something slippery and wriggly.
With a quick motion, he shot up from his seat, yanked the thing off his head, and tossed it to the ground, almost stepping on it for good measure.
Still a bit shaken, he focused and saw that it was a hat.
A tattered, filthy pointed hat.
At that moment, the hat was wriggling on the ground, its seam splitting open like a mouth, grumbling and shouting.
"Oh, I swear, you're the first little brat since Hogwarts was founded to dare throw me on the ground!"
"With your reckless behavior, if I didn't know better, I'd have sorted you into Gryffindor!" it shouted.
He looked at the squirming object on the floor, bit his lip to suppress the urge to toss it into the lake for a good cleaning, and turned away.
Only then did he notice he was in a grand hall, facing four long tables draped in colorful tablecloths, surrounded by boys and girls in black robes, all staring at him and murmuring.
"Mr. Walker, how long are you going to stand there? Hurry and take a seat at your table," a serious female voice called out beside him.
He turned to see a tall woman in a green robe, wearing square glasses, with a stern expression and her black hair pinned up tightly.
She was bending down to pick up the chattering hat from the ground.
Realizing he had been standing there for too long, he quickly said, "Oh, okay. Sorry to trouble you, ma'am," bowing slightly, as if it were second nature.
The dark-haired lady nodded and pointed to the long table covered in green.
He hurried over, his steps quick but his posture straight, making him look both urgent and graceful. But this wasn't his usual style.
"Harry Potter!"
The dark-haired lady called out behind him, catching the attention of everyone at the long table.
He froze for a moment, then continued walking, finding an empty seat at the green table.
Luckily, not many people were watching him now; everyone's eyes were on the boy sitting in the chair, waiting to be sorted.
He turned to look; the boy was slender, his face mostly hidden by a dirty hat, with a few messy strands of black hair peeking out from under the brim.
"Harry Potter," he murmured.
"I've crossed over," he thought, "into the world of Harry Potter."
He closed his eyes briefly and let out a deep sigh.
"Gryffindor!"
The hat shouted, sorting the boy who had narrowly escaped disaster into Gryffindor.
Amidst the loud cheers of the little lions, he heard the boy next to him grunt, dragging out his words, "Oh, he will always regret it!"
He turned to see a boy with light golden hair, a sharp chin, and a somewhat cute face, though he looked a bit arrogant. His gray eyes were filled with displeasure.
At that moment, the boy turned and said slowly, "Brian, what's wrong with you? Your performance just now was so foolish!"
He didn't really pay attention to the boy's words, instead thinking, "My name is Brian? Brian Walker?"
"I think any respectable pureblood family shouldn't be overly nervous during the Sorting Ceremony; we're naturally meant to belong to the noble Slytherin."
Seeing that Brian didn't respond, the boy continued casually, ignoring the Sorting Ceremony.
"Of course, there are some exceptions, especially those red-haired Weasleys," he added, "They're just tarnishing the honor of pure blood."
"By the way, what's wrong with you? You look a bit off." The boy's gray eyes scrutinized him, clearly confused.
"Oh, nothing, Draco, just a bit of a headache," Brian replied, rubbing his forehead. He had figured out who this boy was—Draco Malfoy.
Draco nodded, looking a bit haughty. "That's right, this Sorting Ceremony is long and boring, and it doesn't show our Slytherin noble character at all."
"If it were up to me, there should be a wizard duel to separate us from those reckless, arrogant fools, clumsy idiots, and rigid bookworms." Draco glanced irritably at Gryffindor and added, "And most importantly, to send those stinky mudbloods back where they came from!"
"Enough, Draco, I'm feeling a bit unwell..." Brian interrupted, not wanting to engage with this boy who was clearly full of himself.
"Maybe I could write to my dad about this idea; I bet he would agree..." Draco said, but when he saw Brian's pale face, he finally fell silent.
Brian let out a slight sigh of relief, propping himself on the table and rubbing his temples. He hadn't had a chance to sort out what was happening yet.
It felt like he had just been in a car accident, his little car smashed by a big truck, his body feeling like it was falling apart; this was definitely not a situation one could just walk away from.
When he briefly regained consciousness, he was filled with nothing but reluctance, then the world faded into a deep yet fleeting darkness, and when he opened his eyes, he found himself at Hogwarts.
"This body seems to come from a pureblood family and is familiar with Malfoy, but Walker? I haven't heard of that."
In his past life, he was just an ordinary Harry Potter fan, having read the original work a few times without diving into the secrets hidden beneath the story or exploring the behind-the-scenes narratives.
Brian rubbed his throbbing head and noticed various foods appearing on the table.
The Sorting Ceremony had unknowingly come to an end.
Feeling the hunger in his stomach, Brian pushed through the nausea from his headache and forced himself to eat some fried chips.
This was a habit from his past life; no matter how uncomfortable he felt, he had to eat something, or he would only suffer more later.
Chewing the fried chips slowly, he found the taste wasn't great—after all, it was British food.
But even though his body felt awful and he wanted to faint, he sat up straight, making no noise during the meal, his dining etiquette seemingly ingrained in him, elegant and impeccable.
In this era, still following noble etiquette, it was undoubtedly from an ancient family.
Savoring the food on his plate, Brian looked around the table and, somewhat surprised, picked up a mint hard candy to suck on.
The minty flavor cleared his mind a bit, and his headache seemed to ease.
Beside him was the Gryiffindor ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, staring at him with vacant eyes, covered in splattered silver bloodstains.
"Mr. Nick, would you like one?" Brian smiled awkwardly at him.
Nearly Headless Nick stared for a long time, and just as Brian was about to look away, a hoarse voice said, "No, thanks."
Brian smiled and nodded, then turned his gaze to the faculty table at the front of the hall.
He quickly spotted the silver-haired, long-bearded old man, Dumbledore, carefully tasting a plate of buttered pie, his eyes focused and calm beneath his crescent-shaped glasses.
Next to him was Professor McGonagall, who was meticulous even while eating.
The tall Hagrid, with thick black hair and beard, as wide as three Dumbledores, was currently drinking from a goblet the size of a basin.
Professor Snape, with his greasy black hair and prominent hooked nose, was glowering at the Gryffindor table.
Finally, Brian looked at Professor Quirrell, who was pale, trembling slightly, and had a huge purple scarf wrapped around his head, making it look much larger.
Brian's gaze lingered on the scarf at the back of Quirrell's head for a long time, and only when Quirrell's sharp eyes focused on him did he turn away.
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TL/N : Reading This? Add it to library and throw some powerstones..