Chapter 1.

"Slytherin!"

A loud voice screamed above him, waking him from his daze.

He tightly closed his eyes, still immersed in the fragmented pain from being hit by a large truck just a moment ago. In front of him was a frozen copy of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows," its cover stained blood-red with his own blood.

"Slytherin?"

Instinctively, he murmured a question back.

"That's right, I never make mistakes. You're a born Slytherin!" A tiny voice assured him in his ear, like a whisper between friends.

"And this is what you hoped for, isn't it?" the shrill voice continued to chatter on, with an air of smugness.

Only then did he realize the terrifying situation; what was speaking above his head?

Suddenly, he opened his eyes, instinctively raising his hands to grab whatever was on his head, feeling something slippery and wriggling.

He jumped up from his seat and yanked down that thing on his head, throwing it violently to the ground, almost stepping on it.

In his shock, he focused his gaze and discovered it was a hat.

A tattered and dirty pointed hat.

At that moment, the hat was wriggling on the ground, with a wide, mouth-like seam opening up, making noises like a grumbling complaint.

"Oh, I swear, you're the first brat since Hogwarts was founded to dare throw me to the ground!"

"With your recklessness, if it weren't for the fact that I never make mistakes, you should have been sorted into Gryffindor!" it shouted loudly.

He looked at the writhing object on the floor, twitching his lips, suppressing the impulse to throw it into the lake and wash it clean, then turned his gaze away.

Only then did he realize he was in an incredibly luxurious hall, with four long tables adorned with different colored tablecloths facing each other, surrounded by many boys and girls dressed in black robes. They were all staring at him, whispering with noise all around.

"Mr. Walker, how long do you intend to stand here? Hurry and sit at your table," a stern female voice sounded beside him.

He turned to look, finally seeing a tall woman in a bright green robe, with square glasses, a serious and stiff expression, and black hair tightly wound into a bun.

She was bending down to pick up the chattering hat from the ground.

Without her prompting, he realized his behavior was quite inappropriate; he had been lingering here for too long.

"Oh, okay. Sorry for the trouble, ma'am," he said sincerely, elegantly bowing slightly, as if it were instinct etched in his genes.

The dark-haired lady nodded modestly and pointed to the long table dressed in green.

He quickly walked away, his steps hurried but with a straight back, making his movements look urgent yet graceful.

But this was not his usual habit.

"Harry Potter!"

The dark-haired lady called out behind him, drawing the attention of everyone at the long table.

He paused slightly, then continued walking, finding an empty seat at the green table.

Fortunately, not many people were paying attention to him anymore; everyone's gaze was drawn to the boy sitting in the chair waiting for the sorting.

He turned to look, and the boy in the chair was thin, with most of his face hidden under a dirty hat, only a few messy strands of black hair daring to peek out from beneath the brim.

"Harry Potter," he whispered.

"I have crossed over," he thought to himself, "crossed 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 miraculously survived into Gryffindor.

Amidst the deafening cheers of the little lions, he heard the boy sitting next to him snort heavily, dragging out the words, "Oh, he'll definitely regret it!"

He turned to look, and the boy beside him had light golden hair, a sharp chin, a pale complexion, and was rather cute but appeared arrogant. His gray eyes were filled with displeasure.

At that moment, the boy turned to him and said in a slow voice, "Brian, what's wrong with you? Your performance just now was like a fool!"

He paid no attention to the boy's words and instead thought pensively, "My name is Brian? Brian Walker?"

"I think any qualified pure-blood family shouldn't be overly nervous at the Sorting Ceremony; we are naturally meant to belong to the noble Slytherin."

Seeing that Brian didn't respond, the boy continued in a slow, leisurely tone, completely disregarding the Sorting Ceremony that was still ongoing.

"Of course, there are some exceptions, especially those red-haired Weasleys." The boy added, "They simply tarnish the honor of pure blood."

"By the way, what's wrong with you? You look strange." The boy looked at him with his gray eyes, asking curiously.

"Oh, nothing, Draco, I just have a bit of a headache." Brian said, rubbing his forehead. He had guessed the boy's identity—Draco Malfoy.

Draco nodded arrogantly, "That's right, this Sorting Ceremony is tedious and lengthy, and it doesn't even show our noble character as Slytherins."

"I think we should have a wizard duel to distinguish us from those reckless, arrogant fools, clumsy idiots, and stubborn bookworms." Draco said disdainfully, glancing at the Gryffindor table, "And of course, most importantly, make those stinky mud-bloods go back to where they came from!"

"Enough, Draco, I'm feeling a bit unwell..." Brian interrupted the boy's rambling with resignation.

At that moment, he clearly had no interest in engaging with this boy who was clearly in his rebellious phase.

"Maybe I can write to my dad about this idea; I guarantee he would agree..." When Draco said this, he glanced at Brian's pale face and then closed his mouth.

Brian breathed a sigh of relief, leaning on the table, and rubbed his temples hard. He hadn't had the time to properly sort out the current situation.

In his feeling, it was like he had just been in a car accident, his small car had been violently hit by a large truck, and his body felt crushed as if it were shattered. This was definitely not a situation one could survive.

In the moment of clarity, there was only deep reluctance before the world plunged into dense and brief darkness, and when he opened his eyes, he found himself at Hogwarts.

"This body seems to belong to a pure-blood family, familiar with Malfoy, but is 'Walker'? I seem to have never heard of him."

In his previous life, he was just an ordinary Harry Potter fan, having read the original work a few times, but he didn't delve into the secrets hidden beneath the story or explore the background stories.

Brian rubbed his painfully throbbing head and realized that various foods had appeared out of nowhere on the table.

The Sorting Ceremony had unknowingly come to an end.

Feeling the intense hunger in his stomach, Brian endured the nausea caused by his headache and forced himself to take some fried chips and eat them.

This was a habit formed in his previous life; regardless of how unwell he felt, he had to eat, or it would only get worse later.

The adherence to noble etiquette in this era undoubtedly came from an old family.

Carefully clearing the plate of food, Brian glanced around the table and pleasantly picked up a mint hard candy to put in his mouth.

The minty aroma melted in his mouth, making Brian feel his mind clear, and the pain in his head seemed to lessen.

Beside him was the Slytherin ghost, "Bloody Baron," who was currently staring at him with vacant eyes, covered in splattered silver bloodstains.

"Mr. Baron, would you like one?" Brian asked him with a somewhat awkward smile.

Bloody Baron stared at him for a long time, and just as Brian was about to turn away, a hoarse voice replied, "No, thank you."

Brian smiled and nodded at him, turning his gaze toward the teaching staff at the head of the hall.

He spotted the silver-haired, long-bearded old man, Dumbledore, who was carefully tasting a plate of buttered pie, his crescent-shaped glasses framing eyes that were focused and calm.

Next to him was Professor McGonagall, who was meticulous even while eating.

The tall Hagrid, with thick black hair and beard, three times as wide as Dumbledore, was currently drinking from a goblet as large as a basin.

Professor Snape, with greasy black hair and a prominent hooked nose, was glowering darkly at the Gryffindor table.

Finally, Brian looked at Professor Quirrell, who had a pale face, was slightly trembling, and was wrapped in a huge purple scarf that made his head look an entire circle larger.

Brian's gaze lingered on the scarf at the back of his head for a long time. When Quirrell's sharp eyes focused on him, he finally averted his gaze