Chapter 1

The waves of the Thames crashed against the rocks, stirring up layers of foam.

The sky was mottled with dark gray mist, and in the distance, the towering Big Ben stood amidst the industrial smoke, no different from how it would be fifty years later.

1938, London, Wu's Orphanage.

It was a square, gloomy, and stern building.

The origins of the orphanage were unknown. Some said it was to help the children of soldiers who died in World War I, while others claimed it was a place where medieval churches imprisoned those with the Black Death. The various theories only indicated one thing.

It was in a state of disrepair.

Dense wires crisscrossed the sky, and houses were haphazardly arranged on the gray stone ground, lacking any aesthetic appeal.

A large iron gate completely separated this place from the bustling streets outside. The ground was filled with foul-smelling white smoke, and rusty manhole covers bubbled with steam, even the rainwater would congest at the mouths of the sewers.

In the basement room of the orphanage.

A little boy lay with his eyes tightly closed, seemingly asleep.

He was only about eleven years old, with short black hair, pale skin, and a rather delicate face that hinted at mixed heritage. However, the bruised forehead completely ruined his appearance.

He lay on the bed, occasionally twitching as if enduring great pain.

Knock knock.

Polite knocking came from outside the door, but the boy did not wake up.

After a while.

Knock knock knock!!

The knocking grew louder.

...

Hofa woke up from a nightmare, suddenly sitting up and touching his head and crotch. After confirming that nothing was missing, he let out a sigh of relief.

He was still alive.

Sniffing, he smelled a sour and moldy odor.

In front of him was not the scene of an exploding cinema, but a dirty and dim room.

Hofa looked at his palm in shock, which was pale and thin.

Suddenly, a sharp pain surged in his forehead. His eyes rolled back, and he fell straight down again. In a daze, he heard the knocking outside the door becoming more urgent.

...

After an unknown amount of time, Hofa slowly recovered from the pain.

His mind now contained a part of memory that did not belong to him.

He was still called Hofa, but he was no longer the Hofa from Earth. The Hofa from Earth was an ordinary high school student in China, a solitary person with no house, no car, and no money. His only hobby was saving money to buy books and watch movies.

But during a visit to an IMAX cinema, an explosion occurred, and he found himself in this place.

His current full name was Hofa Bach.

He was an extremely ordinary child who grew up in an orphanage.

Some residual memories told him that the original owner of this body was deceived into a seaside cave during a picnic organized by the orphanage, fell off a cliff, and landed in the cold sea. When he was brought back to the orphanage, he was already on the brink of death, allowing Hofa to take over.

In this child's memory, everything was about the sewage-filled streets of London. He had never been anywhere else, knew nothing about telephones or computers, and had no idea about the internet. He had only seen old cars belching black smoke on the streets and black umbrellas everywhere...

Hofa tried hard to think, attempting to gather some useful information from the fragmented memories.

Shaking his head, more scattered memory fragments surged up.

In this life, his father was a native Chinese person who had fled to Europe to avoid war and died in a foreign land during World War I.

The Bach surname in his name was probably related to a foreign mother.

However, Hofa had no memories of his mother at all.

...

"An orphan... actually transmigrated!"

Hofa rubbed his head and exhaled a heavy breath. He didn't really care about the transmigration, as he had nothing to be attached to in his previous life. But this starting template was really too poor.

He looked more carefully at his surroundings.

A dirty bed, a broken wooden table, and a few faded soldier posters on the wall.

And a British Shorthair blue cat hanging from the ceiling.

Yes, the cat was hanging stiffly and lifelessly, a tragic sight.

Hofa's mind recalled the cat's name.

Aldo.

It was the best friend of the original owner of this body.

A sudden anger welled up in his heart, and Hofa felt an intense hatred. Who could have done this? Who would hang an innocent and pitiful cat here, right in front of its owner?

Before he could search his memory for the culprit,

A light knock and the sound of a key turning came from outside the door.

Click!

Suddenly, the tightly closed door burst open as if someone had kicked it hard.

Hofa took a step back in fright.

Two people stood outside the door, a man and a woman.

The woman was very familiar to Hofa. The moment he saw her, he recalled her identity from his memory.

It was Mrs. Cole.

The manager of Wu's Orphanage, a thin, always anxious woman.

And standing next to her was an unexpected visitor.

This was a peculiar old gentleman, Hofa could only think. His attire was completely out of place with the environment. He had blue eyes, a long nose that seemed to have been broken, neatly tied reddish-brown hair and beard, and was dressed in a well-tailored velvet suit, holding a cane and a hat.

Hofa had no doubt that the suit was custom-made on Savile Row, but what surprised him the most was not the old gentleman's attire.

It was his beard and hair, which seemed strangely familiar.

"Tom, someone has come to see you..."

The thin Mrs. Cole said casually, but then she jumped up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

"Wait, how is it you? Hofa! Did he take your room?"

Hofa was still trying to figure out who the familiar old man was and didn't react to Mrs. Cole's words for a while.

The old man had already entered the room, looked around, sighed at the hanging cat, and then stood in front of Hofa, his deep blue eyes calmly looking at him.

Then he extended his long fingers and gently touched the bruise on Hofa's forehead.

"Poor child..."

A healing sensation came from the wound on his forehead, and a flash of lightning shot through Hofa's mind. He looked at the nameplate on the door in disbelief.

It read in crooked English:

[Tom Marvolo Riddle]

Damn! Harry Potter's world?

I'm Voldemort!?

Hofa's mind was momentarily confused, but soon he realized he was overthinking.

He was still Hofa, just in Voldemort's room. The reason was immediately clear from his memories.

This was an orphanage, and his previous self was a well-behaved child, favored by the orphanage staff, with a room on the first floor that got sunlight. Tom's room, on the other hand, was in the basement.

Tom Riddle, the young Voldemort, coveted his room, so he tricked him into the cave, and after failing to intimidate him, pushed Hofa off the cliff.

There was no time to lament the tragic fate of his previous self. Various pieces of information about the world, the era, and the story flooded his mind, making his eyes widen.

The old man treated Hofa's wound slightly and then turned to Mrs. Cole, sighing, "Take me to see Tom."

Mrs. Cole nodded and prepared to leave.

As they reached the door, Hofa finally reacted, pointing at the old man's back and almost blurting out.

"Dun... Dun... Dumbledore..."

Dumbledore, with his reddish-brown beard, turned around in surprise, his forehead creasing and his blue eyes widening.

The air became quiet.

Hofa quickly covered his mouth. Damn! He had been too careless. In shock, he hadn't controlled his mouth.

After all, the other person was one of the world's top wizards, with a hundred ways to expose his secret. Veritaserum, the Imperius Curse... Although he thought Dumbledore would probably disdain such methods, it was better to be cautious.

If he was discovered to have taken over someone else's body, who knew what this mysterious magical world would do to him.

But Dumbledore had no intention of letting Hofa off. He asked softly, "Have we met before?"

Hofa, still covering his mouth, shook his head vigorously.

"Then how do you know my name?"

As he spoke, Dumbledore took a step forward.

Hofa took a step back.

Dumbledore was taken aback and politely turned to Mrs. Cole, "Please wait a moment. I want to talk to this child alone."