Prelude to Diagon Alley! The Hogwarts Acceptance Letter

"Knock, knock, knock."

That morning, a snow-white owl ignored the Muggle-Repelling Charm around the Uchiha clan grounds and landed precisely outside a carved wooden window, lightly tapping the glass with its beak.

Madara was sitting cross-legged in the meditation array at the center of the room, a faint magical aura circulating around him.

Hearing the sound, he merely waved a hand, and the window silently slid open.

The owl flew in and dropped a letter wrapped in heavy parchment onto the low table before Madara. It gave a short cry, ignored the dried venison on the table, and flew away, as though lingering for even a moment would be a violation of some rule.

The envelope lay quietly on the low table. It was made from high-quality magical parchment, its edges embossed with fine dark-gold lines.

Most eye-catching was the gleaming shield-shaped crest on its front—

A large "H" surrounded by a lion, eagle, badger, and snake.

Below it, an address written neatly in emerald-green ink:

[London, Chinatown, Uchiha clan grounds]

[To Mr. Uchiha Madara]

Madara slowly opened his eyes. The moment his crimson gaze settled on the envelope and his fingertips touched the parchment, he sensed the gentle yet exceptionally resilient magical mark attached to it. It was neither attack nor defensive magic, but more like verification, an invitation, or perhaps... the summons of an ancient contract.

He picked up the envelope and calmly broke the wax seal. Inside were two neatly folded sheets of parchment. He unfolded the first, revealing formal text written in elegant italics:

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Uchiha Madara:

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A list of required books and equipment is enclosed.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Below was a detailed list, covering everything from three sets of plain black robes to brass scales, from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 to The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection. Madara's gaze calmly passed over every item before finally stopping on "one wand" and "students may bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad."

He set down the first sheet of parchment and picked up the second. It was an exquisitely made ticket bearing the words: "Hogwarts Express, September 1, 11:00 a.m., King's Cross Station, Platform 9¾."

He picked up the empty envelope again. The single tomoe in his left Sharingan suddenly emerged and spun rapidly! Crimson light reflected off the parchment as his vision instantly pierced through its surface.

Under the Sharingan's analysis, ancient protective magic covered the parchment, magic that would be difficult to destroy through conventional means.

The magical signature was bound to the magical castle known as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The magical imprint on his name had perfectly merged with the envelope itself, confirming that he had been locked onto at the level of some magical contract.

"Interesting. An alternative form of identity verification?"

The corner of his mouth slowly lifted into an almost imperceptible curve.

"Hogwarts..." Madara softly read the ancient runes beside the envelope's crest, his hoarse voice echoing through the silent room. The cold interest that had been buried deep in his eyes since his rebirth was like a stone dropped into a deep pool, sending faint ripples outward.

He placed the acceptance letter and ticket aside, unconsciously tapping his fingertips against the smooth surface of the low table. Once, then again, with the rhythm of a precision clock.

"Use their rules to enter their fortress." He rose and walked to the window, looking down at Chinatown below, where dawn and the fading glow of neon intertwined. In the distance, the River Thames flowed slowly through the gray morning mist like a dormant giant serpent.

"Within the nest they believe to be absolutely safe, a nest passed down for a thousand years..."

The corner of Madara's mouth slowly rose into a subtle curve, one enough to send chills down the spine of anyone who knew him.

"Plant the seeds, then... harvest."

The lights of all London reflected in Madara's Sharingan, like a world soon to be held in his palm.

"Knock, knock, knock..."

After the knocking, the door to the hidden chamber silently opened.

Ryuichiro Uchiha stood respectfully outside, holding an open rosewood box lined with velvet. Inside lay a neatly folded black robe made from exceptionally fine material.

The fabric flowed with a dark sheen under the indoor light, clearly woven with special magical threads. Its cut perfectly suited the boy's figure, while its details conveyed a restrained authority.

Most eye-catching was the left breast of the robe—

A miniature yet striking Uchiha flame fan clan crest had been embroidered there in silver thread with exquisite craftsmanship. The flame patterns were not still; from certain angles, they seemed to flow slowly, radiating a cold and domineering aura.

"My lord, your everyday attire... has been altered according to your requirements." Ryuichiro's voice was low and reverent. "As you instructed, all items on the Hogwarts list have been prepared. Aside from the wand, uniform, and pet, which require your personal selection, everything else, including textbooks and cauldrons, is ready. All items have been properly stored in a custom dragonhide suitcase enchanted with the Undetectable Extension Charm and delivered to the station."

Madara's gaze swept past the window to the hazy night sky, jointly shrouded by magical barriers.

At last, it settled in the direction of distant Hogwarts.

"One month..." Madara murmured, his voice as soft as a sigh.

He raised his right hand, palm up. A strand of dark-gold magic, condensed almost into substance, seeped from his fingertips. It silently danced and took shape, finally gathering in his palm as a miniature, slowly spinning flame fan emblem.

Though small, the emblem radiated a chilling, domineering presence, as if alive as it inhaled and exhaled the magic around it.

"Enough time to make that ancient, self-righteous castle..."

He slowly curled his five fingers, closing them around the magical emblem.

In an instant, an invisible pressure spread outward from him before swiftly withdrawing.

"Prepare to welcome..."

Madara turned around, his crimson Sharingan flashing briefly in the dim light.

"the age of Uchiha."

One month later.

London's sky remained its usual oppressive lead-gray.

The clouds hung low, as though they could squeeze out cold rain at any moment. Yet the terrible weather did nothing to dampen the bustle of Diagon Alley.

The afternoon alley had been fragmented by the surging crowds. Countless sounds, smells, and magical fluctuations mingled together, forming a restless torrent.

The air was filled with the cloying sweet scent of cauldron cakes drifting from Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour, along with the smells of magical potions of all kinds leaking from the cracks of shop doors.

The narrow cobblestone street was packed with excited new students, weary parents, shrewd merchants, and Ministry of Magic employees trying to maintain basic order.

Amid this chaos, the differences were everywhere, painfully obvious.

At the entrance of the alley, a boy whose hair stuck up as if he had been electrocuted was sweating profusely as he fiddled with a bulky Muggle mechanical camera. He wore brand-new plain black robes from Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, yet on his feet were slightly worn sneakers utterly out of place in the magical world.

He stubbornly aimed the lens at the automatically rotating ice cream sculpture outside the parlour window, its colors shifting like a rainbow. His finger hovered over the shutter as he muttered, "Wait... almost... the lighting, the angle... Mom, when will it turn to the biggest cherry?"

Beside him, his mother, a nervous witch wearing a slightly ill-fitting secondhand robe, was trying to explain to a shop assistant whose expression was growing increasingly displeased. "Sir, it's just a... little Muggle thing for recording images. It isn't dangerous, really! John is just too curious..."

She tried to tug at her son's sleeve. "John, forget it. Let's go inside and have some ice cream, all right?"

"No! I'm almost done!" The boy stubbornly refused to move, his eyes fixed tightly on the viewfinder.