Inside and Outside Diagon Alley

Not far away, in front of the Quidditch Boutique display window, the scene was completely different.

A young wizard with brown hair and a face full of freckles had practically pressed his face and palms against the glass.

He wore an old robe that had faded from washing but was clean and neat. His eyes were fixed on the latest broom displayed amid shimmering lights—the sign for the "Nimbus 2000" gleamed beneath the lamps.

"Dad! Look! A Nimbus 2000! The new model! The magazines say even the Irish National Team uses them!" The boy's voice was shrill with excitement. He suddenly turned and grabbed the sleeve of a weary-looking wizard behind him, whose robe hem was slightly too short, pulling so hard he nearly tore it off. "The Gryffindor Team Seeker position is open! If I had a Nimbus, I'd definitely make the team!"

His father helplessly touched his flat coin pouch, a bitter smile mixing guilt, affection, and the pressure of reality on his face. "Jack... we only bought you a Cleansweep Seven last year. It's still a very good broom... Besides, you're only first-years now. The school doesn't allow students to bring their own brooms..."

"I can practice in secret!" the boy insisted, his eyes shining with boundless longing for speed and the sky.

Near these two typical "non-pure-blood" or financially strained wizarding families, another scene was unfolding. A well-dressed, reserved father and son hurried through the crowd. The father wore a dark green robe embroidered with subtle silver patterns. His chin was slightly raised, his gaze fixed straight ahead, carrying an aloofness deliberately kept separate from the surrounding "noise." His hand tightly gripped the wrist of a boy around eleven or twelve.

The boy also wore a fine new robe. His platinum-blond hair was impeccably combed, and his pale little face showed obvious reluctance and a trace of suppressed curiosity. Unlike his father, his other hand tightly clutched a Muggle magazine with a colorful cover—

It seemed to be Pop Music Weekly or something similar, with a flamboyantly styled Muggle singer on the cover.

"Draco, throw it away." Lucius Malfoy's voice was low, but carried unquestionable severity. When his gray-blue eyes swept over the magazine, they revealed undisguised disgust.

"How many times have I told you not to bring this... Muggle trash into Diagon Alley, much less let it tarnish the Malfoy family's reputation?"

"But, Father, the things in it..." Draco Malfoy tried to defend himself, tucking the magazine closer against his chest. His voice was weak.

"No buts!"

Lucius cut him off, tugging his son's wrist a little harder. "Remember who you are, Draco. You are a Malfoy, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Your interests should lie in The Standard Book of Spells, Medieval Edition or Pure-Blood Genealogical Research, not this... magicless, crude Muggle printed rubbish."

He paused, his voice growing colder. "If your mother learned that you were actually interested in this sort of thing..."

Draco flinched, and the last trace of color drained from his face. Reluctantly, he let go. The brightly colored magazine fell onto the dirty cobblestones and was soon trampled filthy by hurried passersby.

Lucius did not spare it another glance. Dragging his son along, he headed toward Knockturn Alley at a pace that was almost an escape, as if he wanted to get away from this "unclean" atmosphere as quickly as possible.

Just as these scenes of disparity and contradiction played out together, the clamor at the entrance to Diagon Alley strangely weakened.

An invisible, icy oppression quietly spread through the air like ink dropped into boiling water.

The crowd instinctively parted to make way.

Uchiha Madara, still dressed in a plain black robe without any decoration, walked at the front with steady steps.

His figure was slender, and his face still retained some youthful immaturity. Yet the calm scarlet eyes that swept over his surroundings made everyone unfortunate enough to meet his gaze feel a chill rise in their hearts, prompting them to hurriedly look away.

Behind him followed four figures entirely shrouded in dark green hooded robes.

They were silent as ghosts, their steps perfectly synchronized as they vaguely formed a protective formation. The shadows of their hoods concealed their faces. Only when they occasionally raised their heads to swiftly scan their surroundings would a terrifying glint of scarlet flash from within those hoods—

It was the reflection of the Sharingan in the dim light.

That scarlet gleam was more frightening than any vicious expression or display of magical intimidation. It represented the unknown, a power beyond the scope of ordinary magical understanding that struck directly at the soul.

Madara's gaze, like the most precise probe, passed over the messy-haired boy still struggling with a Muggle camera, passed over the brown-haired boy yearning for a broom in front of the display window, and finally settled on the alley entrance where the Malfoy father and son had hurriedly disappeared.

"Relying on external things for courage, or obsessing over the empty prestige of bloodlines." Madara spoke lightly, but his voice carried clearly to the Shadow Guards behind him. "Both are the mentality of the weak."

"True strength comes from oneself, from one's will."

When the Muggle-born boy named John finally pressed the shutter, only to capture a blurry patch of light and half his mother's anxious face, stomping his foot in frustration; when the brown-haired boy was half dragged and half coaxed by his father into a secondhand robe shop, still muttering, "At least let me look at the new Cleansweep models"; when Draco Malfoy stumbled as his father pulled him along, his pale little face filled with disappointment and a trace of barely perceptible defiance...

Uchiha Madara had already turned away, leading his Shadow Guards deeper into the more intricate parts of Diagon Alley like icy edges slipping silently into shadow.

They first arrived at a relatively secluded area near the end of the alley.

A new black sign with silver lettering hung there—

"Uchiha Alchemy Workshop."

The storefront was not ostentatious, but the heavy oak door and the concealed runes shimmering across the windows revealed that it was far from ordinary.

This had originally been an abandoned auxiliary warehouse belonging to Borgin and Burkes, hidden away and spacious. After the Uchiha Clan took it over through "special means," it was undergoing a thorough interior renovation.

Madara did not enter. He merely stood in the shadows some distance from the door, his cold gaze sweeping over the busy scene within.

Several Squib or half-blood wizard workers in uniform work clothes, their expressions tense, were carefully transporting and installing complex metal equipment and glass vessels that glimmered with unfamiliar energy. Several overseers with miniature flame-fan crests embroidered on their cuffs gave quiet but stern orders.

Before long, a short, pudgy figure hurried out of the workshop. It was Fujita. His face bore his trademark smile, a mixture of fawning and fear, as he bowed deeply before Madara.

"My lord, you've come." Fujita kept his voice low and spoke quickly. "The interior renovations are seventy percent complete. The eastern section will mainly be used for material processing, while the western section will be the preliminary synthesis area..."

"As for material channels, through the connections of the Bosd Family and the Selwyn family, we have opened up three relatively stable routes. They mainly obtain rare herbs, minerals, and some... well, 'sensitive' biological materials from the Far East and Northern Europe."

He secretly glanced up at Madara's expression. Seeing no reaction, he continued cautiously, "The filing with the Ministry of Magic's Magical Experimental Artifact Registration Office... that distant Selwyn relative serving as deputy section chief in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is 'actively pushing it forward.' There should... not be much of a problem. Also, several old suppliers in Knockturn Alley, after seeing our 'strength,' have 'voluntarily' offered more favorable prices..."

Madara merely listened, occasionally giving an almost imperceptible nod, without issuing any instructions.

His gaze passed over the obsequious Fujita and settled on the equipment being assembled deep within the workshop. There was only pure, detached indifference in his eyes, as though he were assessing whether tools met the required standard.

That calmness caused Fujita's pressure to increase geometrically. Before long, cold sweat seeped through his back, and his waist bent so low it seemed ready to break.

After briefly inspecting this workshop, which would become the Uchiha Clan's secret base for research and production in the magical world, as well as two other shops nominally under Uchiha ownership that sold ordinary magical goods—

Madara's gaze finally turned toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, the perpetually crowded shop in the middle section of Diagon Alley.

Inside the bright display windows, several neatly dressed magical mannequins displayed the latest school uniforms and formal robes.

[Four bonus chapters today!]