Reception at Hogsmeade Station

Hermione bit her lower lip tightly, her eyes filled with anxiety and resolve. "We can't just sit here and wait to die! We have to find a way to warn Headmaster Dumbledore immediately! We have to remind him to be wary of this Uchiha Madara... He's a thousand, ten thousand times more dangerous than the newspapers made him sound! If he enters Hogwarts, it will absolutely be the beginning of a disaster!"

She looked out at the mountains drawing ever nearer, their massive black outlines emerging in the twilight, and at the faint castle lights in the distance. Those lights should have represented warmth and safety, but now they seemed to foretell the heart of a storm.

"We have to be careful, extremely careful. Until we receive instructions from Professor Dumbledore, we must never, ever take the initiative to approach or provoke him again. But at the same time... we need to keep an eye on everything he does."

Hermione's brow was tightly furrowed. She had automatically entered planning mode, though the plan seemed so pitifully feeble before such an absolute gap in power.

Ron let out a heavy sigh and slumped in his seat, staring blankly at the ceiling. "Slytherin... If he really gets sorted into Slytherin and starts hanging around with Malfoy and his lot... Merlin, how are we supposed to survive after that...?"

He thought of the rivalry between Houses, of the possible underhanded tricks, and even worse, direct magical confrontations. His face turned even paler.

Neville finally stopped sobbing. Hugging Trevor, he spoke timidly in a tearful voice. "C-can I not go to Hogwarts... I want to go home..."

No one answered him.

The same question lingered in the other three's hearts, but none of them said it aloud.

Meanwhile, in the spacious, quiet VIP compartment at the front of the train, Uchiha Madara still sat on the sofa with his eyes closed in meditation. Light from outside cast a stark boundary of shadow and brightness across his hard profile.

The Flame Fan Crest embroidered in silver thread over his left breast glimmered in the dim light like lava that had yet to cool, flowing with a cold, restrained dark-red sheen.

"We're almost there. I'm going to change, so you should get ready too, Lord Madara, all imposing and impressive~" Daphne Greengrass rose lightly to her feet, the hem of her emerald-green school robe tracing a graceful arc.

She seemed to have recovered from her initial fright, even regaining the lively, teasing air unique to a young girl.

She walked to the door, pulled it open, and waved back in Madara's direction. Then, like a nimble kingfisher, she fluttered out of the compartment and vanished into the corridor lights.

Madara slowly opened his eyes.

For an instant, a scarlet gleam seemed to flash through those deep black eyes.

His gaze seemed able to pierce the thick walls of the compartment, clearly "seeing" the fear spreading through the ordinary carriages behind him; the leaden despair in the Golden Trio's compartment; and... the ridiculous yet pathetic misunderstandings growing around his name and identity.

"Voldemort's... lackey?" The beautifully shaped corner of his mouth slowly curled upward.

"Interesting."

He murmured to himself. The scarlet Sharingan deep in his pupils slowly revolved once, taking in every emotion permeating the vast world beyond the carriage—fear, anticipation, calculation, hostility.

"It seems this so-called magic school isn't entirely childish make-believe."

He rose and smoothed the sleeves of his robe, which bore neither loose threads nor wrinkles. The Flame Fan Crest over his left breast flowed with a dark luster as he moved. Outside the window, the towers of Hogwarts Castle and the warm lights glowing from its windows were now clearly visible, reflected in his calm scarlet eyes. Yet they reflected not a trace of warmth, only a faint anticipation before the hunt.

The train gradually slowed, billowing white steam as it headed toward its final platform. A storm woven from misunderstanding, fear, ancient prophecy, and absolute power was about to officially unfold within that thousand-year-old castle. And at its eye stood the boy named Uchiha Madara.

The Hogwarts Express released one last burst of white steam and slowly came to a halt beside the small platform at the foot of the mountain.

The chill of night seeped through their thin school robes. Lanterns hanging above the platform swayed in the night wind, casting shifting halos of dim yellow light.

"First-years! First-years, this way!" A booming, unmistakable voice drowned out all the noise.

The mountain-like figure of the half-giant Rubeus Hagrid appeared at the end of the platform. He carried a huge lantern, its light illuminating his tangled beard and his friendly—though currently somewhat anxious—face. "Follow me! Watch your step! Don't fall behind!"

Most of the new students—Muggle-borns, half-bloods, or children from non-core pure-blood families—seemed to have found their anchor. Nervous yet excited at their new surroundings, they began gathering toward Hagrid in a rustling mass.

Shoving, the rumble of luggage wheels, and the disgruntled hooting of owls blended together, full of life and a touch of chaos.

Yet at the edge of that main current of people, there was a subtle stillness. Some of the well-dressed new students, carrying themselves with restrained poise, did not immediately set off.

Whether deliberately or not, their gazes all drifted toward the special VIP carriage at the front of the train.

Before long, the carriage door opened.

Uchiha Madara appeared in the doorway. The night wind stirred his impeccably neat black hair and the hem of his robe. The Flame Fan Crest over his left breast carried a restrained, icy metallic gleam beneath the platform's dim yellow lights.

He did not look at the gathering crowd, nor at Hagrid calling out in the distance. He merely raised his eyes slightly and looked toward the outline of Hogwarts Castle far away, dark beneath the encircling mountains, its countless windows faintly glowing like stars.

In the night, the castle appeared even more towering and mysterious. But in Madara's eyes, it might have been nothing more than a somewhat larger "stronghold" awaiting evaluation.

His appearance was like a boulder dropped into a still lake.

The flow of students heading toward Hagrid unconsciously slowed. Many furtive glances came his way, carrying curiosity, fear, envy, or more complicated emotions.

Several pure-blood first-years with obvious Slytherin leanings, led by Draco Malfoy, instinctively straightened their backs and stopped where they stood, as if waiting for something.

Hagrid naturally saw Madara as well.

A clear flicker of concern and tension passed through his bell-sized eyes. He remembered what had happened in Diagon Alley, and he remembered even more clearly Headmaster Dumbledore's silent yet meaningful attitude toward the matter.

He opened his mouth, seemingly intending to call Madara over as usual. But seeing Madara's indifferent manner, utterly ignoring everything around him, as well as the cold aura around him that warned strangers away, Hagrid swallowed his words. He merely urged the other new students beside him in a rough voice, "Hurry up, hurry up! Keep moving!"

Just then, with a sharp pop, a wisp of pale green smoke dispersed, and a figure entirely unlike the youthful new students around him appeared before Madara.

He was an older male student, around sixteen or seventeen, tall and slender, wearing a dark wizard's robe made from fine fabric and tailored to fit perfectly. The cuffs and collar bore the silver thorn crest of the Norton family.

He was handsome, but his brows and eyes carried an arrogance and shrewdness that proper upbringing could not entirely conceal.

In his hand, he held an ebony staff crowned with a large cat's-eye gemstone. Steady magical fluctuations flowed across its length.

"Good evening, Lord Madara." The older student stopped three steps before Madara and gave a slight, flawless bow, performing an ancient wizard's greeting with perfect respect.

"I am Elliot Norton, a sixth-year Slytherin student, a prefect for two consecutive years, and I have just passed the qualification examination to become a trainee Auror." He spoke evenly, his introduction clear and forceful. The status and accomplishments he deliberately emphasized both displayed his own importance and showed Madara—and everyone nearby watching—that—

he was qualified to stand here and handle this matter.

Then Elliot Norton turned toward Hagrid, who was watching this way with some unease, and wore a flawless smile that was polite yet distant.