In Harry Potter World As Madara Uchiha

The cold night breeze whispered through the trees of the Forbidden Forest as Madara stood in the clearing, his crimson Sharingan gleaming ominously.

His mind was abuzz with thoughts, calculations, and speculations about his place in this world. Hogwarts stood not far from here, its castle towers piercing the dark sky like sentinels of history and magic.

Yet, he hesitated. Entering the school unprepared would be foolish, despite his overwhelming power.

He turned to his unwilling informant, the Death Eater, Thomas Avery, who was still panting, shaken from their previous encounter.

The man looked at him with a mix of fear and curiosity. "What… what are you?" Avery finally asked, his voice hoarse.

Madara smirked. "Something beyond your comprehension," he repeated, his words laced with quiet amusement. He knelt down, his gaze piercing into Avery's.

"Tell me about the Ministry of Magic. What do they know? What are they planning?"

Avery gulped, clearly reluctant, but the memory of being lifted and crushed by an unseen force made him reconsider defiance.

"The Ministry is always keeping an eye on the remnants of the Dark Lord's forces. After his fall, they intensified their efforts to hunt down the remaining Death Eaters.

Many have been imprisoned, some are in hiding, and others…" He hesitated.

"Others what?" Madara pressed.

"Others are looking for a new leader," Avery admitted reluctantly. "Someone strong enough to challenge Potter and his allies. But most of us are scattered, unsure of who to trust."

Madara hummed in thought. This world was still adapting to the absence of Voldemort. There was a power vacuum, an opportunity.

He had no interest in being a mere replacement for Voldemort, but power… power was always meant to be wielded.

"And Hogwarts?" he continued.

Avery's eyes flickered toward the distant castle. "Potter and his friends are still there, teaching and defending it. The Ministry relies on them heavily, but they can't be everywhere."

Madara absorbed this information, then without warning, his hand shot forward, gripping Avery's head. The man gasped as an overwhelming force invaded his mind.

The Sharingan twisted, spinning hypnotically, and Avery's memories became his own.

Visions flooded his mind—Ministry operatives patrolling, Harry Potter dueling in a grand hall, Hermione Granger lecturing students, and an old, worn-out man in the depths of a hidden chamber, muttering incantations. Dark artifacts, ancient books, secret experiments…

Madara pulled away, releasing Avery, who collapsed onto the ground, unconscious. He had seen enough.

There was something stirring in the shadows, something beyond the Ministry's reach. A remnant of the old ways, perhaps? Or something far more sinister?

He turned his gaze toward Hogwarts. If answers were anywhere, they would be there.

The castle was as grand as he had imagined, but even with its majesty, he found himself unimpressed.

Magic thrummed in the air, ancient and potent, but to someone like him—who wielded chakra that could bend reality itself—it felt almost quaint.

Avoiding detection was easy. His mastery of stealth, combined with the Uchiha's natural proficiency in deception, allowed him to slip past wards and enchantments unnoticed.

Moving through the shadows, he took in the sights of the castle's corridors, the moving staircases, the enchanted portraits whispering to one another about a new presence they couldn't quite see.

He reached a large chamber—a library, if the scent of parchment and ink were any indication. Bookshelves stretched high into the ceiling, filled with tomes of knowledge both ancient and modern. He let his fingers brush against the spines of the books, feeling the pulse of magical history within them.

"Impressive," he murmured to himself. "But still lacking."

A sudden voice broke the silence. "Who are you?"

Madara turned, his Sharingan locking onto a figure standing at the far end of the chamber. A man with round glasses, messy black hair, and a scar on his forehead. Harry Potter.

The Chosen One held his wand at the ready, his green eyes sharp and calculating. Madara could sense the experience behind them, the battles fought, the losses endured. He wasn't some naïve boy fresh out of school—he was a warrior.

Madara smirked. "You must be Potter."

Harry didn't lower his wand. "And you must be the presence I've been sensing. You're not using magic, but you've managed to bypass the castle's protections. That means you're something else."

Madara chuckled. "Perceptive."

"Are you with the Death Eaters?"

Madara tilted his head. "No. They're relics of a past I care little for."

"Then what do you want?"

Madara considered his words carefully. Should he reveal his true intentions? No. Not yet. Harry Potter was strong, but he wasn't invincible. And while Madara could likely crush him with ease, there was no reason to do so—yet.

"I want knowledge," Madara finally said. "Magic is fascinating, and I intend to understand its depths."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "And if I refuse to let you walk freely?"

Madara's smirk widened. "Then you can try to stop me."

The air between them grew heavy with tension, magic and chakra clashing in an invisible battle of wills. For the first time since arriving in this world, Madara felt something stir within him.

Excitement.