The Wizard: Ascending Beyond Marvel

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Wes spent the holidays comfortably on the island, indulging in fresh seafood prepared by the ever-diligent Jandi. Each dish was crafted with care, making every meal a delight. The days passed in tranquility, but all things must end.

With the holiday drawing to a close, Wes left the island three days early and returned to his dormitory at Hogwarts. After weeks away, a thin layer of dust had settled over everything. Without a word, Jandi, ever thoughtful, took it upon himself to clean the entire space with quiet efficiency.

While Jandi busied himself tidying the room, Wes decided to visit Flourish and Blotts to check whether the books he had requested had arrived.

As soon as he stepped into Diagon Alley, a peculiar sight greeted him. The entrance to Flourish and Blotts was packed with people, a long line snaking its way far beyond the bookstore. The sheer number of witches gathered outside, clutching books to their chests, made for an unusual spectacle.

Soft whispers rippled through the crowd, punctuated by occasional giggles that were quickly stifled behind hands, as though the excitement was too much to contain.

What on earth is going on here? Wes wondered.

He turned to a nearby witch, hoping for an answer.

"Don't you know?" she said, lifting her chin slightly as she sized him up with an almost condescending air.

Wes raised an eyebrow. "Know what?"

"Gilderoy Lockhart is hosting a book signing today," she announced, as if stating an undeniable fact of great importance.

Wes frowned, the name vaguely familiar. He searched his memory before finally recalling. Ah. That fraud.

A different witch, eavesdropping, scoffed. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Britain's most famous explorer and writer." She spoke as if she were introducing a legendary hero, a note of pride in her voice.

She cast Wes a scornful glance before turning away, as though talking to him any longer would be a waste of time.

Wes sighed. Where does this misplaced sense of superiority even come from?

Surveying the bustling bookstore, he shook his head. The idea of squeezing through a crowd of Lockhart-obsessed witches held no appeal. I'll wait until things quiet down.

He turned on his heels and headed toward Florin's Ice Cream Parlour, ordering himself a chilled treat. An hour later, he emerged, hoping the excitement had died down.

It hadn't.

The queue remained just as long, the chatter just as fervent. With no alternative, Wes decided to take advantage of his status. As a VIP customer of Flourish and Blotts, he was granted direct entry by the overwhelmed shopkeeper.

His special treatment did not go unnoticed.

Muttered complaints and sharp glares followed him as he stepped inside, but Wes ignored them. He wasn't here for Lockhart. He just wanted his books.

"All the ones you ordered are on that shelf," the shopkeeper informed him hurriedly before rushing off to handle the chaos of the event.

Wes browsed quietly, flipping through the pages of the carefully curated selection. Each book held a unique value, and he intended to take his time.

But the deafening shrieks of Lockhart's admirers kept disrupting his thoughts.

Wes sighed, planning to purchase the books and leave when a sudden commotion at the book signing table drew his attention.

"You are a disgrace to purebloods! Associating with Muggles—how shameful!"

The sharp voice carried through the store. It came from a wizard with an unmistakable air of arrogance, someone who clearly held strong views about blood purity.

A second voice, dripping with sarcasm, fired back.

"Oh? The new Muggle Protection Act keeping you busy, is it? Have you disposed of all the dark artifacts in your home? Careful now—wouldn't want me catching you."

The air crackled with tension.

Lucius Malfoy's pale face twisted with fury as he nearly shoved Arthur Weasley aside.

"How dare you?" Molly Weasley's voice was shrill with anger, her face flushed. Without hesitation, she flung the book in her hands at Lucius.

Lucius barely managed to dodge, tilting his head at the last second.

Arthur clenched his fists, trembling with restrained rage.

"Hit him, Dad!"

"Give him a real lesson!"

The Weasley twins' voices rang out with excitement, their expressions alight with mischief. They were eager to see chaos unfold.

Draco Malfoy sneered, lifting his chin. "Shut up, you filthy red-haired paupers—"

Ron Weasley saw red.

With a swift shove, he sent Draco tumbling backward.

Lucius' expression darkened. He raised his wand, fully prepared to retaliate against the boy.

But Arthur beat him to it.

With a resounding crack, his fist connected with Lucius' face.

For a moment, Lucius staggered, stunned by the unexpected blow. His composure shattered, and all traces of noble decorum vanished. Enraged, he launched himself at Arthur.

The two men crashed to the floor in a furious brawl, throwing punches and grappling like common streetfighters.

Gasps of shock and murmurs rippled through the crowd.

The watching witches and wizards wore various expressions—some scandalized, others thoroughly entertained.

The reporters, initially covering Lockhart's signing, saw opportunity strike. Eyes gleaming, they snapped pictures in rapid succession. A brawl between a Malfoy and a Weasley? This was front-page material.

Lockhart, ever the opportunist, strolled over, an exaggerated look of concern plastered on his face.

"Gentlemen, please! There's no need for violence! Plenty of books to go around—I assure you!" he announced, though his voice lacked sincerity.

Turning discreetly to a nearby reporter, he murmured, "Make sure the headline reads: 'The Sacred Twenty-Eight Fight Over My New Book.' What a brilliant publicity move."

A well-placed pouch of gold exchanged hands. The reporter smirked knowingly and began capturing photos of Lockhart posing heroically in the background, as though he were breaking up the fight.

Meanwhile, a sea of adoring female fans gazed at Lockhart with dreamy admiration, utterly oblivious to the ridiculousness of the situation.

The owner of Flourish and Blotts, exasperated beyond belief, finally intervened.

"Enough! You're scaring away my customers! Someone—separate them already!"

A sharp flash of magic streaked through the air.

Arthur and Lucius were forcefully yanked apart, both panting, robes disheveled.

Lucius hastily straightened his attire, but his wild hair betrayed his humiliation. He looked absurd, like a bird's nest caught in a storm.

Arthur, too, surveyed the crowd, realizing they had attracted quite the audience. His face burned with embarrassment.

Lucius seethed. "You will regret this, Weasley."

Arthur squared his shoulders. "I know what you've been up to, Malfoy. Don't think I won't—"

"Enough!" Lucius snapped, cutting him off.

Just as the tension threatened to erupt again, a calm voice interrupted.

"You're blocking the entrance. Move aside."

Both men turned.

Standing there was a young wizard they didn't recognize.

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

Before Wes could answer, Hermione's excited voice cut in. "Professor Erwin! You're here too!"

She practically beamed as she introduced him to her parents.

"This is Professor Erwin, our Magic Runes instructor at Hogwarts."

Wes greeted the Grangers with a polite bow, his demeanor effortlessly composed.

Lucius' lip curled. "Dumbledore must be losing his mind, hiring a mudb—"

Wes stepped forward, meeting Lucius' gaze head-on.

"Mr. Malfoy," he said smoothly, a polite smile on his lips, "you've enjoyed the spotlight long enough. Perhaps it's time to leave it at that."

Lucius opened his mouth, but something in Wes' expression made his breath catch.

A cold chill ran down his spine.

That presence… That same oppressive force… Just like—

Lucius swallowed hard.

Without another word, he turned and stalked away.