The Wizard: Ascending Beyond Marvel

Support me via Patreon and read 15 chapters ahead

https://Patreon.com/rez540

-----------------------

"Oh, Merlin's beard!"

Dean Sprout's mouth fell open as he gasped in disbelief.

The entire hall fell into stunned silence. The professors exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes betraying their shock. None of them had expected Gilderoy Lockhart to pull off such an... "incredible" performance.

Well, if fainting from one's own spell could be called that.

Wes sighed internally. He had already doubted Lockhart's credibility, but this? This was a new level of ridiculous. How could such a man, a walking spectacle of incompetence, have been hired as a professor at Hogwarts?

The answer came soon enough.

Dumbledore, ever the enigma, merely shrugged, spreading his hands in an almost apologetic gesture. "You know, finding a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher isn't easy," he said, his voice carrying a note of resignation.

The professors turned to him as one, seeking a better explanation.

"And," Dumbledore added, his blue eyes twinkling, "he applied on his own."

At this, the room's attention immediately snapped back to Lockhart, now lying unconscious, his robes in disarray.

Of course, everyone knew the Defense Against the Dark Arts position was cursed. Ever since He Who Must Not Be Named had meddled with it, no professor had lasted beyond a year. Some had left in disgrace, others had disappeared, and some… well, some had not lived to tell the tale.

Lockhart had willingly stepped into this doomed position. That alone should have been a warning.

Yet, even knowing all this, none of them had anticipated this level of incompetence.

The whispers among the professors grew urgent. The students had started noticing the commotion. They couldn't afford to let this farce damage their credibility.

Dean Sprit, quick on his feet, discreetly cast a Levitation Charm, lifting Lockhart's unconscious form and guiding him out of the hall as if nothing had happened.

But Wes—he had already foreseen the disaster this school year would be.

He knew Lockhart was a fraud.

What could the students possibly learn from him?

How to flash a dazzling smile? A hundred different ways to maintain perfect hair?

The thought made Wes groan inwardly. He felt a deep sense of regret for the students who would have to endure this charade.

The Great Hall soon emptied, students drifting off toward their dormitories. Wes was about to follow suit when Dumbledore's voice stopped him.

"Wes, could we have a word?"

Wes turned, meeting the old wizard's gaze. "Of course."

Together, they walked to the headmaster's office, where the air felt heavier, tinged with an unspoken urgency.

As soon as Wes settled into a chair, Dumbledore studied him with quiet amusement.

"I must say, Wes, you've grown considerably over the summer. Your progress is quite remarkable."

Wes held his gaze, his expression unreadable. "I just put in more effort than others, that's all."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Effort alone cannot explain this level of growth. There are some individuals in this world who achieve what others cannot, even with years of training. We call them prodigies. And you, Wes, are a rare one even among them."

Wes remained impassive. Inwardly, he thought, Becoming a Level 4 wizard took work. The system only gave me 'a little help,' but that help is part of my talent. So yes, I am a genius.

"Headmaster, you didn't call me here just to flatter me, did you?" Wes asked dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Dumbledore chuckled again, this time softer. "No, of course not."

Wes made a motion to leave. "Then I'll be going."

"Alright, alright," Dumbledore relented, sighing. "There is something important I need to discuss with you."

The twinkle in his eyes dimmed. His expression turned grave. "Wes, Voldemort will return."

Silence.

Wes didn't even blink. "And?" he asked.

Dumbledore studied him. There was no fear in the boy's voice. Not even unease.

"I'm not afraid of him," Wes added simply.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, last year, you taught him a rather painful lesson. But as far as I know, Voldemort does not forgive nor forget."

The memory of their previous clash flickered through Dumbledore's mind, his brows furrowing slightly.

Wes, however, merely smirked. "He's just a beaten dog licking his wounds."

Dumbledore's expression remained serious. "You underestimate him."

Reaching into his desk, he pulled out a long sheet of parchment, covered with rows upon rows of names.

Wes took one glance at the list and scowled. "What is this?"

Dumbledore's voice was heavy. "A list of Voldemort's supporters."

Wes's eyes flicked over the names, irritation prickling at him. "Let me guess. Pureblood families?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Many still cling to his ideology, despite everything. They believe in the supremacy of pureblood wizards over all others."

Wes scoffed. "Complete nonsense. There's no logic to it. But I suppose blind loyalty rarely needs logic."

Dumbledore sighed. "Voldemort himself is a half-blood, yet he erased his past and dedicated his life to this madness."

Wes leaned back, arms crossed. "A man who abandons his past has no right to claim the future."

Dumbledore's eyes gleamed with something akin to pride. "An interesting perspective."

Wes shrugged. "Not mine. I read it in a Muggle book."

"Muggles are not without wisdom," Dumbledore agreed, a nostalgic smile touching his lips. "They simply walk a different path than we do."

Then, he caught himself. "Ah, but I digress. Where were we?"

"Voldemort."

Dumbledore nodded, eyes shadowed with old memories. "He was a brilliant student in his youth. The former headmaster held him in high regard."

From a nearby portrait, an elderly wizard—Armando Dippet—scoffed. "Dumbledore, are you implying I was blind?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Not at all, Armando. You were simply deceived, like many others."

The portrait huffed and fell silent.

Wes, growing impatient, cut in. "You've been talking for ages. What do you actually want from me?"

Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his temples. "I am old, Wes. My strength is not what it once was. If Voldemort returns… I may not be able to stop him."

Wes narrowed his eyes. "So you want me to do it?"

"Yes."

Wes smirked. "My rates aren't cheap, you know."

Dumbledore chuckled, shaking his head. "No sense of duty these days."

Wes scoffed. "Don't guilt-trip me. You're asking me to fight the Dark Lord. That's not exactly a casual favor."

Dumbledore leaned forward slightly. "I thought of something that might interest you."

He reached for a bookshelf and pulled out an ancient-looking tome. The cover was etched with strange hieroglyphs.

Wes raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"

"A book I discovered in the tomb of an Egyptian pharaoh in my youth," Dumbledore said. "It contains spells and incantations long forgotten by modern wizards."

Wes's interest piqued. "And you're just handing this over?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I have spent decades studying it, but I doubt I'll have time to uncover all its secrets. Consider it an investment in the future."