The Wizard: Ascending Beyond Marvel

Read 15 Chapters ahead on Patreon

https://Patreon.com/rez540

---------

A few days before the new school year, Hogwarts was gradually coming back to life. The once quiet corridors now echoed with the soft murmur of returning students, their footsteps filling the halls as they reunited with friends.

Some students had arrived early, eager to escape the monotony of home or simply to immerse themselves in the magical world once more.

For Wes, however, the return to school was not about socializing. Aside from the occasional need to rest, he spent most of his time delving into the depths of magical research, attempting to uncover the more elusive mysteries of wizardry. And, of course, there was the diary.

The diary of Tom Riddle remained a key focus in Wes's studies. Despite his frequent attempts to communicate, Tom had remained utterly silent, never responding to Wes's words, as though stubbornly resisting his presence. But Wes was patient. He knew that everyone had their breaking point—even a memory.

And so, on the night before the school year began, Wes carefully wrote in the diary, deliberately baiting Tom with a thought that had plagued him for some time:

"There has always been a question that haunts me: why is a wizard's lifespan no different from that of a Muggle? We possess magic—something that elevates us beyond them, yet we still wither and die the same way. Why?"

"Nicolas Flamel managed to live for over six centuries with the Philosopher's Stone. That stone was truly a marvel!"

"But that fool Dumbledore rejected my request and insisted on destroying it! It was a crime, an unforgivable act against knowledge itself!"

"Dumbledore is old… he is no longer the wizard I once admired."

As expected, the moment the ink settled on the page, the words slowly faded, dissolving as though absorbed by the diary itself.

Wes smirked.

"Finally, he takes the bait."

And then, after a long silence, new words bled onto the page.

"I can help you."

The smirk on Wes's lips deepened, but he made no immediate reply. Instead, he carefully schooled his expression, pretending to be hesitant—scared, even. Then, with deliberate slowness, he closed the diary and locked it away in his drawer.

There was no need to rush. He had already won.

The next morning, Wes dressed in his pristine Hogwarts robes and made his way to the castle for the start-of-term feast. The Great Hall was already filled with students, the enchanted ceiling reflecting a clear night sky above. The long tables were lined with plates of food, the golden goblets gleaming under the floating candles.

As soon as Wes stepped inside, a pair of piercing blue eyes found him.

Dumbledore.

Though the headmaster greeted him with his usual warmth, Wes could feel the weight of his gaze, as if he were peering beyond the surface, trying to decipher the unseen.

"He knows."

Dumbledore raised his goblet slightly.

"Congratulations, Irwin ."

Wes mirrored the gesture, his expression unreadable.

"Thank you."

The two clinked glasses and drank. Around them, the professors exchanged puzzled glances. None of them seemed to understand what, exactly, they were celebrating.

The opening ceremony proceeded as usual, but something else had stolen the spotlight. The entire hall was abuzz—not about the new first-years—but about the explosive headline in that morning's Daily Prophet:

"Flying Ford Anglia Shocks Muggles!"

Wes picked up the paper from the table and skimmed the article, shaking his head slightly.

"Gryffindors truly live up to their reputation—reckless."

Across the table, Professor McGonagall's hands trembled as she read the report, her face turning a shade paler.

"They must have thought the train was too dull and decided to switch to a more thrilling means of transportation," Dumbledore mused, adjusting his half-moon glasses. "I've never taken a flying car before. I hear Muggles—"

McGonagall turned on him with a glare so sharp it could have cut through steel.

"Dumbledore, this is no laughing matter!" she snapped. "Do you have any idea how serious this is? They violated several school rules before even setting foot on the grounds! Worse—they broke the International Statute of Secrecy!"

Before Dumbledore could respond, Snape's cold, drawling voice cut through the air.

"They should be locked in Azkaban," he sneered. "Hogwarts cannot accept students who are so utterly incapable of following the most basic rules."

McGonagall shot him a withering look, but Snape remained as impassive as ever.

Then, suddenly—

A loud, sputtering engine roar echoed through the castle.

The entire hall turned toward the enchanted windows just in time to see a battered blue car wobbling unsteadily through the air, its headlights flashing wildly as it veered toward the castle.

Fred and George leaped up in excitement.

"That's Dad's car!" Fred exclaimed.

"Ron and Harry are in it!" George added.

A ripple of excitement ran through the hall, students whispering in awe at the spectacle. After all, no one had ever made such a dramatic entrance to Hogwarts before.

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Ah, to be young and reckless again..."

But McGonagall wasn't amused.

"Not good!" she gasped, eyes widening. "They're heading straight for the Whomping Willow!"

Snape was already on his feet, his robes billowing as he strode toward the exit.

"Foolish. Reckless. Potter," he muttered darkly.

McGonagall hurried after him.

Dumbledore, however, remained seated, twirling his goblet idly.

"Well, I'm sure Severus and Minerva can handle it," he said lightly, taking another sip of his drink. "No need to let a minor catastrophe ruin dinner."

Across the hall, Professor Flitwick, who had been sipping his own goblet of wine, nearly choked.

"Dear Merlin, children these days are far too bold!" he gasped.

Wes, meanwhile, found himself intrigued by the enchanted vehicle.

"Perhaps I should ask Mr. Weasley about magical modifications... I wouldn't mind having a car of my own."

At that moment, Gilderoy Lockhart decided to make his presence known.

"Oh, why didn't I think of that?!" he exclaimed, eyes gleaming with jealousy. "Such a stunt would make for excellent publicity. Imagine the headlines—'Gilderoy Lockhart Arrives at Hogwarts in Style!'"

A collective wave of exasperation rippled through the professors.

Even Dumbledore, ever the patient man, had clearly had enough.

"Professor Witcher here is quite the adventurer himself," he said smoothly, turning to Wes. "Perhaps the two of you would have much to discuss."

Lockhart's eyes lit up.

"My dear boy! I knew you looked familiar! You were at my book signing, weren't you?" he gushed, scooting closer. "Perhaps we should team up! I could write about our adventures in my next book—"

Wes didn't even look up from his steak.

"Sorry, I work alone."

But Lockhart was undeterred, continuing to prattle on about his supposed connections with newspapers, his vast fanbase, and his legendary adventures.

Finally, with a flick of his wand, Wes cast a silent charm.

Lockhart's voice abruptly vanished.

The hall fell into blissful silence.

Lockhart's eyes widened in horror as he flailed, trying to speak. He turned to his colleagues for help, but every professor—including Dumbledore—pretended not to see him.

Wes calmly took another bite of his steak.

Dumbledore gave him a discreet thumbs-up.

Lockhart, now utterly panicked, attempted to reverse the spell himself—only to miscast it and promptly knock himself unconscious.

The hall erupted into laughter.