The Wizard: Ascending Beyond Marvel

Read 15 Chapters ahead on Patreonhttps://Patreon.com/rez540------------The Halloween of the new year had arrived once again. The Great Hall was a mesmerizing sight, bathed in the warm glow of floating jack-o'-lanterns. Their flickering lights cast eerie yet enchanting shadows across the enchanted ceiling, where a storm brewed in silent theatrics, adding to the ambiance of the celebration. The air was thick with excitement, laughter, and the sweet scent of pumpkin pasties and spiced cider.

This year, Dumbledore had outdone himself—he had invited a renowned skeleton dance troupe to perform. Their reputation stretched far and wide, and the mere mention of their name sent a ripple of anticipation through the students.

Wes found himself unable to look away as the skeletal figures twirled and leaped with an elegance that defied their hollow forms. They were mesmerizing—each movement fluid, each step perfectly in sync, their bones clattering rhythmically to the eerie waltz that filled the hall. It was hauntingly beautiful, a dance of the dead brought to life.

The students were utterly captivated. One by one, they found themselves swaying to the ghostly melody, their feet tapping unconsciously. Soon, the entire hall was alive with movement—Gryffindors, Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs alike, bound together by the magic of the performance. Even the professors, usually composed and dignified, allowed themselves to indulge in the festivities.

A particularly bold skeleton glided toward the professors' table and, with a dramatic flourish, extended a bony hand in an invitation. The recipient of this gesture was none other than Severus Snape.

A hush fell over the immediate area.

Snape, ever the embodiment of cold disdain, regarded the skeleton with narrowed eyes, his expression a blend of irritation and disbelief. His glare was sharper than any curse, and for a moment, the poor skeleton seemed to hesitate. Its jaw clattered as if it had just realized it had made a grave mistake. With an audible rattle, it quickly withdrew, turning to find a more willing partner.

Laughter erupted from the students.

In stark contrast, Dumbledore and Lockhart were all too eager to accept the skeletons' invitations. Dumbledore, with his usual air of effortless grace, took to the dance floor like a wizard decades younger. Lockhart, however, was something else entirely.

The moment the music changed, he seized the opportunity to showcase his self-proclaimed prowess. He twirled and dipped with exaggerated flair, his robes billowing dramatically with every turn. His enthusiasm was almost contagious—almost.

"If only his teaching skills matched his dancing ability," Professor McGonagall muttered under her breath, arms crossed as she watched the spectacle unfold.

Snape scoffed, his lip curling in unmistakable contempt.

To no one's surprise, several professors nodded in agreement. Lockhart's Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons were, at best, a joke, at worst, a hazard. Even his most devoted fans were beginning to have doubts.

After Professor McGonagall sighed, he shifted the topic: "Wes, George, and Fred have changed so much. They haven't had any points deducted this year—how did you manage that?"

The other professors exchanged curious glances.

The twin brothers were notorious pranksters, well-known for their mischief and the points they cost their house each year. Everyone was eager to know how Wes had turned the troublemakers into model students.

"I didn't do anything," Wes said as he stood up. Noticing the professors' doubtful expressions, he added, "I just guided them toward alchemy. They became so absorbed in their work that they haven't had time to cause trouble."

"Ah," Professor Flitwick said with a nod. "So that's it. I never imagined they'd be interested in alchemy."

The professors collectively murmured in understanding, their curiosity finally satisfied.

As the final notes of the performance echoed through the hall, the skeleton troupe took their bows, their grinning skulls catching the dim light. The students cheered, reluctant to see them go, but their schedule was tight—they had other magical venues to enchant with their performance.

Just as the troupe made their exit, Lockhart, still caught up in the revelry, attempted one last dramatic flourish. He spun in place, arms raised high—but without music, the gesture looked more ridiculous than impressive.

A moment of silence passed.

Then, one of his loyal fans hurriedly flicked her wand, and soft music filled the hall once more.

Lockhart took this as encouragement and danced even harder.

Wes, watching this absurd display, let out an amused sigh. "There's a profession in the Muggle world called a 'celebrity.' I think he'd fit right in."

The table burst into laughter at the remark, the sound echoing warmly through the hall.

The feast concluded on a high note, with students and professors alike departing with smiles on their faces. However, for Wes, the night was not over just yet.

As he made his way back to his quarters, he stumbled upon Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Their expressions were a mix of regret and exhaustion.

"I told you we shouldn't have accepted Nearly Headless Nick's invitation," Ron groaned, rubbing his empty stomach. "I'm starving. I'd kill for a pumpkin pasty right now."

"Don't even mention pumpkin," Hermione muttered, visibly queasy. "The food at the Deathday Party was... horrifying."

Harry, looking apologetic, was about to speak when Wes interjected.

"You went to the Deathday Party?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

The trio froze.

"Professor Irwin?" Hermione squeaked, eyes darting around as if searching for an escape.

Wes smirked. "You do realize it's past curfew, right?"

"Please don't take points!" Hermione pleaded immediately.

Ron and Harry joined in, their faces filled with desperation. Harry, in particular, looked like he had already endured enough torment for one evening. With Lockhart forcing him to answer fan mail, the last thing he needed was another punishment.

Wes chuckled. "Relax, I'm not deducting points. But honestly—living students at a ghost party? What were you thinking?"

The three looked away, their regret clear.

Before Wes could say more, a sudden, eerie meow shattered the silence.

Hermione gasped. "Mrs. Norris!"

Sure enough, the shadowy form of Filch's ever-watchful cat emerged from the darkness, her glowing eyes locked onto them.

And right on cue, Filch's voice followed.

"Well, well, well... what do we have here?"

The caretaker's beady eyes gleamed with a twisted sort of delight. "Caught red-handed! Oh, I'll make sure you—"

But then, he noticed Wes standing beside them.

Filch hesitated. "Professor Irwin?"

Wes, ever composed, gave the man a small, knowing smile. "Mr. Filch, I was escorting them back to their dorms. They stayed behind to help me grade assignments, and we lost track of time."

Mrs. Norris, surprisingly, leaned into Wes' hand as he scratched beneath her chin, purring softly.

Filch narrowed his eyes at the trio, clearly unconvinced, but he wasn't about to argue with a professor. "Lucky brats," he muttered, voice dripping with resentment. "But don't think you'll always have such good fortune."

With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness, Mrs. Norris padding silently at his side.

The trio let out a collective breath of relief.

"That was too close," Ron muttered.

"You're welcome," Wes said casually, smirking.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged glances before murmuring their thanks.