The Witcher: Ascending Beyond Marvel

Amidst the vast Scottish Highlands, the mysterious and ancient Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stood majestically.

With a thousand-year history, the school had been a silent witness to the rise and fall of the British and even the entire European magical world.

Today's headmaster, Albus Dumbledore—recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, founder and secret keeper of the Order of the Phoenix—was a figure of unparalleled renown.

He also held the esteemed positions of Chairman of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. His expertise in alchemy and transfiguration had reached a realm beyond the grasp of ordinary wizards, and his contributions to magical theory were vast and significant.

Yet, his most brilliant and celebrated achievements lay in his defeat of two terrifying Dark Lords—Gellert Grindelwald and Voldemort. Because of this, the entire magical world undisputedly recognized him as the greatest and most powerful wizard of the contemporary era.

However, at this moment, the nearly 110-year-old man resembled a chastened child, quietly enduring a scolding.

"Is your head full of honey, Dumbledore?"

"If that were the case, Severus, you'd be delighted."

"Call me Professor Snape."

"Alright, Snape."

Dumbledore smiled and offered Snape a piece of enticing lemon sherbet. "Would you like to try one? Muggles make them, and they taste quite good."

Snape's sharp, murderous gaze was his only response.

With a sigh, Dumbledore retracted the candy, muttering, "What a pity."

"Severus, why do you so firmly oppose Mr. Irwin teaching at Hogwarts? You took great care of him back then."

"Don't pretend like you don't know what he has done since graduation."

"Of course, I know that Mr. Irwin is a wizard full of fearless adventurous spirit—"

"He frequently associates with dark wizards, breaking the law as casually as drinking water."

"But we have no concrete evidence to prove any of this."

"Which only proves his extreme cunning—exactly like that person."

Dumbledore gazed at Snape sincerely. "You worry too much."

Snape pressed his lips tightly and remained silent.

"Since neither of us can convince the other, why don't we invite Mr. Irwin here and ask him in person?"

Dumbledore swiftly wrote a letter with a delicate feathered quill.

"I want to supervise the entire process."

"No problem."

Dumbledore handed the envelope to an owl and gently opened the window. The owl clutched the letter, spread its wings, and soared into the distant sky.

—

Wes was deeply engrossed in a research paper—a recently published work by Professor Minerva McGonagall analyzing the intricacies of Transfiguration. As one of the few registered Animagus, McGonagall was a true master of the subject.

So absorbed was Wes that he didn't even notice the persistent tapping at the window.

Eventually, his house-elf, Zandi, hurried over to open it, allowing an impatient owl to flutter inside, chirping in irritation.

"Hush, little one, you'll disturb the master," Zandi murmured, offering a handful of high-grade pet food.

The owl, enticed by the aroma, eagerly ate before dropping the envelope and flying off, now much more agreeable.

Zandi picked up the letter and, upon seeing the signature, respectfully handed it to Wes. "Master, it's a letter from Hogwarts."

Annoyance at the interruption melted from Wes's face. "A letter from Hogwarts?" He instantly abandoned the paper and tore open the envelope.

Mr. Wes Irwin,

We are pleased that you have applied once again for the position of Professor of Magical Marks. After careful consideration, please come to the Headmaster's office for an interview at ten o'clock tomorrow morning.

Best wishes,

Albus Dumbledore

"Oh! Fantastic!" Wes practically leaped with excitement. "After three years, I finally got a response!"

"Congratulations, Master," Zandi said, bowing with genuine delight.

"This time, it must be foolproof."

Determination gleamed in Wes's eyes—he was ready.

—

At eight o'clock the next morning, Wes stood before his mirror, carefully inspecting his appearance.

The reflection showed a young man with sharp features and a confident demeanor. His hair was meticulously combed, not a single strand out of place.

His well-tailored robes complemented his tall, lean frame, and his handsome face only added to his charm.

"How do I look?" Wes asked expectantly.

"Perfect, Master!" Zandi beamed.

A satisfied smile crossed Wes's lips. He grabbed his suitcase. "Wait here."

"Yes, Master."

—

When Wes arrived at Hogwarts at 9:30, Professor McGonagall was there to greet him.

Feeling honored, Wes bowed deeply. "It's been a long time, Professor McGonagall."

"Mr. Irwin, you've grown into an outstanding young man." She smiled gently. "I never imagined that one day we might become colleagues."

"That depends entirely on Headmaster Dumbledore's decision," Wes replied, slightly embarrassed.

"You were always a bright student, and if Albus still has his wits about him, he should approve your application."

"I certainly hope so."

"Mr. Irwin—"

"Please, call me Wes, Professor."

"Very well, Wes. How does it feel to be back at Hogwarts?"

A trace of nostalgia flickered across Wes's face. "Familiar, yet strange. When I was a student, I never truly explored this castle's mysteries. I spent all my time buried in books in the library, studying magic."

"Indeed, that was quite remarkable. There has never been a student as studious as you. Even for a Ravenclaw, it was almost excessive."

Wes rubbed his nose sheepishly.

"We professors were quite 'harassed' by your endless questions." McGonagall smirked.

Though she teased, she had always held a soft spot for Wes, even offering him private lessons. Other professors, even the strict and aloof Snape, had regarded him with a degree of respect.

"Does Filius know about this?" McGonagall asked.

"Not yet. I'd like to inform him once everything is confirmed."

As they spoke, they arrived at the eighth floor.

A massive, grotesque stone gargoyle guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

"Password!" it demanded.

"Toffee," McGonagall answered smoothly.

The gargoyle stepped aside, revealing a spiraling staircase that led upward. At its peak stood a polished oak door adorned with a brass knocker shaped like a griffin.

As they approached, the door creaked open on its own.

Standing before the entrance, Wes felt a sudden rush of nerves.