The Witcher: Ascending Beyond Marvel

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was alive with festivity on Halloween night. The Great Hall shimmered under the glow of countless floating pumpkins, their eerie grins casting flickering shadows across the enchanted ceiling. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, spiced cider, and melted chocolate, adding to the warmth of the celebration.

Among the students, the Weasley twins had outdone themselves, dressed as vampires with unsettlingly realistic fangs and long, tattered cloaks. They swooped through the crowd, baring their teeth at unsuspecting victims, eliciting shrieks followed by peals of laughter.

At the professors' table, the staff sat together in cheerful conversation. The only exception was Professor Snape, who, though physically present, seemed distant—his dark eyes flickering with thoughts that did not belong in such a lively setting. He swirled the goblet in his hand absentmindedly, his expression unreadable.

Professor McGonagall, watching the students with a wistful gaze, sighed. "It's wonderful to be young." Her voice carried a rare softness, a tinge of melancholy woven between the words. "I used to wonder... if I had a child, what life would be like."

"You would make an extraordinary mother," Wes said sincerely.

McGonagall waved a dismissive hand, though there was warmth in her eyes. "Nonsense. I am not particularly adored by children. If I ever had one, they would likely avoid me at all costs."

"That's not true." Wes shook his head. "Strictness is often mistaken for severity. But one day, those same children will face the world, and they'll realize that your discipline was love in disguise. They'll be grateful for it."

McGonagall arched a brow. "When did you become so eloquent?" A teasing glint sparked in her eyes. "How many girls have you bewitched with that silver tongue?"

Wes merely shrugged, his expression cool and unreadable.

McGonagall, however, gasped dramatically. "No! Surely not! Wes, tell me—have you truly never been in love?"

A few of the surrounding professors turned their attention toward the conversation, intrigued. Hogwarts was full of students who found themselves entangled in the webs of young love by the time they were fifteen or sixteen. But Wes? He remained an anomaly, as rare as a unicorn in the Forbidden Forest.

Some professors even exchanged glances of sympathy.

"Don't pity me," Wes said calmly, cutting into his steak with practiced ease. "The world of magic is vast. There are mysteries worth dedicating a lifetime to. Love is merely one of many distractions."

Pomona Sprout dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. "Oh, you poor boy," she murmured. "Never knowing the sweetness of love..."

Dumbledore suddenly chimed in, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Severus could always brew you a love potion, if you'd like."

"Albus, really!" McGonagall scolded, her voice sharp. "Don't encourage such nonsense."

Wes set his fork down and let out a quiet sigh. "Headmaster, I may not be on par with Professor Snape's potion mastery, but I think love potions are classified as illegal." His tone was even, but his eyes glimmered with amusement.

Dumbledore feigned a look of forgetfulness, rubbing his temple. "Ah, old age must be dulling my memory."

Wes wasn't fooled in the slightest.

Before the professors could continue their lighthearted debate, the Great Hall doors burst open with a loud bang.

Professor Quirrell stumbled inside, his turban askew, his face drained of color. Terror twisted his features as he gasped out, "Troll! In the dungeons!" His legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed in an unconscious heap.

For a moment, stunned silence filled the hall.

Then chaos erupted.

Shrieks rang out as students scrambled in panic. Plates clattered to the floor. The enchanted ceiling flickered as frightened murmurs rose into the air.

Dumbledore stood abruptly, his voice booming over the commotion. "Silence!" The command rippled through the hall like a spell, forcing calm upon the hysteria. His piercing gaze swept the students. "Prefects, lead your houses back to their dormitories. Professors, with me."

The staff moved swiftly. As students hurried toward their dormitories, Dumbledore and the professors made their way toward the basement. But before they reached it, the sounds of a struggle echoed down the stone corridors—loud crashes, roars of fury, and the unmistakable shattering of porcelain.

The girls' bathroom.

The professors changed course, wands drawn. As they neared the entrance, an overwhelming stench assaulted them—a putrid mixture of decay and unwashed filth. It was the unmistakable odor of a troll.

Inside, the bathroom was in ruins. Broken sinks and shattered mirrors littered the floor. A massive troll lay motionless in the wreckage, its thick, gray hide smeared with debris.

In the corner, Hermione sat on the ground, her face streaked with tears. Harry and Ron knelt beside her, whispering reassurances, their hands still trembling from the fight.

McGonagall pressed a hand to her chest. "Great heavens," she breathed. "Will someone explain what happened here?"

Wes stepped forward, flicking his wand. A sudden gust swept through the room, carrying the foul stench out of the shattered window. The air lightened, and the professors exhaled in relief.

Ron, still riding the adrenaline of victory, launched into a dramatic retelling of their daring battle.

Professor Snape, unimpressed, narrowed his eyes. "Are your heads full of dung?" His voice was razor-sharp. "I have never encountered students as foolish as you."

McGonagall's expression hardened. "Why didn't you fetch a professor immediately? Do you not trust us?"

Hermione, still shaken, stood weakly. Tears welled in her eyes. "It was my fault," she admitted in a choked voice. "I... I lured the troll in by accident. If they hadn't found me, I would have—" Her voice broke.

McGonagall sighed heavily. "Miss Granger, I had thought you were one of my most responsible students." Disappointment weighed in her tone, and Hermione's face burned with shame.

"As punishment, Gryffindor will lose five points."

Harry and Ron deflated instantly. Hermione swallowed hard, nodding miserably.

Then, McGonagall's lips twitched ever so slightly. "However, for your remarkable courage in facing a mountain troll at your age, you will each earn five points for Gryffindor."

The trio blinked. Then, realizing what had just happened, they erupted into relieved laughter, grinning despite themselves.

Professor Sprout stepped forward, inspecting them for injuries. Satisfied they were unharmed, she nodded. "Go on. Get some rest."

As the students left, the room grew eerily silent, save for the soft drip drip drip of leaking pipes. The professors exchanged glances before hurriedly departing—the lingering troll stench was nearly unbearable.

Only Wes, Dumbledore, and Snape remained.

Snape turned to Wes, his dark eyes gleaming with suspicion. "Why are you still here?"

Wes folded his arms, his gaze locked on the troll's corpse. "I thought I could help."

But his real interest was clear.

Trolls contained highly valuable alchemical and potion ingredients. It wasn't every day one had access to such rare materials.

Snape, catching on, narrowed his eyes. "Don't even think about it."

Dumbledore, silent until now, suddenly spoke. "Would you mind giving us some privacy, Wes?"

Wes sighed. He could take a hint. As he turned to leave, he glanced back and said, "If you need help dissecting it, I'm available. I have extensive anatomy experience."

Snape scowled.

Dumbledore merely chuckled.