For the remainder of the academic year, Wes was completely absorbed in Nicolas Flamel's alchemical notes, utterly unable to pull himself away.
If Wes had a system interface that displayed skill progression, he'd likely have seen floating notifications above his head like:
"Alchemy +1"
"Alchemy +1"
"Alchemy +10086"
...popping up one after another.
Soon enough, the tense final exams were approaching, and both students and professors alike had entered a state of full-blown busyness.
Even Wes—who was usually fairly lenient with his students—started assigning homework after every class. Naturally, this earned him quite a few complaints and grumbles.
But Wes didn't relent. After all, students' grades were tied directly to his own evaluation at Hogwarts. There was no room for carelessness.
The library's massive collection of books—he had only scratched the surface. He had no intention of being dismissed just because he was too easygoing.
As for the original "Harry Potter" plot? Wes had long since tossed all that out the window.
Finally, finals arrived.
To Wes's surprise and satisfaction, none of his students in Runes class received a failing grade like P (Poor) or D (Dreadful).
A few outstanding students even managed to earn an O (Outstanding).
This result caught Wes off guard. He had assumed that this ancient and relatively challenging elective wouldn't receive much attention or effort from the students.
Clearly, he had underestimated their dedication.
As the students packed up and joyfully returned home for the summer holidays, the professors also left one by one.
Hogwarts, once lively and brimming with magical energy, gradually quieted down.
And Wes himself was about to begin a brand-new adventure filled with unknowns and challenges.
Because, in the system panel of his alchemical interface, a new line of garbled but distinct text had silently appeared—"#@Alchemy%￥".
"What a coincidence? Or is it the Philosopher's Stone triggering this…" Wes murmured to himself.
Then his figure vanished from the spot.
...
Meanwhile, in New York City, Marvel Universe—
Inside a small apothecary called Hogwarts Potions Shop, Wes appeared out of thin air, unable to hide the joy on his face.
"Massive haul, massive haul!" he said excitedly, eagerly beginning to take inventory of his gains.
Gold piled like mountains.
Dozens of Philosopher's Stones gleamed with a dazzling yet ominous red glow.
Stacks upon stacks of alchemy journals, each one more ancient and mysterious than the last.
"I can't believe I witnessed 'Homunculi' merging with 'Truth' itself…" Wes muttered, still visibly shaken.
"I almost got devoured by 'Truth' back there."
The alchemy from the "#@Alchemy%￥" world differed drastically from the kind in the Harry Potter world. That difference brought Wes a wealth of insights and breakthroughs, completely transforming his understanding of the field.
He meticulously checked through all his laboratories and storage units.
"These potions are pretty much useless to me now. Might as well sell them all."
As he looked at the gold bars stacked into miniature hills, Wes couldn't help but sigh with emotion: "From now on, I can finally call myself truly rich."
By midnight, Wes lifted the "Muggle-Repelling Charm" and the "Confundus Charm" that had kept the shop hidden.
Hogwarts Potions Shop reopened for business.
Before long, New York's well-informed elites got wind of the reopening and rushed to the store.
It had been a full year since the last time Wes held a sale, and most of them had long since run out of their potions.
This time, the auction atmosphere was more intense than ever.
His entire stock was sold out at a jaw-dropping speed.
Two hours later, the auction ended. Everyone left the shop completely satisfied.
Everyone—except Tony Stark.
The billionaire lingered behind, a bottle of red wine in hand, strolling casually toward Wes.
"Care to have a drink with me?" he asked, his tone loose and carefree.
Wes didn't answer immediately. He simply stared at him with a cold gaze.
"Come on, Mr. or Ms. Wizard, don't give me the cold shoulder like that."
Tony Stark didn't seem the least bit bothered by Wes's cold reaction.
"Tony Stark, you broke the rules," Wes said in a low, stern voice.
"So what? You gonna kill me? Be my guest," Tony replied nonchalantly, giving a casual wave, his face full of indifference.
Then he glanced around and said, "Where are the glasses? Or are you planning to just drink straight from the bottle?"
Wes was full of suspicion—something was definitely off about Tony Stark today.
With a flick of his wrists, two elegant glasses appeared in Tony's hands.
"Wow," he exaggeratedly gasped, "such magical magic."
Soon, both glasses were filled with rich, fragrant wine.
"This bottle cost me a full three million dollars," Tony declared before downing his glass in one gulp.
But it wasn't the refined sipping of a wine connoisseur—it looked more like someone venting deep, pent-up emotions.
Three full glasses in quick succession later, Tony's cheeks had turned a noticeable shade of red.
"You know what? I'm dying," Tony said as he took off his jacket, pointing to the arc reactor embedded in his chest.
"This thing used to be my lifeline. Now it's about to kill me. What a joke."
So the story's already reached that point, Wes thought silently.
'A superhero who can't even save himself—what a painfully ironic reality.'
Tony kept talking, pouring out everything like a man who'd been holding it in for far too long.
By the time he finished, he exhaled deeply, the weight in his heart seemingly lifted for the first time in ages.
"Feels good, you know?" he said. "Telling all these secrets to some stranger. I don't even know your name. Don't even know if you're a man or a woman. But thanks for listening to my rambling."
Tony Stark, at that moment, looked like someone who had finally let go of a burden he'd carried far too long. His whole presence seemed lighter, and the clarity had returned to his eyes.
"You're really dying?" Wes asked calmly.
"Yep." Tony shrugged.
Wes reached into his robes and tossed Tony a vial of potion.
"What's this?" Tony asked, examining it curiously.
"A prototype," Wes said plainly, not even bothering to lie. "A potion I've just developed. It's infused with massive life energy—but the side effects are still unclear."
In truth, the potion was something Wes had carefully crafted using a Philosopher's Stone mixed with powerful antidotes and restorative formulas. He had just been waiting for the perfect test subject.
And Tony Stark—someone destined to play a pivotal role in the Marvel Universe—wasn't going to die before fulfilling his fate. To Wes, he was the ideal candidate.
"I'm dying from palladium poisoning, you know? Highly radioactive, deadly stuff. But whatever. I'll give this a shot," Tony said as he turned to leave, waving.
"Anyway, thanks for listening. If I somehow survive this, I'll be sure to send you a full customer review."
Wes shut the shop door. But when he turned around, he was startled to find a bald woman in ornate golden robes quietly sitting on a chair.
He instinctively tensed, but quickly regained his composure.
Removing his mask, Wes respectfully offered a formal wizard's bow.
"Greetings, Sorcerer Supreme."
The Ancient One smiled gently and returned the greeting. "Good evening, Wizard Elwin."