Harry immediately fired a green beam at the light orb, striking it with pinpoint accuracy. His heart leapt with excitement, and a smile finally spread across his face. But the very next second, he understood what the professor's warning meant. After being struck, the orb not only turned red with the number 1 appearing in its center, but it also began moving slowly and erratically!
He hastily fired another red beam, but it merely grazed the orb and struck the white wall, leaving a conspicuous mark. At the same time, the orb darted upward, precisely in the direction of his last shot. His heart racing, he instinctively fired another identical beam—which, predictably, missed.
"Don't rush," Tver's voice chimed in just then. "The orb moves slowly. Anticipate its trajectory slightly, give it a head start, and you'll hit it."
Harry took a deep breath, watching the orb drift leftward. He fired a red beam ahead of its path, finally grazing its edge. Since the orb was larger than their beams, hitting its edge still counted as a successful strike.
Once he mastered the technique, Harry hit two out of three shots. Occasionally, though, his impatience caused him to fire the wrong color beam. The longer he practiced, the more exhausted he became. Just holding his wand for two minutes made his hand ache, let alone continuously releasing magic. Thus, after two minutes, he had scored a total of 57 points.
Tver was the first to applaud the exhausted Harry, and only then did the students belatedly join in. He knew just how impressive Harry's performance was. Honestly, he hadn't expected many students to last even two minutes. This was essentially an endurance test. Students would start feeling fatigued after one minute, and one and a half minutes was about their limit. Unless they pushed beyond their limits, they'd need to pause for ten seconds to cast a single spell during the final thirty seconds.
The subsequent students' performances confirmed his expectations—and were even poorer. Half the students ended up scoring around thirty-five points, essentially matching their first-minute score. Their rest time during the second minute exceeded the time spent casting spells. The remaining students barely surpassed fifty points—those who pushed to their limits but lacked the discipline to attempt exceeding them.
The only ones gritting their teeth through it, besides Harry, were Hermione and that little witch. She seemed to be holding her breath, determined to impress Tver. She ended up scoring 52 points, but was completely drained. Tver had to support her back to her seat, feeding her several pieces of chocolate before she recovered.
This perfectly captured the students' experience. They started out eager and ready, but when it was their turn, exhaustion made them want to quit. Yet after finishing, they were excited to try again.
Two students, however, behaved strangely. While all the students lay exhausted on their desks, excitedly discussing their performances, Tver approached Ron.
"Mr. Weasley, may I see your wand?"
Ron froze. Only after Tver repeated himself did he frantically wipe his wand on his robes before handing it over.
The moment Tver saw the wand, he knew why Ron had performed so poorly. It was a battered wand, its surface peeling in places to reveal the wood grain beneath, with a tiny bit of the unicorn hair tip exposed. It looked like a war-damaged version straight from Iraq—even an Auror who frequently used their wand in combat wouldn't let it deteriorate this badly.
"As far as I know, Ron, you're only eleven, right? How did you come to use such an old wand?" Tver asked, placing the wand back into Ron's hand.
Ron awkwardly gripped the wand, his ears flushing crimson. "It's my brother Charlie's wand. He's researching dragons in Romania."
"Hmm," Tver mused for a moment. "I must remind you that wands typically undergo a two-way selection with their owners. Using an unsuitable wand can severely limit your potential."
"For instance, today you scored only 31 points, but in my estimation, you should have achieved over 40 points based on your true ability."
"Therefore, I still recommend you find a wand more suited to you." He knew Ron's family situation, so he offered this gentle reminder, but ultimately, it would be up to Ron and his family to decide. After all, he was a teacher, not a babysitter.
He then walked over to Neville and placed the fifth chocolate bar gently beside him. Neville was actually the third student to last two minutes, but his casting speed was inherently slow, and his reactions weren't quick. More importantly, he was prone to spell failures.
Thus, though equally exhausted and drenched in sweat, he ended up with the class's lowest score: 21 points.
Tver crouched beside Neville, but the boy, filled with guilt, avoided his gaze. "Remember what I told you in our first lesson?"
Neville gave a slight nod but said nothing.
"Remember, you are a wizard. Follow your instincts, and you'll unleash power beyond anyone's expectations."
"Try to forget the charm, forget the movements. Just wave your wand and seek the pure sensation of releasing magic."
"If you have any questions, come find me anytime, okay?"
Only then did Neville whisper, "Thank you, Professor."
"Eat the chocolate." Tver stood up, patted his shoulder, and walked to the front of the classroom.
"Everyone, hurry up and finish your chocolate," Tver scanned the room. Several students had only taken a bite. "I prepared this especially for you. If you don't eat it now, there won't be another chance."
The students swallowed their chocolate in one gulp, immediately wincing at the bitterness. Yet a wave of warmth spread through their bodies, instantly banishing their fatigue.
"Now, the top scorer this time is Harry Potter. Therefore, Gryffindor will receive ten points as a reward."
Only then did the students realize the meaning behind Tver's earlier applause for Harry—the first to perform, Potter, had proven to be the strongest!
Harry, who'd had the longest break, had already recovered. Grinning widely, he accepted his classmates' applause and cheers.
"We have one hour and ten minutes left in class, so I have one more small task for you." Tver distributed the exam papers from the lectern.
"See? The questions cover exactly what we just went over. Much of it was mentioned while you were playing the game. Finish it before class ends!"
The students immediately let out a chorus of disbelief. They'd thought they'd be spared the test, only to see it appear the moment they'd recovered. However, this exam wasn't particularly difficult. The fun, educational approach had effectively helped them grasp the material, so everyone finished before the bell rang. They even had ten minutes to spare.
Standing below the podium, Tver smiled at the students.
"Excellent work! I thought you might get so caught up in playing that you'd forget the material. As a reward, I'll give you these ten minutes for questions—just remember to raise your hands."
The classroom erupted in excitement instantly.
"Professor, do you have a girlfriend?"
"No personal questions, but I can tell you—no."
"Professor, how strong are you?"
"Hard to measure by any single standard, but more than enough to handle students."
"Then could you show us the lightball game?"
"Oh, you want to see it?"
The students shouted in unison: "Yes!"
"Alright then," Tver waved the light ball into existence, making it float above the students' heads. "My version is a bit different from yours, but the rules are similar."
As he spoke, he fired a green beam at the light ball. In that instant, the ball not only turned red but also leaped to another location. But it was useless. The same-colored light still struck it with pinpoint accuracy.
The orb kept darting around like this—one moment beside them, the next in a corner—never lingering longer than a second. Yet every time it appeared, it was hit with precision and speed.
The counter above kept ticking, but the students couldn't care less anymore. Their mouths gaped in astonishment, the spell's light painting their faces in shifting colors. Their heads darted back and forth between Tver and the orb, their eyes unable to keep up.
So they split into two groups: one watching the professor's hand as she continuously cast charms, the other keeping an eye on whether the orb was hit. Soon, everyone joined the first group. After all, the orbs were bound to get hit anyway—what was the point of watching that?!
For a moment, the entire classroom fell silent, broken only by the whistling of spells cutting through the air and the soft popping sounds of orbs being struck.
Two minutes later, the bell rang punctually, signaling the end of class. Tver retracted his wand. The number on the orb was now clearly visible.
"120."