Light Orb Game (Happy Weekend)

Harry immediately fired a green beam at the glowing orb, hitting it with precision.

A flicker of excitement rose in his heart, and a smile finally appeared on his face.

But the next second, he understood what the professor's warning had meant.

After being hit, the orb not only turned red and displayed the number 1 in its center, but also began to move slowly and erratically!

He hurriedly fired another red beam, but it only grazed past the orb and struck the white wall, standing out conspicuously.

At the same time, the orb darted upward, right into the direction he had just fired.

Anxious, he sent out the same kind of beam without thinking, and naturally missed again.

"Don't rush," Tver's voice sounded at just the right moment. "The orb moves very slowly. Predict its trajectory a little and lead your shot, and you'll be able to hit it."

Harry took a deep breath, watched the orb drift slowly to the left, then fired a red beam ahead of it. This time, he barely clipped the edge of the orb.

The orb was larger than the beams they cast, so hitting its edge still counted as an accurate strike.

After getting the hang of it, Harry could hit the orb twice out of every three shots. The only problem was that he sometimes got too anxious and cast the wrong color of beam.

And the further he went, the more exhausted he became. Simply holding up his wand for two minutes was enough to make his arm ache, let alone continuously releasing magic.

So 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 other students belatedly join in.

He knew just how well Harry had performed. Honestly, he had not expected many students to even last two minutes.

This was also a kind of endurance test. After one minute, the students would begin to feel tired; a minute and a half was probably their limit. Unless they pushed past that limit, they would have to stop for ten seconds between every spell in the final half-minute.

The students who followed proved his expectations right, and their performances were even worse than he had anticipated.

Half the students could only score around thirty-five points in the end, basically all earned during the first minute. During the second minute, they spent more time resting than casting magic.

The remaining students scored no more than fifty points. They were capable of enduring until their limits, but they were prone to slackening off and unwilling to try pushing beyond them.

Aside from Harry, the only one who gritted her teeth and persisted was Hermione. It was as if she were holding back a breath, determined to put on a good performance in front of Tver.

She ultimately scored 52 points, but she was completely drained. Tver had to support her back, and it took several pieces of chocolate before she recovered.

That was the true state of the students.

At first, they had all been eager to try. But when it was their own turn, they became so tired they only wanted to give up. Once it was over, though, they were excitedly eager to try again.

However, two students had performed rather strangely.

While all the students lay sprawled across their desks, excitedly discussing their performances, Tver walked over to Ron.

"Mr. Weasley, may I see your wand?"

Ron froze. It was only when Tver asked a second time that he hurriedly wiped his wand on the inside of his robes and handed it over.

The moment he saw the wand, Tver knew why Ron had performed so poorly.

It was an extremely old wand. Parts of its outer layer had peeled away, exposing the grain of the wood beneath, and even the unicorn hair at its tip was slightly exposed.

It looked like a battle-damaged wand from Iraq. Even Aurors who regularly fought with their wands would not wear one down to such a state.

"As far as I know, Ron, you're only eleven, aren't you? Why are you using such an old wand?"

As Tver spoke, he placed the wand back into Ron's hand.

Ron awkwardly gripped the wand tighter, his ears turning bright red. "It was my brother Charlie's wand. He studies dragons in Romania."

"Hmm." Tver pondered for a moment. "I need to remind you that wands generally choose their owners as much as their owners choose them. Using an unsuitable wand can greatly limit your abilities."

"For example, you only scored 31 points today, but in my opinion, scoring over forty would better reflect your actual ability."

"So I still suggest that you replace it with a wand that suits you better."

He knew Ron's family circumstances, so he had only come over to offer a reminder. What to do next was something Ron would have to discuss with his family.

After all, he was a teacher, not a nanny.

Then he walked over to Neville and gently set down a fifth piece of chocolate.

Neville had actually been the third person to last the full two minutes, but his casting speed was slow to begin with, and his reactions were not quick either.

More importantly, his spells were prone to failing.

So despite being just as exhausted and drenched in sweat, he had ended up with the lowest score in the class: 21 points.

Tver crouched beside Neville, but Neville guiltily avoided his gaze.

"Do you remember what I told you in our first lesson?"

Neville nodded slightly but said nothing.

"Remember, you are a wizard. Follow your instincts, and you can display strength beyond anyone's expectations."

"You can try forgetting the spell, forgetting the technique. Just wave your wand and seek out the feeling of releasing magic in its purest form."

"If you have any problems, you can come find me at any time, all right?"

Only then did Neville say softly, "Thank you, Professor."

"Eat the chocolate." Tver stood and patted him on the shoulder before walking toward the podium.

"Finish your chocolate while you have the chance," Tver said, sweeping his gaze around the room. Several students had only taken a single bite of theirs. "I prepared this especially for you. If you don't eat it this time, there won't be another chance."

Only then did those students swallow their chocolate in one bite. The bitterness made them frown immediately, but warmth soon spread through their bodies, and their exhaustion vanished in an instant.

"So, first place this time goes to Harry Potter, which means Gryffindor will receive ten points."

Only then did the students realize why Tver had applauded Harry earlier. So Potter, who had gone first, was actually the strongest!

Harry, who had rested the longest, had already recovered. He grinned as he accepted his classmates' applause and cheers.

"We still have an hour and ten minutes left in this lesson, so you have one small task remaining."

Tver handed out the test papers from the podium.

"See? The questions cover exactly what we just did. I mentioned many of them while you were playing the game, so finish them before class ends!"

The students immediately let out disbelieving wails. They had thought they would not have to do a test paper, but the moment they had recovered, they found one in front of them.

However, the test was not particularly difficult this time, and the entertaining teaching method had helped the students understand the material well, so everyone finished before class ended.

There were even ten minutes left.

Tver stood below the podium and looked at the students with a smile.

"Very good. I thought you would play so much that you'd forget the material. As a reward, you can use these ten minutes to ask questions. Remember to raise your hands."

The classroom instantly erupted with excitement.

"Professor, do you have a girlfriend?"

"I don't answer personal questions, but I can tell you this: no."

"Professor, how strong are you?"

"It's hard to describe with a single standard, but I'm more than capable of dealing with students."

"Then can you show us how to play the light orb game?"

"Oh, you want to see?"

The students shouted in unison, "Yes!"

"Fine." Tver conjured a light orb and let it float above the students' heads. "The version I play is a little different from yours, but the rules are roughly the same."

As soon as he finished speaking, he fired a streak of green light at the orb. At that very moment, the orb not only turned red, but also jumped to another location.

But it was useless. A beam of the same color still struck it with perfect accuracy.

The orb kept shifting in sudden jumps, appearing beside them one moment and in a corner the next, never staying in one place for more than a second.

Yet every time it appeared, it was struck swiftly and precisely.

The counter above it kept climbing, but the students no longer cared about that.

They stared with their mouths agape, the multicolored glow of spells reflecting off their faces. Their heads turned back and forth between Tver and the light orb a few times before their eyes could no longer keep up.

So they could only split their attention into two groups: one watched the professor's hand as it continuously cast spells, while the other watched to see whether the orb was hit.

Very quickly, everyone became part of the first group.

The orb was going to get hit no matter what—what was the point of watching that?!

For a moment, the entire classroom fell silent. The only sounds were the whooshing of spells tearing through the air and the soft pa of the light orb being struck.

Two minutes later, the bell rang right on time, and Tver lowered his wand.

The number above the light orb was clearly visible.

"120"