Harry Potter : Reincarnated as The Greatest Wizard

The first to step forward was a third-year student, practically vibrating with excitement. He gripped his wand tightly, took a deep breath, and shouted, "Depulso!" with as much force as he could muster. A small blast of magic shot forward, struck the target… and a dull number flickered on its chest: 15. There was a beat of silence. Then—laughter. The chuckles and amused whispers from the crowd made the poor student's face burn with embarrassment.

"Calm down," Alex said, his voice firm but not unkind. "Yelling the incantation doesn't make the spell any stronger. Focus on your intent and try again." The student swallowed nervously, nodded, and closed his eyes. He replayed Alex's instructions in his mind, inhaled deeply, and cast the spell again. This time, the number climbed to 21. Still low, but noticeably better.

"Good, that's progress," Alex nodded approvingly. "Keep practicing this method outside of class. Step back—next!" The student, still a little dissatisfied, stepped aside. But the next student fared even worse. His first attempt barely reached 13, and even after three retries under Alex's guidance, he only managed 20 at best.

That result sent a wave of unease through the remaining third-years. Was it really this difficult? They had laughed at the first student, yet their own spells weren't faring any better.

For the first time, the students were forced to confront the actual level of their skill. Many had assumed they were competent—after all, they could cast the spells. But now that their abilities were being measured objectively, they realized the truth: most of them were barely above average. Of course, Alex wasn't surprised.

These third-years rarely had the opportunity to practice spells outside of class. While Depulso was introduced in third-year Defense Against the Dark Arts, it wasn't properly tested until fourth year. Most students simply assumed they were good at it without any real proof. Reality, however, was often disappointing.

One by one, the third-years took their turns. Their results mostly fell between 20 and 25, with a few slightly below. Then, the last third-year stepped forward—and completely shattered their expectations. The moment his spell struck the target, a loud, forceful impact echoed through the hall. The sound alone was enough to tell it was different. A moment later, the number 53 flickered onto the target's chest. A beat of stunned silence. Then—gasps and exclamations.

The gathered students gawked at the number in disbelief. Not just the third-years—even the older students were shocked. Standing in front of the target, wide-eyed, was David, a third-year who had been under Alex's training for the past two years. He stared at the number, stunned. It was only now, seeing the results so clearly displayed, that he realized just how much he had improved under Alex's guidance. But before he could bask in his achievement, Alex's voice cut through the air, unimpressed. "You holding back?"

The hall fell silent again. David flinched slightly under Alex's sharp gaze. "W-What? No, Prefect, I—"

Alex's eyes narrowed. "I remember your spell trajectory being faster last year. What happened? You get lazy over the summer? Did you start slacking off with Charles and the others?"

David, still processing his own strength, tensed up immediately. "N-No! I didn't slack off, I swear! I just… didn't focus enough! I'll try again! I can definitely hit the standard!"

Alex gave him an unimpressed look. "Forget it. Don't waste time here. Get back to training. If your next practice session is at this level, you will be getting special training."

The moment he heard those two words, David visibly paled. His body went rigid, and for a split second, it looked like he had seen something truly horrifying. "Understood, Prefect!" he blurted out before quickly stepping aside, as if escaping something terrifying.

The watching students, meanwhile, were still reeling. 'David's spell was already leagues ahead of the others—yet Alex treated it as mediocre?' Their eyes darted between Alex and David, their minds racing with the same thought: 'Could David's strength be because of Alex's training?'

Looking at the scene, the younger students felt something shift in their perception of Alex. He had always been impressive, but this was something else entirely. The more they thought they understood him, the more mysteries emerged.

Alex ignored their staring and continued with the training. When the fourth-years stepped up, their spell output was noticeably higher than the third-years'. For example, Mona's initial spell registered at 20, but after some quick adjustments from Alex, she managed 27-28 on her second attempt. With a bit more practice, she would likely hit the standard 30 soon.

Overall, the fourth-years' scores ranged between 25-32, though most still failed to meet the standard. But this time, they weren't just disappointed. They were humiliated. Many of them were stunned to realize that even with a year of extra learning, they weren't as strong as a third-year—specifically, David.

The gap wasn't small, either. It was massive. To make matters worse, some of them technically had decent grades in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Mona, for instance, was confident she could score an E (Exceeds Expectations) on the final exam. But seeing the numbers on the target made her stomach twist.

The problem was clear. Hogwarts professors didn't have standardized measuring tools like this. They could only estimate spell strength based on experience. And that meant that a spell felt strong didn't mean it was strong. Alex, however, had no patience for vague estimations. He wasn't interested in students barely scraping by. He wanted real results. And the students were quickly realizing that under his system, there would be no room for complacency.

By the time the fifth-years stepped up to practice, their spellcasting fundamentals were solid. Most of their Depulso spells exceeded 30 points, and the average hovered close to 40, with a few even surpassing that threshold. However, despite their decent scores, many of them felt embarrassed. Why? Because David—a third-year—had casually scored 53 points before them.

Even though their performance was objectively good, it now felt lacking by comparison. To their surprise, Alex actually praised them, telling them they were doing well. But rather than making them feel proud, it only deepened their sense of shame. How could they be satisfied when a third-year outperformed them? No way.

'From now on, we have to train harder.' Many of them made a silent vow right then and there—they refused to be outdone by a younger student. But the real shock came when Vivian stepped forward. On her first attempt, she cast a spell that hit 52 points—just shy of David's score.

A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd. 'Vivian? Vivian?!' The cheerful, gossip-loving girl who spent most of her time either playing Quidditch or dragging people into impromptu poker games in the common room? That Vivian? No one had expected her to be this strong. Alex, however, wasn't nearly as impressed. He gave Vivian a long, speechless stare before muttering, "This is the result of all your training? You still can't beat David?" Vivian, far from being embarrassed, simply stuck out her tongue playfully. She clearly didn't care. Alex sighed. 'Hopeless.'