Harry Potter : Reincarnated as The Greatest Wizard

Wilkes hesitated, caught off guard by the calm tone in Alex's voice, but quickly recovered. Turning to his friend Travers, he muttered, "He wants to talk. Fine, let's hear him out."

With a smug chuckle, Wilkes and six others followed Alex through the dimly lit corridors to an abandoned women's bathroom on the second floor. Alex leaned casually against the windowsill, waiting as the group filed in.

Wilkes stepped forward, his smirk dripping with mockery. "What's this, Alex? Feeling bold today? Usually, you just skulk around the halls like a scared little rat. What's changed?"

Travers snickered, chiming in. "Yeah, maybe he heard about those idiots who got attacked. Thought he'd be next and figured he'd try to butter us up."

The group closed in, their sneers widening. Alex's expression, however, softened. He looked at them almost… pityingly. "I'm sorry."

Wilkes raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion. "Didn't quite catch that. What did you say?"

Alex's voice dropped, calm but sharp as a blade. "I said, I'm sorry. I've let you all live too comfortably. I thought of you as just a pack of children—not worth my time." He sighed, his gaze steady. "That was my mistake, and for that, I sincerely apologize. Because as of today… I'm done showing mercy."

Before Wilkes could react, Alex clapped his hands together. A surge of magical energy erupted in the room, and suddenly, two massive, glowing hands of raw force materialized, slamming together with a deafening crash. The group was caught in the middle, knocked to the floor as shockwaves of pain wracked their bodies.

Wilkes and one of his fourth-year friends, tougher than the rest, managed to stagger to their feet, drawing their wands with trembling hands. But before they could cast even a simple spell, Alex's eyes narrowed, and two bright, crackling curses shot from his fingers. The force of the magic hit the two like a charging Hippogriff, sending them flying backward to crash into the wall. They crumpled to the ground in stunned silence.

Alex raised his left hand, muttering an incantation. Seven wands flew from their owners' grasps into his outstretched palm. He clenched his fist around them, his expression cold and calculating. After a near ambush last Christmas, he'd made it a habit to disarm every opponent in every fight. No exceptions.

One boy, barely able to lift himself off the ground, let out a desperate cry. "Help! Somebody help us!"

"You're dead, Alex! You hear me? Dead!" Travers snarled, his voice laced with venom despite the pain twisting his face.

Alex ignored the shouts and threats, his focus locked on Wilkes. He advanced slowly, his calm demeanor more chilling than any shout. "Don't waste your breath," Alex said, his tone almost bored. "I cast a muffling charm. No one's coming to save you."

Wilkes stumbled back, fear flickering across his face as his bravado crumbled. "W-What do you want? Listen, if you let us go, I won't report this. Just… just apologize, and maybe I can forget this ever happened."

Alex's foot came down hard on Wilkes' chest, pinning him to the cold floor. "Didn't I already try making peace with you? Now it's your turn to answer my questions," he said, his voice dangerously calm. He leaned closer. "Tell me what you know about the Death Eater attack on the Longbottoms."

Wilkes coughed, clawing at Alex's shoe. "I don't know anything! I swear!"

Alex's jaw tightened. His anger at Voldemort's reign and the recent attacks simmered beneath the surface. He hadn't been able to help the Potters or the Longbottoms, but he wasn't about to let these spoiled, arrogant brats walk away unscathed.

Wilkes forced a sneer, his fear briefly giving way to defiance. "You're here for those Longbottom losers? They got what they deserved for trusting the wrong people. Waste your pity on them if you want, but you're barking up the wrong tree."

Alex's face twisted in disgust. Without hesitation, he pressed his foot harder into Wilkes' stomach, earning a strangled cry of pain. "Still acting tough. Fine," Alex said coldly. He waved his wand, and the rest of the boys were hoisted into the air, flipping upside down like ragdolls.

The curse was one Alex had learned from Sirius, and he used it now without hesitation. Reaching into his robes, Alex pulled out a thick stack of parchment and turned his attention back to Wilkes. "I don't usually resort to this with kids," he said almost conversationally, "but for you, I'll make an exception."

With a flick of his wand, Alex bound Wilkes' hands and feet. The boy thrashed, panic setting in. "What are you doing? You can't do this! Let me go!"

Alex ignored the protests, holding up a sheet of parchment. Wilkes' eyes widened as Alex muttered a spell. The parchment stretched, covering Wilkes' face like a second skin. "Aguamenti," Alex whispered, and a steady stream of water poured onto the paper, soaking it through. Wilkes began to thrash violently, choking as water seeped into his nose and mouth.

"You bastard! Are you trying to kill him?" Travers screamed from his suspended position.

"Silencio," Alex said calmly, silencing Travers with a flick of his wand. He watched dispassionately as Wilkes' struggles grew weaker, his pale face twitching as he teetered on the edge of consciousness. Finally, Alex pulled the parchment away, allowing Wilkes to gasp desperately for air, coughing and wheezing as he clung to life.

"Ready to talk now?" Alex asked, his tone sharp and emotionless.

Wilkes glared weakly, mustering just enough energy to spit in Alex's direction. The spit hung in the air before flipping back, landing on Wilkes' own face.

Alex smirked. "I admire the resilience," he said, his voice laced with mockery. "Lucky for you, I've got plenty of time now."

Wilkes gasped for air as Alex calmly prepared for another round of waterboarding. Each time Wilkes began to lose consciousness, Alex would pull the soaked cloth off his face, allowing him a brief moment to suck in air before starting again. This cycle repeated eight times, leaving Wilkes trembling uncontrollably, his body drained of every ounce of energy. He was so worn out that even the thought of struggling felt impossible.