Chapter 25: Patient Guidance
The Charms classroom sat at the end of a corridor on the fourth floor.
Compared to the gloomy dungeons and the garlic soaked misery of Defence Against the Dark Arts, it felt almost luxurious.
Afternoon sunlight poured through tall arched windows, lighting up mountain like stacks of spellbooks and turning the dust in the air into drifting gold.
At the front, Professor Filius Flitwick stood on top of a high pile of books, doing his best to be seen over the desks. He looked like a cheerful little king on a paper throne.
"Now, roll call," he squeaked, unrolling a parchment.
He read through the names briskly. When he reached Tamara Riddle, his voice faltered for the smallest moment, though it might have been imagination.
He peered over his thick spectacles. His eyes were sharp, curious, studying Tamara with a kind of careful interest. There was no fear in that gaze. Only assessment.
"Riddle… ah, yes."
Professor Flitwick rubbed his hands, nearly slipping off his book stack in his excitement.
"Several Professors have spoken to me about you, Miss Riddle. Extraordinary talent, they say. I hope you will bring us a few surprises in Charms."
Tamara dipped her head, polite and distant.
"I will do my best, Professor."
"Excellent. Then, let us begin."
With a wave of his wand, Flitwick sent a pure white feather floating to each student.
"Today we are learning one of the most basic, yet most important spells, the Levitation Charm."
His voice rose with enthusiasm.
"It is not simply making an object fly. It tests fine control and concentration."
He drew the wand movement on the board, lines neat and clear.
"Do not forget the wrist movement we have practised," Flitwick said, waving his arms like an excited conductor. "Swish and flick. Swish and flick."
"And the pronunciation. Wingardium Leviosa. Make the gar nice and long, and the o clear."
The moment the theory ended, the room filled with rising and falling voices.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
Draco Malfoy was, as usual, the most eager.
He followed the instructions, wrist loose and flexible, and performed a decent swish and flick. The feather wobbled twice, then lifted, hovering about two feet above his head.
"Look. I did it," Draco shouted, turning to Tamara with bright satisfaction. "How about this time? Perfect enough?"
Tamara glanced at the feather, still trembling faintly as if it might drop at any second.
"The control is acceptable, Draco," she said.
Then her gaze returned to the feather on her own desk.
She did not shout the spell. She did not exaggerate the motion.
She held her wand as if it were an expensive quill.
Her wrist traced a subtle arc.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
The feather did not merely rise.
It danced.
It lifted smoothly from the tabletop and spiralled through the air in a graceful curve. Under Tamara's wand, it began to waltz in mid air, spinning, leaping, hovering with frightening precision. There was not a single unnecessary tremor.
With a gentle tap, Tamara sent it gliding in front of Draco. It brushed the tip of his nose with its quill, then drifted back into Tamara's palm like a well trained pet.
"Oh."
Professor Flitwick gasped, so delighted he nearly toppled his tower of books.
"Brilliant."
He jumped down and hurried to Tamara's desk, staring at the feather as if it were a rare artefact.
"This kind of control, it is as though you have given the feather life."
"Ten points to Slytherin, for that wonderful demonstration."
Tamara allowed herself a faint smile.
A charm at this level was as simple as breathing.
She was just beginning to enjoy the calm that belonged to a top student when a dull thud sounded at her side.
Goyle was sweating heavily. He gripped his wand like a poker and jabbed viciously at the feather on his desk.
"Move, you stupid thing."
He stabbed again.
"Wingar dium Levio sah."
His pronunciation was a catastrophe. It sounded less like a spell and more like a dying scream. The feather had been poked into a mangled mess.
Crabbe was not doing any better. He was literally blowing on his feather, trying to cheat with breath as though physics could substitute for magic.
Tamara felt a vein pulse at her temple.
To be associated with them was embarrassing. For Slytherin. For her.
She was about to look away, purely to save herself the headache, when the system chimed.
[ Ding! Detected team members undergoing a severe test of their IQ. ]
[ Triggered mission: Leave No One Behind. ]
[ Mission Description: As an excellent leader, you must not only be powerful yourself, you must drive the progress of your team. How can you tolerate your followers being unable to float a single feather? That is an insult to your leadership. ]
[ Mission Objective: Teach Gregory Goyle to use the Levitation Charm and have him successfully cast it once. ]
[ Reward: wisdom +1. Gregory Goyle's absolute loyalty increased, though he is already quite obedient. ]
Tamara drew a slow breath.
She looked at Goyle's face, now the colour of raw liver, and the feather that resembled a battered feather duster.
System, she asked coldly in her mind, can I choose to give him the Cruciatus Curse instead and make him fly that way?
[ You cannot, dear. Please use the education of love. ]
Love.
Tamara turned, eyes locking onto Goyle with icy focus.
He felt the shift like a knife at his throat and nearly dropped his wand.
"Ta Tamara," he stammered.
"What are you doing, Goyle?" Tamara's voice was soft, and that softness made it worse. "Are you trying to give the feather a massage?"
"It won't move," Goyle whined, miserable. "I think my wand's broken."
Tamara stepped beside him and closed her hand around his thick wrist.
"Relax your wrist."
His wrist stayed rigid as stone.
"I said, relax." Tamara's voice cooled further, and her fingers tightened until her nails bit into his skin.
"Hiss. All right. All right. It's relaxed."
Tamara guided his hand through the correct motion.
"It is swish and flick. Not flailing like you are trying to club a mole."
She leaned closer, tone clipped.
"Wingardium Leviosa. Repeat after me."
"Wingar… dium…" Goyle panted, sweating.
It felt like trying to teach a cow to play the lute.
Three full minutes passed.
The feather did not twitch.
Tamara's patience snapped.
The education of love was officially dead.
She released his wrist, leaned down slightly, and spoke into his ear so quietly that only he could hear.
The warmth left her voice.
What remained was pure, hellish cold.
"Listen, Goyle."
"I am giving you one last chance."
She pointed towards the large open window. Four storeys above the ground, clear enough that you could imagine the drop.
"See that window?"
Goyle nodded, trembling.
"If you cannot make this feather fly in the next minute," Tamara murmured, smiling with the cruel curve of someone who had once inspired terror across continents, "I will throw you out of it."
Her voice stayed calm, almost conversational.
"You are heavy, but a Levitation Charm will make it easy enough. You will fly very high, and then…"
She paused.
"Splat on the ground like a rotten watermelon."
Goyle's pupils shrank. His face turned a sick, pale grey.
He did not doubt her. Not for a second.
Fear stabbed through whatever dull fog usually lived in his head and lit up something primal.
Survival.
"Now," Tamara said, straightening. She resumed her cold expression and stepped aside, arms folded. "Show me."
Goyle swallowed hard, eyes flicking towards the window as if it were already calling him.
Then he raised his wand with shaking hands.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
It came out as a roar, cracked with panic.
A sob shaped into words.
A plea for life.
His wand performed a sudden, desperate swish.
The feather did not drift up elegantly.
It shot upwards as if it had been strapped to a rocket. It slammed into the ceiling with a sharp smack, then ricocheted, zigzagging wildly across the classroom.
"It flew. It flew." Goyle shouted, half laughing, half crying. "Tamara. Look. I did it. Don't throw me."
Professor Flitwick startled at the commotion and looked up.
The feather was flying higher than anyone else's. It had no grace to speak of, but it was undeniably airborne.
"Oh. The magic output was a bit excessive," Flitwick said kindly, still pleased. "But it is successful."
He beamed.
"It seems Miss Riddle is truly an excellent tutor, to have Mr Goyle grasp the essentials so quickly."
"Another five points to Slytherin, for this spirit of mutual assistance."
Tamara watched Goyle wiping sweat from his brow while the system panel flashed its reward.
[ Mission complete. ]
[ wisdom +1. ]
[ Evaluation: It seems that compared to gentle guidance, fear is indeed the primary force of productivity. Worthy of you. ]
Tamara gave a contemptuous snort.
"With enough fear, even a troll could learn ballet."
The end of class bell rang.
Goyle practically collapsed into his chair, staring at Tamara with a mix of awe and terror, terror far deeper than anything he felt for any Professor.
"Let's go," Tamara said, straightening her cuffs and leaving without looking back.
Her voice floated over her shoulder, light as a blade.
"If you are this stupid next time, Goyle, we will move the lesson to a higher floor."
.....
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