Chapter 29: Privilege
Tamara did not even bother placing her hand above the broom.
She simply stared at the worn handle with obsidian eyes, as if her attention alone could bend matter.
"…Up."
The broom shuddered violently, then snapped up with a sharp whoosh, landing in Tamara's hand with almost subservient precision.
The surrounding Slytherins were already used to Tamara being unfairly competent. Those who had not managed it yet shouted at their brooms even louder, as if volume could make up for weakness.
Goyle, in particular, looked as though he had glimpsed his own funeral.
He had no desire to be tutored again.
Madam Hooch raised her whistle.
"Listen for my whistle. Three. Two…"
She never reached one.
Neville Longbottom, the round faced Gryffindor boy, panicked. Terrified of being the only one left on the ground, he kicked off before the signal.
"Come back, boy," Madam Hooch shouted.
Too late.
Neville shot upwards like a cork from a bottle. Twelve feet. Twenty.
Horror stretched his face as his hands strangled the broom handle. Then his body tilted.
He slipped.
He fell.
He hit the grass with a thud that made stomachs lurch, and a sickening crack followed.
Tamara stood only a few metres away. Even at that distance, she heard bone give way.
Neville lay curled on the ground, clutching his wrist and howling.
"My hand. My hand is broken. Waaaaah."
Madam Hooch rushed to him, face paling as she knelt.
"Oh dear," she murmured. "Yes, a broken wrist. Do not move, boy. Do not move."
Neville cried louder, tears and snot smearing his round face into a miserable mess.
Slytherins snickered. Gryffindors crowded in, talking over one another, frantic and helpless.
Tamara rubbed at her temples.
Too loud.
This undignified wailing was torture to her nerves.
She was about to turn away purely to escape the noise when the system chimed.
[ Ding! Injured patient detected. ]
[ Emergency quest triggered: Benevolent Healer. ]
[ Quest Description: Your classmate is in extreme pain. As one who has mastered the mysteries of life, rather than enduring the noise, why not show a miracle of mercy? This will make your image even more glorious and grand. ]
[ Reward: life +2. ]
Tamara paused.
Life plus two.
Every scrap mattered, and this would also make Longbottom stop making that sound.
"Move."
Tamara shoved past Goyle, who was blocking her path, and walked straight towards Neville.
Madam Hooch was preparing to help Neville up and take him to the hospital wing when she noticed the Slytherin girl approaching. Surprise flickered across her hawk like eyes.
"Miss Riddle, return to the line. I am taking Mr Longbottom to…"
"Stop shouting," Tamara said flatly.
She stopped beside Neville, looking down at him as though he were something unpleasant on the grass.
Neville was caught in her shadow and hiccupped, the crying stalling for a moment.
Tamara knelt and drew her holly wand, tip aimed at Neville's wrist, bent at a grotesque angle.
"What do you think you are doing?" Ron Weasley shouted, stepping forward with immediate suspicion. "Do not touch him."
Tamara did not even glance at him.
She looked at the fracture, and the spell pattern she had unlocked rose in her mind. She had not used it in this life, but once a spell was learned, it became a reflex.
"Episkey," she whispered.
A soft, cool white light flowed from the wand tip and wrapped Neville's wrist.
Snap.
The sound was crisp.
Neville's eyes flew wide. He expected agony, but all he felt was cool tingling.
Then the twisted bone shifted visibly back into place. Swelling faded. Skin smoothed.
Neville moved his fingers.
It worked.
It was fixed.
"…Eh?" he said stupidly, tears still clinging to his lashes.
The field fell silent.
Even Madam Hooch stood frozen, mouth open, staring at Tamara as if she had just seen something impossible.
"A healing charm," Madam Hooch blurted, voice jumping. "This is advanced magic, something you only encounter properly in sixth year, even seventh. You are a first year."
The students did not fully understand the academic weight of what she had said, but they had eyes.
They had seen a broken wrist mend in seconds.
A chorus of shocked gasps rippled across the lawn.
"What is so difficult about it?" Tamara rose and tucked her wand away as if she had merely brushed lint off her sleeve.
"It can be done as long as one understands a bit of anatomy and magical guidance."
She looked down at Neville, still sitting on the grass, and frowned.
"Why are you still on the ground? Waiting to become part of the lawn?"
Neville scrambled up at once, staring at Tamara as if Merlin had walked out of a storybook.
"Th thank you," he managed.
[ Ding! Quest completed: Benevolent Healer. ]
[ You have healed a classmate with divine skill and refreshed the Professor's worldview. ]
[ Reward: life +2. ]
[ Current life: 14. ]
Tamara brushed imaginary dust from her robes, satisfied.
"All right," Madam Hooch said at last, recovering with effort. Her expression as she looked at Tamara was complicated in ways a first year should not inspire.
"Although the wrist is set, Mr Longbottom still must go to the hospital wing for Madam Pomfrey to check it. It was a fracture."
She straightened, eyes still wide.
"As for Miss Riddle, twenty points to Slytherin for astonishing talent and timely assistance."
Madam Hooch helped Neville away. Before leaving she barked at the class, "No one moves until I return. Anyone who does will be out of Hogwarts."
The moment she left, the rule became a decorative suggestion.
"Did you see his face?" Draco crowed, bending to pick up the glass ball Neville had dropped, the Remembrall.
"Great big lump."
"Give it here, Malfoy," Harry Potter said, stepping forward. His voice had gone low and dangerous.
"I think I will leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find," Draco said with a smirk, swinging onto his broom. "How about the top of that tree."
"No," Harry shouted.
He grabbed his broom, mounted, and kicked off hard into the air.
Tamara did not move to stop the farce.
She had just gained two life points and was in an excellent mood. Watching a few children make fools of themselves sounded almost relaxing.
She crossed her arms and tilted her head, watching two figures chase each other above the grass.
More specifically, she watched Harry Potter.
The bespectacled boy displayed shocking talent.
It was his first time on a broom, yet he flew like he belonged in the sky. He dived, banked, accelerated, movements smooth and instinctive, as if he had spent ten years in the air.
And that final fifty foot vertical dive to catch the Remembrall.
Typical Gryffindor, Tamara thought with quiet contempt.
This was exactly the kind of recklessness Dumbledore adored. Impulsive. Heroic. Willing to risk death for applause.
In contrast, Tom Riddle had never been recognised.
Professor McGonagall rushed out then, sharp and furious, and ordered Harry down at once.
Harry was led away.
Draco landed with a triumphant grin.
"He is finished," Draco said gleefully to the Slytherins. "He's going to be expelled. First Flying lesson and he's already doomed."
The Slytherins cheered.
Only Tamara did not smile.
"Do not celebrate too early, Draco," she said, gaze fixed in the direction McGonagall had taken Harry.
Draco blinked. "What do you mean? Madam Hooch said anyone who moves will be expelled."
"Professor McGonagall's face was not the face of someone catching a criminal," Tamara replied coolly.
She turned slightly, voice cutting through Draco's excitement like cold water.
"The way she looked at Potter was like a goblin looking at a pile of Galleons."
Her lips curled in a mocking smile.
"If I am not mistaken, Gryffindor is about to welcome the youngest Seeker of the century."
"Impossible," Draco shrieked. "First years are not allowed brooms. It is a school rule."
"School rules." Tamara gave a soft, contemptuous laugh and tossed her battered broom back into the heap.
"Draco, do you not understand yet?"
"In this world, rules are used to constrain the mediocre."
Her eyes were cold.
"For the privileged, or the so called saviour, rules are only decorations, meant to be broken."
.....
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