"Move! You stupid thing!"
Goyle cursed while waving his wand forcefully: "Wingar—dium—Levio—sah!"
His pronunciation was a disaster, turning the incantation into something resembling a scream of agony.
The feather had been poked into a mess by him.
Crabbe, next to him, wasn't doing any better; he was blowing on his feather, trying to cheat through physical means.
Watching this scene, the veins on Tamara's temples throbbed.
Taking this group out would be an embarrassment to Slytherin, and even more of an embarrassment to her as Voldemort.
Just as she was about to turn her head away to avoid the headache...
[Ding! Detected that your team members are 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 but also be able to drive the progress of your team. How can you tolerate your lackeys being unable to float even a single feather? That is an insult to your leadership abilities!]
[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 took a deep breath.
She looked at Goyle's face, which had turned the color of pig liver, and the feather that had been poked into something resembling a feather duster.
"System," she asked coldly in her mind, "can I choose to just give him a Cruciatus Curse to make him fly?"
[You cannot, dear. Please use the education of love.]
Love, my foot.
Tamara turned around, her ice-cold eyes locking onto Goyle.
Goyle felt a surge of killing intent and shuddered, nearly dropping his wand.
"Ta... Tamara?" he stammered.
"What are you doing, Goyle?"
Tamara's voice was soft, yet it made one's hair stand on end. "Are you trying to give this feather a massage?"
"It... it won't move..." Goyle said aggrievedly. "I think my wand is broken."
Tamara walked to his side, reached out, and gripped Goyle's thick wrist.
"Relax your wrist," she commanded.
Goyle's wrist was as stiff as a rock.
"I said, relax." Tamara's voice turned cold, her fingers tightening as her nails dug into Goyle's flesh.
"Hiss— Okay! Okay! It's relaxed!"
Tamara guided his hand through a standard motion. "It's a swish and a flick, not flailing around like you're hitting a mole with a club."
"Wingardium Leviosa. Repeat after me."
"Wingar... dium..." Goyle was sweating buckets.
It was like playing a lute to a cow.
After a full three minutes, Goyle was still the same; the feather seemed glued to the desk.
Tamara's patience was exhausted.
The so-called education of love was declared a failure.
She released Goyle's hand, leaned down slightly, and leaned into Goyle's ear.
Her voice was very low, so low that only Goyle could hear it. Gone was the previous guidance; there was only a pure, hellish chill.
"Listen, Goyle."
"I'm giving you one last chance."
Tamara extended a finger and pointed at the large open window of the classroom, which was a good four stories above the ground.
"See that window?"
Goyle nodded tremblingly.
"If you cannot make this damn feather fly within the next minute..."
The corners of Tamara's mouth curled into a cruel smile, the trademark smile of the Dark Lord.
"...I will throw you out of that window."
"Though you are heavy, I believe it won't be hard to throw you out with a Levitation Charm. You will fly very high, and then..."
"Splat on the ground like a rotten watermelon."
Goyle's pupils shrank violently, and his face instantly turned deathly pale.
For some reason, he didn't doubt Tamara's words—not in the slightest.
That sense of terror instantly pierced through his dull brain, activating the survival instincts hidden within his body.
"Now, show me."
Tamara straightened up, resuming her cold expression, and stood to the side with her arms crossed.
Goyle swallowed hard. He felt like that window was beckoning to him.
"Win... Wingardium Leviosa!!!"
Goyle practically roared the incantation with a sob.
It was a cry from the soul.
It was a longing for life.
The wand in his hand gave a sudden swish.
Boom—!
The feather didn't float up elegantly.
It was as if it had been fitted with a rocket booster; with a 'whoosh', it shot straight up, slammed hard into the ceiling, and then was bounced off by the massive force, zig-zagging wildly around the classroom.
"Ah! It flew! It flew!"
Goyle shouted excitedly, tears nearly streaming down his face. "Tamara! Look! I did it! Don't throw me!"
Professor Flitwick was startled by the commotion.
He looked at the feather flying higher than anyone else's; although it had no aesthetic value to speak of, it was indeed flying.
"Oh! Though the magic output was a bit... excessive."
Professor Flitwick praised: "But it was indeed successful! It seems Miss Riddle is truly an excellent tutor, to be able to have Mr. Goyle master the essentials so quickly!"
"Another five points to Slytherin! For this spirit of mutual assistance!"
Tamara looked at Goyle, who was still wiping away cold sweat, and the [Mission Complete] notification popping up on the system panel.
[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 to dance ballet."
The bell for the end of class rang.
Goyle practically slumped into his chair, looking at Tamara with eyes full of awe and terror—a terror far deeper than any he felt for any Professor.
"Let's go."
Tamara straightened her cuffs and walked out of the classroom without looking back.
"If you're this stupid next time, Goyle..."
Her voice drifted back lightly.
"...we'll move the class to a higher floor."