She didn't even place her hand above the broom, merely staring intently at the worn broomstick with her obsidian eyes.
"...Up."
The broom on the ground shuddered violently and snapped up with a whoosh, landing precisely—and almost subserviently—into Tamara's hand.
The surrounding Slytherins were already accustomed to Tamara's excellence; to avoid shaming her, the few who hadn't succeeded yet shouted at their brooms on the ground even more vigorously.
Goyle, in particular, was truly terrified that Tamara would personally tutor him again.
Just then, Madam Hooch blew her whistle.
"Listen for my whistle—three—two—"
However, she never reached "one."
Neville Longbottom, the round-faced Gryffindor boy, was so nervous and afraid of being left on the ground that he kicked off hard before the whistle blew.
"Come back, boy!" Madam Hooch shouted.
But Neville was like a cork popping out of a champagne bottle, shooting straight up into the sky. Twelve feet, twenty feet... horror was written all over his face as his hands gripped the broomstick for dear life, and then his body tilted.
With a scream, Neville slipped from mid-air and fell heavily onto the grass.
Along with the scream came a sickening crack.
Tamara stood not far away; even from a few meters, she could clearly hear the sound of bone snapping.
Neville lay on the grass, clutching his wrist, letting out heart-wrenching wails.
"My hand! My hand is broken! Waaaah..."
Madam Hooch rushed over, her face pale as she bent down to check.
"Oh, dear... yes, a broken wrist," Madam Hooch whispered. "Don't move, boy, don't move."
Neville cried even louder, snot and tears mixing together, making a complete mess of his round face.
The Slytherin students were snickering, while the Gryffindors were frantically discussing what to do; the scene was pure chaos.
Tamara rubbed her temples impatiently.
Too noisy.
This undignified crying was absolute torture to her auditory nerves.
Just as she was about to turn away to avoid the irritation,
[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's footsteps paused.
Life +2.
Every little bit counts, and this was indeed a good way to make Neville shut up.
"Move."
Tamara pushed aside Goyle, who was blocking her path, and walked straight toward Neville.
Madam Hooch was about to help Neville up to take him to the hospital wing when she suddenly saw a Slytherin girl approaching and couldn't help but blink in surprise.
"Miss Riddle? Please return to the line, I'm taking Mr. Longbottom to..."
"Stop shouting."
Tamara said coldly.
She walked up to the still-howling Neville and looked down at him from above.
Enveloped by her shadow, Neville was startled into a hiccup, and his crying paused for a moment.
Tamara knelt down and drew her holly wand, the tip pointing at Neville's wrist, which was bent at a grotesque angle.
"What do you think you're doing?" Ron Weasley shouted warily from the side. "Don't touch him!"
Tamara didn't even give him a glance.
She looked at the broken bone, and the patterns of the spell she had unlocked previously surfaced in her mind.
Though she hadn't used it in this life, once learned, it became instinct.
"Episkey."
She whispered.
A soft, cool white light surged from the wand tip, instantly enveloping Neville's wrist.
"Snap."