Chapter 278: Naughty Kittens Deserve to Be Squished
"Meow—stop rubbing, meow! My fur's going to fall out, meow!"
In one corner of the water-blue space, a little black cat with white paws was being mercilessly manhandled by Sothia. It had tried to escape more times than it could count, but every time it bolted, a pale-blue stream of water hooked it back and dropped it neatly into those deceptively delicate hands.
"Relax. I'm very gentle. I won't make your fur fall out."
Her words said "gentle"; her fingers very clearly did not.
That's what you get for refusing to come with me earlier. Hmph. Naughty kittens have to be squished half to death.
After giving the black cat's head another thorough rub, Sothia hugged it against her and, thoroughly satisfied, lifted her eyes to the shifting panels of water in front of her.
Within each panel, a student was being chased around by a water-blue dark creature. A few tried to fight back, but most of the attacks were weak or clumsy. Only a handful had managed to properly "kill" the things pursuing them.
Even so, this batch of second-years was doing far better than the older students. She had dialled the difficulty down for them, of course, but even allowing for that, most of them were already at about the level of a Beauxbatons second-year.
Some were stronger. A few even outstripped the best second-year witch she'd seen when she'd toured Beauxbatons with Madame Olympe Maxime.
Maybe that was because they'd had practical training from Tina for half a year.
She glanced at the marked views—those she'd flagged as "special attention"—and then down at the panels full of flailing, struggling students. Sothia shook her head helplessly.
Today she'd taught three classes in total: second year, fourth year, and sixth year. It was enough to give her a rough picture of Hogwarts students' actual combat ability.
She hadn't seen the other years yet, but she doubted they'd be much different.
Arms folded, she frowned slightly.
Evans had been right. Hogwarts students weren't just a little weak in real combat. They were painfully so.
She'd spent years in the Great Lake and had known little of the wider magical world, but that had changed after she met Evans. Through him, and later through Madame Olympe Maxime and others, she'd been to Beauxbatons multiple times and gained a clear idea of what students in a proper magic school should be capable of.
Even among the sixth-years about to graduate, only a few of the names Evans had mentioned to her showed any instinct at all. The rest had no real sense of how to fight. On parchment, they were miles ahead of Beauxbatons: more spells learned, better theory, sharper casting. In a duel, though, Beauxbatons would wipe the floor with them.
That, she suspected, was the shape the Defence Against the Dark Arts "curse" had left behind.
She stroked the black kitten's head and raised her eyes to one of the marked panels.
In the first, a small witch with a very serious expression was firing spell after spell. None of them were at a level a second-year student should have been using, but she cast them easily, with the smoothness of long practice.
In front of her, three identical pale-blue Swallowtail Hounds were covered in cuts and gashes. They wouldn't last much longer.
In another panel, a boy in glasses with a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead was having a much rougher time. His spellwork wasn't as refined as the girl's, but he didn't fight like a textbook either. His thinking was flexible, his spells linked together cleverly, and the results were no worse than hers.
Wait—why was that little Wind Serpent she'd made earlier helping him?
Curious, Sothia reached out with her senses toward that particular construct. Interest flickered in her eyes.
To make the illusion feel real, she had modelled her creations exactly on the living creatures they were based on, altering only one trait: in combat, they would never flee. They would fight to the bitter end instead of scattering.
The boy had taken full advantage of that realism.
"Parseltongue, is it? That's quite a talent. Makes one want to tie him up and study him properly."
She watched Harry for a few more seconds, then turned to yet another panel.
This one showed a freckled, red-haired boy sprawled flat and completely unconscious. There wasn't much to see there.
She knew he was mostly the victim of bad luck. His collapse had very little to do with his actual strength.
Shaking her head, Sothia looked to the last panel she'd marked.
A blond boy in silver-and-green robes was facing down his foe with visible nerves. Unlike the little witch, he wasn't casting above his year level, but his fundamentals were solid. His only weaknesses were in tactics and positioning.
Evans had mentioned this student as well, though he hadn't had much chance to interact with him—the boy hadn't joined the Magical Creatures Club, so their paths rarely crossed.
Judging by this performance, he was a promising seedling. With the right training, he could be very good indeed.
"You really threw them straight into combat, did you?"
The familiar voice came from just behind her. Sothia looked around and grinned. "There you are."
Then she turned back to the water screens and said, quite reasonably, "You can't call this real combat. I'm their professor for at least the next few days. I need to know what I'm working with."
"And in the process, you managed to create a queue outside the hospital wing," Evans said dryly. "Would it have killed you to run this as a full illusion with no feedback? Then there'd be no actual pain."
"That wouldn't feel real," Sothia muttered. Then, in a smaller voice, "And how was I supposed to know their practical skills were this bad…"
"I distinctly remember telling you not to set your expectations too high."
Evans shook his head and studied the panels she had highlighted.
In most of the others, the duels were already over. Whether they had gone down swinging or simply been knocked out in seconds, most of the students had reached their endpoint.
The ones she'd picked out, though, were still going—and their opponents were increasing in number.
Clearly, Sothia had taken special note of the students he'd named.
Although… why was Ron on the floor?
Evans frowned at the boy, who looked to have been lying there for some time.
Ron's practical ability was a little behind Harry's and Hermione's, but not so poor that he should have failed Sothia's test entirely.
Looked like the next Club meeting would have to include a bit of extra training.
A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes. He deftly plucked the black kitten from Sothia's arms and gave its head a brisk rub.
"That's enough for today. If you push them to actual magical exhaustion, Madam Pomfrey will have your head."
"Got it!"