Specialist Smith Gets Serious

Tom landed steadily, Neville cradled in his arms.

Before landing, Tom gave Neville a gentle toss, combined with the Floating Charm, which greatly reduced the impact of the fall.

Both of them were safe and sound.

"Shock absorption! Pure, high-grade shock absorption!" Harry marveled at his elder brother, wishing he could reach the same level himself.

"Riddle! Harry! Are you two alright?!" Madam Hooch rushed over.

"We're fine, Madam Hooch." Neville wobbled as he slid down from Tom's arms.

After taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, he turned and bowed his head slightly to Tom. "Thank you, Tom."

"It was nothing." Tom waved a hand.

Truly worthy of the future Gryffindor Sword Saint. Though he seemed like a slow, clumsy kid far behind his peers now, his physique was impressive.

Even with the Floating Charm and shock absorption, a fall from over ten meters—surviving unscathed was no small feat.

By then, the other students had gathered around, with Gryffindors encircling Tom at the center.

They raised their hands and cheered:

"Yeah! Let's cheer for the brave lion!"

"Tom, you're such a brave lion—both capable and courageous!"

A Slytherin student being praised while surrounded by Gryffindors was absolutely unprecedented in Hogwarts' history. If McGonagall and Snape had been there, they'd have exclaimed, "What the devil!"

"Sorry, gentlemen, but I have to rain on your parade." Madam Hooch's face was stern.

"For flying up against my orders and scaring the professor with dangerous stunts, I'm deducting 10 points each from Gryffindor and Slytherin." She put her hands on her hips.

Her heart rate was no slower than Neville's, who had just been rescued. Her teaching license had nearly been forfeited.

Though she had plenty of complaints about Hogwarts' reforms, jobs with such generous pay were hard to come by these days.

"No way~" The excited young Gryffindors immediately broke into a chorus of groans.

"Oh—no! Madam Hooch, I don't think this accident was our fault." Tom calmly straightened his rumpled robes and turned to face the unqualified professor.

"Give me your reason." Madam Hooch was surprised that a student would dare to argue with a professor.

She wanted to see what excuse Tom could come up with to stop her from deducting points.

"Neville took off not because he was fooling around or lost control, but because the broom was too old—its internal flying magic malfunctioned."

"Impossible? The brooms are maintained by specialists every year. They can't possibly break. Lying to a professor isn't a good student's behavior." Madam Hooch's expression grew even sterner, her goodwill toward Tom dropping sharply.

"Look, here's the proof." Tom said nothing more, pointing to the broom snapped in two on the ground.

"A broom that can be broken by hand—how could it be fine? Even if it's maintained yearly, its durability limit still decreases over time."

"Is... is that so?" Madam Hooch was taken aback.

Logically, it was true, but she had seen Tom training with boulders—it wasn't impossible for him to snap a broom with his bare hands.

"With flying lessons increasing, similar accidents will only become more common. I think you could suggest to the Headmaster that we purchase a new batch of brooms, Madam Hooch."

"This..." Madam Hooch was moved.

Flying brooms were the wizarding equivalent of Muggle cars, and Madam Hooch was like a driving instructor.

What instructor wouldn't want the best vehicles to work with?

The school's brooms were all relics from the last era—you couldn't even find the same models in broom shops anymore.

But what teaching tools would be better?

How about the Nimbus 2000?

With more flying lessons ahead, if she could get a fleet of top-tier brooms, teaching would be easier and she'd have more prestige among her peers.

No, a single Nimbus 2000 cost 75 Galleons—more than half her monthly salary. The Headmaster would never agree.

Seeing the professor wavering, Tom pressed his advantage. "Madam Hooch, you must think carefully. Today, a broom malfunction happened to Neville. Tomorrow, it could happen to a school board member's child. That could lead to Hogwarts losing funding!"

In the Muggle world, there were plenty of Smith Specialists. How could wizards, so close to Muggles, be any different?

As a Hogwarts professor, Madam Hooch wasn't as greedy as a real Smith Specialist, but she still had her own selfish motives.

"Right, I think you have a point." A lightbulb went off in Madam Hooch's head.

That's right—the school had no money, but the board members had plenty.

Any one of those ancient pure-blood families, picked at random, had enough Galleons in their vaults to build a dozen Hogwarts.

"I withdraw the earlier point deduction. Instead, I'm awarding 10 points to the brave Slytherin. Let's give Tom a round of applause!"

The young wizards around them froze for a moment, exchanged glances, and then quickly burst into cheers.

"Alright, for the rest of this lesson, you're free to do as you like. Don't use the brooms for now. If I catch anyone flying without permission, I'll expel them when I return, and they'll never see Quidditch again."

With that, Madam Hooch picked up the broken broom and hurried toward the Headmaster's office.

She was about to become the first driving instructor in history with a fleet of luxury cars—naturally, she was thrilled.

As the professor walked farther away, the young wizards grew bolder, and the cheers for Tom's name grew louder.

[Brave] [Friendly] [Innate Divine Strength]... A series of positive traits were all slowly rising.

[Current Achievement Points: 8]

Almost at 10 soon. Before long, there would be a new trait to add to the tally.

Everything done during this time had been worthwhile.

"Hmph! A bunch of Mudbloods and Blood Traitors, never seen the world before—getting this excited over a few points." Draco stood apart from the crowd, letting out a sour sneer.

As a pureblood, and a noble among purebloods at that, he should have been the one surrounded by admirers.

Silence—

"Mudblood" and "Blood Traitor" were insulting terms in the wizarding world for Muggle-born and half-blood wizards, as well as those who sided with Muggles. Their offensive power was like a blanket bomb.

Aside from a few Slytherin students, everyone else clenched their fists. If fighting didn't mean losing points, Gryffindor would have swarmed him.

"Blood purism, huh..." Tom suddenly shrugged with a smile.

"What are you laughing at? I'm just stating facts. Most half-bloods and Muggle-born wizards are inferior in magical talent compared to purebloods. Even purebloods outside the Sacred Twenty-Eight can easily crush most half-bloods and Muggle-borns!"

Draco seemed to seize the opportunity, growing more confident as he spoke.

He crossed his arms and stood at the center of a group of purebloods.

"And what about the price?" Tom spoke slowly. "Have you forgotten what the Twenty-Eight paid to maintain that meager edge in talent?"

"As far as I know, purebloods—even entire families—are dwindling. The once-famous Twenty-Eight are practically urban legends now, aren't they? How many of them still exist? Ten?"

"Take your Malfoy family, for example. Once a grand house—how many of you are still breathing now?"