The Gift of Lockneil

"Raise your wand. Holding your hand that low—are you trying to give your enemy a pedicure?"

"And you, stop gripping it so tightly. You're casting magic, not digging up potatoes with a stick."

"Don't be nervous. Casting magic isn't painful, and you don't need to strain with your face. If you really can't manage it, imagine you're conducting an orchestra. As a French wizard, you must have heard of concerts, right?"

Kyle had to admit that what he had seen on his first day had been quite shocking.

Whether it was the teaching facilities, the alchemy classrooms, or the delicious food, everything surpassed Hogwarts by a wide margin.

But after seeing the level of Beauxbatons students' magic today, he found that equally unbelievable... unbelievably poor.

Judging by their appearances, some of them should have been third- or fourth-years, yet their spellwork was truly dreadful... calling it mediocre would have been a compliment.

They finished reciting a spell and immediately planted their wands into the ground. At Hogwarts, not even second-years would make such a basic mistake, yet it was everywhere here.

Others acted as though they had a grudge against their wands, gripping them as if they wanted to crush them with their fingers.

It was probably a matter of the professors' differing standards.

Professor Flitwick cared most about students' gestures while casting spells. He would remind them at least three times in a lesson, and the moment he noticed someone doing it wrong, he would go over and correct them.

But Beauxbatons professors apparently did not have that habit, which had resulted in their students holding their wands in every imaginable way.

For some powerful wizards, it did not matter how they held their wands, but that was only if they possessed that kind of skill.

With Beauxbatons