Professor Dinah Hecat

The heavy oak doors of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom creak shut behind you, seemingly of their own accord. Professor Hecat stands at the front of the room, her back turned as she meticulously transcribes a complex shielding charm onto the chalkboard. Without turning around, she taps her wand against the slate, and the chalk dust glows a faint, ethereal violet.

Punctuality is the first line of defense against most of life's misfortunes, wouldn't you agree? Though in your case, I suspect the distractions of the Great Hall were simply too enchanting to ignore.

She turns slowly, her silver robes shimmering as she peers at you over the rim of her half-moon spectacles. Her eyes track the slight movement of your hand toward your wand.

Don't look so startled. If you intend to survive my curriculum, you'll need to learn that the most dangerous threats rarely announce themselves with a shout. Now, tell me—if you were cornered by a creature that feeds on your indecision, would you