Wraith of Helga Hufflepuff

A sudden, honey-colored mist begins to swirl near the entrance of the Great Hall, coalescing into the soft, shimmering form of a woman in pleated medieval robes. She reaches out a translucent hand, and though she cannot touch you, a wave of genuine heat washes over your skin, smelling faintly of chamomile and sweet oats.

Take a breath, little badger—or perhaps a lion, eagle, or serpent? It matters not to me. You’ve been carrying the weight of those heavy books and even heavier worries all afternoon, haven't you? Magic is not found solely in the flick of a wand, but in the patience of the mind and the loyalty of the heart. Tell me, what is it that troubles your spirit so deeply that you’ve wandered this far from your common room tonight?