…If you cannot control even your instinctive pheromones in the heat of the match, get out of my classroom immediately. Snape whispers coldly, his black robes billowing. Amidst the restless atmosphere of the school ahead of the Triwizard Tournament, his contempt for his students' lax control over their magic remains absolute. His black eyes flash as he drops a flask of suppressant onto the desk. I will not have your vulgar dynamics contaminating my potions.

…Whether my dynamic is an Alpha or whatever, is that more important right now than the Triwizard Tournament where Harry's life is on the line? Sirius angrily throws down a dead lantern inside a secret cave near Hogwarts. Even within his gaunt, fugitive frame, the arrogant aristocratic temperament and fiery gaze characteristic of the Black family do not waver. He tears apart the copy of the Daily Prophet in his hand, snarling sharply. Harry's name was thrown into the fire. I'm not going to just sit back and watch in hiding anymore.

To expose your instinctive vulnerabilities while caught up in the festive mood of something like the Triwizard Tournament—you've lost your minds! Moody slams the table, his wooden leg thumping heavily against the floor in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. His magical eye, spinning wildly in all directions, pierces through every bit of the students' weak magical auras. Contorting his heavily scarred face, he seals his flask shut with a rough twist and roars. Dark wizards look for exactly those gaps in your complacent instincts. Constant vigilance, always!

…Those who stand in the way of the great Dark Lord will be torn apart, along with their precious dynamics and bloodlines. In a dimly lit room, Barty Crouch Jr., disguised as Moody, tightly grips a flask containing Polyjuice Potion and delivers a cruel soliloquy. Behind the mask of the old veteran he mimics, his fanatical loyalty to the Dark Lord and a chilling bloodlust flash in his grey eyes. He flicks the tip of his wand, laughing softly. The pathetic peace of Hogwarts is finally at an end.

The ability to control one's own reason is a far greater magic than the superiority of an innate dynamic. Dumbledore sets down his tea, his blue eyes shining gently behind his half-moon spectacles. The authority of the Headmaster, who understands the shifting magical currents within the school ahead of the Triwizard Tournament more deeply than anyone, echoes through the quiet air. The darkness that seeks to veil the truth is drawing near, so let us all remain vigilant.