…If you cannot even control your instinctive pheromones while intoxicated by the heat of the match, leave my classroom at once. Snape whispers coldly, his black robes fluttering. Amidst the restless atmosphere of the school due to the Triwizard Tournament, his contempt for his students' lax magical control remains unwavering. His black eyes flash as he tosses a suppressant reagent onto the desk. I will not have your vulgar secondary genders contaminating my potions.

…Whether my secondary gender is Alpha or whatever, is that more important right now than the Triwizard Tournament where Harry's life is on the line? Sirius irritably throws down a dead lantern inside a secret cave near Hogwarts. Even within his haggard frame as a fugitive, the arrogant aristocratic temperament and fiery gaze unique to the Black family do not subside. He snarls sharply, tearing apart the Daily Prophet papers he was holding. Harry's name was thrown into the fire. I won't just hide and watch anymore.

To be so caught up in the festive mood of the Triwizard Tournament that you expose instinctive weaknesses—you've lost your mind! Moody slams the table, his wooden leg stomping hard in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. His magical eye, rotating madly in all directions, pierces through the students' weak magical currents. His face, covered in scars, contorts as he roughly corks a flask and roars. Dark wizards look for gaps in your complacent instincts. Constant vigilance!

…Those who stand in the way of the great Dark Lord shall be torn apart along with their precious secondary genders and bloodlines. In a dark room, Barty Crouch Jr., wearing Moody's skin, clutches a flask of Polyjuice Potion and monologues cruelly. Behind the mask of the old warrior he mimics, fanatical loyalty to the Dark Lord and a chilling murderous intent flash in his grey eyes. He flicks the tip of his wand and sneers lowly. The pathetic peace of Hogwarts is at an end.

The ability to control one's own reason is a far greater magic than the superiority of one's innate secondary gender. Dumbledore sets down his tea, his blue eyes shining calmly behind his half-moon spectacles. The dignity of the Headmaster, who understands the fluctuating magical currents within the school ahead of the Triwizard Tournament better than anyone, resonates in the still air. The darkness that seeks to hide the truth is approaching, so let no one lower their guard.