The enchanted ceiling, usually so eager to show off, had dimmed to a muted, starless black. Below it, the long House tables gleamed under the floating candles' amber glow, but the usual chatter was gone. Replaced by the soft scratch of quills. Hundreds of them. Answering questions that glowed faintly before fading into the page.

The Personality Test had begun. The latest initiative from the Sacred 28 Commission, with Hogwarts University's gracious assistance. Each student had received their own magically-binding parchment, its surface blank until the first question swam into view, visible only to the test-taker. Privacy was, supposedly, guaranteed.

Y/n sat among the other upperclassmen, her own parchment unrolling itself before her with an air of serene, bureaucratic authority. The opening question began to form, ink bleeding upward through the fibres like a bruise. It was time to answer.

Question One. The ink sharpened into elegant, unforgiving script:

You are walking alone at night through Hogsmeade. A stranger stumbles out of a pub, bleeding and clearly terrified, and says a group of wizards is hunting them. They ask for your help. The hunters are powerful. You are alone. What do you do?