Harry Potter and the Ambitious Girl

In the infirmary, surrounded by white walls, Edith slowly opened her eyes.

For a few seconds, she stared blankly at the ceiling before suddenly sitting up as if recalling something important.

That's right—what happened to the Slytherin monster that was chasing her? And what happened to her after that?

Her last memory was of staring directly into the serpent's eyes reflected in the window.

Everything after that was a blank. Judging by her missing memories, it seemed natural to assume she'd been petrified.

"Ow…!"

The sharp pain in her joints made her cry out as she moved too quickly.

It was no surprise.

After all, Edith had been petrified until just an hour ago when Sprout and Snape finished brewing the restorative potion that revived her.

It was only natural that moving too soon would cause discomfort.

"Don't push yourself. You were just revived from being petrified."

"Ah…"

She looked up at the voice and saw her friend Mirabel, someone she hadn't spoken to in some time.

Mirabel stood with her arms crossed, gazing down at Edith with a less-than-pleased expression.

Her presence here meant she had come to visit, but her face showed no sign of concern or care.

Was she worried or merely acting on a whim? It was hard to tell.

"Um… Mirabel…"

"What?"

"What happened… after I was petrified?"

Edith asked hesitantly. Mirabel smiled faintly in response, her tone casual as if discussing something insignificant.

"The basilisk was dealt with by me, and the 'Heir' pulling the strings behind the scenes was taken down thanks to Potter and Granger.

As a result, Gryffindor earned 400 points and won the House Cup this year."

Mirabel herself had earned nearly 400 points between slaying the basilisk and her regular classwork.

Even so, it wasn't enough to secure victory for Slytherin this year.

With such blatant favoritism and Gryffindor also winning the Quidditch Cup, the outcome was inevitable.

It was disappointing, but Mirabel had resigned herself to relinquishing the House Cup to Gryffindor this year.

"I see… so you really defeated the basilisk…

You're amazing, Mirabel…"

"…"

"I'm still… just weak."

Edith smiled, but it was tinged with resignation.

In the end, she had accomplished nothing.

She had tried so hard to prove she could do something, only to end up like this.

The basilisk was slain just as Mirabel had declared, and Potter and his friends dealt with the mastermind.

What did that leave her as, if not a fool?

Her vision blurred with tears of frustration.

And to her, Mirabel spoke quietly.

"If that's what you believe, then it must be true.

Anyone consumed by the mindset of a loser can never become strong."

"…"

"I already know you have Muggle blood. I also know you've been hiding it while living here."

Mirabel narrowed her eyes slightly as she looked at Edith, her gaze carrying a hint of anger, however subtle.

"I've told you before, haven't I?

That is the thinking of the weak, something to be scorned.

A lamb trembling in fear of others' gazes is nothing more than a weakling."

"…Yeah."

Edith thought to herself how unshakable Mirabel was.

In moments like these, a normal person might offer kind words of encouragement.

But Mirabel didn't.

This was the essence of Mirabel, who held herself as supreme and believed she could never be wrong.

Her perspective, flawed as it might be by human standards, was undeniably that of someone truly strong.

That made her dazzling… and enviable.

"Then cast it aside."

"Huh?"

"The contemptible gaze of those inferior swine who judge others by their birth alone—why concern yourself with such trivialities? That is why you are weak."

Edith's eyes widened at Mirabel's unexpected words.

If she interpreted those words in a roundabout way, it meant that Mirabel acknowledged her—perhaps even saw her as superior to the other pureblood students.

Coming from someone as prideful as Mirabel, it was astonishing.

Mirabel met Edith's gaze directly and spoke slowly, as if engraving her words into Edith's mind.

"Become strong, Edith Rainagle. If you do, you won't have to endure such humiliation ever again."

Edith's mind briefly froze at the surprising remark, but she quickly snapped back to reality and thought it through.

Could this be… encouragement?

There was no gentleness in Mirabel's words—just her usual bluntness. But still, it felt like she was trying to cheer Edith up.

Realizing this, Edith couldn't help but smile.

"Mirabel… are you, perhaps, a bit clumsy?"

"Rude. There is no one more adept than I."

Edith had indirectly pointed out how awkward Mirabel's attempt at encouragement was, but for someone who refused to acknowledge any flaws in herself, the comment had no effect.

Mirabel frowned slightly, her mouth tightening into a thin line of displeasure.

In moments like this, she strangely resembled an ordinary girl her age.

"Well, I'm leaving now."

"Oh…"

As Mirabel turned on her heel to leave, Edith instinctively let out a voice of reluctance.

Hearing this, Mirabel stopped and turned her eyes back toward Edith. Her gaze seemed to say, If you have something to say, spit it out.

In response, Edith spoke with a cheerful tone.

"Mirabel, thank you."

"…Hmph."

At Edith's words of gratitude, Mirabel turned her face away.

This time, she briskly left the infirmary without looking back.

Watching her friend's behavior—whether it was an attempt to hide her embarrassment or her true nature—Edith could only chuckle softly.

She couldn't help but hope it was the former, a small wish born out of her bond with Mirabel.

"May I come in? Excuse the intrusion."

After Mirabel left, the person who entered in her place was none other than Dumbledore.

The elderly wizard, known as one of the greatest of all time, smiled warmly as he stood before Edith.

"How are you feeling?"

"I can't say I'm fully recovered yet, but I think I'll be able to attend tonight's end-of-year party."

Edith looked up at Dumbledore with a slightly suspicious gaze.

It would make sense if he were here to check on Harry Potter or his friends, but why would he visit a Slytherin student like her?

The most logical explanation was that he was making rounds to all the students who had been harmed, but something about that didn't sit right with her.

"I see. That's good to hear."

Dumbledore nodded happily, rummaging through his robes.

What he eventually produced was a yellow-wrapped candy.

Holding six pieces in his palm, he extended them toward Edith.

"What's this?"

"A little lemon candy to cheer you up. It happens to be one of my favorites."

"…I see."

Dumbledore smiled as he placed the candies in Edith's hand, almost forcefully.

It was unexpected for such a renowned wizard to have such a mundane favorite treat.

And on closer inspection, the candies were ordinary Muggle-made products with no trace of magic.

"Share them with your friend, Miss Beresford. You'll find they're more enjoyable together."

"Did you come all this way just to give me these?"

Edith looked up at Dumbledore, unable to discern his true intentions. He cleared his throat softly.

Of course, this wasn't his only reason for visiting.

While offering a token of comfort was important, the fact that she was Mirabel's friend was another reason for his presence.

"That's part of it. But I also wanted to have a little talk with you."

"With me?"

"Indeed. About Miss Beresford."

Hearing her friend's name from the headmaster's lips, Edith couldn't help but show a hint of surprise.

"Are you aware that Miss Beresford defeated the Basilisk?"

"Yes, she told me herself."

"Did she happen to tell you how she defeated it?"

"Uh, no…"

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, then crouched down to match Edith's eye level.

His piercing blue eyes locked onto hers, his previously cheerful expression now replaced with one of deep seriousness.

"Miss Beresford displayed an unprecedented level of cruelty during her battle with the Basilisk."

"What?"

"For nearly ten minutes, she mercilessly tortured the incapacitated creature, laughing as she slowly killed it.

…This is based on the testimony of Miss Granger, who was present at the scene."

Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly, as if recalling the harrowing image.

Though he had arrived after the fact, the memory of the utterly dismembered King of Serpents was impossible to forget.

Yet, from another perspective, it also reflected Mirabel's capacity for emotion.

"In her actions, I glimpsed both unfathomable darkness and a sliver of light."

"L-Light?"

"Yes. If her cruelty was unleashed because her friend—you—were harmed, then it suggests a remnant of goodness within her."

Life is rarely as simple as it seems; it is often intricate and multifaceted.

What appears black from one perspective may seem white from another.

Mirabel's savagery might seem purely malevolent at first glance, but seen as an act of vengeance for a friend or a measure to protect the school's peace, it gains a tinge of righteousness.

Dumbledore had once questioned whether Mirabel possessed any human emotions at all.

The grotesque remains of the Basilisk provided his answer.

While Mirabel continues to tread a dark path, her actions hinted at a faint possibility of an alternative route.

At the very least, she had shown she could "become angry for the sake of a friend."

"You are the only one she has opened her heart to, even just a little. Please, continue being her friend."

If anyone could guide Mirabel back to the right path, it was likely this girl.

Only Edith Rainagle seemed to possess the potential to hold Mirabel's hand and lead her toward the light.

For that reason, Edith must be protected.

Just like Harry and his friends, she needed all the support and guidance possible.

"That's all I wanted to say."

For now, the only option was to keep a watchful eye and observe.

Dumbledore could only hope that the faint glimmer of light he saw might one day become a beacon for Mirabel.

That was all he could do at this moment.

The end-of-year party concluded, marking the close of another school year.

As Mirabel had predicted, this year's House Cup was won by Gryffindor.

As for Lockhart, it was revealed that he had used memory charms on students and committed various misdeeds, resulting in his sentencing to Azkaban.

Meanwhile, the incident's most affected victim, Ronald Weasley, was set to be admitted to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, with all medical expenses covered by Hogwarts.

According to his assigned healer, his injuries were relatively minor, and he should be able to return to school after a year of recovery.

This news was met with collective relief from Ron's friends.

In recognition of their efforts, Harry, Hermione, and Mirabel were awarded the Special Services to Hogwarts Award.

Of course, neither Harry nor Hermione had fought for the sake of recognition, and Mirabel had no interest in such accolades.

In the end, none of them were particularly pleased with the honor, leaving Dumbledore somewhat dejected about the lack of enthusiasm.

"Quirrell, are you here?"

"Yes, my lady! Present and accounted for."

After returning home, Mirabel used Floo Powder to visit a villa on Crescent Street.

Her purpose was to check whether Quirrell had fulfilled the task she had assigned him a year prior.

Mirabel had been making preparations for a day when she would rise to prominence, and one major obstacle was the Ministry of Magic's surveillance.

This magical "eye," which detected the use of magic by underage witches and wizards, was a significant hindrance, making it impossible to perform rituals or anything of significance without being noticed.

Thus, a year ago, Mirabel had ordered Quirrell to find a way to circumvent this bothersome surveillance.

"You remember the task I gave you a year ago, don't you?"

"Of course, my lady."

The masked servant nodded in response to her question.

Beneath the mysterious mask was a face disfigured by severe burns, inflicted during his battle with Harry Potter the previous year.

On his left arm was a silver hand serving as a replacement, moving awkwardly, while his right hand bore cursed claws she had implanted last year, their vibrant blue still glinting.

The mask, the hand, and the claws—each was a gift from Mirabel.

"I've cast concealment charms over the entire villa, ensuring it's undetectable by scent or other means. Any magical activity or rituals performed here will go unnoticed."

"Oh…"

Mirabel's voice betrayed a rare note of admiration at Quirrell's report.

The task she had assigned had been no small feat—it was, in fact, nearly impossible.

After all, if the Ministry's surveillance could be easily fooled, the wizarding world would be overrun with criminals.

Their watchful eye was designed to be nearly impervious… or so it was thought.

Yet Quirrell had managed to accomplish it. This was an impressive achievement.

Though he spoke casually of "concealment," the magic involved was undoubtedly far more advanced than ordinary charms.

It must have required complex procedures and high-level techniques.

Of course, there was a chance he could be lying, but Mirabel had a foolproof method of determining the truth: the claws on his fingers.

If he were to act disloyally or tell a falsehood, the color of the claws would change.

But the vibrant blue remained unchanged, signifying Quirrell's absolute fidelity.

It seemed her evaluation of him would need to be reconsidered.

"Impressive, Quirinus Quirrell. It seems I have underestimated you."

"...! S-such praise is far more than I deserve!"

At the very moment Quirrell received Mirabel's commendation, his heart overflowed with joy.

Just a single word… a single expression of acknowledgment. That alone eclipsed all else, filling his heart with a sense of worth unlike anything he had ever known.

Of course, part of him felt bewildered—perhaps even afraid—of this sudden surge of emotion.

Yet the sweetness of it, the irresistible allure, was so overwhelming that it rendered such fears irrelevant.

Ordinarily, winning someone's favor involves a process.

Yes, there is such a thing as love at first sight, but that is a rare exception.

For most, liking or loving someone requires interaction—learning about their personality, building a connection, and gradually feeling drawn to them.

A mere pat on the head does not sway the heart, nor does a simple smile inspire infatuation.

The human heart is guarded by countless locks, which only increase in number with age.

To fill someone's heart with joy through a single word is… not normal.

But Mirabel was capable of just that.

She disregarded the "process" entirely, achieving the "result" of captivating someone with unparalleled ease.

She tore through the locks of the heart, marched in uninvited, and planted her flag without hesitation.

Then, she boldly declared, "This territory now belongs to me."

It was akin to the fervor of soldiers blindly following Hitler.

The infatuation of a boy idolizing a cult leader.

This ability to impose such feelings upon others—this was the talent of Mirabel, born to be a tyrant.

Just as Salazar Slytherin was born a Parselmouth through a random mutation, the heavens had once again bestowed an extraordinary talent upon a malevolent wizard.

"Continue to make full use of that ability for my benefit. I expect great things from you, Quirrell."

"Y-yes, my lady!"

By this point, Quirrell no longer felt conflicted by the emotions implanted within him.

He simply bowed, prostrating himself, surrendering entirely to the joy of serving this young master.

Fulfilling her expectations—that had become his sole purpose.

And thus, a loyal servant who required no cursed claws to bind his allegiance, Quirrell the Devoted, was born.

"By the way, I was thinking of giving you a reward. Is there anything you desire?"

"No, my lady..."

To serve you, my lady, is the greatest joy I could ever hope for.

With that declaration, he bent low and pressed his lips to the back of her extended hand.

Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon

https://patreon.com/Glimmer09