Harry Potter and the Ambitious Girl

On Magnolia Crescent Street, lined with typical residential homes, there stood an oddly conspicuous white mansion.

Towering over 20 meters tall and distinctly different from the surrounding buildings, the mansion, oddly enough, drew no attention from passersby. Every person walking by seemed to accept its presence as completely normal.

Perhaps the only person in the area who would find this mansion strange was Harry Potter.

This was because it was no ordinary house; it was a wizard's villa shrouded with Muggle-repelling charms. Like the Leaky Cauldron in London, it stood boldly in the middle of a Muggle-populated town, escaping notice entirely.

Originally constructed on a whim by Heathcote Beresford, head of the Beresford family, as a vacation home among Muggles, it was quickly abandoned when he grew bored of it, leaving the villa to blend into the town unnoticed.

Yet now, two individuals were visiting this supposedly uninhabited mansion.

"So, you're telling me you know nothing?"

In the living room, Mirabel Beresford, heir to the Beresford family, sat cross-legged in a chair, exuding an air of authority. Sipping the tea her servant had prepared, she muttered, "Disgusting."

The servant, a young man with bandages wrapped around his face, winced. While a moderately skilled wizard, it seemed he still needed practice in tea brewing.

"Th-that's correct, my lady," he stammered.

This servant was Quirinus Quirrell, a former professor at Hogwarts who had taught Defense Against the Dark Arts until recently. After clashing with Mirabel over the Philosopher's Stone at the end of the school year and being defeated, he had been bound to her service by a loyalty curse.

"All I know is that my former master—no, 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'—has lost his body and becomes as insubstantial as mist unless he possesses someone."

"For something to survive in such a state… that man truly is a monster."

Quirrell was a former Death Eater. Mirabel had hoped he might have some critical information about Voldemort's vulnerabilities, but her questioning yielded no results.

As expected, a recent recruit like Quirrell had no significant intelligence to offer. Disappointed, Mirabel sighed and took another sip of the terrible tea.

"Well, if that's the case, there's no helping it. At least make use of your knowledge."

"My… knowledge?"

"Yes. Having been both Voldemort's follower and a teacher, you must be adept at evading the law, aren't you? This mansion will be used for a certain ritual in the future. Prepare it to mislead the Ministry's watchful eye."

"W-what?!"

Mirabel spoke casually, as if it were a trivial matter, but it was an outrageous demand. Underage witches and wizards emitted a unique "trace," allowing the Ministry to detect their magic. Using magic outside school or performing rituals would immediately alert officials.

Yet Mirabel had instructed Quirrell to find a way around this.

"You have a year. Do whatever it takes."

"W-wait! What happens if I can't…?"

Quirrell's anxious question was met with silence. Mirabel simply cast a cold, chilling smile his way.

In that moment, Quirrell understood.

Fail, and I'll be killed!

This girl, in some ways, was more ruthless and cold-hearted than Voldemort himself. If deemed useless, he would be discarded as effortlessly as a child tossing a broken toy into the trash.

He couldn't let that happen. If she abandoned him, his fate would be sealed—reduced to a worm, incapable even of dying.

"I swear on my life I'll meet your expectations!"

With a desperate vow, Quirrell watched her leave the mansion via Floo Powder.

The grace period was one year! Within that time, he had to fulfill her demands and find a way to deceive the Ministry.

"I don't want to become a worm!"

Quirrell ran.

He had to tackle this outrageous challenge, no matter what it took. He had to earn recognition from his merciless young mistress.

There was no other way to survive.

"I won't give up! Not ever!"

(…He seemed unusually determined, didn't he…?)

Returning to her family home, Mirabel reflected on her servant's desperate attitude earlier, tilting her head in mild confusion.

In truth, her instructions had been more of a test than an actual task. She didn't really expect much from him and had already devised her own solution if necessary. Her command was more like a simple trial to gauge how capable he was.

If he could even slightly obscure the Ministry's watchful eye, it would be a pleasant surprise. If not, she intended only to give him a light punishment and leave it at that.

She had even smiled at him to ease his nerves, but for some reason, it seemed to have the opposite effect, pushing Quirrell into an unnecessary state of panic. Mirabel found herself slightly puzzled by this reaction.

(Well, having motivation isn't a bad thing.)

If he was determined, all the better. Satisfied with her reasoning, Mirabel headed to the living room.

Waiting there were her father, younger brother, and the second son, who hadn't been present during Christmas. It seemed her eldest brother, Simon, wasn't there, but that hardly mattered to Mirabel—he was irrelevant in her eyes.

"You're back, Mirabel. How were your grades?"

"Harry Potter managed to get the better of me. At the last moment, he prevented us from sweeping the House Cup."

She opened her bag and laid a sheet of paper with her grades on the table.

Her father picked it up, his face initially tense with anticipation. Gradually, however, his expression softened, and by the end, he was grinning from ear to ear. Realizing this, he quickly cleared his throat and composed himself again.

"Top of your year in all subjects, with 126 points contributed to Slytherin. As expected of my daughter—well done, Mirabel. By the way, how did the Malfoy boy do?"

"All subjects combined, he scored 427 out of 500 points and ranked 27th overall. He contributed 32 points to Slytherin."

"Ha! Remarkable! My daughter stands leagues above the rest!"

Incidentally, Mirabel's scores were absurdly high—970 points out of a maximum 500. This was primarily due to her exceptional performance in practical exams, where she displayed skills on par with seventh-year students, leading to additional points.

The runner-up was Hermione Granger, with 614 points. Despite being a Muggle-born, she had achieved remarkable scores, earning Mirabel's begrudging respect.

If Hermione had been from a pure-blood family and received elite education from a young age, the competition might have been much closer, Mirabel admitted to herself.

"Losing the chance to sweep the House Cup was unfortunate, but I suppose it can't be helped. Now then, Mirabel, is there anything you want? I'll buy you anything you like."

"…No, nothing in particular."

Truthfully, she craved Japanese sushi or tempura, but she knew that was asking too much. Besides, Mirabel was capable of Apparating, so she could simply go herself if the craving ever became too strong.

"By the way, Mirabel, it seems Quidditch will be allowed next term."

"Yes. And?"

"Will the Malfoy boy be playing?"

"…Most likely. He was more upset than anyone about first-years being barred from joining teams this year."

Sigh, Malfoy again, Mirabel thought, sipping the tea brought by the maid. Unlike Quirrell's tea, this one was perfectly brewed. Tea ought to taste like this.

"Hmm. Then join the team yourself and crush the Malfoy boy. With the Silver Arrow made by Leonardo and your skill, no one can oppose you."

"Father… Malfoy is also in Slytherin. My success would only bring him joy."

"Hmm, true. In that case, there's no need for you to join."

To Mirabel, Draco Malfoy was utterly inconsequential. A boy spoiled and coddled his entire life could never rival her, nor pose a threat.

Her real potential rivals were more likely Hermione Granger and Harry Potter of Gryffindor. Hermione, with her intellect and talent. Harry, with his raw potential.

Neither was a match for her yet, but if they continued to grow, who knew what the future might hold? She found herself intrigued by their prospects.

(Well, by the time they catch up, I'll have climbed even higher.)

In her first year, she had underestimated Dumbledore's power and failed. Yet, that failure had been a blessing in disguise, allowing her to clearly see the heights she needed to surpass.

It was no low summit—but Mirabel was confident she could reach it.

With that thought, she drained her cup of tea.

Mirabel sighed as she glanced at the paper in her hand after arriving at Diagon Alley via the Floo Network.

It was a list of required textbooks for the upcoming term, and it was abysmally awful. Most of the list was filled with frivolous books authored by Gilderoy Lockhart. While they might pass as casual reading, the idea of such books serving as textbooks was absurd.

What further annoyed Mirabel was finding the man himself at Flourish and Blotts. He was hosting an inconvenient signing event that had drawn a long line of middle-aged witches, making it a chore to simply buy books.

Once she had finally gathered all the necessary books, Mirabel made her way to Knockturn Alley.

(I hope there's something interesting to find here.)

If one sought to purchase illegal goods, Borgin and Burkes was the obvious choice. Without hesitation, Mirabel walked down the grimy alley and entered the dingy shop.

It seemed someone else was already there. A familiar figure stood ahead of her, one with a pale face, sharp chin, and platinum blonde hair—none other than Draco Malfoy.

He noticed her entry and exclaimed, "Ugh! Beresford! What are you doing here?"

"Relax. I'm not here for the likes of you," Mirabel replied dismissively as she moved to approach the counter.

But Lucius Malfoy stepped into her path, towering over her and eyeing her as if assessing her worth. Mirabel, in turn, gave him a sharp, defiant smile. While Lucius might think he was intimidating, he felt like nothing more than a child compared to Dumbledore. In fact, it was Lucius who seemed to be overpowered by the aura Mirabel exuded.

"So, you're the daughter of the Beresford family," Lucius said. "Your father speaks endlessly of you—quite tediously, I might add. He claims you're an exceptional witch."

"Indeed. And I've heard plenty about you, Lucius Malfoy. A cunning man playing above his station, despite being a former Death Eater."

Tension crackled between them like sparks ready to ignite. Though it appeared they were evenly matched, the truth was clear—Lucius was the one losing this silent battle.

He had heard the rumors. A young girl with an unnerving and overbearing presence that defied her age. But standing before her now, Lucius felt shaken. Was she really just a girl the same age as his son? It felt as though he was facing something entirely inhuman wrapped in the guise of a child.

"I see your father didn't teach you how to address your superiors," Lucius sneered.

"If you know my father well, you'd also know I have no reason to show you any respect," Mirabel retorted coldly.

Lucius clicked his tongue in irritation and grimaced. She wasn't wrong—Hearthcote Beresford would never extend any courtesy to Lucius. The man still relentlessly sought to send him to Azkaban, watching and waiting for him to slip up like a serpent stalking its prey.

"Cursed family... even worse than the Weasleys," Lucius muttered under his breath as he turned and left the shop, Draco hurrying after him.

Now alone with the shopkeeper, Borgin, Mirabel looked around casually.

"Erm, young lady, is there anything in particular you're looking for?" Borgin asked hesitantly, smoothing down his greasy black hair.

Mirabel had initially come to browse, but after causing a scene, she figured it would be worth purchasing something. She picked up a grotesque stone mask, cracked and ominous in design. It seemed like a perfect gift for Quirrell, whose face had been burned in the battle over the Philosopher's Stone last term.

"A fine choice," Borgin said. "That mask is enchanted with a recognition-blocking spell—perfect for concealing one's identity."

"Hmm... I'll take this," Mirabel said. "And that silver hand."

"Ah, the Silver Hand! It's almost indistinguishable from a real one and is highly regarded as a prosthetic."

Quirrell had also lost an arm in his clash with Harry Potter, so this would make for an ideal replacement. After paying a steep price for the items, Mirabel left the shop, satisfied with her purchases.

Her shopping for the new term was now complete. All that remained was to await the departure for school. Her only real concern was the inept Gilderoy Lockhart, but she figured she'd deal with him eventually. Crushing his credibility might even result in his dismissal.

As for his books, Mirabel resolved to view them as light novels for passing time. Surprisingly, when she did read them, they turned out to be genuinely entertaining.

Perhaps Lockhart had a better future as an author than as a wizard.

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