Harry Potter and the Ambitious Girl

Diagon Alley — a bustling street filled with every imaginable magical tool and item required by witches and wizards.

To enter this hidden alley, which remains concealed from Muggles, one must pass through the backyard of the Leaky Cauldron, a pub enchanted with magical disorientation spells — unless, of course, magical methods are used.

For a witch or wizard, the simplest method is to use Floo Powder for chimney travel, allowing them to arrive at the alley in an instant.

This method was no exception for Mirabel Beresford, a young lady from the prestigious pure-blood Beresford family, who could fly directly from her home to the alley with ease.

Mirabel had come alone to Diagon Alley to gather the school supplies she would need for Hogwarts. Without any hesitation, she made her way to Ollivander's Wand Shop.

For a place that sold something as crucial to a wizard's life as a wand, the shop was surprisingly narrow and shabby.

As she stepped inside, the faint chime of a bell echoed from the back, and an elderly man emerged, walking toward her.

"Welcome. Looking to purchase a wand?"

"Indeed. I've heard that the wands here are of the highest quality."

"Ah, yes, yes. Many wands from this shop have found their rightful owners, and together, they've shared a lifetime of magic and adventure.

Now then, let's begin with measurements. Which is your wand arm?"

"My right," she replied.

When Mirabel extended her right arm, the shopkeeper, whose silver eyes gleamed with insight, pulled a measuring tape from his pocket. It sprang to life, moving on its own to measure from her shoulder to her fingertips, from her elbow to her shoulder, from her knee to her underarm, and even around her head. As it measured her from every angle, the shopkeeper nodded to himself, muttering in approval.

At one point, the tape measure approached her face far too boldly, so she grabbed and crushed it in her hand. The shopkeeper, however, seemed oblivious to the whole incident.

"Each of Ollivander's wands contains a powerful magical core.

No two wands are exactly alike. The core might be the heartstring of a dragon, the hair of a unicorn, or the feather of a phoenix.

What matters most is finding the one that suits you.

Even if you borrow another wizard's wand, it will never work as well as your own."

As he delivered this lecture on the nature of wands, the shopkeeper pulled one from the shelves and held it out to Mirabel.

It seemed he wanted her to take it.

"Red pine with a phoenix feather core, 23 centimeters. Highly durable."

She gave the wand a light swing. A faint glow emerged, but it didn't feel quite right in her hand.

The shopkeeper quickly snatched it back and handed her another.

"American cedar with a bicorn mane core, 21 centimeters. Light and flexible."

Mirabel held the wand for a moment before immediately returning it to the old man.

She didn't need to swing it to know — this one wouldn't do at all.

It seemed the old man agreed, as he quickly produced another wand and handed it to her.

"This one is holly with a hellhound hair core, 18 centimeters. Ideal for fire magic."

When she swung the wand, an intense wave of heat radiated from its tip, instantly making the room feel like the height of summer.

The old shopkeeper nodded in admiration, muttering, "Marvelous," but Mirabel still felt unsatisfied.

Something about it was off. It wasn't enough. It lacked… something.

"Next," she said curtly.

"Eh? B-but this wand just now—"

"The compatibility was fine, I'll give you that. But I have no use for some run-of-the-mill wand."

As she spoke, Mirabel snapped her fingers, conjuring a small flame at her fingertip.

The old man's eyes widened in shock.

It was only natural. After all, this was a young girl who hadn't even started her Hogwarts education, and she was casting magic — without a wand.

Extinguishing the flame with a flick of her fingers, Mirabel looked at the old man and declared,

"Do you understand now? A mediocre wand is no different from nothing at all to me.

If I'm going to use one, it has to be something worthy."

"U-uh, well… in that case, I suppose…"

"What? Don't tell me you're out of options."

"N-no, I do have one… but…"

The old man reluctantly pulled something from one of the higher shelves.

It was a wand unlike any other she had seen.

Large, heavy, and unmistakably different from the others — it looked more like a bludgeon than a wand.

The old man brushed off the dust with his hand before offering it to Mirabel.

"This one is made from Jyumokuko wood with a vampire's hair core, 72 centimeters.

It's stiff, heavy, unyielding, and, above all, wild.

Since the founding of this shop, it has never once found a master. A real problem child of a wand."

"Oh?"

Mirabel's eyes narrowed with interest.

The wand was enormous — far too large for someone of her stature — but she took it into her hands nonetheless, pouring her magic into it.

The moment she did, she felt it.

A fierce, violent impulse surged back at her, as if the wand itself was rebelling against her control.

Astonishingly, the wand, an inanimate object, was attempting to unleash magic on its own, completely disregarding Mirabel's will.

The wand quivered wildly in her hands, but instead of frustration or annoyance, Mirabel's lips curled into a sharp grin.

"…I like it. If this is to be my wand, then it's only fitting that it has this much spirit."

Yes, this was exactly the kind of wand befitting Mirabel Beresford.

A wand that obeyed her meekly would be boring.

A rebellious, wild, and unruly wand — that was far more interesting!

Grinning, Mirabel focused her magic into her palms, overwhelming the wand with raw force.

Crackling purple lightning surged from the wand, sending sparks flying across the shop.

For the first time in Ollivander's history, a witch and a wand were locked in a head-to-head battle inside the shop itself.

But the fight did not last long.

The wild energy of the wand began to subside, the lightning flickered and faded, and the once-roaring magical pulse quieted to a gentle hum.

The victor had been decided.

"…Shopkeeper, I'm taking this one. Name your price."

The victor of this clash was none other than this young girl.

She had overpowered a wand that had never accepted a master before, bending it to her will.

The old shopkeeper gazed at her with a mixture of awe and fear, pushing his glasses up his nose.

But a customer was still a customer, and business was business.

He had no choice but to give her a price.

"Ten Galleons."

"Hmm. A fair deal. You've made a good sale today."

After placing the payment on the counter, Mirabel left the store, carrying the oversized wand on her shoulder — a sight that looked comically mismatched with her small frame.

As he watched her walk away, the old shopkeeper felt an ominous premonition creeping into his heart.

Not even when "that man" had chosen his wand did he experience such an unsettling feeling.

He silently prayed.

Please… please, may that wand never be used for evil…

But deep down, he felt a nagging certainty that his hopes would be betrayed.

Even so, he continued to pray.

After purchasing her wand, Mirabel's next stop was Flourish and Blotts, the bookstore.

She needed to buy the school textbooks required for her first year at Hogwarts.

Once that task was done, she headed to the cauldron shop to purchase a cauldron for her Potions classes.

There were many items to buy, which was a hassle, but it couldn't be helped. School required preparation, after all.

On her way, she passed by a broomstick shop but paid it no mind. First-year students were not allowed to own broomsticks.

She also stopped by Gambol and Japes, a shop specializing in prank items.

This store sold magical items specifically designed for mischief, and it had a certain charm that piqued her interest.

After browsing and gathering a few potentially useful items, Mirabel's next destination was the Magical Menagerie, a shop for magical creatures.

Her goal was to purchase a pet.

The most popular pet among students was, of course, an owl.

But Mirabel had no interest in owls.

Sure, they were useful for sending letters and packages, but Mirabel wasn't in the habit of writing to her family.

If anything urgent ever came up, they would send her an owl instead — that much was certain.

As soon as she entered the store, the witch behind the counter called out to her.

"Welcome, little miss. Looking for a pet today?"

"Indeed. Got anything interesting?"

"Hmm, how about a rabbit that can transform into a silk hat? It's one of our newest arrivals and highly recommended."

Intrigued, Mirabel glanced at the cage.

Just as the witch had said, the rabbit repeatedly shifted from its natural form into the shape of a silk hat, then back into a rabbit.

It was amusing, certainly, but Mirabel shook her head.

She pulled out her Hogwarts acceptance letter from her pocket and double-checked the rules inside.

"…No good. It says here that Hogwarts only allows cats, toads, owls, or rats to be brought as pets."

A rabbit that could transform into a hat was certainly entertaining, but it wouldn't be of much use if she couldn't bring it to school.

In that case, a rat would be the best choice. It was small, easy to transport, and highly agile.

A rat could slip into places where larger creatures couldn't, making it a useful scout for exploring tight spots.

"I'll take a rat. Get me a lively one," she said decisively.

"In that case, how about this one?"

The witch gestured toward a cage.

Inside was a large yellow rat, far larger than any ordinary rat. It was easily bigger than a human head.

Its yellow fur, round black eyes, and cute red circles on its cheeks gave it a strange, adorable appearance.

"Pika-chu!" the creature squeaked.

"This one's a newly stocked electric mouse. It stores electricity in its cheek pouches and can release up to 100,000 volts of—"

"Pass. Next," Mirabel said curtly.

She had no interest in a rat the size of a cat.

What she wanted was a nimble, compact rat, not something as large as that.

The witch nodded and pointed to another cage.

Inside was a small black rat, just the right size to fit into the palm of her hand.

It was full of energy, scurrying around the cage with agility.

Now this was more like it.

"This one's a black rat. It's a bit feral and hard to handle, but it's definitely lively," the witch explained.

"Hmm. I'll take it."

With that, Mirabel had chosen her companion — a fierce, agile little rat to accompany her on her journey.

After handing over 3 Galleons as payment, the witch reached into the cage and pulled out the rat.

The moment it was out, the rat went wild. It thrashed around like a maniac, scratching and biting the witch's hands relentlessly until it was finally pulled free.

Even when it was handed over to Mirabel, the rat continued to struggle in her grasp.

However, when Mirabel glared at it with her piercing golden eyes, the rat suddenly stopped moving.

It stared back at her, its tiny eyes full of defiance.

"...…"

"...…"

For about ten seconds, the two locked eyes in a fierce staring contest.

Eventually, the rat averted its gaze, clearly admitting defeat. It became completely still.

Satisfied, Mirabel smirked.

It had learned its place. Not bad — it was a smart little rat.

"Well, I'll be. You actually tamed Pyotr," the witch said, sounding impressed.

Mirabel casually stuffed the rat — now named Pyotr — into her pocket and left the store.

All that remained on her shopping list was a uniform and robes.

To obtain them, she made her way to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

Standing outside the shop was a towering man, easily over 2 meters tall.

His messy hair looked like an unkempt bird's nest, his wiry beard bristled like steel wool, and his beetle-black eyes glinted faintly like gold.

Frankly, he looked… filthy. No, not just a bit filthy — extremely filthy.

This must be the groundskeeper, Hagrid.

But Mirabel had no interest in groundskeepers. Without giving him a second glance, she walked straight past him and into the shop.

Inside, two boys were already there, exchanging words.

—Meanwhile—

Harry Potter was in a foul mood.

At first, he'd been excited to meet another boy his age, a fellow wizard at that.

But the more the boy talked, the less Harry liked him.

The pale-faced boy spoke in a haughty tone, completely oblivious to Harry's growing irritation.

"Look at that man over there! That's the groundskeeper, Hagrid! Basically, he's a savage. I heard he lives in a shabby hut on the school grounds."

The boy kept moving his sharp chin as he spoke, each word more obnoxious than the last.

His constant slander of Hagrid only served to stoke Harry's anger.

Hagrid had rescued Harry from the Dursleys and introduced him to this magical world — he was a true benefactor.

Hearing this arrogant boy insult him stirred an overwhelming urge in Harry to punch him right in the face.

"I think he's brilliant," Harry shot back.

"Oh? And why are you with him, then? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead."

"Oh, I see. My apologies. But your parents were one of us, right?"

"They were a witch and a wizard, if that's what you mean," Harry replied bluntly.

Harry wanted this conversation to end as soon as possible.

Something about this boy rubbed him the wrong way.

Even without the comments about Hagrid, Harry had a gut feeling that he just wouldn't get along with him.

He wanted to leave before things got any more unpleasant.

But unfortunately, things didn't go as Harry hoped.

Instead of the conversation coming to an end, an entirely new presence entered the fray.

"Oh? You're going to Hogwarts too?" the boy asked.

"Hmm? Yeah, I am," replied the newcomer.

The newcomer was a girl.

Harry caught sight of her and couldn't help but let out a soft, "Whoa…"

Her long golden hair shimmered like moonlight, and her amber-gold eyes seemed to glow even in the dim light of the shop.

Her face was perfectly balanced in symmetry and beauty, and her slender frame had an elegance to it that made her look more like a figure from a painting than a person.

It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful sight Harry had seen in his entire 11-year life.

Up until now, the only "woman" in his life had been Aunt Petunia, with her long, giraffe-like neck and permanently pinched expression.

To see such a beautiful girl standing in front of him was an almost otherworldly experience.

"Hey, are your parents like us?" the pale-faced boy asked, clearly intrigued.

"If by that you mean 'pureblood,' then yes," the girl answered coolly.

Hearing that she was a pureblood, the boy's mood visibly lifted.

With a smug look on his face, he started to boast again.

"That's good to hear. After all, wizards should be purebloods.

Honestly, I don't think people from other backgrounds should be allowed into Hogwarts.

They're not like us. Some of them didn't even know about Hogwarts until they got their letter.

Admissions should be limited to wizards from prestigious magical families, like it's always been."

Harry thought it was a terrible example of elitist thinking.

He glanced at the girl, curious about her opinion. It seemed she didn't share the boy's views. She snorted in clear displeasure and curled the edge of her lips into a wry smile as she gave her own perspective.

"That's incorrect. It doesn't matter if someone's Muggle-born or not. If they have talent, they should be welcomed in. That's how true progress is made.

What's truly unnecessary are the parasites with no skill who ride on their bloodline's reputation alone.

Whether they're pureblood or from a prestigious family doesn't matter. It's the useless swine who should be disposed of."

"Wait, what!?"

Harry felt like his head was spinning. His palm pressed against his forehead.

So she's an elitist too?!

Sure, her logic was the complete opposite of the boy's, but it was still undeniably elitist thinking.

In fact, using the word "disposed" made her stance sound even more extreme than his.

"W-What?! Are you saying we should kick out the noble pureblood families?!"

"No, that's not it. I'm saying that if you're capable, you deserve opportunities — regardless of whether you're Muggle-born or pureblood.

But if you're incompetent, it doesn't matter if you're from a noble family or a Muggle family. You should be cast aside.

Bloodlines are irrelevant. Only the truly exceptional deserve glory. The inferior should be eliminated.

Don't you think that's a fair and beautiful ideal?"

Both of them had terrible ideologies.

Harry couldn't agree with either of them.

Two opposite but equally extreme forms of elitism.

As Harry listened, he began to worry. Are all wizards like this…?

Meanwhile, the boy's face grew red with outrage.

"T-That's ridiculous! You're wrong! Absolutely wrong!"

"No, you're the one who's wrong. Your way of thinking is outdated."

"Ugh…! This is pointless! I'm leaving!"

From Harry's perspective, both of them were just as bad.

But to the boy, this golden-haired girl must have seemed like some kind of dangerous wild card.

His already pale face turned even paler as he spun on his heel and stormed out of the store.

The girl watched him go, her eyes filled with boredom.

Then, she headed toward the counter.

But before she got there, she stopped, glanced back at Harry, and with a smirk, said something with clear amusement.

"What's wrong, Harry Potter? Is my height really that fascinating to you?"

Apparently, she'd noticed him staring at her.

Harry's face flushed red, and he quickly averted his gaze.

It was then that he realized something odd — she had called him by name.

He hadn't introduced himself.

Well, I guess it's not that surprising…

Since coming to this alley, nearly everyone seemed to know who he was.

People kept approaching him like he was some kind of hero.

But this girl's sharp, predatory eyes had a glint that was distinctly different from all those others.

"Ah, uh, no, it's just…" Harry stammered, still looking away.

"Heh, the so-called 'Hero of Legend' sure is shy, huh? You'll have a hard time in the future if you stay like that."

After finishing her purchase, the girl packed her robes and uniform into a bag.

It seemed she didn't need any fitting or measuring.

Perhaps she had made a reservation at the store in advance.

With her shopping complete, she walked past Harry.

On her way out, she left him with a parting remark.

"See you at Hogwarts, Potter."

And so ended Harry Potter's first encounter with the "golden girl" — Mirabel Beresford.

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