Harry Potter and the Ambitious Girl

It had already been four months since the attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick.

During that time, there had been no further attacks, and slowly but surely, Hogwarts was regaining its lively atmosphere.

There's a saying in Japan, "Once the danger has passed, people forget the fear," and the students of Hogwarts were no different.

Despite the fact that the culprit was still at large, most of them had convinced themselves that the attacks were over and the threat had disappeared.

They had no real evidence for this belief, but it spread throughout the student body like wildfire.

However, while most students chose to forget the fear, four people continued their investigation into the true identity of the Heir of Slytherin — Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Edith.

Even on this particular day, Easter Sunday, they were gathered in the library.

The four sat around a table, exchanging ideas as usual.

"Maybe we should just ask Hagrid directly? We're running out of leads at this point," said Ron as he closed the book he'd been flipping through.

The focus of their investigation was the identity of the monster.

At the moment, there were two main theories:

The hairy creature Harry had seen in the memories from the diary.

The possibility of a snake, as theorized by Edith.

Of the two, the hairy creature seemed more plausible.

After all, the idea of a snake was merely Edith's speculation, while the hairy creature had been witnessed by Harry in a past memory.

At the very least, they could be sure the hairy creature was real.

If that hairy creature was, in fact, the Monster of Slytherin, then the person who would know the most about it would be Hagrid.

"But you're saying we should ask Hagrid about the time he was expelled from school?"

"Yeah, I don't really want to do that…"

Harry spoke in a reluctant tone, and Edith nodded in agreement.

It was clear that Hagrid would prefer to forget his expulsion from school.

In fact, every time Harry and the others had tried to bring it up, Hagrid had blatantly changed the subject.

Bringing it up again would feel like poking at an old wound, and none of them wanted to do that.

"Hmmm… Personally, I'd rather pursue Edith's theory about the 'snake,'" said Hermione.

"Come on, Hermione. That's just speculation. We should stick to the hairy creature Harry saw," Ron argued.

"I know Ron's right, but… something about it still bothers me," Hermione admitted, her eyes narrowed in thought as she flipped through the pages of her book.

Harry's hairy creature or Edith's theory of a snake — which was it?

Hermione couldn't quite explain it, but the idea of a snake lingered in her mind.

It was like a puzzle missing just one piece.

No matter how much she thought about it, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was on the verge of understanding something important.

"Well, if the monster stays quiet like it has been, that'd be the best outcome, wouldn't it?

Besides, we've got Quidditch next week," Harry said with a grin.

"Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, right? Ugh… I bet Gryffindor's going to take the championship this year…"

Edith replied with a sigh, clearly disheartened.

Slytherin had already lost to Gryffindor, so the chances of them winning the House Cup were slim.

Of course, if Gryffindor lost to Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, Slytherin would still have a chance.

But realistically, that hope was little more than a faint dream.

After all, even Mirabel Beresford, who rarely acknowledged the talent of others, had admitted that Harry's skills as a Seeker were exceptional.

No ordinary player could match him.

Time passed as they discussed a variety of topics, and eventually, Hermione glanced at the clock and stood up.

"It's almost time for class," she said.

"Oh, already?" Harry asked, startled.

"Yeah. Let's go. See you later, Edith," Hermione said as she led Harry and Ron out of the library.

Edith followed them shortly after.

Their next class was a joint lesson with Ravenclaw.

She walked down a long corridor and climbed a staircase that was packed with unnecessary magical traps and moving steps.

As she made her way toward the classroom, something caught her attention.

A strange sound.

A sound like something slithering.

"…?"

She stopped and looked around, scanning the area.

But there was nothing there.

No, not just "nothing." It was more than that.

It seemed that most of the students had already made their way to class, as the corridor was completely empty.

She strained her ears, heart beating faster.

Slither… shhhh… slither…

That sound came again.

Her heart jumped in her chest.

(…This isn't my imagination!)

Her senses sharpened.

Something was nearby.

Her breathing slowed as she focused on her surroundings.

But still, she saw nothing.

No people.

No animals.

Nothing.

Just an empty corridor, eerily quiet but for that one sound.

Slither…

(Where? Where is it coming from?!)

Her eyes darted left and right, searching for the source.

The slithering sound echoed softly, like a whisper against the stone walls.

Suddenly, a chilling realization came over her.

(Above me?)

She slowly, cautiously, tilted her head upward.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Her eyes widened.

There, just barely visible against the dim light of the corridor, was a long, snake-like shadow stretching across the ceiling.

It wasn't on the ceiling itself.

It was on the wall near the ceiling.

It moved slowly, sliding forward with fluid, deliberate movements.

The shadow was huge.

Her heart was pounding so hard it hurt.

Her brain screamed at her to run, but her legs refused to move.

For a moment, she felt like a rabbit frozen in front of a predator.

Her mind was flooded with thoughts.

(No one else is here!)

(I have to move. I have to run. I have to—)

The shadow suddenly stopped moving.

Her breath hitched.

(Did it notice me?!)

The shadow remained still for a moment.

It was like a standoff between predator and prey.

Her fingers twitched.

If she moved now, would it chase her?

If she stayed still, would it leave her alone?

She didn't know.

Her heart was racing faster than ever.

"Please… just keep moving… please…" she whispered so faintly she could barely hear herself.

But it didn't move.

It knew.

It knew she was there.

The shadow on the wall shifted slightly, its head turning in her direction.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It wasn't just her imagination.

The monster of Slytherin was real.

And it was looking right at her.

The first possibility that came to Edith's mind was that this was one of Peeves' pranks.

But she quickly dismissed that thought.

Back in her first year, Mirabel had given Peeves a harsh beating, and as a result, Peeves generally avoided Edith, one of Mirabel's friends.

Next, she considered whether it might be one of Malfoy's pranks, but she dismissed that idea as well.

She couldn't explain it, but a chilling, unfathomable dread gripped her.

It was as if something deep within her was screaming.

This wasn't some childish prank. It was something far more sinister.

(I don't know what it is, but I have to get out of here!)

Trusting her instincts, Edith broke into a sprint.

She didn't care where she was going — she just had to find a place where there were teachers.

With her breath ragged, she ran at full speed down the corridor.

But the slithering sound didn't fade away.

On the contrary, it felt as if something was following her.

"If it's come to this…!"

Edith changed direction, running straight for the window.

At this point, classes and house points didn't matter. Even getting penalized didn't matter.

Her plan was to get outside and head to the storage shed, where the school kept the Shooting Star brooms used for first-year flying lessons.

She'd grab one of those brooms and fly into the sky.

If she could do that, there was no way the owner of this sinister presence could follow her.

That was her plan.

She reached the window and placed her hands on the window frame.

All she had to do was open it and climb out.

But just as she was about to do so…

She saw it.

Reflected in the window's glass like a mirror, she saw the scene behind her.

She "saw" it.

"…Ah."

A faint, hopeless sound escaped her lips.

What she saw behind her was a giant snake.

Its body was at least 15 meters long. Its long, red tongue flicked in and out of its mouth.

Its body was covered in a slimy, greenish sheen, and its eyes were split with vertical, yellow pupils.

The moment Edith saw it, her entire body froze.

Her senses were rapidly slipping away, starting from her fingers and toes, spreading slowly like ice.

Even her consciousness began to fade.

At that moment, Edith understood.

She had been right all along.

Her gut instinct had been correct.

But she had realized it too late.

At this point, there wasn't even enough time to tell Hermione and the others the truth.

"Mira… bel…"

She didn't know why that name had slipped out of her mouth.

Maybe it was a plea for help.

Or perhaps it was just an unconscious whisper.

She didn't even know herself.

Her consciousness was swallowed by darkness, and her body became as stiff as stone.

She collapsed to the floor with a dull thud.

Her unmoving body, cold as stone, lay there in complete silence.

The castle was in chaos.

Just as it had been four months ago when Justin and Nearly Headless Nick were attacked.

No—this time, the panic was even greater.

It wasn't just because the monster, which had been dormant for so long, had suddenly resumed its attacks.

What struck fear into the hearts of the students was the identity of the victim.

This time, the victim was a Slytherin student.

Until now, everyone had thought that Slytherin students would be safe from the monster called the "Monster of Slytherin."

It was an assumption so natural that nobody had even questioned it.

But that assumption had been shattered.

Even the Slytherin students now realized they were not safe.

Panic spread like wildfire, turning the castle into a storm of confusion and fear.

"W-why?! I thought Slytherin students wouldn't be attacked!"

"Why would the Heir of Slytherin attack a Slytherin?!"

"I can't stay at this school anymore! I'm going home!"

Fearful shouts rang out from all directions as students screamed in terror.

The crowd surged, their cries blending into a deafening uproar.

At the center of all the commotion lay Edith, her body turned to cold, lifeless stone.

Her eyes were still wide open, gazing blankly as she lay frozen on the ground.

Nobody dared approach her.

The other students stayed at a distance, forming a wide circle around her.

Even the teachers who arrived on the scene struggled to calm the panicking students, who refused to listen.

But then, cutting through the chaos like a blade, a single voice echoed.

A voice so sharp and commanding that it instantly silenced the crowd.

A girl had arrived at the scene.

Her presence alone was enough to bring order to the pandemonium.

"Do not panic, you fools."

Even amidst the commotion, that clear, commanding voice echoed distinctly in everyone's ears.

It was a voice that forced the students into silence, momentarily restoring their composure.

It carried a presence akin to a spell of dominion over human hearts, like the authority of a king's decree.

There was only one person in the entire school who could wield that kind of control.

"Move aside."

"O-Ohjo (Lady)!"

The owner of the voice—Mirabel—forcefully pushed through the crowd of students, stepping into the circle and kneeling beside Edith, who lay on the ground, petrified.

She checked Edith's condition and confirmed that, at the very least, she was still alive.

The Basilisk's eyes were infamous for their deadly gaze, capable of killing anyone who met them directly.

However, if one avoided direct eye contact, the effect was weakened, and instead of death, the victim would be petrified.

Edith had seen the Basilisk's reflection in the window, not its actual eyes. That was why she survived.

But the real question was—why was Edith targeted in the first place?

"B-Beresford! What's going on here?!"

"…It's simple." Mirabel replied calmly to Malfoy's frantic question.

"The monster attacks 'those who aren't purebloods'… being a Slytherin doesn't make you an exception."

Her words struck Malfoy like a bolt of lightning.

It wasn't hard to figure out.

Why was Edith attacked? The answer was simple.

"She wasn't a pureblood."

Looking back, there had been hints all along.

Mirabel recalled the very first conversation she had with Edith at the entrance ceremony last year.

"Hey, you. During the Sorting, you looked so dignified… Are you from a special family or something?"

"Oh, I'm Edith Reinagel. I come from a family of purebloods that's been around for three generations."

Her very first words were about family lineage, followed immediately by a declaration of her own status as a "pureblood."

Looking back, it was clearly suspicious.

At that moment, she must have been desperately trying to say, "I'm a pureblood, so don't discriminate against me."

It was common knowledge in Slytherin—those who weren't purebloods were labeled as "filthy blood" and subjected to discrimination.

Edith must have been aware of that, which is why she gave that awkward self-introduction.

"There are students in Slytherin who aren't purebloods. But they never talk about it themselves."

"Yeah, it's stupid. But that 'stupid thing' weighs heavily on them."

"They hide it, pretend to be purebloods, and mock Muggle-borns like everyone else while secretly living in fear of being exposed… Some students live their entire school life that way."

Looking back, the hints were always there.

Or perhaps, rather than "hints," it was as if Edith had been pleading for someone to notice.

Her deception wasn't out of malice but out of desperation. She likely wanted someone to see through her lie and accept her for who she was.

But Mirabel, at the time, had shown her no such mercy.

She had cut down Edith's vulnerability without hesitation, rejecting her for it.

That was why the distance between them grew, and why they had drifted apart.

"S-So that's it! Reinagel had filthy blood in her veins, huh?"

Malfoy sneered as if he had just solved a great puzzle.

"Hmph, well, she got what she deserved, then. Dirty scum pretending to be a pureblood—"

Suddenly, Malfoi's words were cut short.

His eyes went wide in terror.

It felt as though his head had been sliced clean off.

"...!!"

No, it wasn't actually cut. His head was still attached.

But for a brief moment, it felt so real—the overwhelming sensation of imminent death.

A crushing, suffocating killing intent.

Malfoy felt it as clearly as if a blade had been pressed against his neck.

It was no illusion. He knew instinctively that, had he continued speaking, his head truly would have been severed.

Mirabel didn't spare Malfoy a single glance.

She silently lifted the motionless body of Edith into her arms.

"…I won't take back what I said, Reinagel."

Her words were cold and sharp.

"That way of thinking—pretending to be something you're not—is the mindset of a pathetic coward."

Her gaze shifted to the surrounding students.

Her mere stare was enough to force them to back away.

No one could meet her eyes.

Mirabel's presence was like a sharpened blade.

If anyone dared to touch her, they would be cut to pieces.

Without another word, she carried Edith away, as if nothing had happened.

Not a single person stopped her.

No one dared.

Because at that moment, Mirabel was as sharp and deadly as a drawn sword.

One Week Later

The long-awaited Quidditch match day had arrived.

The stands were filled with excited students, and the players were already on standby.

It was a day of excitement and energy.

But despite the festive atmosphere, Hermione wasn't at the stands.

Instead, she was in the library, searching through books.

She wasn't searching randomly.

No, she had a clear goal in mind.

She had figured it out—the true identity of the Monster of Slytherin.

"Edith was right after all," Hermione thought.

In the book she was reading, a terrifying image of a giant serpent, the Basilisk, stared back at her. The creature was feared as the King of Serpents, a monster so deadly that meeting its gaze could take a life in an instant. It had taken far too long to arrive at this realization.

If only she had trusted Edith's suggestion earlier. Edith had proposed that a serpent was the culprit, but Hermione had dismissed it. Somewhere deep down, she had doubted Edith, thinking that as a Slytherin, she might be attempting to mislead them.

What bitter irony that Hermione only began to trust Edith after she became a victim herself.

"Well, aren't you from Gryffindor? What are you doing here? The Quidditch match is about to start!"

As Hermione buried herself in the book, a voice called out beside her. It belonged to Penelope Clearwater, a Ravenclaw prefect who was a few years older than Hermione. The prefect's badge gleamed on her chest, hinting that she was patrolling the library. Yet her slightly frustrated expression betrayed her true feelings—she'd rather be at the match.

"Prefect! You're just the person I need!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Huh?"

"You must tell the teachers immediately! The Slytherin monster is a Basilisk!"

The prefect gasped, utterly caught off guard by Hermione's revelation.

"Is that true?"

"Yes! We must let the teachers know right away!"

Now that the monster's identity was clear, planning a defense became much easier. The best course of action was to inform Professor McGonagall immediately and spread the word across the school. Knowing that one could avoid death simply by not looking directly at the creature could significantly increase survival rates.

"Alright, let's go."

"Wait, take this first."

As the prefect turned to leave, Hermione handed her a small hand mirror. The most dangerous part of confronting a Basilisk was turning a corner. If it lurked around the bend, one could meet its deadly gaze without warning. But with a mirror, they could check safely before proceeding. And even if the creature appeared, they would only be petrified, not killed.

"When you turn a corner, use this to check first."

"Got it."

With preparations complete, the two began their careful journey, mirrors in hand, inching out of the library.

As they approached the first corner, they prepared to check with the mirror. But before they could, a familiar voice interrupted from the side.

"Stop right there, Granger."

The voice was unmistakable. Hermione turned to see Mirabel, leaning casually against the wall with her usual confident smirk and arms crossed.

"Do you want to end up like her?" Mirabel said, gesturing toward the prefect with her thumb.

"What?"

Alarmed, Hermione turned to look at the prefect, who lay motionless on the floor. Moments ago, she had been fine, but now she was as still as a corpse.

Hermione's mind raced, and the realization hit her like a thunderbolt.

"There's one waiting around that corner," Mirabel said calmly. "Now shut your eyes."

Without hesitation, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and crouched low to the ground.

After ensuring Hermione complied, Mirabel closed her own eyes and stepped around the corner, facing the Basilisk.

Though her vision was dark, she didn't need sight to sense the creature. She could feel its oppressive presence, its murderous intent piercing the air, and the sound of its scales scraping against the floor, a dreadful hiss resonating in her ears.

"At last, we meet—the foolish relic of Slytherin," Mirabel said, her voice steady.

"Hissss... hisss!"

The serpent emitted sounds that vaguely resembled words, but as Mirabel was not a Parselmouth, she couldn't understand them. Still, she didn't need words to grasp its intent—the oppressive bloodlust radiating from the creature told her everything.

"Hmph… So, you're dying to kill me, is that it?"

"HISSSSS!"

The air grew heavier as the Basilisk stirred, its murderous intent intensifying. A gust of wind from its movements tousled Mirabel's hair, and she felt the full weight of its killing intent. It had recognized her as an enemy and lunged.

But Mirabel remained composed. She sidestepped with precision, narrowly evading the Basilisk's fangs, and swiftly raised her wand.

"Obscuro!"

A spell to blind her opponent. A dark veil covered the Basilisk's eyes, rendering it unable to see.

Now the conditions were even—they would fight in mutual darkness. But this alone wasn't enough. While its sight was blocked, the Basilisk still had its keen sense of smell. If she wanted the upper hand, she needed to neutralize that too.

Mirabel pulled a small bomb from her pocket, a prank item she had purchased from a joke shop. Trusting her senses, she hurled it toward the source of the hissing.

The bomb exploded near the creature's nose, releasing a stench so vile that it distorted both their senses of smell. It was the infamous "Dung Bomb," a favorite of the Weasley twins.

Disoriented, the Basilisk hesitated. Blinded and overwhelmed by the stench, it faltered, unsure of its surroundings.

Mirabel saw her chance and didn't hesitate.

"There!"

With a wordless incantation, she unleashed a slashing spell, her wand cutting through the air like a blade. The enchanted edge tore through the Basilisk's scales, drawing blood.

The beast let out an inhuman scream, echoing down the corridor. Hermione, crouched nearby, curled into an even tighter ball, trembling at the sound.

"HISSSSSSSSSS!"

"You're attacking the wrong direction!"

The Basilisk lunged blindly, crashing into walls and missing its mark. Guided by the creature's aura, Mirabel struck again, and again.

One slash. Two slashes. Three.

Each blow carved through the Basilisk's body, painting the corridor red with its blood. But Mirabel showed no mercy.

Leaping into the air, she landed in front of the creature, unleashing a barrage of spells directly at its face.

"HISSSSS!"

Though the battle seemed overwhelmingly one-sided, the truth was that the gap between Mirabel and the Basilisk wasn't as vast as it appeared.

What tipped the scales in her favor was the Basilisk's weakened state. After 50 years of near-starvation, it was already frail. Moreover, it had underestimated her, treating her like the other easy prey it had faced in the past.

The result was catastrophic for the Basilisk. Blinded, its body shredded, and even its most dangerous weapon—its eyes—rendered useless.

From the rafters above, a small rat watched intently. Mirabel's pet, Pyotr, leapt down onto her shoulder and squeaked triumphantly.

With a confident smile, Mirabel opened her golden eyes. There was no longer any need to remain blind—the King of Serpents had lost its gaze, its reign reduced to nothing.

"Heh… how pitiful, Basilisk. In the end, even the so-called King of Serpents is no different from any common snake."

With a cruel and chilling smile, Mirabel gazed down at the Basilisk.

Its blood-soaked body, crushed eyes, and feeble attempts to escape despite having lost all sense of direction painted a clear picture. There was no longer any question about who the victor was.

But Mirabel didn't let up.

Had she been able to understand Parseltongue, she would have realized that the Basilisk was begging for its life.

"It wasn't by my own will," it might have pleaded. "I was being controlled by the Heir."

Yet, even if Mirabel understood, it wouldn't have changed her actions. She showed neither hesitation nor mercy as she pressed her relentless assault.

Why? Because once she marked someone as her enemy, she wouldn't rest until they were utterly destroyed, no matter who—or what—they were.

In fact, the stronger her opponent, the more she relished their downfall. The more powerful the adversary, the more ecstasy she derived from dragging them down, savoring their transformation into a pitiful, terrified shadow of their former self.

And this particular opponent had dared to harm one of her precious "favorites."

There was no way Mirabel would ever forgive that.

"Run, Basilisk! Scurry away like the pathetic wretch you are! This is no battle anymore.

This is my one-sided slaughter show!"

Declaring this, she swung her wand down.

Blood sprayed across the hallway, splattering Mirabel as though decorating her with crimson war paint.

"Cry!"

With a wide slash, she tore into its body. Driving her wand into its exposed flesh, she twisted cruelly, eliciting anguished screams from the beast.

"Scream!"

She burned it with fire spells, shocked it with bolts of electricity sent straight into its mouth, froze it solid, and shattered it.

She punched, kicked, slashed, and struck it down, again and again.

The Basilisk, now devoid of any will to fight, was not granted a quick death. Instead, Mirabel prolonged its suffering with excruciating cruelty.

"And dieeeee!"

Hermione, still cowering nearby, trembled uncontrollably.

But her fear had shifted.

Initially, she had been paralyzed by the terror of the Basilisk.

Now, her fear was directed at the unfathomable girl who mercilessly overpowered and tortured the creature.

Hermione could only weep silently, terrified by Mirabel's overwhelming savagery.

This girl—she's the real monster!

Her heart is a bottomless, pitch-black abyss!

The "Monster of Slytherin" wasn't the Basilisk.

It was Mirabel Beresford all along!

"Ahahaha! Ahahahahahahaha! Aaaahhhahahahaha!"

The monstrous girl, clad in the form of a beautiful maiden, laughed endlessly.

Whatever amused her so, it was evident she found immense joy in this moment. Laughing from the depths of her soul, she continued to subdue and brutalize the fleeing King of Serpents, turning its blood into her macabre adornment as she indulged in the most grotesque of executions.

There was no one to stop her.

No, even if someone tried, they wouldn't dare intervene.

Because Mirabel wasn't just the monster in this scene—she ruled it entirely.

The Basilisk finally drew its last breath, freed from its agony, a full eight minutes later.

For the entire duration, its anguished screams and Mirabel's maniacal laughter echoed without pause.

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