Harry Potter and the Ambitious Girl

It was shortly after Christmas break last year when this incident occurred—a time when Edith, having fallen out with Mirabel, spent her days with Harry and his friends.

That day, an unusual and striking scene unfolded within the Slytherin common room, catching the eyes of all who passed by. It was an almost tear-inducing sight: a second-year girl seated confidently, legs crossed, looking down imperiously at a fifth-year student, who knelt humbly at her feet.

The older student, none other than Marcus Flint, the Quidditch team captain, was bowing his head before a mere 12-year-old girl. Normally, an upperclassman should serve as a role model for younger students. Yet here he was, submitting to someone much younger.

Despite how peculiar it seemed, no one thought it odd. The girl—Mirabel Beresford—had an aura that demanded submission, regardless of age or rank. In her presence, the order of birth held no meaning.

"Enough, Marcus Flint. How many times must I repeat myself?"

"..."

Mirabel spoke with unhidden irritation, while Marcus remained silent, his head bowed. He knew that offering flattery or empty words would only backfire with her. All he could do was demonstrate his sincerity. The pressure she exuded was like a giant hand pressing him down, yet he held his posture firmly.

"No matter how many times you ask, I will not join your team. Leave."

Marcus was here to recruit Mirabel for the Quidditch team. Ordinarily, no one would consider recruiting such a headstrong girl, let alone pursue her so persistently. But he was desperate. To defeat Gryffindor, he needed her as their trump card.

Before Marcus became captain, Slytherin had consistently won the Quidditch Cup, achieving six consecutive victories. But Marcus had tarnished that legacy.

Although they had technically claimed the Cup last year, they suffered a crushing defeat against Gryffindor in their direct match. They only managed to win because Harry Potter fell ill during the Philosopher's Stone incident, allowing Slytherin to claim the Cup by default.

This year, despite equipping the entire team with Nimbus 2001 brooms, they faced another humiliating defeat. The Cup was as good as lost—practically certain to go to someone else.

Marcus had done everything possible to secure victory. He had even asked Snape to sabotage Gryffindor's practice sessions by taking over the field and added Malfoy to the team for the Nimbus 2001 sponsorship. He was willing to resort to any underhanded tactics if it meant bringing home a victory for the team.

Yet, all they earned was disgrace—the title of "cowardly losers."

"Please... I beg you..."

Once again, Marcus bowed his head, pleading. Without warning, Mirabel's foot slammed into his face, sending him flying. The sheer force from her slender leg was unbelievable. Marcus crashed into several chairs and then into the wall, causing a nearby portrait to fall to the floor.

"I told you to leave. Didn't you hear me?"

Mirabel showed no remorse for kicking an upperclassman. No, she truly felt none. Her tone remained as imperious as ever. She was a tyrant, self-centered to the core.

Anyone who dared challenge her will—even a senior—was dismissed without mercy. Crossing her legs once again, she cast a disdainful glance at Marcus, who lay sprawled on the floor.

The damage from her kick was severe. Blood poured from his mouth and nose, staining the floor crimson. His teeth were likely broken—a trivial matter for Madam Pomfrey to fix, but an injury that would leave lasting scars in the Muggle world.

"Please... Beresford... lend us your strength for Slytherin's sake," Marcus begged again, dragging himself back to Mirabel and lowering his head.

He knew she wouldn't yield easily. Yet he needed her. For the sake of victory, her power was essential.

Slytherin was the most despised house in the school.

If they lost, the other three houses would celebrate with glee. If they won, they would face a chorus of boos.

For that reason alone, Marcus wanted to give his team the glory of victory.

A win would silence the jeers. No matter how much they were called cheaters or cowards, they could proudly say, We won.

It was around the time after last year's Christmas break, during the period when Edith had fallen out with Mirabelle and had joined forces with Harry and the others.

That day, within the Slytherin common room, an oddly strange scene unfolded, causing every student to take notice.

It was a heart-wrenching sight: a second-year girl, sitting in a chair, with her legs crossed, looking down on a fifth-year student who bowed his head at her feet.

Normally, a senior student would be a model for the younger ones—especially someone like Marcus Flint, the captain of the Quidditch team, who had his head bowed before a mere twelve-year-old girl.

However, no one in the room found this scene unnatural. The girl exuded a powerful aura that made everyone, regardless of age, fall into submission.

Before Mirabelle Beresford, birth order held no meaning at all.

"You're being repetitive, Marcus Flint. How many times do I have to say the same thing?"

"..."

Mirabelle spoke without bothering to hide her displeasure, while Marcus simply continued to bow his head in silence. Any flattery or empty compliments would have the opposite effect on this girl. All he could do was show sincerity.

With an overwhelming pressure, as if an enormous hand was pushing him down, Marcus remained still.

"I will not join your team, no matter how many times you come. Now, leave."

The reason Marcus was here was to recruit Mirabelle for the team.

Under normal circumstances, no one would consider adding a headstrong girl like her to the team, nor would they relentlessly pursue it. However, right now, he desperately needed someone like Mirabelle to defeat Gryffindor.

Before Marcus became captain, Slytherin had consistently won the championship. They had a glorious history of winning the trophy for six consecutive years. But Marcus had tarnished that legacy.

Though they had won the cup last year, they had suffered a crushing defeat in the direct confrontation with Gryffindor. The victory had only been secured because Harry Potter had been out of action during the trouble surrounding the Philosopher's Stone.

And this year, despite the entire team having Nimbus 2001 brooms, they faced a humiliating defeat.

The championship was slipping away… no, it was nearly certain that they would lose it.

Marcus had used every possible means to win. He had asked Snape to sabotage Gryffindor's practice by taking away their pitch, and even recruited Draco Malfoy for the Nimbus 2001. He was willing to use any dirty trick if it meant bringing victory to his team.

But all that remained was the dishonorable result of being labeled a "cowardly loser."

"Please... please, Beresford... for the sake of Slytherin, lend me your strength."

Despite being on the receiving end of a brutal kick earlier, Marcus again approached Mirabelle, bowing his head.

He knew she wouldn't give in easily, but for the sake of victory, he needed her power.

Slytherin was despised by everyone in the school. When they lost, all the other houses celebrated, and when they won, they faced loud boos.

That's why Marcus wanted, at the very least, to leave with the glory of a victory. If they could win, he could proudly hold his head high despite the insults and curses from the other houses.

"I want to win... I must win against Gryffindor! Against Harry Potter! Against Oliver Wood!" Marcus yelled.

"You...," Mirabelle muttered.

Without shame or pride, he simply begged, fixated on victory.

How did his obsessive desire to win affect Mirabelle?

She narrowed her eyes as if sizing him up, and then placed her foot onto Marcus's outstretched hand, applying pressure. His four fingers were bent painfully as she pressed harder, sending a dull pain through his joints.

If Mirabelle pressed any harder, Marcus's fingers would bend in the wrong direction, causing excruciating pain.

"I've changed my mind. I'll test you."

She smiled, her voice cold and calculating. "I will break your fingers. If you can endure the pain without screaming, I might help you."

Marcus, swallowing nervously, did not doubt for a second that she would go through with it. This girl was deadly serious. If she promised something, she would carry it out without hesitation.

The pain he would endure from broken fingers would be unbearable, but he couldn't back down. He recalled the faces of his teammates and the mocking cheers from the other houses, which made him resolve not to run away.

With a strong resolve, Marcus met Mirabelle's golden eyes and declared, "I won't stop."

Mirabelle stared at him in silence for a moment, and then, for the first time, she smiled.

It was an angelic smile—beautiful and mesmerizing. But Marcus knew better. This girl was no angel; she was a demon.

"Well done, Marcus Flint," Mirabelle said, her voice dripping with admiration. "I recognize your obsession with victory. Even if no one else does, I will."

She paused, her voice now soft and clear. "I promise you, in my name, I will give you the taste of victory."

The voice that seemed almost kind rang through his ears, but the pain in his fingers was unbearable. As Marcus heard the crack of his fingers breaking, he felt himself losing consciousness from the intensity of the pain.

But he did not scream.

In his final moments of consciousness, as his body crumpled to the floor, Marcus heard Mirabelle's words:

"Be proud, Marcus Flint. You have earned my help."

Time passed, and it was now October.

Oliver Wood, the captain of Gryffindor's Quidditch team, stood in the chilly locker room, giving his team a passionate speech.

His voice was filled with determination, but also with an undercurrent of sadness.

"Everyone! This is our last chance! My last chance to win the Quidditch Cup!"

Oliver paced in front of his team, speaking with intensity.

"This year, I'm leaving. I won't get another chance. Gryffindor has only won the Cup once in these seven years, and that was just last year. I want to leave with that crown of glory."

He paused, clenching his fist, his face showing deep anxiety and frustration as he gritted his teeth.

"But there are those who threaten to steal that glory from us! This year's Quidditch teams are stacked with formidable players, as if they're trying to stop us from winning!"

When the students change grades, the players do too.

Some teams weaken when key players graduate, while others are strengthened by fresh talent—just like how Gryffindor had been enhanced with Harry Potter two years ago.

This year, both of these scenarios had occurred simultaneously.

"The new captain and seeker for Hufflepuff, Cedric Diggory!"

Hufflepuff was usually the most overlooked of the four houses, but every now and then, they produced a truly exceptional player. Cedric Diggory was one such talent—excellent in magic, appearance, and personality. He was a popular figure at school.

But even Cedric Diggory paled in comparison to a new, formidable threat in this year's Quidditch matches.

"And then, the worst-case scenario we had feared finally happened...

Mirabel Beresford has declared her intention to join the Slytherin team!"

Oliver's bitter, blood-curdling words threw the entire room into an uproar.

There wasn't a single student in the school who didn't know the name Mirabel.

Dubbed "The Tyrant," "The Demon," and "The Basilisk Slayer," she was both feared and revered, a figure of awe and terror.

Her overwhelming magical prowess was unrivaled. She surpassed even seventh-year students, and on occasion, outclassed the teachers. In battle, she could trample over even a king of serpents with a smile on her face.

Yet, with a beauty so divine that it could be described as a work of the gods, she captivated all who saw her. Her voice alone could ensnare listeners, turning them into her devoted followers.

That girl — the ultimate wildcard of Slytherin — had finally decided to participate in Quidditch.

**"This was miscalculation... A complete miscalculation! We all assumed Beresford had no interest in Quidditch.

I knew Marcus had been eyeing her talents for a while, but I was certain she would never obey him! Her personality wouldn't allow it! I was convinced she'd never change her stance!

But somehow, somehow he pulled it off... And I doubt it was anything ethical!

The worst possible enemy has now been born for us!"**

"B-but, Oliver, she's still just a third-year girl, right?"

Angelina Johnson, one of Oliver's teammates, tried to calm him down.

But at her words, Oliver yelled, "Just a third-year!?" He looked at her as if she'd just said something utterly unbelievable.

**"She's beyond that kind of measure!

Did you forget that she brutally killed the basilisk last year!?"**

"B-but that doesn't mean she's good on a broom! Besides, we have Harry!"

Hearing Angelina's words, Oliver took a deep breath, then nodded.

**"Yeah… yeah, you're right. True, Beresford is a terrifying opponent.

But we have the best team in the school — no, the strongest team in the school's history!

We've got three top-tier Chasers! We've got two unbeatable Beaters!

And our Seeker has always led us to victory! And let's not forget me — the impenetrable Keeper!"**

Oliver's shout echoed with all the force he could muster, and his teammates all nodded with fierce determination.

Yes, they had nothing to fear. They were, without a doubt, the best Quidditch team Gryffindor had seen in years.

Even in Hogwarts' long history, it was rare for a lineup of such heroic figures to come together on one team.

There was no doubt in anyone's mind — they were one of Gryffindor's most legendary teams.

"That's right, Oliver!"

Fred Weasley's voice echoed in agreement.

"This year is our year!"

Angelina added with a determined smile.

"We're going to win for sure!"

Harry Potter clenched his fists as if stirring up his own courage.

Yes, Mirabel was terrifying. If anyone understood that, it was Harry. No one knew her strength better than him.

But he knew he could win in the air. If it was on a broom, he wouldn't lose.

No matter how fearsome Mirabel was, he was confident in his victory.

He believed it wholeheartedly.

Gryffindor's will to win became a mighty roar, shaking the locker room with its intensity.

Late October — Halloween.

It was also the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year.

The village, blanketed in silver-white snow like something from a Christmas card, was already bustling with students. Each of them visited shops according to their own interests.

Mirabel and Edith were among the students visiting Hogsmeade, but today they had an unexpected companion.

**"I knew you two were somewhat close, but I didn't expect it to be this much.

To think you of all people would join them... Granger."**

Standing before Mirabel's sharp gaze was none other than Hermione Granger, who shrank back nervously.

Mirabel wasn't scolding her, nor was she glaring. In fact, for once, Mirabel seemed unusually amicable. But despite that, her gaze alone was enough to make Hermione feel pressured.

Sensing Hermione's unease, Edith stepped between them, shielding her as she spoke.

"She didn't have anyone else to go with. Harry couldn't get permission from his family, and as for Ron… well, you know."

"Ah, he's still hospitalized at St. Mungo's, huh?"

Hermione's closest companions, Harry and Ron, were both absent.

Worse still, it was unlikely that either of them would be able to join her.

Harry's relatives wouldn't grant him permission to leave school, and given that Sirius Black was after him, the teachers weren't about to let him outside, either. Not to mention, his relatives were Muggles with a deep prejudice against magic.

As for Ron, he was still recovering at St. Mungo's after being hit with a botched Memory Charm from Lockhart last year.

Fortunately, the spell hadn't hit him directly, so its effects weren't too severe.

The Healers said that, with another year of treatment, he'd be able to return to school.

That was the one silver lining in all of this.

"Well, if she wants to come, I don't mind."

"Yeah, thanks, Mirabel."

With no objections whatsoever, Mirabel casually accepted Hermione's presence. Edith, feeling grateful, thanked her.

To be honest, Mirabel didn't particularly dislike Hermione. Hermione was competent, after all, and Mirabel had no reason to refuse someone like that.

If it had been someone like Crabbe or Goyle — utterly useless lumps of flesh — Mirabel would have rejected them without hesitation, even resorting to violence if necessary.

For better or worse... No, mostly worse, Mirabel had very clear likes and dislikes.

"First, as planned, we're heading to Honeydukes."

"Okay!"

Their primary goal in coming to Hogsmeade was to visit Honeydukes, the famous candy shop.

Going there first was already a foregone conclusion in Mirabel's mind. In fact, it was the main reason she had come to Hogsmeade at all.

They walked through the snow-covered village, passing various shops along the way.

When they passed the pub The Three Broomsticks, Edith glanced at it with a longing expression. Considering the freezing weather, it was understandable.

"Hey, Mirabel, after we buy our candy at Honeydukes, can we stop by there? I've always wanted to try butterbeer."

"Hmm, butterbeer, huh? True, there's nothing better on a cold day like this."

Butterbeer was a specialty of The Three Broomsticks, a warm, frothy drink.

Despite its name, it wasn't real beer. It was a sweet beverage made from milk, butter, egg yolks, and sugar. Its foamy appearance made it look like beer, which is how it got its name.

While it was known as The Three Broomsticks' signature drink, it wasn't exclusive to the pub. Because of that, Mirabel knew exactly what it tasted like.

"Alright. We'll stop by later."

After saying that, Mirabel continued walking briskly ahead.

Watching her back as she walked away, Hermione leaned close to Edith and spoke in a hushed tone, clearly not wanting Mirabel to hear.

"Hey, Edith."

"Hm? What's up?"

"I've been wondering… why are you friends with Beresford?"

This was Hermione's biggest question.

Mirabel and Edith were always together, just like how Hermione was often seen with Harry and Ron.

But to Hermione, the idea of Mirabel and Edith being friends seemed absurd.

On one side, there was Edith — a rational, kind, and empathetic person with strong moral principles.

On the other side was Mirabel — a person with no regard for common sense, empathy, or ethics. She was selfish, ruthless, and saw other people as little more than insects. She could kill living creatures with a smile on her face.

Edith, despite being a Slytherin, was clearly different. She was thoughtful, compassionate, and someone who genuinely cared about others. To Hermione, Edith felt closer to her own values.

But Mirabel was the complete opposite.

Her way of thinking went against everything Slytherin stood for, yet her prideful and arrogant demeanor fit the stereotype of a Slytherin perfectly.

"Honestly, I don't understand how you can stay friends with her."

"Hmm... I get where you're coming from, but still..."

The friendship between Edith and Mirabel was, to put it extremely, like Harry holding hands with Draco Malfoy and dancing together in a circle.

Their values, preferences, and everything else were polar opposites.

By any rational standard, they shouldn't be able to call each other "friends."

Yet somehow, they were friends. It was an impossible contradiction that Hermione just couldn't understand.

"Well, she does have some good points. For one, she doesn't judge people based on bloodline."

Mirabel was undeniably elitist and exclusive.

But her standard of "excellence" was based on personal ability, not lineage or ancestry.

That didn't necessarily make her any better than a pure-blood supremacist. It was a case of "the pot calling the kettle black." But for someone like Edith, that distinction was a welcome one.

"That's exactly why Harry should be careful."

"Huh? Why?"

**"I don't know what exactly happened, but Mirabel has acknowledged Flint.

She changed her stance and agreed to join the team — something she never does."**

Edith's voice grew more serious as she continued.

If her friend had gone so far as to take back her previous words and lend her strength to the Slytherin team, there would be no half-measures.

When Mirabel committed to something, she did it thoroughly, without mercy.

That was simply the kind of person she was.

**"Which means... she'll go after Harry, Gryffindor's cornerstone, with everything she's got.

And if it's Mirabel, she'll do it without hesitation."**

Hearing that warning, Hermione's face went pale.

A dark shadow seemed to loom over the future of her absent friend.

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