Harry Potter and the Ambitious Girl

That day, Slytherin's first lesson was Defense Against the Dark Arts.

As the students walked down the corridor, they passed what could only be described as the remnants of Peeves, who had been battered so badly he was barely recognizable, stuffed into a trash can. Written across his forehead were the words: "A disgrace to food preservation."

This was the cursed subject that had a new professor every year, and this year was no different. Standing at the front of the classroom was yet another unfamiliar teacher: Mad-Eye Moody, a legendary Auror from his prime.

Renowned for his prowess, Moody was said to have filled half of Azkaban with captured dark wizards. Yet, his numerous battles had left him heavily scarred, making him an unsettling figure. His face appeared as if carved haphazardly out of wood, with every inch marred by deep scars. His nose was mangled, his mouth crooked, and where his left eye had once been, a magical, vividly blue eye now swiveled unnervingly in its socket. Beneath his tattered cloak, his left leg was replaced with a clanking, clawed wooden prosthetic.

"Put away your textbooks. You won't need them," Moody announced gruffly.

Standing at the lectern, he pulled out a roster and began calling names. One of his eyes focused on the list, but the magical eye darted around the room, scrutinizing the students with unsettling precision. It was clear the eye could see through walls and obstacles, as he appeared fully aware of students seated in supposed blind spots.

"You've all learned various techniques to fight dark creatures," Moody began, his gravelly voice filling the room. "But you're far behind—far behind. There's one crucial aspect of dark magic you haven't even begun to grasp: curses."

The students shifted uncomfortably as Moody continued, his voice suddenly booming, "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

The unexpected shout made everyone jump, and a murmur rippled through the class. No one had expected such an outburst, but Moody carried on as if nothing had happened.

"How can you defend yourself against something you've never seen or don't understand? My job is to get you up to the bare minimum in the time I have this year. You'll learn to recognize curses and, if necessary, fight them."

He scanned the room. "Now, there are three curses deemed the most unforgivable under wizarding law. Who can name them?"

A few students raised their hands hesitantly. Draco Malfoy, however, was as self-assured as ever, his hand shooting up with confidence. Moody ignored them all, his mismatched eyes focusing instead on Mirabel.

"Why didn't you raise your hand, Beresford?" Moody demanded. "They say you're the best student in this school. Don't tell me you don't know."

Mirabel smirked faintly. Despite not volunteering, she was intrigued by the challenge. "Of course I know them, Professor Moody."

"Then enlighten us," Moody said, motioning for her to answer.

"The Imperius Curse, Imperio, the Cruciatus Curse, Crucio, and the Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra," Mirabel replied smoothly. "The last one, especially, is absolute. There's no counter-curse or way to resist it. If struck, death is instantaneous. In the entire history of the wizarding world, only one person has ever survived it."

Everyone knew who that person was: Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. It was his miraculous survival of the Killing Curse that earned him his fame and the awe of the wizarding community.

Moody nodded, evidently satisfied with her response.

"Perfect, Beresford. Heathcote's pride in you is well-deserved," Moody said.

"..."

"I know your father well. An extraordinarily skilled Auror. His only flaws are his disregard for limits and his tendency to throw even innocent people into Azkaban if it serves his ambition. And your mother, the deputy headmistress at Durmstrang—well, it makes sense you're so exceptional."

At these words, Mirabel snorted lightly.

Exceptional thanks to her parents? How patronizing.

Her brilliance belonged to her alone. Even if her parents had been Muggles, she was certain she would still be the person she was today. It was undeniable that her current environment had contributed significantly to her growth, especially in terms of knowledge, but that was the extent of it.

"Last year, you received the Academic Excellence Award, and the year before that, Hogwarts' Special Service Award for your role in defeating the basilisk. Impressive, truly. I wouldn't be surprised if you surpassed your father as an Auror one day."

"…Thank you," Mirabel replied curtly, holding back a laugh.

An Auror? The idea was laughable.

Why would she ever become a dog for the Ministry of Magic? If anything, she would be the one keeping the Ministry on a leash—not the other way around.

The lesson continued with Moody demonstrating the three Unforgivable Curses on a spider, making their effects crystal clear to the students.

Under the Imperius Curse, the spider performed an elaborate ballet using its web. The Cruciatus Curse left the spider writhing in visible agony, twitching uncontrollably. Finally, when struck with the Killing Curse, the spider died instantly without a single mark on its body, vividly illustrating the horrifying power of the spell.

"Over the next year, I'll teach you how to face these curses. You must learn to recognize them, defend yourselves, and always remain vigilant. Now, take out your quills and start taking notes."

It would later be said that Alastor Moody's classes were among the most rigorous and effective Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons in recent history.

While Professor Lupin had been an excellent teacher the previous year, Moody's emphasis on actual combat with dark magic gave his classes an edge. Even Mirabel, with her usual skepticism, couldn't deny the quality of his instruction. If only he weren't a disguised Death Eater, she mused. Voldemort certainly knew how to recruit capable people.

Professor McGonagall had warned that fourth year was a critical time for students. The following year, they would face the O.W.L.s (Ordinary Wizarding Levels), exams that would heavily influence their futures. Starting preparations too late, she emphasized, would be disastrous.

As a result, classes this year were more demanding than ever, with a sharp increase in homework. In Potions, they were tasked with crafting antidotes. In Charms, they were assigned additional textbooks to master the Summoning Charm. Defense Against the Dark Arts had also become grueling, with Moody testing students' resistance to the Imperius Curse—a practice that many found deeply uncomfortable but which Moody carried out without hesitation.

Students subjected to the curse exhibited bizarre behavior, highlighting its terrifying power. Edith sang aloud, Theodore Nott broke into an energetic dance, Crabbe and Goyle played instruments, and Malfoy—stripped off his clothes.

When it was finally Mirabel's turn, Moody cast the curse on her.

Experiencing the Imperius Curse firsthand revealed its true horror. Under its influence, Mirabel felt an unparalleled sense of euphoria, a high beyond anything she had known. Every worry vanished, leaving behind pure tranquility and bliss.

She almost believed this was what she had always been seeking.

So this was the Imperius Curse, she realized—the enchantment that had driven countless wizards to commit acts of evil against their will.

But just as she surrendered to the intoxicating sensation, a jarring voice shattered the illusion.

Kneel before me.

Why? Mirabel's thoughts protested.

Not "Why such a command?" but rather, "Why should I obey anyone?" Even in this haze of bliss, her overwhelming pride refused to be extinguished.

Was she truly being commanded?

This man dares to order me? Me, Mirabel Beresford?

The moment this thought crystallized, her euphoria evaporated, replaced by a fierce wave of anger and defiance.

I bow to no one!I am bound by no one, I serve no one, and I certainly do not grovel!

The only person who can command me is myself!

As her resolve solidified, her mind cleared, and her vision sharpened.

Looking at Moody's astonished expression, Mirabel smirked defiantly.

"Ugh… this is so embarrassing… Why on earth did I sing like that?"

"It was my first time experiencing it, but that spell is terrifying. Resisting it must be incredibly difficult."

On their way back to the dormitory after class, Edith groaned, her face flushed with shame. Considering what had happened in front of everyone, her embarrassment was understandable. However, it seemed the female students were treated with a bit more consideration—Edith's "orders" were relatively mild in comparison. At least she hadn't been subjected to anything as bad as Malfoy.

"Still, I wonder… does Professor Moody hate Malfoy? I mean, he did turn him into a ferret and toss him around before."

"It's not him personally—it's his father that Moody despises. Lucius Malfoy was once a leader of the Death Eaters but managed to avoid Azkaban and climbed his way into power. For any Auror, he's a sworn enemy."

"So, does that mean your father feels the same?"

"Yes. Even now, fourteen years later, he's still searching for a way to convict Malfoy."

As they continued their conversation, they began to hear some commotion up ahead. Students were gathered in the entrance hall, buzzing with excitement.

"What's going on?" Edith asked, breaking into a small jog toward the scene, while Mirabel reluctantly followed behind, looking annoyed.

A crowd of students had swarmed the noticeboard at the base of the staircase. Edith stood on her tiptoes, trying to get a better view, but it was no use. The moment Mirabel caught up, however, the other students stepped aside in a hurry, clearing a path to the noticeboard.

It was an announcement about the Triwizard Tournament. The notice stated that the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would arrive on October 30th at 6:00 PM. All students were to gather outside the castle to welcome them—a mere week from now.

"Who do you think will be the Hogwarts champion?"

"Hmm. If I had to guess, someone like Marcus Flint might volunteer."

As captain of the Quidditch team, Marcus Flint's athletic ability was undeniable. Other qualities might be questionable, but if Slytherin had to produce a champion, he wasn't the worst candidate. Of course, that assumed Mirabel herself wouldn't be competing.

For the next week, the entire castle buzzed with talk about the tournament. Students speculated about the visitors, their abilities, and who might put their name forward. Conversations seemed endless, and it became nearly impossible to focus on classes.

Finally, October 30th arrived. The day the students had been eagerly anticipating. The Great Hall was already decorated for the occasion, with massive banners representing each house draped across the walls. Behind the staff table, the Hogwarts crest—flanked by a lion, snake, badger, and eagle—stood prominently.

Excitement filled the air as time flew by. By 6:00 PM, all the students had gathered outside the castle, lined up and waiting impatiently for the two visiting schools. Edith, her face red from the chill and excitement, nudged Mirabel.

"It's finally happening! But how do you think they'll get here? It's so far away."

"Practicality suggests a Portkey or Apparition, but those lack spectacle," Mirabel replied coolly.

"I think Hermione mentioned you can't Apparate into Hogwarts grounds, though," Edith countered.

"That's trivial. Dumbledore could lift the restriction temporarily if he wanted."

The quickest and most efficient methods of magical travel were undoubtedly Apparition or Portkeys. However, they weren't exactly grand. Just as Hogwarts wanted to make an impression, the other schools would likely want to show off as well. Something more dramatic seemed certain.

"Incredible! If my eyes don't deceive me, that must be Beauxbatons approaching!" Dumbledore's voice boomed from the back of the staff lineup, drawing every eye skyward.

Students began looking around frantically, trying to spot the incoming delegation. Finally, a sixth-year pointed to the sky. "There it is!"

A massive object was soaring toward the castle—something far larger than even a hundred brooms could match.

"What is that?"

"It's a dragon!" a panicked first-year exclaimed.

"No way—it's some kind of huge broomstick!"

"I know this one! Muggles call it an airplane!" another student yelled, adding to the confusion.

"Don't be ridiculous! It's a flying house!" shouted another.

All the guesses were wrong. What approached Hogwarts was an enormous, carriage-sized coach. Drawn by twelve massive, winged horses, the airborne carriage glided gracefully through the night sky.

With a thunderous landing, the coach touched down on the castle grounds. Students clad in pale blue robes emerged swiftly, arranging a gilded step for their arrival. The first to step onto it was a pair of towering high heels, followed by their wearer—a strikingly tall woman descending regally from the coach.

She was a beautiful woman.

Her smooth, sun-kissed complexion complemented her toned physique. Her sharp features, high nose, and the opal necklace adorning her neck gave her the appearance of an aristocratic lady. However, what truly set her apart was her sheer physical presence.

Simply put, she was enormous. That was the first and most striking impression anyone would have. Even compared to Hagrid, the famously large man at Hogwarts, she seemed nearly identical in height—perhaps just a mere three centimeters difference. As an aside, Hagrid's height is 250 centimeters, which underscores just how gigantic she was.

"She's huge... Dumbledore doesn't even reach her chest," Edith exclaimed.

"Dumbledore isn't exactly small himself," Mirabel added, providing context. "That must be Madame Maxime, the headmistress of Beauxbatons."

Dumbledore, who stood over 180 centimeters tall, looked almost childlike beside her. If that was the case, Edith and Mirabel would barely reach her waist.

"She looks cold in that outfit, though," Edith observed.

"She's likely from a much warmer region," Mirabel replied. "But yes, they do seem a bit underprepared."

Their thin, silk-like robes looked insufficient for the chilly weather, especially since they weren't even wearing cloaks. Madame Maxime handed over her winged horses to Dumbledore's care before walking gracefully into the castle. The Beauxbatons students hurried after her, rushing into the warmth of the castle.

For several minutes, the students waited for Durmstrang to arrive, gazing up at the sky. They had unconsciously assumed that Durmstrang, like Beauxbatons, would also arrive from the air. However, their expectation was shattered when the lake began to ripple, forming a massive whirlpool.

Out of the swirling water emerged a colossal ship. Befitting a school specializing in the Dark Arts, it exuded an ominous, ghostly aura. When it docked at the shore, a group of individuals clad in thick fur coats disembarked, followed by a silver-haired man in a silvery fur coat and a strikingly beautiful woman wearing a flowing crimson coat, her golden hair gleaming.

They were Igor Karkaroff, the headmaster of Durmstrang, and Mavis Beresford, the deputy headmistress.

"Hey, could that woman be...?" Edith asked, her voice tinged with awe.

"Yes, that's my mother," Mirabel replied nonchalantly.

"Wow... she's stunning..." Edith whispered in amazement.

The radiant beauty and allure of the woman were undeniable. Her wavy golden hair bore a striking resemblance to Mirabel's, making it evident that they were related. Her facial features were similar to Mirabel's, and her commanding presence—rooted in her absolute confidence in her appearance—was just like her daughter's.

The pair approached Dumbledore, greeting him warmly.

"Dumbledore! Ah, it's been a while! How have you been?" Karkaroff called out.

"Quite well, Karkaroff. And to think you would bring such a distinguished guest... Welcome, Mrs. Beresford," Dumbledore replied with a kind smile.

"It's been too long, Headmaster Dumbledore. By the way, where is my daughter?" Mavis asked.

"She's among the students gathered to welcome you, over there," Dumbledore said, pointing to a group of Slytherin fourth-years.

Spotting Mirabel, Mavis waved enthusiastically. Mirabel, though reluctant, waved back. Normally, such behavior would attract attention, but fortunately, most of the students were too distracted to notice.

Their attention was captivated by a different figure among the Durmstrang group—a figure that immediately became the center of attention.

"Mirabel, isn't that... Viktor Krum?!" Edith squealed.

"It seems so," Mirabel confirmed.

The hooked nose, thick eyebrows, and unmistakable slouch were recognizable even from afar. It was Viktor Krum, the world-renowned Quidditch player. The female students erupted into cheers, and Edith stood on her tiptoes for a better look. Fumbling through her belongings, she was likely searching for something to get autographed.

Following the Durmstrang students, the group proceeded into the Great Hall and took their seats. However, for Edith and the other Quidditch fans, their excitement over Krum's presence lasted throughout the evening.

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