Harry Potter and the Ambitious Girl

An explosion.

There was no better way to describe it—a manifestation of pure malice.

The atmosphere grew oppressive, as if the entire Durmstrang castle had become unbearably heavy. The air itself seemed to warp. Around Mirabel, even the scenery distorted; the sheer pressure from her presence caused the furnishings nearby to crack or shatter into pieces.

Mirabel hadn't even moved yet. She hadn't done a thing.

All she did was unleash the malice hidden deep within her heart.

And yet, everyone present was already overpowered.

This isn't the kind of pressure any living being should ever be able to emit.

In a desperate bid to shake off their fear, Sirius and Lupin were the first to leap into action. Enchanting their wands into blades, they charged at her.

But Mirabel stopped Sirius's blade by pinching it between her index and middle fingers.

Then, in one fluid motion, she hurled him, blade and all, straight into Lupin, who was rushing in from behind.

"Urgh!"

"Gah!"

As the two were sent flying, Mirabel leisurely tilted her wine glass, sipping the crimson liquid within.

Mad-Eye, Kingsley, and Tonks took advantage of her apparent distraction, aiming their wands and casting stunning spells in unison.

The spells were refined and precise—far beyond the abilities of ordinary wizards.

But not one of them reached Mirabel. A shield spell materialized in front of her, blocking them all.

She remained silent, as if speaking was beneath her. She didn't even lift her wand—or move at all, for that matter.

For Mirabel, magic had become as effortless as breathing. She didn't need to lift a finger to wield it.

"Take this!"

Neville charged forward, sword raised high.

But before he could even close the distance, a disarming spell—cast without any preparation or movement—sent his sword flying.

And then, the magic didn't stop there. It sent Neville himself hurtling across the room.

"Now!"

Dumbledore swung his wand.

With the wand in his right hand, he levitated the surrounding debris and furniture, hurling them toward Mirabel. With the wand in his left—Grindelwald's wand—he transfigured them.

Hundreds of silver weapons, each a traditional bane of vampires, formed a cage of blades that closed in on Mirabel.

But with a single snap of her fingers, Mirabel reversed them all. Every blade turned outward, pointing away from her.

Dumbledore, however, was not one to be easily deterred.

Without missing a beat, he aimed his wand, prepared to detonate the blades—when everything stopped.

"Time Stay."

The pinnacle of magic that defies even the laws of reality: the ability to halt the world itself.

Time froze for everyone and everything. Dumbledore, the blades, even the very air remained still.

Only Mirabel was free.

She waved her hand, turning every blade back into rubble and letting it crash to the ground.

"And now, time resumes."

Time began to flow once more.

From Dumbledore's perspective, he wouldn't even understand what had happened.

The cage of blades had vanished entirely, and Mirabel stood unharmed, still in the same spot.

"Now, it's my turn," she said.

"No! Everyone, cast shielding spells now!"

Mirabel, still seated on her throne, conjured countless glowing orbs around her.

Each orb was a different attack spell, and every single one was imbued with absurdly destructive power—enough to make even seasoned Aurors pale in comparison.

Fire, ice, lightning, paralysis, crucifixion, wind, explosions, curses.

One after another, the spells were unleashed mercilessly, overwhelming Dumbledore and the others.

Even as they combined their defenses, casting the most powerful protective spells they could muster, it wasn't enough.

The surroundings were obliterated. One by one, they were struck down, collapsing to the ground.

When it was over, no one remained standing. Every single one of them lay defeated, scattered across the floor.

"What's the matter? I haven't even moved yet," Mirabel taunted.

She remained seated on her throne, still holding her wine glass, her expression twisted into a mocking smile.

It was nothing short of a nightmare.

No—it was worse than a nightmare.

They wished it were only a dream.

This monster had grown far too powerful.

Without moving a muscle, without so much as a scratch on her, she had proven herself unstoppable.

And to make matters worse, she was immortal. Unkillable.

It felt like a cruel joke.

"I... impossible..."

"S-she's too strong..."

Sirius and Lupin, unable even to stand, voiced their despair.

"This is hopeless... There's no way we can win..."

Even though the exchange had lasted only moments, it was more than enough to crush Tonks' spirit. Tears welled up in her eyes as the battle-hardened Auror let out a faint whisper of defeat.

"Urgh... not yet..."

"Not going down... so easily..."

Mad-Eye and Kingsley, resilient as ever, still seemed to have the will to rise.

But their legs trembled, their bodies battered and bruised. One more attack of the same magnitude, and they wouldn't be able to get back up again.

"I can't let it end like this..."

Neville, who had been flung far away earlier, had the advantage of suffering only minor injuries.

But a wound, no matter how small, was still a wound. Accumulate enough of them, and even the strongest would be unable to move.

This was the difference between humans and monsters.

Mirabel could fight endlessly unless she was killed, while humans would falter under the weight of their injuries.

This disparity was crushingly unfair, a bitter reality they could do nothing about.

But there was one who had avoided Mirabel's assault: Edith.

She had once learned magic from a reflection of Mirabel herself. Using short-range Apparition to evade the attacks, Edith now lunged at Mirabel from the side.

"Invadellent Patronum!"

She summoned a Pegasus Patronus, charging it straight at Mirabel.

But it was stopped by a silver figure that appeared in front of Mirabel—a girl.

Letice Grostest. Once rendered a husk of herself by the Ministry of Magic, killed by Mirabel, and then bound as a Patronus to guard her.

The melancholic expression of the young Patronus was in stark contrast to her strength, as she effortlessly repelled the Pegasus.

"So this is your choice, Lynaegle..."

"I thought I made myself clear. You were never to show your face before me again."

Mirabel conjured a glowing green light in her hand, her gaze fixed on Edith.

There was no hesitation.

No doubt.

The notion of mercy had long since been discarded.

If someone stood before her as an enemy, she would crush them and move forward, no matter who they were.

Even if they had once been her friend.

"I won't do that. I'll never run away from you again."

"...I see."

Their eyes locked, and in that instant, they both knew—neither would back down.

Mirabel briefly lowered her lashes, then opened them again, her gaze sharp and dangerous.

Very well. If you wish to stand against me, there will be no further words.

If you wish to die so badly, I'll grant your desire.

With intent to kill, she finally aimed the green light at Edith—the one who had once been her friend.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green flash struck Edith, forcing her body to arch backward.

This was the end.

There was no living being that could survive the Killing Curse.

Even Mirabel herself, a vampire, could only negate it by using Horcruxes. The Killing Curse was the ultimate, most deadly magic.

But that certainty was shattered.

Edith, despite being struck, did not fall.

The green light, instead of finishing her, condensed and gathered in front of her.

"Impossible... What is this...?"

Before Mirabel's disbelieving eyes, a figure appeared in front of Edith, shielding her.

It was someone who had once been her servant.

The long-departed maid with flaxen hair.

"Return it!"

The Killing Curse, which should have hit Edith, reversed its flow.

Empowered by the magic of protection and love, it became a force that could be called Mirabel's nemesis.

It was the same overwhelming light that had once destroyed Voldemort himself.

The reversed spell struck Mirabel directly, sending her body flying.

"....!"

Her throne shattered as she was pushed back, her body dragged along the ground.

But even then, Mirabel resisted. Digging into the ground to stop her momentum, she caught the rebounding protection spell with both hands.

Her hands burned under its power, but she forced it upward, redirecting the spell away from herself.

It dissipated into the air.

"Protective magic... When did you manage to cloak yourself in something like that?"

Her voice was eerily calm, unnervingly composed.

An unexpected turn of events—yet, rather than rattle Mirabel, it erased all trace of complacency from her.

As her burnt hands regenerated, she was calmer than she had been in her moment of dominance, her mind racing at incredible speed.

"I see now... That battle at the Ministry of Magic."

"Mary, you troublesome little wretch. You've left me quite the parting gift."

The sensation was akin to being bitten by her own hound.

Recalling her late servant's face, Mirabel allowed herself a faint smile at the "mischief" that had been left behind.

When she noticed Edith growing more confident after deflecting the Killing Curse, her smile deepened further.

"Mirabel, your magic cannot kill me.

As long as Mary's protection shields me, your spells won't reach.

So please—"

"—So you want me to step down, is that it?"

"!"

Mirabel almost laughed out loud at such naive words.

They were far beyond such negotiations now.

She had taken countless lives already; there was no turning back.

And yet, Edith still believed it possible to reach out a hand to her.

To save her.

To believe that Mirabel could be saved.

How utterly earnest—and how utterly foolish.

"Heh... You truly think you can win with a trinket that couldn't even destroy Voldemort?

How precious, Lynaegle.

How precious, Mary.

You're so endearing, I feel like embracing you—just to crush you."

Mirabel's voice was gentle, almost affectionate, as she mocked them, as though she were marveling at something sweetly foolish.

The servant's protective magic, Edith's arrogance—none of it stirred anger within her.

Perhaps it was the same indulgent amusement one felt watching a puppy bark.

With a wave of her hand, Mirabel cast "Depulso"—the counter-spell to Accio, propelling Edith backward.

Edith's slender body collided with the wall, her face twisting in pain.

Seeing this, Mirabel realized something.

So, the protective magic couldn't nullify spells entirely.

As she prepared another attack, Mirabel sensed a blinding flash of magic barreling toward her.

She narrowly evaded it by Apparating away.

"Hmph, so it won't be that easy, will it?"

The caster was none other than Dumbledore.

With two wands in his hands, he cast two spells simultaneously:

"Vulnera Sanentur" and "Episkey Maxima"—both advanced healing spells.

Spells meant to be cast individually on a single person were now applied to multiple allies at once, showcasing Dumbledore's unparalleled mastery.

"Edith... Can you still fight?"

"Y-yes!"

"Everyone, I know it's a grueling battle, but you can still fight, can't you?

Edith and I will take the lead! No one else is to approach Mirabel!

Support us from a distance with your magic!"

Dumbledore had swiftly assessed the situation.

Only he and Edith, protected by Mary's magic, could hold their own against Mirabel.

Any misstep, like letting Tonks get too close, would spell death.

Against such a monster, there was no room for error.

"Edith... You brought it, didn't you?"

"...Yes."

"I'll create an opening. The timing is entirely up to you."

They had an ace up their sleeve.

And Edith was the one carrying it.

But Mirabel left so few openings that deploying it seemed nearly impossible.

If none existed, Dumbledore was resolved to create one.

Even if it cost him what remained of his life, that girl must be stopped here.

"Hah, it's admirable how you keep fighting despite the overwhelming difference in power...

But at least entertain me a little.

If this gets too boring, I might kill you by accident."

Mirabel was still overconfident, still arrogant.

And that, Dumbledore thought, left a small but exploitable gap.

Edith summoned her Pegasus Patronus from behind, while Dumbledore conjured numerous statues from the rubble around them.

Then, together, they charged forward, determined to strike down the demon.

"Sectumsempra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Snape's Severing Charm and Harry's Disarming Charm flew toward Voldemort simultaneously.

But Voldemort twisted his body and vanished, reappearing behind them the next instant.

A deadly curse was unleashed—a spell against which no countercurse could prevail.

Before Harry could react, his wand spewed golden flames.

The opposing spells collided, neutralizing each other in a burst of energy.

Harry's wand was fighting Voldemort of its own accord, independent of Harry's will.

"What is this...? This wand is not mine... and yet, why...?"

Voldemort muttered with barely concealed frustration.

It had been like this since the battle began.

Harry, who should have been no match for him, was holding his own, matching Voldemort blow for blow.

At first, Voldemort assumed it was because of the wand.

That's why he had captured Ollivander, the wandmaker, and tortured him for answers.

Ollivander had explained, "It's because of the twin cores; the wands resonate with each other."

But what about now?

The wand Voldemort was using wasn't his—it belonged to Bellatrix.

So why couldn't he kill Harry?

On the other side, Harry was equally perplexed.

From the moment the battle began, he had been fighting far better than he ever expected.

But it wasn't his own strength.

It was the wand.

It was acting on its own, battling Voldemort and pushing back.

Harry didn't understand what was happening.

But he felt it—this was his chance.

"Stupefy!"

Hermione cast a Stunning Spell.

For someone her age, it was remarkably powerful.

But against the Dark Lord, it was a mere flicker of resistance.

With a casual wave of his wand, Voldemort dissipated the spell and retaliated with a Killing Curse.

Hermione barely dodged by leaping sideways, and in that moment, Snape launched a surprise attack from behind.

"Tch!"

The Sectumsempra spell grazed Voldemort's cheek, and Harry followed up with another spell.

Voldemort twisted away again, reappearing at a short distance.

"You insufferable pests!"

He swept his wand, and towering flames erupted behind him, transforming into the shape of a serpent.

It was Fiendfyre, a cursed flame Mirabel also favored.

One of the highest forms of Dark Magic, it was far beyond what Harry or Hermione could counter.

Snape immediately understood this and unleashed his own spell—a blazing doe composed of fire, which charged at the serpent, halting its advance.

But that was the opening Voldemort had been waiting for!

In the brief moment Snape acted to protect Harry and Hermione, Voldemort Apparated behind him.

"—!"

"Too slow!"

Snape tried to block, but Voldemort's wand slashed across his abdomen first.

A torrent of blood erupted, and Snape coughed up more as he crumpled to the ground.

Without even glancing at the fallen Snape, Voldemort turned his attention to Hermione.

"Look out, Hermione!"

Fiendfyre burst from Voldemort's wand, streaking toward her.

If it hit, Hermione's life would have ended then and there.

But that never happened.

The deadly flames didn't reach her.

Because Harry had thrown himself in between to shield her.

"…No… no…"

Time seemed to slow as she watched Harry collapse before her eyes.

It didn't feel real.

It couldn't be real.

Hermione stood frozen, staring in shock.

And so, Harry Potter, their beacon of hope, fell to the floor, motionless.

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