Harry Potter and the Ambitious Girl

From Dumbledore's wand, a cascade of dazzling flashes erupted.

Edith fiercely pressed the attack, employing a wide array of spells.

Mad-Eye, Sirius, Lupin, Kingsley, and Tonks—all of them joined in, unleashing every magic they could think of against Mirabel.

But nothing worked. Nothing got through.

Any ordinary spell was blocked effortlessly by shields that appeared as if by instinct, never even touching her. And even if something did hit, it seemed to have no effect.

Her overwhelming offensive power combined with her unyielding defense formed an impenetrable fortress.

Neville, attempting a surprise attack, charged at her blind spot with his sword.

But Mirabel didn't even need to summon her Patronus to deal with him. With nothing but raw physical prowess, she dodged the blade and casually swiped her arm, sending him flying.

Mirabel's counterattacks, on the other hand, were beyond absurd.

Spells were unleashed without any apparent movement, each one smashing through shield charms and penetrating defenses.

Protego was utterly insufficient; only Protego Totalum or stronger spells could block the terrifying force of her magic.

But even the highest-tier defenses groaned under a single hit, and two or three consecutive strikes shattered them with ease.

And she wasn't content with just a few spells—she launched dozens in a single attack.

It was maddening. It felt unjust.

But this was Mirabel.

This overwhelming power, this domination through sheer violence—this was the essence of Mirabel Beresford.

The reason she was known as the Tyrant, who sought to rule all with brute force.

Just ten minutes into the battle, the heroes were already battered and broken.

"Hah... it seems the fight is over."

Mirabel smirked triumphantly as she walked forward.

She bore no small amount of wounds herself.

But with every step she took, her injuries healed, mending themselves in an instant.

Dumbledore, on the other hand, was wounded all over, barely able to stay on one knee.

She kicked him down, slamming him into the ground, and stomped on his head.

"Well, considering the Elder Wand isn't in play, this was more enjoyable than I expected.

Still, the result remains unchanged.

An old man who does nothing but deteriorate could never defeat someone like me, who continues to evolve."

Dumbledore was long past his prime, a man growing weaker with time.

But Mirabel was different.

Having stopped aging at 15, she existed in a perpetual state of growth. She would never deteriorate.

She possessed limitless potential, constantly evolving.

A better self today than yesterday, and an even stronger self tomorrow.

Two years ago, during the battle at the Ministry of Magic, even with the Elder Wand, Dumbledore had failed to defeat Mirabel. At that moment, his chances of victory had already vanished.

"All that's left is to slaughter the lot of you. What an anticlimactic finale."

Mirabel conjured lightning in her hand, standing over Dumbledore.

First, she would kill this symbol of the wizarding world.

Then she would exterminate his Order.

Finally, she would eliminate Neville and Edith.

Once that was done, all that remained would be a swarm of insignificant stragglers.

"Die, Albus Dumbledore."

She raised her arm, ready to unleash the spell that would end the wizard's life.

At the same time, Edith moved.

The original plan had been to save their trump card for the perfect opportunity, waiting for an opening in Mirabel's guard.

But as she saw Dumbledore about to be killed, Edith couldn't hold back.

She pulled the Arch from her pocket—a device capable of defeating Mirabel—and prepared to use it.

But her wrist was seized.

"Ah—!"

"So, this is what I sensed. I knew there was something strange about you, but to think you carried something like this."

Even Mirabel, as reckless as she was, did not underestimate the Arch.

Edith's mistake was revealing it before she had the chance to deploy it.

Without giving her a moment to enlarge the Arch back to its original size, Mirabel grabbed it from Edith and shoved her aside.

"No... this can't be...!"

"Foolish girl. Your precious trump card is wasted in your hands."

It was a catastrophic blunder.

The one thing capable of killing Mirabel had now fallen into her hands.

This singular device—the only thing in the world that could counter her—was now at her mercy.

And as Mirabel prepared to destroy it, she realized something was wrong.

—No. This isn't the Arch! It's a decoy, transformed with a transfiguration spell!—

"Right? You thought I'd be that careless, didn't you?"

Edith's voice came as she lunged at Mirabel, clinging to her.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the real Arch.

This time, it was no fake.

She tossed it to the side and canceled the shrinking spell, revealing the true Arch.

Using Carpe Retractum—a spell that tethered her to a target—she connected herself to the Arch and began dragging Mirabel toward it.

Mirabel resisted with her vampiric strength, but even she was slowly being pulled along.

If this continued, both Edith and Mirabel would be dragged into the Arch together.

"You…!"

Ordinarily, clinging to a vampire would be tantamount to suicide. With just a bit of effort, a vampire could break a human's body, bite into them at point-blank range, and drain their blood.

But Edith was an exception.

Thanks to the protective magic cast by Mary, Edith was nearly invulnerable to Mirabel. However, even with this advantage, taking down Mirabel wasn't an easy task. Hence, the need for a surprise attack.

Edith gambled everything on the brief moment of carelessness that arose when Mirabel seized the fake Arch.

"Tch…!"

Realizing the precarious situation, Mirabel reluctantly stopped time.

Yet—Edith did not stop.

Just as the Time-Turner allowed its user to transport others into the past when they touched it, the magic Mirabel had developed, based on that principle, had the same property. This was the sole and greatest flaw of the spell.

"Rheinaghl… are you really prepared to die with me?"

As the frozen world enveloped them, Mirabel asked Edith in disbelief.

It was true—if this continued, killing Mirabel was a possibility.

But would Edith be satisfied with that? Did she not fear dying alongside Mirabel?

In response, Edith allowed a faint smile to play on her lips.

"Maybe that's not such a bad option."

For Edith, her youth had been intertwined with Mirabel's.

They had been together since their first year at school, and even after they were apart, Mirabel's presence had never left Edith's mind.

In the end, Edith still cared deeply for Mirabel.

Even if Mirabel called their bond a "game," Edith couldn't abandon the thought of her as an important friend.

The idea of killing that friend and living on afterward—Edith couldn't bear it.

When she thought about it that way, dying together with Mirabel seemed almost appealing.

"Mirabel… is it truly impossible for you to stop?"

"You're persistent, Rheinaghl. Are you going to ask me the same thing Dumbledore did?"

"But… if it's you, you should be able to change the world without resorting to something like this.

You could have risen to the top of the Ministry of Magic through legitimate means, without making so many enemies. You didn't need to do these things that would make so many people hate you!"

Edith didn't want to criticize Mirabel's ultimate goal.

She didn't share Dumbledore or Mirabel's unshakable sense of justice. In fact, Edith often thought that justice itself was a form of imposition.

Thus, she had no intention of condemning the future Mirabel sought to create.

What Edith couldn't accept was the means.

There was no need for this.

There was no need to take such a roundabout path, one that involved so much killing, to reach her goal.

Mirabel, of all people, should have been able to rise to the top of the Ministry of Magic without these methods!

She might hate to admit it, but Mirabel's status as a member of a pure-blooded noble family was a powerful asset.

Connections could have secured her a place in the Ministry's upper echelons, and her abilities could have easily earned her the Minister's seat.

But Mirabel chose the path of war—a route guaranteed to make countless enemies.

Why had she chosen such a method? In the past, Edith might not have understood.

But now, after seeing Mirabel's memories, she thought she understood.

"Isn't it enough already? You don't have anyone left to hate!

There's no one left to unleash your hatred upon anymore!"

Revenge.

Though Mirabel cloaked her actions in the guise of ambition and noble purpose, what had truly driven her was her unrelenting hatred of the magical world.

A world that had taken Lettice away from her.

That bottomless hatred had been her driving force.

But Mirabel had already killed every person she hated.

What meaning was there in creating more enemies now?

The revenge was already complete.

In today's magical world, there was no one left for Mirabel to truly hate.

"You… I see. So, you know."

"…Yeah."

"In that case, you should understand even better. Unless we change the magical world, the same tragedies will keep happening.

The kind of tragedy that happened to your sister will never end!"

The magical world had to change. No, someone had to change it.

This was Mirabel's unwavering conviction.

Indeed, as Edith said, there were other ways Mirabel could have achieved her goals.

In fact, by avoiding confrontation with figures like Dumbledore, it might even have been easier.

She hated the idea, but leveraging her connections would have been effective.

However, Mirabel rejected those methods.

Because they wouldn't have eradicated the cancer at the very root of the magical world.

"But... but, what will happen to you then!?

If you change the magical world using such methods and reach its pinnacle... what will be left for you?

With a method like this, you... you'll never be able to save yourself!"

At Edith's words, Mirabel narrowed her eyes slightly.

This girl… even now, this fool still worries about me.

The thought crossed Mirabel's mind, and for a fleeting moment, she glimpsed the girl they had once been together.

Of course. They may look nothing alike, but the sisters truly are cut from the same cloth.

Always disrupting my plans, no matter what.

"...You're not suited for battle, Rheinaghl."

Mirabel let out a bitter smile at her former friend's softness and cast a sideways glance at Dumbledore and the others.

She quickly singled out someone among them and incanted a spell to turn the situation to her favor.

"Accio, Neville Longbottom."

"!!?"

What Mirabel summoned was none other than Neville.

Of course, this wasn't a move to break free of her restraints.

It was a needless act, dragging Neville into the fray.

Yet, when Edith saw Neville being pulled toward them, her face contorted with despair.

This was bad… if things continued, Neville would end up dragged into their struggle, thrown into the Arch with them.

No—if it were Mirabel, she might even go as far as to kick Neville through the Arch first.

"...!"

For a moment, hesitation.

Edith's gaze wavered, but she acted according to her heart's command.

She released one hand from Mirabel and reached out to grab Neville.

Seeing this, Mirabel lowered her gaze and extended her hand toward Edith.

"See… you really aren't cut out for this."

Time resumed.

When time restarted, what Dumbledore and the others saw was a concluded confrontation between Mirabel and Edith.

Mirabel was holding an unconscious Edith in her arms.

None of them had any way of knowing what had just transpired in that brief moment.

Nor did Mirabel have any intention of explaining.

All they could gather was that Edith's final gamble had failed.

Mirabel gently laid Edith down and spoke to her sleeping form.

"Well, you gave it your best shot."

With that, she turned her attention to the Arch.

Destroying it was now her priority over finishing Edith off.

As long as it remained, even the slightest possibility of her own demise lingered.

So she aimed her wand and fired several spells at the Arch.

---

Voldemort had no understanding of what was happening.

He was certain he had unleashed the Fiendfyre.

Harry Potter should have been defeated.

Then what was this?

Why was Harry's wand continuing to discharge magic as though nothing had changed?!

Voldemort's fleeting moment of triumph, basking in the glory of Harry's fall, was just that—fleeting.

Harry's body had indeed collapsed, but his wand fired back.

Not just ordinary spells, but powerful, terrifying dark magic, as if another Voldemort were on the battlefield.

"What… what is happening…?"

He didn't understand what was unfolding, but he knew what needed to be done.

Destroy the wand! Without that, this would never end!

However, before Voldemort could act, a severing spell slashed across his path.

"It's not… over yet…"

"Snape... you."

Severus Snape stood, blood gushing from his abdomen, coughing up clots of blood.

Yet still, he rose.

With every ounce of his fading life force burning away, he stood firm, pointing his wand at the Dark Lord.

Clutching his stomach, Snape stared at his blood-soaked hand.

And the thought that crossed his mind was a single word: grateful.

It was clear at a glance—it was a fatal wound.

And that's why he felt gratitude.

...There was no longer any need to hold back or protect himself.

He could now abandon all thoughts of self-preservation and face his enemy with everything he had.

"Dark Lord. Voldemort.

From that day forward, I have longed for this moment.

To bring down the man who took Lily's life with my own hands—I've dreamed of this."

He had lived in disgrace for so long.

Haunted by the regret of being the cause of the death of the one he loved.

But all of it had been for this moment.

Everything had led to this.

If Dumbledore's assumptions were correct, then Harry wasn't truly dead—only the fragment of the Dark Lord's soul inside him had perished.

In other words, now was the time. Now he could drag the Dark Lord to hell alongside him.

"The time of my vow has come… You will die with me, Dark Lord."

"Ridiculous… The only one dying is you, Snape!"

Voldemort unleashed a flash of green light from his wand, but Snape vanished at the same moment.

The speed of his Disapparition was astonishing, beyond even Voldemort's expectations.

Though momentarily stunned, Voldemort quickly fired a spell toward Snape's presence behind him, but once again, Snape disappeared.

He reappeared in rapid succession—above, below, left, right, behind, and ahead—appearing and vanishing at lightning speed.

It was unlike anything Voldemort had ever seen.

Snape's reckless chain of Apparition ignored the inherent risks, showing no hesitation in using such a dangerous tactic.

Even the Dark Lord couldn't track Snape's relentless apparitions.

Using this technique, Snape maneuvered into Voldemort's blind spots and cast his spells in silence.

It was his signature Severing Charm—fired in rapid succession.

It tore through Voldemort's robes, slashed his skin, drew blood, and still Snape didn't let up.

He dodged Voldemort's counterattacks with teleportation, flanking him to unleash yet another barrage of spells.

"Incredible…"

Hermione murmured, her voice filled with awe, forgetting even to assist.

No, rather, there was no chance to intervene.

Snape's speed was overwhelming, and against all odds, he was dominating the Dark Lord single-handedly.

But this was merely the final brilliance of a candle about to burn out.

Snape was sacrificing his life force by the second as he pushed Voldemort to the edge.

Yet the Dark Lord was no fool—he wouldn't fall so easily.

At this rate, Snape would collapse first, unable to sustain his assault, and he would lose.

But fate had other plans.

The boy chosen by destiny wouldn't allow it.

The boy who had supposedly fallen to the Killing Curse… Harry Potter… suddenly sprang to life as if propelled by unseen forces.

And then, with unwavering precision, Harry cast the Disarming Charm straight at Voldemort's wand.

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