Harry Potter and the Ambitious Girl

Mirabelle's devastating rampage seemed unstoppable.

However, one last hope remained.

Bursting into the despair-filled battlefield was a boy with messy black hair, striking green eyes, and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead—Harry Potter.

Beside him stood Hermione, the two now facing off against Mirabelle.

"So, it's you, Potter... It seems Voldemort ultimately failed to defeat you."

Mirabelle's voice dripped with disdain as she glared at Harry and Hermione.

Even that single glance brought an oppressive weight upon them, as if gravity itself had intensified. Hermione trembled, and Harry felt his knees threatening to buckle.

They had no idea what had occurred prior to this moment.

But one thing was clear: Mirabelle had completely unleashed the restraints on her power.

"It wasn't my strength that defeated him. It was Professor Snape."

Voldemort had been vanquished.

Yet Harry admitted it wasn't by his own hand. The bravest of men, Severus Snape, had been the one to topple the Dark Lord.

"I see... But it seems that Snape hasn't made it here, has he?

...So then, what can you do without him?"

Around Mirabelle, spheres of green light began to materialize.

Each one contained a Killing Curse, the deadliest spell, capable of snuffing out a life instantly with a single hit.

Yet to Mirabelle, such deadly curses were as trivial as lesser spells now.

"In other words, you're no longer immortal, correct? That works to my advantage, not yours."

"...!"

Everyone present knew she was right.

While Harry had managed to triumph over Voldemort, that did nothing to alter Mirabelle's overwhelming power.

Neither Harry nor Hermione stood any real chance of defeating her.

Yet Harry, having faced death a second time in his previous battle and overcome his fear, managed to remain calm.

He found a single, needle-threading path forward—a strategy with a slim, but not impossible, chance of success.

"Mirabelle, let's settle this... with a broomstick duel!"

Mirabelle's movements froze for a brief moment.

Not just her—everyone on the battlefield seemed stunned by the absurdity of his challenge.

A broomstick duel? Here? Why?

Under the skeptical gaze of everyone present, Harry pressed on, undeterred.

"A race on brooms. The first to push their opponent through that arch wins. Simple, isn't it?"

"...Are you out of your mind? Why would I agree to such a foolish contest—"

"Are you afraid?"

Mirabelle was about to dismiss Harry's challenge as ridiculous, but he cut her off.

"You once said, 'Come at me whenever you think you can win!'"

'Remove all obstacles to your victory, and if you truly believe you can defeat me, challenge me anytime.

I'll accept your challenge, no matter the time or place.'

"My challenge is right here, right now! Or was that all just empty talk?"

Without giving her a chance to counter, Harry's words struck like a final provocation.

Objectively speaking, Mirabelle had no reason to accept.

His suggestion was laughable.

But Harry had banked on her immense pride.

"I believe I can beat you! That's why I'm challenging you!

If you refuse, it means you're scared of losing to me!"

"......"

Normally, no one would entertain such a challenge.

But Mirabelle's pride had always been a defining trait.

Even back in her first year, she had risen to Hermione's bait, albeit with less at stake.

And so, with a faint smirk, she accepted Harry's provocation.

"Very well... It's not like I have anything else to do before this world ends.

The meteors I've summoned are still hurtling toward Earth... perhaps killing me might spare the planet total destruction.

...Although there's no escaping catastrophic damage regardless."

She's taken the bait!

Harry let out a quiet breath of relief. His gamble had paid off.

But now came the true challenge.

From this point forward, he had to fight the monstrous Mirabelle with his life on the line.

And he was on the clock—the Earth would only hold until the meteors arrived.

Even if he won, it would mean nothing if the world was destroyed.

"Accio! Silver Arrow!"

"Accio! Firebolt!"

Both called their brooms to their hands.

Though Mirabelle could fly without one, the duel's terms demanded she use a broom.

They mounted their brooms, and Mirabelle tossed a coin into the air.

"When this coin hits the ground, the duel begins."

"Got it."

The coin flipped through the air, spinning as gravity began to draw it down.

It seemed to fall agonizingly slowly, as if time itself had stretched.

Harry felt his senses sharpen, his focus narrowing to a singular point.

"I'll end this quickly."

The coin hit the ground—

And Mirabelle became a blur, moving like the wind itself.

Her speed was unreal, closing in on Harry in an instant.

But Harry surged forward on his broom, meeting her head-on.

Fast!But not so fast that he couldn't keep up.

This was why Harry had chosen a broomstick duel.

Brooms had fixed speed limits—they couldn't grow stronger or faster with magic.

No matter how much Mirabelle's power grew, her broom would cap her speed.

In this contest, Harry and Mirabelle were evenly matched in speed.

"Hmph, better than before, I suppose..."

Mirabel darted straight at Harry, who swiftly ascended to evade her.

Moments later, defying all physical laws, Mirabel made a sharp 90-degree turn and resumed her pursuit.

Though their broom speeds were equal, Mirabel was superior in every other way. The starkest difference lay in their physical endurance. While humans couldn't possibly withstand erratic flight paths or sudden accelerations, such maneuvers posed no problem for Mirabel.

Furthermore, the rule of forcing one's opponent through the arch heavily favored Mirabel due to her superior strength.

"Tch!"

The disparity in turning capabilities was glaring!

Harry flew full speed toward a wall, kicking off just before impact to change direction.

However, Mirabel stopped abruptly in front of the wall and executed another sharp turn, keeping her relentless pursuit.

Next, Harry accelerated toward the arch, veering off at the last possible moment.

But Mirabel was already waiting in anticipation!

"Predictable move."

"What?!"

Harry tried to dodge the outstretched hand, but Mirabel managed to grab a fistful of his hair.

Was it over? No—not yet!

Ignoring the pain, Harry accelerated, narrowly passing in front of Mirabel.

A few strands of his hair tore free and remained in her grasp, but his life was spared.

Once again, Mirabel positioned herself behind him, and their deadly game of chase resumed.

"Persistent little rat," Mirabel sneered.

Leading her along, Harry once more flew toward the arch—a repeat of his earlier tactic.

Mirabel scoffed dismissively, anticipating his escape route, and intercepted him mid-flight. This time, she seized his arm, leaving him with no way to escape.

"Not over yet!"

Grabbing his Firebolt with the free hand, Harry spun it 180 degrees and accelerated—attempting to drag Mirabel into the arch with him.

But it was futile. Mirabel didn't budge.

"Hmm? Is this supposed to be doing something?"

Mirabel smirked as she hoisted Harry effortlessly into the air.

The force of the Firebolt's acceleration was neutralized by her raw physical strength.

At that moment, the match was decided. But Mirabel wasn't content with mere victory.

She swung Harry upward with all her might and hurled him toward the arch!

The impact shattered his balance, and something small fell from his pocket.

"AAAAAHHHH!"

"HARRY!"

Hermione's desperate cry echoed as Harry's body vanished beyond the arch.

It was an unyielding one-way path to the afterlife.

The last hope of the magical world had been snuffed out in an instant.

Everyone knew—once you passed through, there was no return. It was more absolute, more terrifying, than even the Killing Curse.

Hermione sank to her knees, defeated. Edith lowered her head, unwilling to face reality.

Yet amidst her despair, something caught Edith's eye—a glimmer of an object that had fallen from Harry's pocket.

A small, watch-like device.

She recognized it, vaguely. Hermione had once explained it to her.

"That's..."

Swallowing nervously, Edith made her move, stealthily picking up the object without anyone noticing.

"Hmph. So that's all he had to offer," Mirabel muttered.

Savoring her victory tinged with slight disappointment, she turned her attention to the arch.

Its purpose fulfilled, she raised a hand toward it.

She didn't know what material the arch was made of, but breaking it posed no challenge.

There was no one left to stop her now. Complete victory was hers.

That moment of arrogance proved to be her ultimate mistake.

"OOOOOAAAAAHHHHHH!"

With an earth-shaking roar, Harry Potter burst forth from the arch!

The utterly unexpected event caught Mirabel completely off guard.

Why? Why was he alive?

Why hadn't he perished after crossing the arch?

Voldemort was gone, and the seven Horcruxes had all been destroyed.

Amid her shock, Mirabel's gaze landed on the Gryffindor sword lying on the ground nearby.

And in that instant, the truth clicked into place.

Back in his second year, what exactly had that sword cut?

The sword, devoid of any venom, had somehow harmed Tom Riddle. Why?

Goblin-forged, the Gryffindor sword absorbs that which strengthens it.

And Horcruxes—items imbued with souls—are strong.

The sword… Yes, it had absorbed Riddle's soul back then. It had become a Horcrux itself.

"Neither can live while the other survives."

The prophecy by Sybill Trelawney echoed.

Harry and Voldemort were bound by this shared fate.

Voldemort's soul lived within Harry, making him immortal as long as Voldemort lived.

Likewise, Harry's mother's protective charm lingered in Voldemort, binding his life to Harry's.

They were intertwined, sustaining each other in a cruel symbiosis.

And now, Voldemort persisted—not fully alive, but not fully dead.

Somehow, Harry had severed his head, but Voldemort's shadowy essence remained.

The Gryffindor sword, now a Horcrux, had prolonged Voldemort's existence.

As long as Voldemort survived, Harry could not die.

Not from the Killing Curse, nor by passing through the veil of the arch.

And through this twisted irony, the Dark Lord—once the symbol of despair—had unwittingly become the source of hope.

"Fallllllll!"

Seizing the unexpected opportunity, Harry circled behind Mirabel and tackled her with all his strength. Normally, she would not have even budged, but this time, she had been caught off guard. The shock of the unforeseen event, happening just as she thought victory was certain, caused her to freeze for a moment.

Despite being shoved by Harry, Mirabel quickly regained her composure and identified the best course of action. The game was over; she would not allow an extension.

"Stop time!"

At her command, the flow of time ceased entirely. In this frozen world, only Mirabel could move. It was her domain alone.

"Be destroyed!"

She unleashed her magic, shattering the Arch. Although its mysterious material resisted her first blow, it could not withstand Mirabel's overwhelming power. After four or five strikes, it crumbled into unrecognizable fragments. The only tool capable of defeating Mirabel was now utterly obliterated.

Not stopping there, she conjured Fiendfyre to incinerate the sword lying on the ground.

"And time shall resume."

As time restarted, Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. The Arch had vanished in an instant—the one thing capable of defeating Mirabel was gone! He also felt the severing of his connection with Voldemort, sensing that the wraith-like Dark Lord, reduced to mere vapor, had likely ceased to exist entirely.

Mirabel raised her claws, ready to deliver the finishing blow to the despair-stricken Harry. But resistance came once more.

"Accio, Harry Potter!"

Hermione's spell yanked Harry away from Mirabel's claws, and in his place, the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore launched their final stand.

But it wasn't enough.

Mirabel's claws tore through Sirius's arm. Lupin's leg was shattered. Tonks fell with her chest pierced. Kingsley was struck by a Killing Curse, and Moody, his neck broken by a savage kick, moved no more. Dumbledore lost a hand, and Neville was hurled out of the school entirely.

Yet, their desperate sacrifice was not in vain. In the fleeting moments they bought, Edith apparated in and clung to Mirabel.

"You pests are infuriating!" Mirabel snarled, slamming her fist into Edith's stomach.

Ordinarily, a blow like that would have pierced straight through a human body, but Edith's protective charms held firm. Though pain twisted her face, the fire in her eyes remained undimmed.

"Mirabel... forgive me!"

"What are you doing?!"

A chill of foreboding ran through Mirabel. What was this woman planning? Following her instinct, Mirabel looked at Edith's hands—and there it was.

A Time-Turner.

The forbidden artifact, long thought destroyed in the battle between the Death Eaters and Harry's group at the Ministry of Magic.

Harry instinctively patted his own pockets.

It wasn't there. He must have dropped it in the earlier chaos.

And now, Edith held it.

Before Mirabel could react, Edith activated the Time-Turner.

Where they would go was unknown. How far they would travel—years, decades—was anyone's guess.

This was not a tool to be used lightly, and Edith knew it. She even felt it should never be used at all. But leaving things as they were would mean the end of not just the magical world, but all of Earth, under Mirabel's unstoppable wrath.

She had to act, even if it meant sacrificing everything.

"Turn back time," Edith whispered.

With that, time magic surged, and both Edith and Mirabel vanished from the battlefield, leaving no trace behind.

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