Harry Potter and the Ambitious Girl

"Now then... shall we begin with a meal?"

The first words Mirabel uttered after abandoning her humanity and embracing the depths of darkness were those.

She teasingly ran her crimson tongue along her finger, revealing a sensual yet menacing expression.

Her gaze was fixed on Heathcote, her biological father.

She had decided long ago that her first "meal" would be her own father.

Surely, the blood of her kin would "blend" most seamlessly with her transformation.

Heathcote was speechless, frozen in disbelief.

He could not comprehend the reality before him. It was far too surreal.

The aura of magic emanating from his child—how could it be? It even surpassed the power of Dumbledore, whom he had once encountered.

Until now, he had regarded his daughter as the perfect heir to the Beresford legacy.

But he was wrong.

This daughter of his was no mere successor confined within the boundaries of the Beresford lineage.

She was destined for far greater, more monumental heights!

"Ha... Hahaha... HAHAHAHA!?

Marvelous! Simply marvelous, Mirabel!

Even with my own eyes, I could not foresee such greatness!"

Heathcote, drenched in cold sweat, erupted in maniacal laughter.

Mirabel, her expression unchanging, looked down at him and approached with deliberate steps.

"Yes, Mirabel! You are the victor! You are the ruler!

No one—no one in this world can possibly stop you!"

When she reached him, she grabbed his head, forcing him upright.

She brought her mouth to his neck and sank her fangs into him without hesitation.

In that moment, blood gushed forth, painting Mirabel's face a deep crimson.

"Hi… Hihihihi!? I... I was never a true victor...

I failed to convict Malfoy... I was surpassed by Mad-Eye,

and I could not even claim the pinnacle of Auror greatness...

I accepted my inferiority to Dumbledore as inevitable...

But you... You will triumph over everything, in every sense of the word!"

With each gulp, Mirabel's pale throat moved, draining Heathcote's life force.

His face grew pale, his fingers withered like brittle twigs, and his cheeks hollowed.

He withered into something akin to a mummy, mere skin and bone.

Yet his eyes remained alight with madness, gleaming as he rasped his final words.

"Go… Go forth, Mirabel... My daughter...

You are... the strongest..."

Eventually, the pitiable man became lifeless, his eyes losing their light.

Mirabel discarded his skeletal body onto the floor and let out a sigh.

Holger, ever attentive, promptly offered her a cloth, which she accepted to wipe the blood from her lips.

A most capable and thoughtful house-elf indeed.

"Always be the victor... I will carry on your teachings, Father,"

she murmured, paying final respect to the man who was once her father.

Raising her hand, she cast a silent spell.

Flames engulfed the lifeless corpse, erasing it from existence.

She had no more use for him, nor any interest.

Anything beyond this point would only sully her view.

"Now then... Holger, the item."

"Here it is," Holger replied, handing over a stone.

After dealing with her father, Mirabel turned her attention to the object Holger presented.

It was a crimson alchemical crystal—the Philosopher's Stone, said to grant eternal life.

Mirabel had obtained a fragment of it during her first year, later stealing its secrets from Nicolas Flamel last year, and now, she had completed it.

This stone, the Philosopher's Stone, would grant her even greater power and immortality.

"Immortality of the True Ancestor, the Philosopher's Stone... With these two...

And once I obtain the third form of immortality,

I shall achieve a level of eternal existence no one in history has ever attained."

She lovingly caressed the stone in her hand, lifting it before her eyes.

But it wasn't enough. Not yet.

Even with all this, true immortality was still just out of reach.

Though she approached the very essence of deathlessness, death itself had not ceased to exist.

Before the Killing Curse, which directly bestowed death, she would still be powerless.

And so, Mirabel resolved to secure the third form of immortality.

Even if it meant sacrificing Heathcote, who was unrelated to the ritual.

All of this—was to shatter her own soul.

"Milady... Surely you don't intend to create a Horcrux?"

Quirrell's voice rose, filled with alarm.

"You mustn't, milady! Even you once said it yourself—it's the method of fools that weakens one's soul!"

Sensing Mirabel's intentions, Quirrell's concern spilled forth. A Horcrux, indeed, provided formidable immortality, but it was Mirabel herself who had declared it a foolish method that weakened the soul. To now embrace that very same method—Quirrell could not, as her loyal servant, condone such a contradiction.

Yet Mirabel responded to Quirrell's outburst with a calm, knowing smile.

"Do not worry, Quirrell. My soul will not suffer even the slightest scratch."

"What...?"

"The one being torn is not my soul but that of someone else who has been parasitizing me."

"What do you mean by that...?"

"I haven't told you this before, have I? I possess memories of a past life... Or at least, I thought I did until recently."

From the moment Mirabel became aware, she carried within her the memories of someone who was not her. A silent observer who had viewed this world as the story of Harry Potter. A mundane, unremarkable Japanese Muggle.

Until recently, Mirabel had believed these memories belonged to her past life.

But something about that notion never sat right with her.

This person had no ambition.

This person lacked any drive for improvement.

This person was entirely devoid of Mirabel's essence.

Could that truly have been her? Could such a banal figure have been Mirabel's past self?

Then, it struck her.

From the beginning, she had known the answer.

On some subconscious level, she had already understood.

This was not her past self.

It was an unclean parasite that had attempted to overwrite her soul.

It had taken years, but Mirabel had finally uncovered the truth.

"Once I realized it, I was only disgusted...

This something that was not me had clung to my soul... stubbornly, relentlessly.

And even I—Mirabel—had mistaken it for myself all this time."

The existence of souls was already an accepted fact in the wizarding world. It was known that the birth of a life required both a body and a soul.

However, when Mirabel was born, an unwelcome interloper had forced its way in, attempting to overwrite the infant's original personality.

Ultimately, Mirabel's overwhelming sense of self had consumed and absorbed the intruder, but its remnants, clinging to her soul, were intolerable to her.

"I will no longer allow it to remain attached to my soul.

The Horcrux is merely a tool to rid myself of it."

Immortality through a Horcrux was secondary. First, she would sever the parasite.

With faint anger visible in her expression, Mirabel enacted her resolve, using the act of patricide to rend her soul.

No, not her soul—she tore apart the foolish interloper that had attached itself to her!

From within her chest, a faint, ghost-like presence emerged, crying out in terror.

It was a woman with black hair and an unremarkable face—someone utterly forgettable.

An unfortunate soul that had likely lived in fear of Mirabel discovering its presence.

Mirabel grasped it and, without hesitation, thrust it into the Philosopher's Stone.

"Your place is there."

Admittedly, this soul had become almost a part of her own after years of forced coexistence.

But that was fine. She would make use of it.

Forever bound within the stone, it would serve as the fuel to sustain Mirabel's life.

Having finally rid her soul of its impurities, Mirabel felt a strange lightness, as though a great weight had been lifted from her body.

"Ah, I understand now... I've been carrying a burden all my life, from the day I was born to this very moment.

But now, I am free."

The suppressed power and ambition within her surged forth, so overwhelming even Mirabel could not fathom its depths.

"But worry not, my other half... I will graciously allow you to dwell within me."

Nothing would touch her soul.

But her body? That was another matter entirely.

With that, Mirabel placed the stone into her mouth and swallowed it.

Of course, she did not let it simply descend into her stomach.

By manipulating her vampiric body, she directed the stone to her heart, where it fused and became one with it.

The Philosopher's Stone, the sole material capable of creating the Elixir of Life, now functioned as an eternal source of power.

All the blood flowing from her heart became infused with the Elixir, circulating through her body.

No injury, no matter how severe, could now claim her life.

Even if decapitated or reduced to ashes, Mirabel would instantly regenerate.

Her vampiric immortality sustained her, the Horcrux anchored her soul, and the Philosopher's Stone ensured her immediate resurrection.

A Horcrux indestructible within her immortal body, and an immortal body safeguarded by the Philosopher's Stone—

Mirabel had transformed into a living nightmare.

"Heh heh... it's complete.

Now, nothing and no one can kill me anymore."

"Congratulations, milady."

"Indeed. You have both served me well and given your all.

Even I might not have been able to achieve this so easily without your dedication and effort."

Mirabel spoke words of appreciation to Quirrell and Holger, who knelt with their heads bowed.

Though she was confident that she could have done it all on her own, it was also undeniable that with their help, everything had proceeded much faster and more smoothly. For that, they deserved a reward.

"Quirinus Quirrell. I shall grant you a reward."

"A reward, milady?"

"Yes. By now, your body, ravaged by the curse of the unicorn, must be nearing its limit.

I shall provide you with a new body."

Quirrell's current body was deteriorating under the effects of a curse. This was a consequence of the actions he took during his first year, following Voldemort's orders. To prolong Voldemort's life, Quirrell had consumed unicorn blood, which left him cursed, transforming him into a wretched state—alive but as good as dead.

"And to my faithful servant, Mary, I shall grant you a new body as well.

Rise from the depths of hell once more, for my sake."

As Mirabel spoke, she raised her hand.

Before her, two hearts were "transmuted," and from them extended veins, forming organs and bones.

One body was perfectly identical to Quirrell's but now complete, with both arms intact.

The other was a new, beautiful body for Mary—a young girl's body, elegant and pristine.

Mirabel imbued Mary's soul into this newly formed body, breathing life into her once again.

Ordinarily, not even the Philosopher's Stone could revive the dead.

While the Stone could reconstruct a body, it could not anchor a soul.

"Death cannot be reversed"—this was an immutable law set by God, an unbreakable truth.

But Mirabel was now the king of the dead, one who defied the divine.

Ignoring God's rules, she summoned souls and created the living dead (undead).

However, these were no mere undead.

Thanks to the Philosopher's Stone, their bodies, perfectly reconstructed, were nearly indistinguishable from their living forms, bringing them as close to true life as possible.

"Milady... that body..."

"Heh, Mary is already fully aware of her role.

It's a demanding task, but having observed me since she was a child, she is more than capable of fulfilling it."

Mirabel smiled, baring her fangs, as she ran her fingers along Quirrell's neck.

Quirrell flinched for a moment but quickly composed himself and closed his eyes.

He entrusted himself entirely to his mistress, confident she would not fail.

To honor that trust, Mirabel decapitated Quirrell, destroying his old, cursed body.

She was precise, ensuring he felt no pain; Quirrell likely didn't even realize he had died.

Then she seized his soul and, as if embedding it into a Horcrux, forcibly anchored it to the newly created body.

The new body, which had been lying motionless, slowly sat up. Quirrell hesitantly examined himself, his hands trembling as he confirmed his new form.

"It's done. How does your new body feel?"

"I… I can't believe it… It feels as though I've been reborn.

It's as if I've been freed from chains… My body feels so light.

I hadn't even realized it before, but now I understand… just how much my old body was bound by that curse."

Freedom. If one word could describe the current state of Quirrell, it would undoubtedly be that.

His body felt impossibly light, with not a trace of discomfort.

It felt more natural than his old body, moving precisely as he willed it.

He hadn't noticed while using his previous body, but now it was painfully clear how sluggish it had been in comparison.

Compared to this new body, his former one was like an outdated racing broom several generations behind.

"Now then, there's one small problem, Quirrell. By giving you this new body, the curse I placed on you has vanished as well.

Your blue claw is gone. Now, even if you defy me, you won't turn into a worm."

"…You're wicked, milady. Surely you know I have no intention of opposing you, curse or no curse."

Quirrell chuckled wryly and knelt before his mistress, the eternal maiden.

She was his master, his absolute sovereign.

Even without the curse, to oppose her would mean not just the destruction of his body, but the shattering of his very soul.

His soul, to its every fragment, was already captivated and ensnared by her.

Betraying her now was utterly unthinkable.

"However… losing that mark of loyalty to you is still painful.

That blue claw was a source of pride for me.

Please, grant me a new symbol of devotion, my lady."

"Very well. Then, Quirinus Quirrell, I ask you this:

Do you have the resolve to become my kin and walk the path of eternity alongside me?

Do you have the courage to tread the cursed, forsaken night roads abandoned by God?"

Quirrell nodded deeply at her words.

There was no need to ask. No need to question.

This was his ultimate desire, the fulfillment of his purpose.

Without hesitation, with a clear and resolute voice, he answered:

"My loyalty is eternal, forever by your side."

As he pressed his lips to the back of her hand in a gesture of fealty, Mirabel pondered.

There was no turning back now.

She had completely strayed from the path of humanity.

And yet…

This is fine.

This is as it should be.

To unite the world, immense power and near-immortality were necessary.

That was why she had sought strength, why she had grown so powerful.

She had severed herself completely from the weakness of humanity.

Yes, this was power. This was true strength.

The frailty of humanity was something Mirabel no longer needed.

If she had possessed such power back then, she wouldn't have lost what she did.

I am no longer weak.

That isn't weakness… It isn't weakness, Mirabel…

The words Letis had once spoken suddenly echoed in her mind…

And for a fleeting moment, she thought she saw Letis's tear-streaked face.

Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon

https://patreon.com/Glimmer09