Harry Potter and the Ambitious Girl

"This year... has come to an end once more."

The Triwizard Tournament concluded with Harry's victory, marking the end of yet another year.

As usual, the final end-of-term feast was held, gathering the students in the Great Hall. However, Dumbledore's tone as he addressed the students was heavy and subdued, lacking its usual cheerfulness.

It was as if he were being forced to say something he didn't want to, as if even uttering the words would make the grim reality all too real. He carefully weighed each word before speaking.

"Tonight, there are some things I must tell you all."

Dumbledore scanned the Great Hall, meeting the eyes of every student. What he was about to say was a harsh truth—a reality he wished were not true, yet one he had always known would come.

The professors standing behind him all wore somber expressions, silently waiting for him to speak.

Taking a deep breath, Dumbledore slowly began to recount the reality that had come to pass.

"Lord Voldemort... has returned."

The first thing that filled the Great Hall was silence.

No one immediately comprehended Dumbledore's words, repeating them in their minds as if to grasp their meaning.

Some glanced around, wondering if they had misheard, while others questioned if their peers had heard the same.

Then came the ripple of understanding, spreading fear and confusion. Muffled murmurs grew louder as students voiced their disbelief and sought reassurance from their neighbors.

Dumbledore waited patiently for the murmurs to subside, allowing silence to return before continuing.

"The Ministry of Magic does not wish for me to share this news with you. Some of your parents will likely be shocked to hear that I have spoken about this.

The reasons are simple: some cannot believe Voldemort has returned, while others think it unwise to speak of this to those as young as yourselves.

But I believe that, in most cases, the truth is better than lies."

It would be easy to lie, to hide the truth and let life go on as if nothing had changed.

It would be simple to claim that there was no reason to worry, that this year had ended peacefully, and that peace would continue for years to come.

But what would such lies achieve? To postpone the threat without taking action—was that truly wise?

No, it was mere escapism, Dumbledore believed.

And so, he spoke.

He shared the terrifying events that had unfolded at the end of the Triwizard Tournament.

He praised the courage of Harry Potter, who had survived them.

And he emphasized the importance of unity and solidarity more than ever before.

He urged them to remain steadfast on the difficult and dark path ahead. They were not alone; their friends stood beside them. With conviction, the old man spoke, as if engraving his words into their hearts.

"'You-Know-Who' has returned... That can't be..."

"Why are you surprised? It's simply that the inevitable has arrived," Mirabel replied in her usual calm tone to Edith, who was pale and trembling.

Mirabel toyed with the wineglass in her hand before raising it to her lips and draining the red liquid.

"We already knew he was alive back in our first year. Deep down, everyone must have suspected he would return one day."

"But... but..."

"You didn't want to think about it. You didn't want it to be true. That weakness clouded your vision and brought about this day.

And still, the upper echelons of the wizarding world remain blind."

Placing the glass on the table, Mirabel clicked her tongue in irritation.

What had already happened could not be undone.

But the challenges that lay ahead were a different matter entirely.

She felt nothing but disappointment in the wizarding world, which averted its gaze and took no measures to address the impending threats.

"What's going to happen now...?" Edith murmured anxiously.

"Nothing will happen. The Ministry of Magic is closing its eyes to this.

They'll act as if nothing happened and continue to maintain the façade of peace tomorrow and the days after.

Meanwhile, in the shadows, the forces of darkness will quietly prepare, unchecked."

With a bitter, mocking smile, Mirabel spoke.

Nothing would change, not when it needed to.

Though the time for action had arrived, the wizarding world remained stagnant.

The Ministry of Magic, composed of fools, would do nothing but sit idly by, watching the events unfold with their hands tied.

"And one day, it will suddenly be destroyed. The dark forces, having made all their preparations, will strike from the side.

Only then will they wake up and realize it's too late… and they'll die soon after. Once it's checkmate, there's nothing left but game over."

The current Ministry of Magic is like a group of babies. Middle-aged men, old men, mature women, and elderly women, all dressed like babies, sucking their thumbs and looking foolish.

They believe that if they remain quiet, someone will bring them a bottle of hope.

They think if they curl up in their cribs, the storm will pass.

It's truly foolish.

"Lynagrul, don't count on the Ministry from here on. They can't protect anything, and they won't.

If you want to survive, you'll have to protect yourself with your own strength."

"...Do you think I can...?"

"If you can't, I'll teach you. Not some uncertain 'unity' that Dumbledore preaches, but a solid, reliable strength of your own. How to use it."

Mirabel smiled a small, knowing smile and spoke to Edith.

"The incompetents and the Ministry—whatever happens to them is none of my concern.

But Lynagrul… if it's just you, I suppose I might protect you."

Edith blinked, a little surprised, and looked at Mirabel.

This wasn't the first time she had seen her smile. In fact, it was quite the opposite; Mirabel was often seen with an audacious grin.

But a smile like this, one without any hidden meaning, was rare. In fact, Edith could probably count on one hand how many times she had seen it in the past four years.

"Hey… can I ask something weird?"

"Hm?"

"Are you... really Mirabel?"

Mirabel scowled at Edith's words, her eyes sharp as if offended.

She made a circle with her fingers and promptly flicked Edith's forehead with a sharp motion.

A dekopin—a flick to the forehead.

"Idiot. Are your eyes just for decoration? Or are you wearing a fake eye like Mad-Eye? Should I take it out right here?"

"S-sorry! You really are Mirabel!"

"What a stupid question… You might want to be admitted to St. Mungo's for a while."

With a snort of annoyance, Mirabel set her empty glass down.

Edith, watching her, realized just how bad the situation must be for Mirabel to act like this.

Mirabel was rude and reckless, a girl who could only be described as flawed.

But no matter how harsh her words, they always had a way of cutting to the truth.

And if she said this now, it meant Voldemort's return was probably the truth. Edith couldn't deny it, no matter how much she wished otherwise.

"Hey… when do you think 'he' will start moving?"

"…I expect this false peace to last for at least a year.

And after that, the idiots at the Ministry will have completely let their guard down."

"After that, will the magical world belong to 'him'?"

"Most certainly… unless someone does something about it."

When Mirabel said "someone," it was clear there were very few who could stand up against the dark forces in the current situation.

With the Ministry of Magic unreliable, dark wizards like the Aurors would barely function.

In such circumstances, if anyone were to defy the dark forces, it would have to be Dumbledore.

"What do you think Dumbledore is going to do?"

"…Who knows. But he must already have given up on the Ministry.

If that's the case, then he'll be moving behind the scenes, quietly, without the Ministry noticing."

The Ministry of Magic is no longer reliable, nor is it a threat.

Both Dumbledore and Voldemort must share this understanding.

So now, it's a matter of who can move more quickly in secret.

"The battle is already underway behind the scenes… Be prepared, Lynagrul. Next year is going to be turbulent."

Those words, spoken with unprecedented seriousness, made Edith swallow hard and stiffen her face in response.

The return journey on the train was filled with a dark atmosphere.

Some tried to act bright, while others couldn't speak a word.

All their minds were occupied with one thing: Voldemort.

It was hard to believe that Dumbledore was lying.

But this time, Edith secretly wished it were a lie.

This thought cast a shadow over the entire train car.

"I guess there's nothing about 'him' in the Daily Prophet either."

Sighing, Edith stuffed the newspaper into her bag.

The crinkling sound of crushed paper echoed as the paper was swallowed into the bag.

"If it were Rita Skeeter, she might try to scoop it as a story," Edith added.

"Don't bother. It's pointless to expect anything from her," Mirabel replied.

It seemed Mirabel didn't have a favorable opinion of Rita.

Well, considering that reporter's reputation for fabricating stories, it was no surprise that Mirabel didn't like her.

Edith nodded, leaning her weight back against the seat.

She thought she heard Draco Malfoy's scream and an explosion-like sound in the distance, but the atmosphere inside the train was peaceful.

If possible, she wished that this peace could last forever.

Gryffindor and Slytherin clashing, the whole school going crazy for Quidditch.

Her friends—proud, strong-willed friends—being by her side, getting into trouble with Hermione and Harry. All of those days might disappear after this year.

Thinking about that made Edith feel a bit overwhelmed.

"Hey, Mirabel."

"What?"

"…We're going to stay friends next year, right?"

"Who knows. If you side with the dark forces or the Ministry, I might not consider you a friend."

Edith's question, which she had asked somewhat seriously, was met with Mirabel's joking response.

But, if anything, this meant that as long as she didn't side with the dark forces or the Ministry, Mirabel would still consider her a friend.

Mirabel's true feelings were hard to grasp.

Still, Edith had a vague feeling.

Somehow, this time, she felt as though Mirabel wasn't lying or hiding anything.

At the same time — in the prison, Nurmengard.

This was once the place built by the dark wizard Grindelwald to imprison his enemies. However, after his defeat in a duel with Dumbledore in 1945, it became a prison under the Ministry of Magic's management.

In the deepest, lowest level of the prison, a shadow walked.

The figure's face could not be seen. They were completely covered in a blood-red cloak, making their features indistinguishable. The head was entirely hidden under a hood, and the only thing visible were strands of golden hair peeking out from beneath the hood.

The person was probably of short stature, perhaps around 150 centimeters. Each step they took echoed through the prison with the dry sound of their footsteps, "click, click."

Where had the guards and soldiers gone? Why was no one accompanying this figure?

The answer was made clear by the numerous bodies scattered across the floor.

These bodies were the guards who were supposed to be watching over the prison.

Without exception, they had been killed with unnatural strength, their necks "twisted" as if gripped by a giant.

The small shadow that likely caused this devastation stopped in front of one of the cells and spoke.

"Geralt Grindelwald, is it you?"

"...Who are you?"

The voice that responded was hoarse, a result of years of imprisonment. The strength that had once shaken the entire wizarding world was no longer in that voice. However, in the darkness, only the eyes moved erratically, glimmering with an eerie light as they tried to make sense of the visitor.

"The name doesn't matter, but... I suppose it would be inconvenient without one.

You can call me 'Nosferatu.'"

"'The Undying King,' is it? Quite a grand title."

"Ha, is the title of immortality so distasteful to you, the man who once sought to transcend death?"

The hooded figure—Nosferatu—spoke mockingly, and Grindelwald turned his gaze on them with a sharp, intense look.

After a few seconds of silence, it was Nosferatu who broke the silence first.

With a smirk, they spoke boldly.

"I have come to bring you out, Geralt Grindelwald.

Do you not wish to make your name thunder across the wizarding world once more?"

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