Harry Potter and the Ambitious Girl

After a long flight on their brooms, Harry and his group plunged directly into the Ministry of Magic without rest. They now stood in the Department of Mysteries.

Nothing moved around them, and the overwhelming darkness made the place even more unsettling.

The only source of light was a single candle mounted on the wall. Its blue flame flickered gently, intensifying the eerie atmosphere.

What was most frustrating, however, was the layout of the circular room they were in. It was lined with multiple doors, and there was no way to tell which one led to their destination.

In Harry's dream, he had seen a specific direction opposite the entrance. However, every time someone entered or exited, the circular room rotated, jumbling the positions of the doors.

Thankfully, Hermione marked each door they had entered with a magical burn to avoid making the same mistake twice.

But even so, there were more than a dozen doors, and none of them knew which was correct.

(As an aside, the first marked door led to a room filled with tanks containing floating brains. No one could make sense of it.)

The next room they entered was dimly lit and rectangular.

At its center was a sunken area, with steep steps carved into the floor, leading toward the middle.

The group descended the stairs surrounding the room and advanced to the center.

There, they found a stone dais with a stone archway standing upon it.

A black veil hung over the arch, rippling gently despite the absence of wind.

"Is someone there?"

Harry couldn't shake the feeling that someone was behind the veil.

He walked around the arch to check, but there was no one.

It was strange—though he confirmed no one was behind it, he still felt a presence.

He even heard faint whispers, murmuring incoherently.

What was it? Was someone really there?

Would stepping onto the dais and passing through the veil provide the answer?

"Harry, let's go. Please?"

"I can hear voices. Can't anyone else hear this?"

"No one is talking! Harry!"

Hermione clung to Harry's arm, her voice unusually trembling as she tried to pull him away.

But Harry resisted, drawn toward the veil, almost tempted to step through it.

It was then that Mirabel grabbed his arm firmly.

"Stop, Potter. If you go through that, you'll never come back."

"What?"

"That thing… It's something even the Ministry couldn't fully understand.

No one knows who created it or when. But there's one thing they do know—it's always trying to pull someone in.

And anyone who succumbs to the temptation of stepping through is never seen again."

Harry looked at Mirabel in shock.

She—Mirabel, of all people—was visibly sweating.

For the first time, Harry saw her wearing a look of sheer wariness as she glared at the archway.

"It's speculated that it may lead to the afterlife, but even that isn't certain..."

"It's… that dangerous?"

"Yeah. Even I don't want to get near it."

Swallowing hard, Harry averted his gaze from the dais.

If even Mirabel was genuinely afraid of it, then it was far too dangerous.

Dragging Ginny and Neville, who had been staring at the arch with entranced expressions, the group left the room.

They soon arrived at a locked door, but Harry, recalling his dream, ruled it out and moved on to the next.

When they opened the next door, Harry knew instantly.

This was it!

The room glittered with diamond-like light.

Everywhere they looked, there were clocks of all sizes, arranged across the entire space.

There was no doubt—this was the room from Harry's dream.

This was where Sirius had been tortured!

"This way!"

"Don't rush, Harry. If he's ahead, now's the time to be cautious," Edith cautioned.

"I know, but…"

Even as Edith tried to calm him, Harry couldn't suppress the urgency welling up inside.

Sirius—and Voldemort—were just ahead!

They passed between rows of desks and past a crystalline bell before reaching a door at the back.

"This is it… We go through here…"

Harry glanced back at the group.

Aside from Mirabel, everyone clutched their wands nervously, their faces tense.

Slowly, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

It was an empty room, except for the towering shelves lining its walls.

The shelves were packed with small, glass orbs, placed so close together that there was barely any space between them.

"…Something's off. Did you notice, Lineagle?" Mirabel muttered.

"Yeah… It's way too quiet for someone being tortured," Edith replied.

As soon as they entered, both Mirabel and Edith sensed something strange.

The silence in the room was absolute, broken by no sounds at all.

If Sirius were being tortured here, there should have been screams or shouts of anger.

Yet, there was none of that.

What could this mean?

"Be ready to cast spells at any moment… It might be a trap," Mirabel warned.

"Got it."

Guided by the faint blue candlelight, they advanced cautiously.

Before long, Harry seemed to find what he was looking for.

Seeing a shelf marked with the number 97, he stopped and said, "This is it," then moved toward a passage beside it.

But the passage was empty.

Sirius wasn't there. Neither was Voldemort.

Not even signs of a struggle could be found.

"Somewhere near here... Sirius must be nearby," Harry said, his voice tinged with clear unease.

Sirius wasn't here? Could it have just been a dream, as Hermione had suggested? Refusing to accept this, Harry moved from one shelf to the next, searching frantically. Sirius had to be here. After risking so much, enduring such danger, the thought that it could all have been for nothing was unbearable.

But as Harry continued his desperate search, Mirabel placed a firm hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

"Potter, Sirius Black isn't here. You've been lured into a trap."

"A trap?" Harry stammered, stunned.

"Look at this." Mirabel pointed to a dusty glass orb resting on the shelf. Its surface was etched with a date from sixteen years ago and Harry's name.

Reaching out to touch it, Harry hesitated as Mirabel intervened once again.

"That's a prophecy, Potter."

"A prophecy?" Harry repeated, confused.

"Yes. It contains your fate... and Voldemort's. That's likely what he's after. That's why he manipulated you into coming here. This prophecy can only be retrieved by the person it concerns."

A sly smile crossed Mirabel's face as her gaze shifted behind them. To Harry's surprise, she spoke into the darkness as if addressing someone hiding there.

"Isn't that right, Lucius Malfoy?"

A sharp intake of breath sounded from the shadows.

The group spun around instantly, wands raised. From the darkness emerged a pale, sharp-featured man—Lucius Malfoy—his expression twisted with frustration. Behind him stood over a dozen shadowy figures cloaked in black.

"How irritating, Beresford," Lucius growled, his wand trained on Mirabel. "We were so close."

Despite the menace in his tone, he didn't cast a spell. Instead, he spoke slowly and deliberately, his voice laced with authority.

"Harry Potter. Take that glass orb and hand it over to us. Do so, and no one here will be harmed."

"And if I give it to you, you'll just let us all go home safely?" Harry asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

He let out a sharp laugh. Did Lucius really expect him to fall for such a transparent lie? Giving in would only seal their fate.

"Where is Sirius?" Harry demanded.

"Sirius Black isn't here," Mirabel interrupted sharply. "They never had him. It was a lie from the beginning."

Harry turned to her, his face twisted with frustration. He didn't want to believe it. Accepting this would mean admitting he'd recklessly endangered his friends for nothing.

As if sensing his turmoil, a chilling laugh echoed through the room. One of the cloaked figures stepped forward, her voice mockingly babyish.

"Aw, did the widdle baby have a scary-dreamy and think it was all weal?"

The sing-song tone was grotesque, enough to make Ron flinch in discomfort. Harry raised a hand to hold him back, whispering under his breath, "Don't move... not yet."

Now wasn't the time to act rashly. Harry realized something important: the Death Eaters weren't attacking. If their intent was simply to kill him, they could have done so already. The fact that they hadn't meant there was something stopping them.

The woman's mocking continued, her tone dripping with derision. "Oh, hear that? The little hero thinks he can give orders. Isn't he adorable?"

Laughter erupted from the Death Eaters. Another voice chimed in, harsh and biting.

"Just like his father—a fame-seeking, self-important fool. Now, Potter, hand over the prophecy."

Harry stood still, thinking carefully. They clearly wanted the prophecy, and their hesitation to attack confirmed it was essential to them. Mirabel's explanation had been right. Only he could retrieve it, and that's why they had lured him here with a fabricated dream.

"No," Harry said firmly.

"Then perhaps some persuasion is in order," sneered the female voice. "What if I tortured one of your little friends right in front of you? Would you cooperate then?"

As she raised her wand, Mirabel reacted swiftly, firing off a spell.

"Diffindo!"

The slicing charm tore through the woman's robe, drawing blood. She hissed in pain, revealing her face as she staggered. Harry recognized her immediately—Bellatrix Lestrange, the terrifying witch from the wanted posters. Her wild, dark hair framed her bloodshot eyes as she glared venomously at Mirabel.

"Don't get reckless, Death Eaters," Mirabel taunted. "Don't forget what you're here for—the prophecy is in our possession."

"You filthy little brat!" Bellatrix snarled, trembling with fury.

Even as Mirabel smirked, Harry noticed a bead of sweat sliding down her temple. For all her bravado, it was clear the situation was dire. Still, she kept her composure and, with her wand trained on the Death Eaters, gave a cold command.

"Potter, take the prophecy from the shelf and hand it to me."

"What?" Harry asked, startled.

"They clearly want this prophecy for their master," Mirabel said, her tone clipped. "I'll make use of it as leverage."

Harry hesitated. He didn't entirely trust Mirabel, but they were out of options. Escaping would require her skills and quick thinking. Even though every instinct told him to guard the prophecy, logic compelled him to hand it over.

Slowly, Harry retrieved the glass orb and placed it in Mirabel's outstretched hand.

"Now," she said, turning to him, "you're going to move to the front. Make sure you shield the others."

"What?!" Hermione exclaimed in alarm. "Are you trying to get him killed?"

"No, Granger," Mirabel replied icily. "They can't kill Potter. If they could, they'd have done it already. That's why he'll be safest at the front."

Reluctantly, Harry stepped forward, heart pounding. His mind raced as he faced the Death Eaters, gripping his wand tightly. He didn't know how they'd get out of this, but he knew one thing for certain: they had to fight smart.

"Ah, it seems their master has forbidden it.

'Don't kill Harry Potter, because I want to do it myself,' or something like that."

The Death Eaters remained silent in response to Mirabel's remarks.

But their silence was more eloquent than any words—it was a resounding confirmation.

Holding the glass sphere firmly, Mirabel made sure Bellatrix could see it clearly as the latter ground her teeth in frustration.

"Don't move… If you do, I'll crush this."

"Ugh… Y-you…!"

"And don't even think of trying to snatch it faster than I can crush it. I might just break it out of sheer surprise.

Unless, of course, you want to risk invoking your master's wrath?"

"Grr… guh…!"

Listening to Mirabel's negotiations, Harry couldn't help but think: Good job.

Despite being at a massive disadvantage, they had managed to even the playing field with just one prophecy. For Death Eaters, Voldemort was absolute—the one person whose wrath they dared not incur. To betray his expectations would invite unimaginable punishment.

Mirabel had struck precisely at that psychological weak point and brought their movements to a halt.

Sensing the stalemate, Harry cautiously broke the silence.

"What exactly is this prophecy about?"

"What's it about? Surely you're joking, Harry Potter."

"No, I'm not joking. Why does Voldemort want it so badly?"

At the mention of Voldemort's name, Bellatrix's face twisted in revulsion.

How dare a filthy half-blood speak the name of her revered master!

Her forehead throbbed with veins of fury as she growled, making no attempt to hide her anger.

"How dare you utter the Dark Lord's—"

Suddenly!

A sharp, shattering sound interrupted Bellatrix's words as glass broke with a piercing crash.

Behind Mirabel, a silvery Patronus had emerged and smashed several glass cases on the shelves.

Countless prophecies spilled out at once, creating a cacophony that was unsettling enough to pale the Death Eaters' faces.

The prophecy they sought remained intact in Mirabel's grip, but the fact that she had destroyed others so carelessly was enough to shake their confidence.

"I don't recall giving you permission to speak, Lestrange. You should stick to answering questions when asked, like the idiot you are."

Though they were technically the ones being cornered, Mirabel carried herself as though she held all the power. Bellatrix trembled with humiliation, biting her lip, but she didn't dare move. Her master's orders were absolute. She couldn't let the prophecy be destroyed.

"…Everyone, touch me. Quietly," Mirabel whispered, still holding the Death Eaters at bay.

Edith was the first to understand and grabbed Mirabel's robe while clutching Harry's hand.

"It's Mirabel's Apparition. She can get all of us out of here."

"…!"

Harry barely managed to suppress the joy threatening to spill onto his face.

Of course! That was an option. Mirabel, even at her age, was already skilled at Apparition.

And somehow, she could use it even inside Hogwarts, so even if this place had enchantments to block Apparition, it wouldn't stop her.

Realizing this, Harry grabbed Hermione's sleeve and quickly explained.

They would all hold on to each other and escape together. They'd make it back to the school.

"This prophecy is about you and Voldemort, isn't it? And something else—something that seems to matter a lot to him. Tell me, what exactly does this prophecy say that he wants so badly?"

As Mirabel stalled for time with her questioning, Hermione linked hands with Ron and Cedric. Cedric connected to Ginny, who linked with Luna, and Luna took Neville's hand.

With everyone now connected, they were ready for Apparition.

"Mirabel, we're good to go," Edith signaled.

Mirabel nodded and raised her wand, gathering magical energy for one last grand parting gift.

She intended to create a loud, dazzling, and unmistakable distraction—something so big that even the oblivious Ministry workers above would have to notice.

They'd take the prophecy, alert the Ministry to the Death Eaters' presence, and deliver a parting blow.

This was what it meant to do the job right.

"I've changed my mind. Death Eaters, I don't need your explanation anymore."

"What?"

"Voltage Ray!"

Electricity surged from Mirabel's wand, crackling with immense power.

The bolts tore through shelves, shattered the ceiling, and filled the air with a deafening roar.

At the same time, Mirabel envisioned the area outside the Ministry and initiated the Apparition spell. There was no way to stop it now!

Harry felt relief wash over him. They were going to make it.

But then…

"Harry!"

"Wh—Sirius?!"

It was Sirius Black—the very person they had been searching for! He hadn't been captured by the Death Eaters. He had stayed safe in his hideout.

But now, to save Harry, Sirius had rushed into the battlefield—at the worst possible moment.

And that caused Mirabel's meticulously calculated plan to falter in an unforeseen way.

Harry, startled by the sight of Sirius, let go of Edith's hand.

"Harry, no! Don't let go…!"

Edith reached out, trying desperately to reconnect with him, but it was too late.

Mirabel's spell completed, and she and Edith vanished, leaving the rest behind.

"A…ah… No… No way…!"

As the sound of their departure faded, Harry stood frozen, realizing he had been left behind.

Not just him—he had dragged all his friends into this mess and failed to get them out.

How foolish, how reckless he had been. Not only had he brought them here, but now he'd lost their only chance of escape.

As chaos erupted in the Department of Mysteries with the arrival of the Order of the Phoenix, Harry could only curse his own helplessness.

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