Harry Potter and the Ambitious Girl

"We have to get out of here… Let's go."

Harry hoisted Hermione onto his back and grabbed Neville's arm. Luna dragged Cedric along, and Ginny followed behind them with hesitant steps.

However, just as their luck would have it, several more Death Eaters came running toward them. Acting quickly, Harry darted into the nearest door he could find.

Where was this room? Could it finally be an exit?

But as Harry scanned the area, he realized he had drawn the short straw yet again. No, this was even worse.

This room—of all places—was the Archway Chamber!

"Alohomora!"

The door behind them was broken down, and Death Eaters flooded in. Luna, trying desperately to shut the door, was struck by a red flash of light in the chest and sent flying.

She crashed to the ground and, like Hermione, stopped moving. With Luna incapacitated, Harry found himself further cornered.

Five Death Eaters entered the room, and now Harry was the only one left who could fight.

He fought back desperately with stunning spells, using whatever objects he could as shields, but his spells barely hit their mark.

Harry was being pushed back step by step. Defeat was inevitable.

"This is the end for you, Potter."

Lucius Malfoy's smug voice rang out as he removed his mask.

No one was left to protect Harry. With a victorious smirk, Lucius taunted him.

"The Dark Lord awaits you. Don't worry—I won't kill you. That will come after we extract the prophecy."

Lucius advanced slowly, savoring the moment as though tormenting his prey.

There was no escape… Was this truly the end?

Harry tightened his grip on his wand, bracing himself.

But fate hadn't completely abandoned him. Suddenly, Sirius, Kingsley, and Lupin burst through the door.

The reinforcements swiftly took down the Death Eaters in their path as they rushed to Harry.

"Harry! Take everyone and get out of here!"

Relief washed over Harry, and a faint smile appeared on his face.

But it wouldn't be that easy to turn the tide against the Death Eaters.

Hot on the heels of his rescuers, more Death Eaters poured in, joining Lucius. Among them was Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Oh, my, my, fighting for your precious little Potter, are you? What a disgrace to purebloods!"

"There's no need to ask. I'll personally put an end to you, Bellatrix!"

Sirius and Bellatrix exchanged deadly spells, each trying to end the other's life.

This was no ordinary duel—it was a battle to kill.

Bellatrix's curses came dangerously close, while Sirius's spells grazed her cheek.

"Come on! Let's see if you can aim better this time!" Sirius taunted her, dodging her attacks. But beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.

He wasn't as composed as he appeared. His smile was a façade, a brave front to keep Bellatrix's attention away from Harry and his friends.

But his act only worsened the situation.

A red flash from Bellatrix's wand struck Sirius square in the chest, sending him flying.

His body arched through the air and was drawn toward the ancient, sinister archway.

Not there! Harry's mind screamed, but his outstretched hand couldn't reach him.

With a look of terror and shock on his face, his godfather began to pass through the veil—

"No, you won't!"

"Talk about a close call."

Edith and Mirabel appeared out of nowhere, grabbing Sirius and pulling him back from the brink just in time.

"Edith! Mirabel!"

Harry shouted with joy as the two girls landed in front of him, gently laying Sirius down.

Though battered and barely able to move, Sirius was alive.

Their luck continued to improve as Dumbledore—the most formidable ally Harry could imagine—arrived to stand by their side.

Dumbledore and Mirabel—a combination more powerful than anything Harry could hope for—now faced the Death Eaters together.

"So, you've come too, Headmaster Dumbledore," Lucius sneered.

"Oh, and I see you're here as well," Dumbledore replied with calm amusement.

Two Death Eaters—Rodolphus and Rabastan, Bellatrix's husband and brother-in-law—raised their wands toward them.

But before they could attack, it was over.

In a blur of motion too fast to follow, Dumbledore and Mirabel drew their wands and sent spells hurtling at their foes, slamming them into the walls.

"It would have been nice if you'd arrived sooner," Mirabel said sharply. "Then I wouldn't have had to bring Edith back into this battlefield."

Dumbledore gazed down at her with an affectionate smile, like a grandfather proud of his granddaughter's growth.

"…What?"

"Mirabel… You've made me so proud."

"…Huh?"

"Do you remember? Three years ago, I told you, 'Friends are life's greatest treasure.' And you replied, 'Mind your own business.'"

Dumbledore was referring to a falling-out Mirabel and Edith had in their second year.

Back then, Mirabel hadn't valued friendship. She had been cold and ruthless, willing to abandon anyone who couldn't keep up with her.

But now, she was different.

She cherished her friends, protected them, and was standing here on this battlefield for their sake.

Her growth filled Dumbledore with boundless joy.

"Let's fight together, Mirabel—for the future of the wizarding world."

"I couldn't care less about the wizarding world… but for the future where my friends can live in peace, I'll lend you my strength."

"Ho, ho, ho, I see, I see. That makes me very happy."

Mirabel gave a soft smile, and Dumbledore chuckled warmly.

Their expressions turned sharp and predatory as they turned their attention back to the Death Eaters, their eyes piercing through their enemies like a hunter's gaze.

"Let's go!!"

Mirabelle swings her wand.

Dumbledore flourishes his.

Golden lightning streaks across the room, and countless red flashes illuminate the Department of Mysteries.

As Death Eaters charge, Mirabelle strikes one with her vampiric wand, while Dumbledore blasts Lucius Malfoy, who had been targeting her back.

Golden statues animated by Dumbledore's magic restrain Death Eaters one after another, while Mirabelle's lightning pierces through Rookwood, who tried to flank Dumbledore.

The battle was nothing short of a perfectly synchronized dance.

The dazzling flashes of magic, both defensive and offensive, were executed with an elegance that bordered on the sublime.

They struck down their foes, parried incoming attacks, and covered each other seamlessly—a duet that only wizards and witches of the highest caliber could achieve.

Finally, the two turned sharply, firing spells toward Harry and Edith.

But no—it wasn't aimed at them.

It was aimed at Mulciber, a Death Eater who had been pointing his wand at the pair.

Hit by both spells at once, Mulciber tumbled to the floor and lay motionless.

"…Amazing…"

"Y-Yeah…"

Harry and Edith stood in stunned silence, mouths agape, mesmerized by the performance before them.

With just the two of them, Mirabelle and Dumbledore had utterly crushed over ten Death Eaters.

An ancient sage and a prodigious young talent of the new generation—their combined power swept away the darkness of the era, bringing an unprecedented sense of hope.

Before anyone realized, only one enemy remained: Bellatrix Lestrange.

Take her down, and it would all be over.

Dumbledore and Mirabelle charged together, closing the distance between them and Bellatrix.

"No… don't come any closer!!"

Bellatrix, desperate, fired a green flash of light in panic, but it was blocked by one of Dumbledore's golden statues and failed to reach her attackers.

Seizing the opportunity, Mirabelle's lightning spell scorched Bellatrix's arm, sending her wand flying.

Checkmate. It was over.

The two raised their wands to deliver the final blow.

"Do it!!!"

Harry shouted.

Victory was within their grasp. Bellatrix had no weapons, no allies left to save her.

The nightmare of the Department of Mysteries was about to end.

"We're going to win!"

Edith, too, felt certainty swell in her chest.

Her earlier fears had proven unfounded.

In fact, her presence here had been unnecessary from the start.

With those two, no obstacle could stand in their way.

They had won.

Everyone believed it.

But just as victory was assured, the situation shifted yet again.

In the moment they moved to finish Bellatrix, Mirabelle's sharp eyes caught a glimpse of something at the edge of her vision.

It was a man, Apparating into the room.

And in the next instant, he aimed his wand—

At Harry and Edith.

Dumbledore noticed it a moment later.

"…!"

"Watch out…!"

What they saw was a man with pale, ghostly skin and a triumphant sneer, casting a spell.

His crimson eyes glowed with a sinister light, his slitted nose resembling a scar, and his mouth stretched unnaturally wide as if carved open.

There was no mistaking him. He was Voldemort, the Dark Lord himself.

Both Dumbledore and Mirabelle cursed inwardly.

To think Voldemort would strike at Harry now!

No—perhaps this timing was deliberate.

"—!"

In a life-or-death moment where a single second determined the outcome, Mirabelle was the first to act.

Using a short-range Apparition, she threw herself in front of Harry and Edith.

There was no time for a shield spell.

If nothing was done, the attack would rip through her body and kill Edith behind her.

A fleeting thought crossed her mind.

And in that instant, Mirabelle made her decision.

To shield them with her own body.

Channeling raw magic—not through incantation, not even non-verbally—she let it flow into her body.

Arms outstretched, she braced herself to absorb the full force of Voldemort's destructive curse.

A flash of light exploded.

The blinding brilliance faded, and Edith slowly opened her eyes.

What… had happened?

Was she still alive? Why?

Searching for answers to her confusion, she lifted her head.

And then she saw it.

She saw it.

"…Ah…"

A voice, heavy with despair, escaped her lips.

What stood before her—what had shielded her—was something she could neither believe nor accept.

"Ah… Ahhh… Ah…"

It was the back of a friend who had stood to protect them.

Once radiant, golden hair was now charred and singed, clothing burned, and skin gruesomely scorched.

Mirabelle's back, once graceful and strong, was now soaked in blood—so vivid it was impossible to look away.

"No… This… can't be…"

Through tear-blurred vision, Edith saw Mirabelle's body begin to tilt.

As if moving in slow motion, she collapsed weakly to the ground and lay completely still.

"Nooooo!! No! Noooo!!

Mirabelle! Please! Stay with me, Mirabelle!!"

Edith's voice was frantic as she screamed and scrambled to hold Mirabelle.

But the lifelessness of the body in her arms struck her like a blow.

The limp, cold form filled her with a terrible realization—no magic could save Mirabelle now.

Her lips moved as if to speak, but all that came out was a bitter trickle of crimson blood.

Harry stood frozen, his face pale as a sheet.

Dumbledore's eyes burned with anger and sorrow.

In stark contrast, Bellatrix Lestrange erupted in maniacal laughter.

"Hahahaha! Bravo! Brilliant, my lord!

She's dead! That little Beresford brat is finally dead!

Oh, wait—she's not dead yet? Well, she will be soon!

Ahahahahaha! AHAHAHAHAHA!"

Bellatrix's twisted delight echoed through the chamber, but Edith couldn't hear her anymore.

Her mind was blank, her throat unbearably dry.

She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Her brain refused to accept it, pounding in protest.

Mirabelle, barely alive, moved her lips, trying to speak.

It was a faint, fragile voice—one Edith had to strain to hear.

"…Edith… are you… hurt?"

"No! No, I'm fine! You protected me, Mirabelle…!"

"…Good… that's… good…"

"You're going to be okay! Please don't talk anymore! Just rest!"

"…No, I… won't make it… That's why… I have to tell you… now…"

Despite the pain, Mirabelle refused to stop.

She clutched Edith's hand weakly and spoke with a strained, determined voice.

"…I am… not her… I'm not… Mirabelle Beresford…"

"What?"

Edith froze.

Mirabelle… wasn't Mirabelle?

What did that even mean?

Thinking back, Edith realized how strange Mirabelle had been this past year—almost like a completely different person.

"This body… was created… by her… a counterfeit…

My soul… was transferred… to act as her decoy…

She ordered me… to live at the school… in her place…

I'm sorry… I've been deceiving you… all this time…"

"…That doesn't matter! I don't care if you're a decoy!

You're my… precious… friend!"

Mirabelle—or rather, the girl in Mirabelle's form—smiled gently.

That smile, as soft and warm as the real Mirabelle's had never been, carried no regrets.

With her trembling fingers, she brushed Edith's cheek, her touch filled with affection.

"Thank you… You've become… so precious to me, too…

The year I spent… with you…

It was… truly… truly… wonderful…"

Tears streamed from the girl's smiling face as she spoke her last words of gratitude.

This was her final moment, her one and only selfish wish—to abandon her role as a decoy, just for now, and be herself.

"Thank you… I love you, Edith… my one and only… friend."

"—Mirabelle?"

Edith called out to her still, smiling friend.

But there was no response.

No matter how much she called, no matter how much she shook her, the girl didn't move.

"Hey… No… This is a lie, right? This can't be real!"

She shook her again and again, desperately denying the truth.

This couldn't be real. She had to be asleep. That was all.

Edith, like a broken machine, kept shaking her—again and again—until Lupin stopped her trembling hands.

"Stop, Edith… She's gone. She will never return…"

Tears spilled from Edith's eyes, uncontrollable and unending.

The clear drops ran down her cheeks and fell onto the lifeless girl's body.

But no matter how much they fell, the girl did not move, speak, or smile.

Edith Reinagel had lost her closest friend.

"――――!!!"

Edith let out a scream, though no sound emerged.

She tried to call her name.

But she couldn't. She couldn't possibly call it.

Because Edith didn't know her name.

"Hahaha! She's dead, she's dead! That insolent little brat finally kicked the bucket!

Don't you worry, though—I'll send you to join her in no time!"

Bellatrix, her face twisted with glee, bent down to retrieve her wand.

She raised it toward Edith, who was frozen in grief, unable to move.

There was no need to mourn—soon, Edith would join her friend on the other side.

They could enjoy each other's company there as much as they pleased.

But then, Bellatrix noticed something strange.

Something was wrong.

Her wand… wasn't there.

No—her entire arm, from the elbow down, was gone.

"Ah, yes. I'll send you along soon enough—

To a place far more fitting for the likes of you."

A voice echoed.

It was quiet, elegant.

Familiar.

The voice of a girl.

It was her voice—the voice of Mirabelle, who had just fallen here moments ago!

Everyone turned toward the source of the voice.

And they saw it.

Something—or someone—standing behind Bellatrix.

And from Bellatrix's chest, an arm, drenched in blood, was protruding.

"…Huh?"

"Pleased to meet you, Lestrange… and goodbye."

As Bellatrix stood there, unable to comprehend what was happening, the voice's owner spoke.

The figure was small, cloaked in crimson robes.

Golden hair peeked out from beneath the robe's edge, and fangs glinted at the corner of her mouth.

"Die."

The girl withdrew her arm from Bellatrix's chest and, with her other hand, slashed across her neck.

In an instant, the dark-haired witch's head separated from her body, and she collapsed to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.

The scene was horrifying.

And the one responsible for the carnage stood unfazed.

Calmly, she removed her robe, revealing herself to those watching, including Harry and the others.

"Well, well… what a nostalgic gathering of faces. I'm glad to see you're all doing well."

What first drew the eye was her radiant, golden hair—gleaming like spun gold.

Her golden eyes shimmered with an unsettling, otherworldly glow, as though they could see through everything.

Her skin was pale and flawless, like porcelain.

Her beauty was so perfect, so unearthly, that it seemed more like a curse—compelling and oppressive in equal measure.

"It truly has been a while… and how much you've all changed.

There's a Japanese proverb that says, 'If you don't meet a man for three days, observe him anew.'And indeed, it seems even a single year can bring about such remarkable transformations."

Her appearance was exactly the same as it had been one year ago.

Unlike the fallen girl who had been lying there moments ago, this was the real thing.

She was, without a doubt, the true master of the fallen girl.

The original.

She was Mirabelle Beresford herself.

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