Harry Potter and the Ambitious Girl

Everyone doubted the scene before their eyes.

Everyone was overwhelmed by the sheer presence emanating from her.

Certainly, Mirabelle Beresford had always been a girl with an inexplicable aura of intimidation.

But this?

Was Mirabelle Beresford truly a being capable of exuding such an utterly horrifying presence?

And why, despite the terror, were they so irresistibly drawn to her?

Among those present, only Voldemort held the answer—that Mirabelle was no longer human.

But even he, consumed by rage over losing his most valuable pawn right before his eyes, could hardly think straight.

Mirabelle, as if mocking his fury, scoffed through her nose. She pulled a shard of glass from her robe and deliberately dropped it to the floor for all to see.

At first, Voldemort couldn't comprehend what it was. But as realization dawned, his face turned pale.

---

"That's…!"

"Oh yes, Voldemort. It's the prophecy you've been so desperate to obtain.

But you know, Voldemort… you're far more unimpressive than I ever imagined."

"What… did you say?"

"What were you doing for an entire year? You couldn't even acquire this tiny glass sphere? You've disappointed me, Voldemort.

I at least expected you to have overthrown the Ministry of Magic by now."

---

Mirabelle chuckled softly, as if looking down on him from the very depths of her being.

This wasn't a mere provocation.

She was genuinely exasperated and entertained by Voldemort's incompetence.

---

"How arrogant…! You haven't achieved anything in this past year either!"

"Oh?"

"I am the Dark Lord! I know everything, Beresford—everything about the wizarding world of Britain!

You've accomplished nothing in this past year! You're just a third-rate braggart!"

---

Voldemort roared, attempting to accuse Mirabelle.

Yet her expression remained unshaken.

On the contrary, her smirk grew even more amused.

Harry could sense what it was—the emotion hidden behind her eyes.

---

It was *delight*.

The kind of delight one feels when, hiding their true strength, they watch someone weaker boast arrogantly.

It was the smug pleasure of superiority.

Harry saw it clearly in Mirabelle's expression.

---

"So, 'The Dark Lord knows everything,' is it? Fufufufu…"

"What's so funny?"

"Tell me, Voldemort, you small, pathetic man who couldn't even obtain a single glass sphere in a year.

Do you really believe I've done nothing this past year?

Do you honestly think, after going so far as to create a decoy to mislead you, that I've been idling around?"

---

Mirabelle's lips curled into a twisted grin, brimming with triumph.

Her expression was like that of a child flaunting a new toy in front of one who couldn't afford it.

It was a look that only the true Mirabelle—unlike the decoy Mary who had stayed with Edith—could ever make.

---

"I've spent this past year abroad.

The decoy was meant to keep you from noticing I wasn't in the country."

"Abroad…? Mirabelle, surely you don't mean—"

"Oh, so you've figured it out, Dumbledore. As expected, your wit far surpasses this snake-man's."

---

As Mirabelle's amusement grew, Dumbledore's face grew increasingly pale.

---

"Indeed, just as you suspect—I've been residing in Germany.

At the headquarters of the German Ministry of Magic, to be precise."

"――!"

"And just as a side note, until six months ago, I was staying in the French Ministry's headquarters.

The seat of power in the magical world is quite a comfortable place to live, I must say."

---

Harry, Dumbledore, and Voldemort—all their faces were drained of color.

This reality was so far beyond the worst-case scenario that it left them utterly speechless.

---

"Yes, I have conquered both the French and German magical worlds.

Now, every single official in their Ministries is my loyal servant.

If I commanded them to die with a smile, they would obey without hesitation—an obedient army of undead puppets.

And as of now, my subordinates have completed their conquest of Ireland as well."

---

"Mirabelle! What have you done?!"

Dumbledore's outrage reached her ears, but it didn't faze her.

She merely scoffed again, continuing with her words.

---

"Do you understand now, Voldemort? This is the difference between you and me.

While you've spent a year chasing after a mere glass sphere, I've claimed three entire magical worlds."

---

With a triumphant smirk, Mirabelle crushed the glass shard beneath her foot.

That prophecy, once fought over with such ferocity, ended in such a hollow conclusion.

---

"And so, your year has been wasted, Voldemort."

"...!"

"How does it feel, Voldemort? How does it feel to have the treasure you sought for a year stolen right before your eyes?

It must be like following a treasure map, only to find a note inside the chest saying, 'The true treasure was the adventure itself.'"

"You… cursed brat…!"

"Now, now, don't get so worked up. Your face is starting to look like a boiled octopus."

---

The angrier Voldemort grew, the more Mirabelle's delight intensified.

Harry suddenly remembered.

Ah, yes—this was Mirabelle. This was the real Mirabelle Beresford.

That ever-growing, boundless *malice*. A trait the fake could never possess, but which defined the real one.

---

"Mirabelle… What do you intend to do next?

After seizing control of three magical worlds, are you planning to take Britain next?"

"No, Dumbledore."

"What?!"

---

Dumbledore's question was met with a wholly unexpected reply—No.

As unease crept over him, Mirabelle's expression turned serious.

"Hey, Dumbledore... don't you think the current magical world of Britain has rotted too far?"

"...?"

"In the past year, you must have realized it too—how corrupt the current Ministry of Magic is.

No, it's not just the Ministry. The entire magical world is hopelessly degenerate."

Those words, as much as one wished to deny them, were undeniably true.

The Ministry of Magic, consumed by its lust for power, turned a blind eye to the truth, sabotaged its allies, and dragged everyone down.

Even the magical society as a whole seemed to support such behavior.

Both Harry and Dumbledore had been forced to witness this grotesque reality over the past year.

"Rotten branches must be pruned. But if the rot extends to the very roots, what do you think should be done?"

"Y-you... surely you don't mean..."

"Don't you think the entire tree should be replaced?"

No one thought it was a joke.

Their blood ran cold. Their hair stood on end.

This woman—could it be? Could she really mean such a thing?

"And so I have concluded—everything that has built the current magical world must be burned to ash."

"Absurd! That's impossible!"

"Oh, it's possible. I now have the power to do it!

Ireland, France, and Germany—all three magical societies and their full forces can be mobilized to reduce the British magical world to cinders!"

Madness.

It was utter, boundless madness.

For the sake of an ideal world, an ideal nation, an ideal vision...

She was prepared to trample over everything, devastate all, and create countless tragedies.

"The magical world is utterly rotten. Perhaps it has been since the moment the founders of Hogwarts quarreled—maybe even earlier!

To fix this, to set it right, the British magical world itself must be destroyed!"

"You fool! Foolish, Beresford!

Do you mean to incinerate this magical society—the history built by countless great predecessors—everything?"

"Indeed! Gryffindor, Hufflepuff! Ravenclaw, and yes, Slytherin!

Every relic of the past must be erased from history, and everything reset to a blank slate!

Then, I shall begin anew... to create an ideal magical state, ruled by only the chosen, under my hand!"

She's insane.

At that moment, everyone knew it in their hearts.

This transcended light or dark, justice or evil—it was something beyond comprehension.

What was this... this something in the guise of a girl?

"You're insane... Beresford, you've gone mad!"

"Wrong. If everything in this world is insane, then being insane myself makes me the only sane one."

For Mirabel Beresford, the thought that she might be wrong never crossed her mind.

She was always right, and anyone who opposed her was mistaken.

That belief was unshakable, unwavering, and relentless.

Once she decided something was correct, she would push forward—even if it were a mistake. She would force that mistake into becoming the truth.

Such madness was ingrained in this girl.

"Don't you find it strange? Do you truly believe the current state of the magical world is right?

A minority that exists at a ratio of one in several hundred builds small, isolated communities in each country, indulges in inbreeding, and steadily deteriorates genetically and socially.

The unworthy, chosen by blood alone, thrive, stifling future potential, and instead of uniting against external threats, they tear each other apart.

Wizards are a weak race that would have long since perished without accepting Muggle-borns. Yet they avert their eyes from this fact and continue down the path of past mistakes, spiraling into decline.

That is the reality of the current magical world—the truth of the world built by the so-called great ancestors you revere!"

Mirabel spoke, her words tinged with anger.

The cancer of pure-blood supremacy that plagued the magical world—and the failures of past generations to eradicate it—were equal targets of her wrath.

Rejecting Muggle-borns? What nonsense.

What future or progress could come from generations of inbreeding?

Such a path would only ensure the extinction of wizardkind.

At this rate, the wizards would die out before their nation even fell!

How much longer—

—How much longer will you cling to this rotten country and let it poison its people!?

"The magical world must change. No, I shall change it.

I will destroy its ancient history and set this stagnant magical society in motion."

"Foolishness! Do you realize how many lives will be lost in the process? How many innocent people will suffer?

You are not someone who would fail to understand that!"

Dumbledore's anger flared as he rebutted Mirabel's claims.

This girl might indeed have the genius and power to bring her vision to life.

But even so, not even she could do so without immense sacrifices.

Her revolution would undoubtedly be paved with rivers of blood and tears!

But when Dumbledore shouted this at her, Mirabel returned his gaze with one of even greater fury.

"Are you the one to say that?"

"...What?"

"I asked if you are the one who dares to say that.

You, who had the wisdom and ability to guide the magical world, yet handed it over to an incompetent like Fudge...

You, who turned a blind eye to its corruption and fled from responsibility...

You, who lacked even the resolve to shoulder the magical world yourself—do you think you have the right to criticize me, Mirabel Beresford?"

Her words were an indictment born of her respect for Dumbledore.

It was anger directed at him because she believed he was the one who truly deserved to lead the magical world.

It was a cry of rage toward the man who had continued to run away.

"I have what it takes—to bear the weight of the entire magical world, to endure the blood, the tears, and the sacrifices, and build an ideal future.

No matter how much blood is spilled, no matter how stained I become, I can create the world I envision.

But what about you, Dumbledore? Can you say the same?

Can you bear countless responsibilities and sacrifices, laugh them off, crush them underfoot, and still keep moving forward?"

"...!"

"If you can't, then keep your mouth shut... you coward who only wishes to remain a good man.

The world should be ruled by me, Mirabel."

Mirabel was beyond persuasion now. Words could no longer reach her.

To her, she alone was justice, and everything else was merely noise in her way.

Dumbledore's face twisted in grief and rage as he clenched his teeth.

"What a pity... Mirabel... what a true pity.

I had thought you understood the importance of friendship... of bonds.

I had hoped, seeing the kindness of that decoy girl, for a glimmer of hope...

But you've changed not at all! No, you've become an even darker, more malevolent being!"

"'Friendship,' you say? Hah.

How foolish. Truly foolish, Dumbledore.

Why don't you see that such things only serve to make people weaker?"

"And what of Edith?! What of the bond you share with that girl, who weeps even now? What was that to you?!"

Dumbledore roared, as though ready to cast a spell at any moment.

Mirabel, as if only now noticing Edith's presence, glanced at her with indifferent eyes.

What feelings those eyes conveyed could only be known to Mirabel herself.

But after a moment, she returned her gaze to Dumbledore and spat her words like venom.

"...Ah, yes.

The four years I spent as a student, though half-hearted, were enjoyable enough in their own way.

But in the end, it was merely preparation—a side effect of my gathering power. Nothing more."

"—The 'game of friendship' is over."

Edith was stunned.

Her friendship with the decoy Mirabel had been genuine.

Even if Mirabel had been disguised, the bond they shared had been real.

But with the real Mirabel... was it all a lie?

Tears streamed down her face, and her heart screamed in anguish.

Please, stop. Please, no more—I don't want to see or hear any more.

But Mirabel paid no attention to Edith's grief, as she continued to face Dumbledore.

"Have you really fallen this low, Mirabel Beeresford!"

"I haven't fallen, I've transcended!"

Dumbledore drew his wand, and Mirabel directed her hand. A blinding flash erupted as the spells from their wands collided in the center, creating a resounding explosion.

"What... casting without a wand...!?"

"Pathetic, so pathetic, Dumbledore! Is this all the greatness of a wizard can muster?!"

Mirabel sneered as she mockingly laughed, now dodging a destructive spell from the other side.

"What a fascinating choice, destruction-oriented magic... a modified version of Exo-Parso, isn't it? You've learned a bit, it seems."

The spell did nothing to her as Mirabel shrugged it off with a shield charm.

"Well, you're just too kind with your spells, Dumbledore! Great wizards do not sit back like this!"

Hovering above the ground without even a broom, Mirabel looked down at everyone.

"Hmm... there are a bit too many bugs here. I suppose I'll clear them out first."

Grinning cruelly, Mirabel called forth golden flames into the air. Dumbledore, Voldemort, Lupin, and Kingsley all instantly erected shields, but Mirabel's attack wasn't aimed at them.

"Fiendfyre!"

Her words unleashed an all-consuming blaze, not targeting Dumbledore or Harry but instead devouring the lifeless Death Eaters on the ground—Rodolphus, Rabastan, Alecto, Yaxley, and others. Even Bellatrix, already dead, was incinerated in the inferno.

The ministry headquarters was quickly engulfed in flames. The surviving Death Eaters—Lucius, Waldemort, Augustus, and Yaxley—were the only ones left, each horribly scarred, their injuries unhealable from Mirabel's fire.

Voldemort's rage exploded, unleashing the Killing Curse. But Mirabel dismissed it as easily as brushing away a fly.

"Why, Mirabel? Why kill them... they couldn't fight anymore!"

"It's a foolish question, Dumbledore. Do you ask why burn trash?"

"!!"

"No reason is needed to burn trash. All that old blood-purity garbage needs to be disposed of—no exceptions."

Dumbledore believed everyone deserved a second chance. He let Lucius and other former Death Eaters return to their old lives. But Mirabel saw that as a mistake—showing mercy only emboldened them. What they deserved was an end—no compassion, just destruction.

"Yet those kinds of scum tend to live long. It would have been better for them to have suffered if they were just out of my way."

Mirabel conjured a bolt of golden lightning in her hand, making a high-pitched crackle. It wasn't like the immobilizing electricity used by the other doppelganger, but a lethal amount meant to kill.

"Die, Lucius Malfoy!"

She shot the bolt with such speed and force that defense was impossible. But her attack was intercepted by a shield charm already in place.

"You were ready for that... even before I attacked!"

It meant Lucius had already been protected, even before Mirabel's spell was cast.

"Harry Potter... what is this about?"

It was Harry who protected Lucius, holding the Elder Wand aloft, his breath heavy, staring down Mirabel. There was no doubt in his eyes—green with the light of righteousness.

"I don't get it... you've suffered enough from that man, not just him but his son as well. Why would you protect him?"

"Yeah, I hate the guy too! I'd love to punch his face black and blue! But that doesn't mean it's okay to kill him!"

"Hmph, as stubborn as ever. Still got that itch to help, I see."

Mirabel sneered, mocking Harry, but before her spell could be released, someone moved. Dumbledore and Voldemort drew their wands, facing off against Mirabel.

Dumbledore thought, assessing Voldemort and Mirabel equally as dangerous. If they weren't stopped here, magic's future would be lost. He had to stand, as a guardian of magic, as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, as Albus Dumbledore. He would not allow magic's future to be obliterated.

Voldemort thought, too, about Dumbledore and Harry Potter—his sworn enemies. But even more dangerous was that devil, Mirabel Beeresford. If she wasn't stopped, all that the magical world had built would be destroyed. So, he decided to annihilate both—Dumbledore, the boy prophesied, and especially that arrogant golden devil. And he would prove to all that he, Lord Voldemort, was the terror of the magical world.

Seeing the two, Mirabel grinned viciously. This was becoming an interesting situation—a fight against both of them. It was a perfect opportunity—Dumbledore, the guardian of magic, and Voldemort, holding old ideologies. Fate had placed them all in her path, and she was determined to cut it all away—every lingering threat.

"Tom... Mirabel... it was my mistake that you two were led down this path. But now, I must stop you—cutting the chain of evil right here."

Dumbledore's face twisted from its usual gentle mask to one of fierce determination. As a caring teacher, he was now ready to confront and fight his former student for the future.

"The only fate for those who defy an emperor is a cruel end. And today, you will join the line of those who suffered for defying me. Show me what that path leads to."

Voldemort's surroundings warped, a chilling aura emanating. Harry felt a cold shiver as he realized what the Dark Lord was about to unleash—the embodiment of fear in the magical world, Voldemort unleashing his full power.

"Very well, come at me! The symbol of good, Dumbledore, and the symbol of evil, Voldemort. I will erase both from this world and begin anew, building a new history for the magical world that I shall create!"

Mirabel released golden flames from every pore, and Dumbledore and Voldemort each raised their wands in defiance.

All Harry could do was watch. He knew, there and then, that a battle was beginning—the likes of which no one had ever seen, a terrible clash of the most powerful wizards capable of shaping the future of the magical world. It was a battle at the peak—an unimaginable fight between titans!

Mirabel raised her hand. Dumbledore pointed his wand. Voldemort swung his.

Then...

The entire Ministry trembled, as if shaken by an earthquake.

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