Wizard World and the Ambitious Girl

It was 2 AM, and all the students lay deep in slumber. Yet a group of eleven-year-old children struggled through the castle's depths, desperately trying to protect the Philosopher's Stone hidden within the school grounds.

Despite their tender age, they had thrown themselves into a whirlpool of danger to thwart the Dark Lord's ambition to resurrect and claim the stone for himself.

They had lulled the three-headed dog to sleep, escaped the Devil's Snare, and found the real key among countless decoys. Harry's best friend had sacrificed himself to get beyond the chess chamber, and Hermione had remained calm even while surrounded by flames, urging Harry onward.

Harry, too, had endured the fear that Voldemort might be waiting ahead and pressed on alone into the unknown darkness—all to protect the stone from the Dark Lord.

But what they didn't know was that their entire battle had been watched by a single mouse.

The small creature had been following them ever since they opened the trapdoor, its dark eyes gleaming in the shadows. Whatever the rat witnessed was passed along through a network of rodents throughout the school, a game of whispered secrets that eventually reached Mirabelle's pet, Pyotr.

Through this chain, Mirabelle could read the situation unfolding floors below. This was the intelligence network she had carefully built over the course of a year, thread by thread, connection by connection.

Of course, Mirabelle couldn't understand the language of rats. However, in this world there existed a convenient magic called Legilimency—a spell that allowed one to read the thoughts and memories of others.

Using this ability, it was simple to peer into Pyotr's mind and understand Harry's current predicament.

"Pyotr, is Dumbledore nearby?" she whispered, her voice barely audible in the dormitory's silence.

The rat chittered softly.

"He's not here yet... In that case, let's prepare." According to her knowledge, Dumbledore would return to the castle around the time Harry obtained the stone. But that timing would ruin everything, she needed them to wait at least until she could claim the stone for herself.

"Pyotr, mobilize every rat in the school to delay Dumbledore. Barricade the entrances and summon Peeves. Use as many of the pranking supplies I bought from Zonko's as you need."

The rat squeaked in understanding.

"Good. Go."

Mirabelle rose from her bed, sending Pyotr off to create chaos. She had left the delay tactics to her network, but it would be wise to add some insurance of her own. After all, her opponent was the greatest wizard of the century, there was no such thing as being too cautious when facing Albus Dumbledore.

She cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself, then used Apparition to teleport instantly to the fourth-floor corridor. The heavy wooden door creaked as she stepped inside, sealing it behind her with a flick of her wand.

"Colloportus."

The locking spell took hold, completely sealing the entrance. Of course, Dumbledore would dispel it immediately, but this was only the beginning of her preparations.

A low, rumbling growl echoed through the chamber.

"A three-headed dog... You'll be useful." As Fluffy's massive heads turned toward her, drool dripping from yellowed fangs, Mirabelle calmly drew a wooden flute from her robes.

The soft, melodious tune that flowed from the instrument had an immediate effect. All three heads grew drowsy, their aggressive snarls fading to gentle whimpers as they slowly settled onto the stone floor.

Music was the creature's one weakness—but Mirabelle had plans to eliminate even that vulnerability.

Aiming her wand at the beast's largest nose, she spoke clearly: "Imperio."

The Imperius Curse, one of the three Unforgivable Curses that could earn a wizard a life sentence in Azkaban. Yet this eleven-year-old girl cast it without the slightest hesitation, her expression cold and calculating.

The spell would turn Fluffy into her weapon against Dumbledore, but the creature's musical weakness remained a problem. Mirabelle had a solution for that as well.

"Muffliato."

The spell filled all three sets of ears with a constant, unpleasant buzzing. Now the dogs could hear nothing but white noise—even if someone played music, it would be drowned out completely.

"No weaknesses left," she murmured with satisfaction. Even Dumbledore would struggle to calm them now.

"Serpensortia! Avis! Oppugno!"

From her wand emerged a writhing mass of snakes that spread across the floor like a living carpet, followed by a flock of ravens that filled the ceiling with their dark wings and harsh cries.

Anyone who opened that door would face a simultaneous assault from the mind-controlled three-headed dog, venomous serpents, and attacking birds—a defense that would challenge even the Hogwarts faculty working together.

Even after constructing this ironclad barrier, Mirabelle remained cautious. This might buy me twenty minutes at most... perhaps only ten against Dumbledore. But if I can defeat Quirrell and claim the stone quickly, it will be more than sufficient.

"Time to collect what's mine," she whispered, and vanished with a soft pop.

"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!"

A bone-chilling scream echoed from the chamber's depths—the voice of Voldemort, the Dark Lord whose very name had once struck terror into the hearts of wizards across Britain.

Most people would have fled in blind panic upon hearing that inhuman shriek. But Harry Potter stood his ground, his small hands desperately clutching Professor Quirrell's robes as the possessed teacher writhed in agony.

The difference in magical ability was stark, there was no logical reason Harry should be able to resist a fully-trained wizard. Yet something protected him, something that made Quirrell unable to maintain contact. Each time the professor's skin touched Harry's, it blistered and burned as if acid had been poured over it.

Realizing this strange protection, Harry had thrown himself into Quirrell's arms, using his very presence as a weapon to inflict unbearable pain.

"Kill him! What are you waiting for, you fool? There's only one child here!" Voldemort's face, grotesquely parasitic on the back of Quirrell's skull, continued its furious demands.

Harry fought to stay conscious as the scar on his forehead blazed with pain and his vision darkened around the edges. But he couldn't let go, not when everything he loved was at stake.

If Voldemort returned to power, there would be no more Hogwarts. Everything would be destroyed—his friends Hermione and Ron, the stern but caring professors, his fellow Gryffindors, gentle Hagrid. This place had become his first real home, and he would die before letting it be taken from him.

That desperate determination was all that kept the eleven-year-old boy standing as consciousness began to slip away from him. In those final moments before darkness claimed him, Harry could have sworn he heard something impossible—a girl's voice, clear and musical as a silver bell.

A flash of golden light erupted through the chamber, striking Quirrell with tremendous force and hurling him away from Harry's collapsing form.

Quirrell recognized that paralyzing spell immediately, he had been struck by it once before in the Forbidden Forest while attempting to drink unicorn blood. And he knew the terrifying girl who wielded such magic.

"Hello, Professor Quirrell. Potter seems to have given you quite a challenge."

"Mi... Mirabelle Beresford..." The name escaped his lips as a terrified whisper.

Before him stood the nightmare that haunted his dreams, a first-year student who had overpowered him completely, who cast Unforgivable Curses as casually as lighting charms, who made him question whether she was truly eleven years old or something far more ancient and malevolent.

Cold sweat beaded on Quirrell's forehead as he instinctively stepped backward, his makeshift wand trembling in his grip.

Ignoring the cowering professor, Mirabelle addressed the face on the back of his head with mock politeness. "How lovely to meet you, Voldemort. You're looking quite... well, as well as one can when living as a parasite, I suppose."

"Harry Potter's friend... come to interfere again..." Voldemort's red eyes burned with frustrated rage.

"Friend? Me?" Mirabelle's laugh was like breaking glass. "Oh, how wonderfully naive. Harry has been incredibly useful, I'll give him that. He broke through all the protective barriers, lured you out of hiding, and obtained the stone for me. But that's all he was ever meant to be—a tool. I have no further use for the boy."

"You didn't come to rescue him?"

"Of course not. What happens to Potter is none of my concern. My goal from the very beginning has been the Philosopher's Stone." Her smile could have frozen fire, beautiful and utterly without mercy.

She drew her wand with fluid grace while Quirrell stumbled backward, putting more distance between them.

"I see... then you should join me." Voldemort's voice took on a persuasive tone. "You're clearly gifted, and of pure-blood heritage. Serve me, and I will share the stone's benefits with you. Surely that's preferable to opposing me?"

Mirabelle remained silent, her expression unreadable.

Taking her silence as encouragement, Voldemort continued: "It would be wasteful to destroy such talent. Under my guidance, you could become truly powerful."

Still no response.

"You would make an excellent Death Eater—far more worthy than this pathetic vessel. What do you say? Even for one so young, there's no reason to refuse such an opportunity."

"Heh... heh heh heh..." A small chuckle escaped Mirabelle's lips, growing steadily louder until it became full-throated laughter that echoed through the chamber.

"Ahahahahahaha!" She threw back her head, laughing with such genuine amusement that it bordered on hysteria. The sound was more terrifying than any scream—the laughter of someone who found the entire world absurdly funny.

Had anyone ever shown such blatant disrespect to the Dark Lord? The sheer audacity was staggering.

"What do you find so amusing?" Voldemort's voice cracked like a whip.

"Oh, that's precious, Voldemort. You understand nothing at all." Her laughter faded to a predatory smile. "What I ultimately seek isn't the Philosopher's Stone, that's merely a stepping stone. My true desire is something entirely different."

"What...?"

"I'll tell you, since you're so curious. There's something I want even more than immortality..." Her smile turned savage, revealing sharp canine teeth. "Your life."

"What—"

The words died as Mirabelle suddenly appeared before Quirrell, moving faster than thought itself.

"Your death!" She swung her staff, over seventy centimeters of vampire wood, in a vicious arc that caught Quirrell in the stomach and doubled him over.

In one fluid motion, she raised her wand: "Diffindo!"

Quirrell was faster this time, his own wand already moving: "Sectumsempra!"

The two cutting curses collided in a shower of sparks, canceling each other out.

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