Edith woke in the nurse's office, surrounded by sterile white walls that seemed to press in on her consciousness. She stared blankly at the ceiling for several seconds, her mind foggy and disoriented. Then, as memories crashed back like a tidal wave, she bolted upright with sudden panic.
That's right, what happened to that Slytherin monster that was chasing me? What happened to me after that?
Her last clear memory was the moment she had looked directly into the serpent's eyes reflected in the window's surface. Considering the complete void in her recollection after that point, she could only assume she had been turned to stone in that terrible instant.
"Ouch..." A sharp cry escaped her lips as every joint in her body protested the sudden movement, aching as if she had been sleeping on cold stone for days.
The pain was hardly surprising. After all, Edith had been petrified mere hours ago, and it was only recently that Professor Sprout and Snape had finally completed the restorative potion and brought her back to life. Her muscles, frozen in stone, were bound to rebel against sudden movement.
"Don't force yourself to move. You were petrified just moments ago."
"Ah..." Edith's voice caught in her throat as she looked up toward the familiar voice.
There stood Mirabelle, her friend with whom she had recently lost touch. The girl's arms were crossed, her expression sulky as she gazed down at Edith with an unreadable look. The fact that Mirabelle was here meant she had made a deliberate effort to visit, yet there wasn't the slightest trace of worry or concern etched on her aristocratic features.
It was impossible to tell whether she had been genuinely worried or had simply acted on a whim.
"Um, well, Mirabelle..." Edith's voice was hesitant, almost timid.
"What?" The response was curt, expectant.
"After that... what happened after I was petrified?"
A faint smile played at the corners of Mirabelle's lips, not warm, but knowing, as if she had been waiting for this very question.
"I disposed of the Basilisk," she said with casual indifference, as if discussing the weather. "And the Heir pulling the strings behind the scenes was defeated thanks to Potter and Granger's efforts. Thanks to that, Gryffindor earned four hundred points and claimed this year's House Cup."
Mirabelle had earned nearly four hundred points herself, combining the two hundred for defeating the Basilisk with her accumulated class performance, but she had still fallen just short this year. There was no recovering from such blatant favoritism, especially after having the Quidditch championship snatched away from Slytherin as well.
It was disappointing, but inevitable. This year's House Cup belonged to Gryffindor.
"I see... so you really did defeat the Basilisk. Mirabelle truly is amazing..." Edith's voice carried genuine admiration mixed with something that sounded dangerously close to defeat.
"..." Mirabelle's silence was pointed, waiting.
"I... in the end, I'm still weak." The words came out with a resigned smile that didn't quite reach Edith's eyes.
In the end, I couldn't do anything. The thought echoed in her mind like a cruel mantra. I was so determined to prove I could contribute, and this is what I have to show for it.
In the end, Mirabelle had defeated the Basilisk exactly as she had declared she would, while Potter and his friends had taken care of the mastermind orchestrating it all. What did that make her? Nothing more than a victim. A liability.
Am I just a clown in this story?
The thought made her vision blur with frustrated tears that she fought to keep from falling.
Mirabelle's voice cut through her self-pity like a blade. "If that's what you think, then it must be true. How can someone with a loser's mindset ever become strong?"
The harsh words stung, but Edith couldn't find the strength to argue.
"I already know you're of Muggle descent," Mirabelle continued, her eyes narrowing slightly as she fixed Edith with a sharp stare that seemed to see straight through her. "And I know you've been hiding that fact."
There was something almost like anger flickering in Mirabelle's gaze, not disgust, but frustration.
"Didn't I tell you before? You're a weakling trapped by despicable thoughts. A lamb who does nothing but cower before the gazes of others is nothing but weak."
"...Yeah." Edith's voice was barely a whisper.
This arrogant, haughty girl never wavered. At a time like this, when most people would offer at least a few kind words, Mirabelle offered none. This was her true nature—someone who considered herself supreme, who never entertained for even a second that she might be wrong.
However misguided her behavior might be, it was undoubtedly the behavior of someone strong. And that strength was both dazzling and enviable.
"So disregard it."
"What?" Edith blinked in confusion.
"Disregard their gazes. After all, they're nothing but inferior creatures who determine worth based solely on blood status. You're weak because you care about such inconsequential things."
Edith's eyes widened at Mirabelle's unexpected words. If she interpreted them correctly, it meant Mirabelle valued her more than the other pure-blood students, a highly unusual sentiment from such an egotistical girl.
Mirabelle looked directly into Edith's eyes, her voice carrying the weight of absolute conviction. "Be strong, Edith Reinagle. If you do that, you won't have to endure such bitter experiences again."
Edith's thoughts nearly ground to a halt at the unexpected words. Her mind raced to restart, processing what she had just heard.
Could this be... encouragement?
It was delivered in Mirabelle's typical fashion, devoid of warmth or gentleness, yet somehow, beneath the harsh exterior, Edith sensed an attempt to lift her spirits. The realization brought an involuntary smile to her lips.
"Mirabelle, are you perhaps... clumsy when it comes to showing you care?"
"How rude." Mirabelle's frown deepened. "There is no one more skilled than me at anything I attempt."
The indirect accusation seemed completely lost on the girl who had never acknowledged any personal shortcomings. She looked genuinely affronted by the suggestion, her brow furrowing in displeasure.
It's strange, Edith thought, but when she makes that face, she actually looks like a normal girl her age.
"Well, I'm leaving now." Mirabelle turned sharply, preparing to exit.
"Ah..." A small cry of regret escaped Edith's lips before she could stop it.
Mirabelle paused, glancing back with an expression that clearly said: If you have something to say, say it quickly.
Edith's voice brightened considerably as she spoke. "Thank you, Mirabelle."
"...Hmph." Mirabelle turned away after the expression of gratitude, and this time she walked briskly toward the door without looking back.
Edith could only smile wryly at her friend's behavior. It was impossible to tell whether Mirabelle was hiding embarrassment or simply being her authentic, difficult self. Though perhaps thinking it might be embarrassment was just wishful thinking on her part.
"May I come in? I'm coming in regardless."
After Mirabelle's departure, Dumbledore entered to take her place. The elderly wizard, renowned throughout the magical world, stood before Edith with his characteristic gentle smile warming his weathered features.
"How are you feeling, Miss Reinagle?"
"It's still difficult to say I'm fully recovered, but I believe I'll be able to attend tonight's end-of-year feast." Edith looked up at Dumbledore with curiosity flickering in her eyes.
She could understand if Harry Potter and his friends had come to visit, but what could the Headmaster possibly want with a Slytherin student like herself? It would be natural to assume he was simply checking on all affected students, but somehow she sensed this visit held deeper purpose.
"I see. That's excellent news." Dumbledore nodded approvingly and began rummaging through his robes with the practiced movements of someone accustomed to carrying an assortment of odd items.
What emerged was a handful of candies wrapped in cheerful yellow paper. He placed six of them in his palm and extended his hand toward Edith with the gesture of someone offering a precious gift.
"What is it?"
"Lemon drops, as a token of sympathy. They happen to be my personal favorite." His eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles.
"Oh..." Edith accepted the offering with some bewilderment.
It was surprising that such a great wizard's favorite treat was simple candy, and upon closer inspection, completely Muggle-made candy at that, with no trace of magic whatsoever.
"You should share them with your friend... Miss Beresford."
"Um... did you come all the way here just to give me these?" Edith looked up, still unable to grasp Dumbledore's true intentions.
Dumbledore cleared his throat thoughtfully. Of course, the candy wasn't his only reason for coming. Visiting her had been important, but it was equally true that he had come because of her connection to Mirabelle.
"That's partially true. But I wanted to speak with you about something as well."
"With me?"
"Yes. About Miss Beresford." The weight in his voice made Edith straighten slightly.
"Did you know that Miss Beresford slew the Basilisk?"
"Yes. She told me so herself."
"Have you heard how she accomplished this feat?"
"No..." Edith shook her head, suddenly uncertain she wanted to know.
Dumbledore nodded gravely and crouched down until he was at Edith's eye level, his bright blue eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. His expression had transformed completely from its earlier cheerfulness, now he looked entirely serious, almost haunted.
"Miss Beresford displayed unprecedented cruelty in her battle with the Basilisk."
"What?" The word escaped as barely a whisper.
"For nearly ten minutes, she systematically tortured the creature after it had lost all will to fight, dismantling it piece by piece while laughing. This is according to Miss Granger's firsthand testimony."
Dumbledore closed his eyes, as if trying to banish the mental image. Even though he had only seen the aftermath, the completely mutilated remains of the King of Serpents, so thoroughly destroyed that no trace of its original form remained, would haunt him.
Yet from another perspective, it also served as proof of Mirabelle's capacity for feeling.
"In that display of cruelty, I witnessed both her unfathomable darkness... and a glimmer of light."
"L-Light?" Edith's voice trembled.
"Indeed. If that brutality was unleashed because you, her friend, had been harmed... then it means there is still potential for 'goodness' remaining within that child."
Life was rarely simple, despite appearances. Something that appeared entirely black from one angle might reveal itself as white when viewed from another perspective. Mirabelle's savagery could be seen as a manifestation of darkness, but if viewed through the lens of protecting the school and avenging a friend, it might contain elements of light as well.
Dumbledore had long worried about Mirabelle, questioning whether the girl possessed any capacity for human emotion. The answer lay in the mangled corpse of the Basilisk, testament to the fact that while she continued walking toward darkness, there remained a slim possibility she might choose a different path.
At the very least, the girl was capable of "feeling anger on behalf of her friends."
"You're the only person she trusts, even slightly. I hope you'll continue to be her friend."
If anyone could potentially guide Mirabelle back to the right path, it would be this girl. Only Edith Reinagle possessed the potential to take Mirabelle by the hand and lead her toward the light.
That was why this girl had to be protected, guided, and nurtured, just like Harry and his friends.
"That's all I wished to say." Dumbledore's voice was soft but heavy with unspoken concerns.
For now, all he could do was observe and wait. He could only pray that this small spark of light might grow into something capable of illuminating Mirabelle's path.
That was all Dumbledore could do.
•°•
The end-of-year feast concluded as expected. Just as Mirabelle had predicted, Gryffindor dominated the House Cup standings this year.
As for Lockhart, his web of deception had finally unraveled completely. His past misdeeds, including the use of Memory Charms on his students, had been exposed, resulting in his sentence to Azkaban prison.
The primary victim, Ronald Weasley, was to be admitted to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, with all expenses covered by Hogwarts. According to the attending Healer, his injuries were relatively minor, and he would be able to return to school within a year.
Needless to say, Ron's friends were immensely relieved by this prognosis.
In recognition of their heroic actions, Harry, Hermione, and Mirabelle were awarded the Special Award for Services to the School. Harry and Hermione weren't seeking recognition, and Mirabelle couldn't care less about such accolades.
In the end, Dumbledore was the only one who seemed dejected that no one appeared particularly pleased about receiving the honor.
•°•
"Quirrell? Are you present?"
"Yes! I am here, my lady."
After returning home, Mirabelle used Floo Powder to travel to her villa on Crescent Street. Her purpose was to verify that the orders she had given Quirrell the previous year had been carried out properly.
Mirabelle was preparing for upcoming endeavors, but the Ministry of Magic's surveillance posed a significant obstacle. Their detection of underage magic outside of school was thorough and immediate, making it impossible to perform any magical rituals without triggering their notice.
A year ago, she had commanded Quirrell to find a method of circumventing the Ministry's intrusive oversight.
"Do you remember the task I assigned you a year ago?"
"Of course, my lady."
The masked servant nodded in response to Mirabelle's inquiry. Beneath that concealing mask lay a face disfigured and burned, scars from his battle with Harry Potter the previous year. His left arm had been replaced with a prosthetic "silver arm" that made his movements somewhat awkward, while his right hand bore the cursed claw she had grafted there, still retaining its vibrant blue coloration.
The mask, the arm, the claws, all gifts bestowed upon him by Mirabelle.
"I have cast a comprehensive spell over this entire villa, a recognition-blocking enchantment that masks all magical signatures. Even if you perform magic or conduct rituals here, no one will detect them."
"Impressive..." Mirabelle's voice carried genuine appreciation.
In truth, this had been an extraordinarily difficult assignment. It wouldn't have been surprising if Quirrell had failed entirely. After all, if it were simple to deceive the Ministry of Magic, the wizarding world would be overrun with magical criminals.
Breaking through their vigilant surveillance should have been nearly impossible... yet Quirrell had managed it. The achievement was nothing short of remarkable.
While it sounded straightforward, this 'Recognition Inhibition' was undoubtedly far more sophisticated than commonly available protections. It must have required extremely complex procedures and advanced magical techniques.
Of course, he could be lying, but determining truthfulness was simple enough, she need only examine his cursed claws. If he committed any act of disloyalty, such as lying to his master, the color would change. The fact that they remained their vibrant blue proved Quirrell's continued faithfulness.
Perhaps I need to reassess this man's capabilities.
"Well done, Quirinus Quirrell. It seems I underestimated your abilities."
"...! Such praise is unnecessary, my lady!"
The moment Quirrell received Mirabelle's commendation, joy flooded his heart with overwhelming intensity. Just one word of acknowledgment, that single expression of appreciation, seized his heart as if it were more precious than any treasure.
The intensity of his reaction confused and even frightened him. Yet the sweet, irresistible allure made all such concerns irrelevant.
Typically, human attraction requires a gradual process. While love at first sight exists, it's extraordinarily rare. To genuinely like someone, you must first interact with them, understand them, and then be drawn to them over time.
A simple pat on the head doesn't make hearts race. A smile doesn't instantly inspire love. People construct emotional barriers that grow stronger with age, protecting themselves from manipulation.
It isn't "normal" to fill someone's heart with joy using just a few words.
But Mirabelle made it seem effortless.
She completely bypassed the usual "process," producing only the "result" of absolute devotion. She kicked down every lock protecting one's heart, strode in with muddy boots, and planted her flag in the conquered territory, loudly proclaiming: "This belongs to me now."
It was like the fervor of soldiers following a charismatic dictator, or the blind devotion of cultists to their leader.
This ability to forcibly instill such feelings was Mirabelle's natural talent, she had been born a tyrant. Just as Salazar Slytherin possessed the rare gift of Parseltongue, the heavens had once again blessed a dark wizard with extraordinary abilities.
"I hope you will continue utilizing those abilities to their fullest potential. I have high expectations for you, Quirrell."
"Yes... yes!"
Quirrell no longer questioned the feelings that had been planted within him. He simply bowed his head in complete submission, abandoning himself to the joy of offering everything to his young master.
Meeting her expectations had become his entire existence.
And so Quirrell was reborn, a loyal servant who no longer required the cursed claws to ensure his obedience.
"By the way, I'm considering giving you a reward. Is there anything you desire?"
"My lady..." His voice was thick with emotion.
"There is no greater joy than being permitted to serve you."
With that declaration, he placed a reverent kiss upon the back of her offered hand.
---
Author's Note:
"Talent only shines when given to a villain!"
Dumbledore: "Please stop."
This concludes the Chamber of Secrets arc. Subtly different from the original story, Gryffindor has already secured the Quidditch championship at this point, so we can give Harry his crown of victory.
From now on, we'll enter "Prisoner of Azkaban," but honestly, Mirabelle doesn't seem to have much of a role to play. There's no one for her to defeat. If Wormtail is eliminated, Voldemort won't be able to resurrect, leaving Mirabelle with nothing to do. She simply wants to crush the resurrected Voldemort in direct confrontation.