Harry sat on a low stone wall along Magnolia Crescent, his face flushed red with anger as he rummaged through his bag with trembling hands. The cool night air did nothing to calm the fire burning in his chest.
There was good reason for him to be sitting in such a place at this hour, searching through his belongings like a fugitive. During the summer holidays when Hogwarts closed its doors, he lived with his relatives, the Dursleys, though calling them family felt like a bitter joke. They despised everything that made Harry who he was.
The Dursleys worshipped normalcy and loathed magic with a passion that bordered on obsession. Harry had never received a birthday celebration from them, couldn't recall a single genuine gift, and had never tasted so much as a slice of birthday cake under their roof. In fact, he had no memory of being treated with even basic kindness by any of them.
But this time had been particularly unbearable. Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge Dursley, had visited and unleashed a torrent of venom about Harry's parents right in front of him, calling them worthless and incompetent. The words had cut deep, deeper than any physical blow.
Harry's control had finally snapped. Magic had erupted from him in a wave of pure emotion, and he'd used it on Marge before storming out into the night. Now here he sat, with nowhere to go and no plan for survival.
How was he supposed to make it through the remaining months until Hogwarts reopened without any Muggle money? More pressing still, could he even return to Hogwarts after using magic on Muggles? The very thought made his stomach churn.
If he stayed out here much longer, the Muggle police would find him, drag him back kicking and screaming to the Dursleys. The idea filled him with such dread that he'd begun searching desperately for his Invisibility Cloak.
The Weasley family is probably having the time of their lives in Egypt right now, he thought bitterly. The Daily Prophet had reported their lottery win with a photo that made Harry's chest ache with longing. Arthur Weasley, tall and balding, had smiled sadly as he'd told reporters, "I hope this trip will bring some comfort to my family." Mrs. Weasley, small and round, had beamed beside him while their children clustered around them. Ron had been there too, Scabbers perched on his shoulder, looking like he belonged.
They were everything Harry had ever wanted in a family. He'd fantasized countless times about being part of their warm, chaotic household. But his reality was far from such comfort.
A prickling sensation along his spine made Harry glance up suddenly. Someone—or something, was watching him. He lit the tip of his wand with a whispered "Lumos" and peered into the shadows.
His blood turned to ice.
A massive, dog-like creature lurked in the darkness, its eyes gleaming with an otherworldly malevolence. The sight was so terrifying that Harry instinctively stumbled backward, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"What are you doing here, Harry Potter?"
The clear, melodious voice came from behind him, startling him so badly he nearly dropped his wand. It was unmistakably a girl's voice, and she knew his name.
Harry spun around, hardly daring to believe what he saw. Standing before him was a figure from the wizarding world he knew all too well, though seeing her here felt surreal.
Moonlight caught in her golden hair, making it shimmer like spun silver. Her amber eyes held a hypnotic quality that seemed to draw him in despite himself. Her skin was porcelain-pale and flawless, her limbs graceful and slender. Though she was petite in stature, there was no denying she possessed a breathtaking beauty that made Harry's newly adolescent heart skip.
Her clothing appeared carefully chosen to blend with the Muggle world, a pristine white blouse with a ribbon tie and a flowing chiffon skirt that moved like liquid silk in the gentle breeze. Even Uncle Vernon wouldn't suspect her of being a witch.
"B-Beresford! What are you doing here?!" Harry stammered.
"You should look more carefully at where you're sitting," Mirabelle replied, her tone carrying a hint of amusement and exasperation.
Confused, Harry glanced around the stone wall where he'd been perched. His gaze fell upon an imposing mansion nearby, its brass nameplate gleaming in the moonlight: "Beresford."
The realization hit him like a physical blow. He'd been sitting directly in front of Mirabelle Beresford's family estate.
"Do you understand now? This is my home," she said, her lips curving into a knowing smile.
Harry nodded mutely, heat rising in his cheeks. Of all the places in Little Whinging to collapse in despair, he'd chosen her doorstep.
Remembering the creature, he quickly turned back toward where the black shape had been lurking. But the shadows held nothing now except empty air.
"What are you looking for?" Mirabelle asked, following his gaze.
"There was something there, something black and large."
Mirabelle glanced in the direction he indicated, but her expression remained coolly disinterested. Then she fixed those penetrating golden eyes on him.
"So tell me, why are you here? I believe your house is number four on Privet Drive."
"I... I ran away from home," Harry admitted, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "I can't go back there. I won't."
"Oh?" Something sparked in Mirabelle's eyes, and her smile deepened with genuine interest.
Without explanation, she produced an ornate key and unlocked the wrought-iron gates of her estate, swinging them wide with practiced ease.
"It sounds like there's quite a story behind this dramatic declaration. Well, there's no point in standing out here discussing it like common street dwellers. Come inside, I'll make us some tea."
Harry hesitated for a moment, weighing his options. He had nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to. Despite knowing Mirabelle's reputation as one of Slytherin's most dangerous students, accepting her invitation seemed like his only choice.
"Thank you," he said quietly, following her through the gates.
The moment Harry stepped inside the mansion, his breath caught in his throat. The exterior had been impressive, but the interior was nothing short of magnificent.
Just like the Burrow, he thought, wizard homes are always bigger on the inside.
Soaring ceilings painted deep crimson stretched high above white marble walls. The floors were polished to a mirror shine, covered with luxurious crimson carpets that muffled their footsteps. Suits of gleaming silver armor stood sentinel near pillars and windows, their empty visors seeming to track his movement. Long tables draped in rich red cloth lined the great hall, their surfaces dancing with candlelight.
While not quite as grand as Hogwarts, the mansion possessed an undeniably castle-like atmosphere that spoke of old money and older magic.
"Where are your parents?" Harry asked, noticing the conspicuous absence of any other people.
"They're at the main estate. Father built this as a... personal project," Mirabelle said with a dismissive wave.
A personal project? Harry thought incredulously. The place could house fifty people comfortably.
Mirabelle settled gracefully into a high-backed chair and gestured to the seat across from her. "Sit down, Potter."
"Y-yes!" Harry replied, the formal tone slipping out before he could stop himself. Something about her presence commanded respect, or perhaps fear.
After watching him fumble into his chair, Mirabelle snapped her fingers with casual authority.
A figure materialized from thin air behind her, a tall man dressed in butler's livery, his face concealed behind an ornate mask. The sight made Harry's skin crawl.
"Allow me to introduce my personal butler," Mirabelle said smoothly. "His name is... Celebus."
The masked man stood silent for several long seconds, as if the name were unfamiliar.
"Celebus," Mirabelle repeated, her voice carrying a note of warning.
"Ah! Yes, my lady!" the butler responded with obvious confusion before bowing hastily.
Mirabelle sighed at his fumbling response. "Prepare tea for two."
"At once, my lady." With another respectful bow, Celebus vanished as suddenly as he'd appeared.
"Apparition," Mirabelle explained, noting Harry's wide-eyed stare. "It allows instant teleportation across distances. Though I've made some improvements to the standard technique."
"Improvements?" Harry asked, curiosity overriding his unease.
"Excellent question, Potter. Traditional Apparition creates a distinctive popwhen executed, hardly elegant. I've modified the spell to eliminate that crude noise entirely."
She spoke of magical innovation as casually as discussing the weather, but Harry recognized the enormity of what she was describing. Moreover, he distinctly remembered her using this silent form of transportation during their first year at Hogwarts.
She's been improving advanced magic since she was eleven, he realized with growing unease.
"So," Mirabelle continued, settling back in her chair with feline grace, "why did you run away? There are still two weeks remaining in the summer holiday."
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again. Should he confide in her? Mirabelle Beresford was widely regarded as one of the most dangerous students in Slytherin—brilliant, ambitious, and utterly ruthless. Trusting her seemed like madness.
But as he met her golden gaze, his wariness began to dissolve like sugar in warm water. There was something mesmerizing about those eyes, something that made him want to lay bare all his secrets and fears.
Perhaps it was simply his desperate need to talk to someone, anyone, about the rage and helplessness churning inside him.
Before he knew it, the words were pouring out in a breathless torrent. He told her everything, his anger at the Dursleys, his fury at hearing his parents insulted, his resentment at his own powerlessness. The emotions transformed into words that gushed forth like water from a broken dam.
Mirabelle listened with apparent fascination, her expression one of rapt attention. When Celebus returned with tea, she frowned at the first sip.
"Still terrible after all this time," she muttered, setting down her cup with distaste.
When Harry finally exhausted himself and fell silent, gasping for breath, Mirabelle leaned forward with a satisfied smile.
"I see. You're absolutely right, Potter."
"I... I am?" Harry blinked in surprise. He'd expected criticism, perhaps even mockery.
"There's nothing more irritating than the chattering of incompetent insects who don't know their place in the world. They called your parents fools? The real fools are sitting around that dinner table right now."
As she spoke, Mirabelle lifted her teacup again with fluid grace. Every movement seemed choreographed, refined to an art form. Despite her terrible personality, everyone at Hogwarts acknowledged that she was the most beautiful girl in the school.
At eleven, Harry had been too young to appreciate such things. But at thirteen, with adolescence awakening new interests and desires, he found himself captivated by her elegant motions.
"Your anger is completely justified," she continued, her voice like honey over steel. "You were defending your honor and your parents' memory. There's no reason to show mercy to such common rabble. If anything, you made only one mistake—you were far too lenient."
"T-too lenient? You mean using magic?"
"Precisely. You showed them far too much kindness. You should have made them suffer properly."
Mirabelle set down her cup and smiled, a expression of refined beauty that couldn't quite mask the cruelty lurking beneath.
"Animals must be trained, Harry Potter. They need to learn which of you holds the real power. They must be taught that they are nothing more than livestock, broken until they become properly obedient. I'm certain you have the strength to accomplish this."
"No, that's... that's going too far," Harry protested weakly. "They may be awful, but they did raise me..."
Mirabelle's laughter was like silver bells, beautiful and sharp. "Do you truly believe that?"
"What?"
"I'm asking if you honestly feel indebted to them."
The question struck Harry like a physical blow, hitting exactly where it would hurt most. Because she was right, he felt no gratitude toward the Dursleys whatsoever. How could he, after years of neglect and emotional abuse?
Taking his silence as confirmation, Mirabelle pressed on.
"You want to use your magical power to crush them completely, don't you? You want to strike back for every moment of oppression they've inflicted. You want to feed them scraps while you feast like a king before their eyes. You want to use them as outlets for your frustration whenever the mood strikes."
She paused, her golden eyes boring into his soul.
"These are all perfectly valid desires, Harry Potter. You have both the right and the power to make them reality."
Every word hit home with devastating accuracy, sending waves of dark pleasure through Harry's mind. He couldn't deny the truth of what she was saying, he had imagined such scenarios countless times. The mere thought filled him with a intoxicating sense of superiority and satisfaction.
"But magic isn't meant to be used for things like that..." he said weakly.
"Why not? It's power you've earned through your own efforts. What's wrong with using your own strength?"
"Because... because it's wrong..."
"Don't be naive, Potter. You're exactly like me at heart. You want to stand above others using your superior abilities. You want to bask in their envious gazes and drown in that sense of supremacy."
Her words were like a drug, each one carrying dangerous sweetness that clouded his judgment. Harry knew this was wrong, knew it was immoral, but his heart refused to listen to his head.
His thoughts grew muddled, as if he'd spent too long soaking in a hot bath.
"It feels wonderful, Potter, using the power you've worked so hard to develop, trampling others beneath your feet as you please. There's a pure ecstasy there that ignorant hypocrites could never understand. It's a special kind of euphoria that no amount of fine wine could ever provide."
"But I..."
"Ask your heart, not your head, Potter. A pure heart, freed from petty ethics and morals, will tell you what you truly desire."
Mirabelle leaned closer, her golden eyes locking with his green ones. Harry found he couldn't look away even if he'd wanted to.
Every time her pink lips moved, every time her intoxicating scent reached his nostrils, Harry felt his reason slip further away. He didn't want to resist, couldn't imagine why he should.
"Now tell me what you wish for. Don't worry about wizarding law, I'll handle everything."
"You will?"
"Of course. Even if no one else understands, I will. I'll support you completely. You have nothing to fear. Simply follow your heart and leave everything to me."
Mirabelle reached out and touched his cheek with fingers soft as silk, her smile radiating false warmth and genuine predatory satisfaction.
As she leaned forward, the neckline of her blouse revealed a tantalizing glimpse of pale skin that sent Harry's adolescent mind reeling.
This girl's invitation was impossibly sweet. He didn't need to think, didn't need to worry. All he had to do was surrender to her guidance.
Harry couldn't bring himself to brush away her hand as she urged him to abandon himself to her will. Against his better judgment, he began to voice the dark desires he should never speak aloud.
"I... I want... the Dursleys to..."
If I say it, everything will be easier. If I give in to these dark urges, I'll never have to suffer again.
Just as Harry teetered on the edge of falling completely, a loud, insistent knocking echoed through the mansion.
"Damn it!" Mirabelle hissed, her mask of seductive charm slipping to reveal pure fury at being interrupted at the crucial moment.
She glared at the door with undisguised hatred. Who was the idiot bold enough to knock at such a perfectly timed moment?
Downing nearly half her remaining tea in one gulp, she snapped her fingers to summon her butler.
"Answer the door, Celebus."
"Yes, my lady."
Celebus glided to the entrance and opened it to reveal a short, portly man with thinning white hair. He wore a yellow-green bowler hat and bore a face lined with wrinkles. His outfit was a garish attempt at Muggle fashion, a striped suit with a bright red tie and pointed purple boots that clashed horribly.
When Celebus escorted the visitor into the hall, Mirabelle's eyes narrowed with recognition. Due to her father's position, she knew this man well, a very important figure in the magical world, and someone who would eventually need to be eliminated if she were to achieve her ultimate ambitions.
Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic himself.
"It's been quite some time, Miss Beresford. You've grown even more beautiful, if such a thing were possible."
"A midnight visit from the Minister of Magic himself," Mirabelle replied coolly. "I assume Sirius Black has been spotted in the area?"
Fudge's face twitched at hearing the name spoken so casually. Sirius Black, the infamous prisoner who had recently escaped from Azkaban after murdering twelve Muggles, was headline news in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds. He was believed to be a former follower of Voldemort, still hunting Harry Potter.
"Well, you see... we haven't located Sirius yet. But we have reason to believe he might appear here."
Fudge kept glancing nervously at Harry, clearly wanting to keep details about Black secret from the boy.
Recognizing his discomfort, Mirabelle decided not to press the matter further.
"Harry, allow me to introduce Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic," Fudge said with forced cheerfulness, settling into the chair Celebus provided.
He took a sip of the tea placed before him, immediately grimaced, and set it aside without comment.
Even the Minister finds this tea unpalatable, Harry noted with dark amusement.
"I'll be frank with you, Harry, you've caused me considerable trouble. Running away from your aunt and uncle like that! I was terrified something terrible might happen to you. Thank goodness you're safe, and that Miss Beresford has provided you shelter."
Fudge's smile was gentle, but Harry could sense the strain beneath it. He was breaking wizarding law, after all.
However, Fudge seemed remarkably unconcerned about that violation.
"Now then, Harry, where would you prefer to spend the remaining two weeks of summer holiday? I'd suggest a room at the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley. What do you think?"
It was an unexpected offer. Harry hesitated only briefly before nodding eagerly.
Something instinctive warned him that staying near Mirabelle any longer would be dangerous. If Fudge hadn't arrived precisely when he did, Harry was certain he would have succumbed completely to her seductive manipulation and voiced the terrible desires she was drawing from his heart.
Terrifying, he thought, stealing a glance at her perfect features. She truly is a demon. She can drag people into forbidden territory they should never enter, corrupting them with such elegant ease.
She's like the serpent who offered the apple of knowledge to Adam in Paradise.
Meanwhile, Mirabelle realized her golden opportunity had slipped away, and her hatred for the small man in the bowler hat grew like poison in her veins.
---
Author's Note:
Well, this was Harry's temptation scene. Of course, if it had succeeded, the story would have ended right here, so naturally it had to fail. If only Fudge hadn't arrived at just that moment... but that's how these things go, something always interferes to give the protagonist another chance. And all this frustration gets directed at Malfoy, naturally.
***
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