It was around this time last year, just after the Christmas break.
It was when Edith had fallen out with Mirabel and was spending time with Harry and the others.
That day, within the Slytherin dormitory, an incredibly strange scene unfolded that caused students to freeze in their tracks.
It was a heartbreaking sight: a second-year girl sitting regally in a chair with her legs crossed, gazing down at someone below, while a fifth-year student bowed his head at her feet.
The upperclassman—who should have been a role model for the younger students, none other than Marcus Flint, the Quidditch team captain—was prostrating himself before a twelve-year-old girl.
Yet no one found the scene unusual.
Regardless of age, the girl radiated an overwhelming presence that compelled everyone to submit to her authority.
In front of her—Mirabel Beresford, the natural order of seniority held no meaning.
"Enough already, Marcus Flint. How many times must I repeat myself?"
"..."
Mirabel spoke without concealing her irritation, but Marcus continued to bow his head in silence.
Flattery or hollow compliments would only backfire with this girl. The only option was to demonstrate genuine sincerity.
Feeling crushing pressure, as if being held down by a giant's hand, Marcus maintained his motionless stance.
"No matter how many times you grovel before me, I will not join your team. Get lost."
The reason Marcus was here was to recruit Mirabel for the Quidditch team.
Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't even consider recruiting such a stubborn girl, let alone debase himself so desperately.
However, he was desperate to defeat Gryffindor, and Mirabel was the trump card he needed. His desperation ran that deep.
Before he became captain, Slytherin had always claimed the championship cup.
Six consecutive years of victory, a glorious legacy. However, Marcus had tarnished that history.
Last year, while they did win the cup, they suffered a crushing defeat in their direct confrontation with Gryffindor. The championship was only secured because Harry Potter was incapacitated during the chaos surrounding the Philosopher's Stone.
And this year, despite equipping the entire team with Nimbus 2001s, they suffered another devastating loss.
The championship cup was about to slip away... no, it was almost certainly lost.
They had exhausted every possible strategy to secure victory. They had even stooped to asking Snape to commandeer the Quidditch pitch from Gryffindor during practice and brought Malfoy onto the team purely for his Nimbus 2001.
They would have done anything, no matter how underhanded, to bring victory back to their house.
Yet all that remained was the disgraceful label of "cowardly losers."
"Please..."
Marcus pleaded repeatedly, his head still bowed.
Without warning, Mirabel's shoe connected with his cheek, sending him flying through the air.
Where did such strength come from in those slender legs? Marcus crashed into the wall, taking several chairs with him, and a portrait tumbled to the floor.
"I told you to get out. Are you deaf?"
As if she felt no remorse for assaulting an upperclassman—no, she genuinely felt no remorse at all, Mirabel spoke without a trace of guilt.
A true tyrant. A true dictator.
This girl would ruthlessly eliminate anyone who dared defy her will, regardless of their seniority.
She crossed her legs again and glared down at Marcus, who lay sprawled on the floor.
The damage from Mirabel's kick was severe. Blood flowed freely from his broken teeth and nose, staining the floor crimson.
Madam Pomfrey could easily mend broken teeth, but in the Muggle world, this would be a permanent disfigurement.
"Please, Beresford... For the sake of Slytherin House, lend me your strength."
However, Marcus—who should have learned his lesson, once again approached Mirabel and bowed his head.
He knew she wouldn't yield easily.
But he needed her power to achieve victory.
Slytherin was the most despised house in the school.
When they lost a match, the other three houses would celebrate wildly, and when they won, they were met with a chorus of boos.
That's why he wanted to leave behind at least the glorious legacy of victory.
As long as they triumphed, he could endure the insults from the other three houses. Even if they called him a coward, he could proudly declare that Slytherin had won.
"I want to win... I must defeat Gryffindor! Harry Potter! Oliver Wood!"
"You..."
He abandoned all shame and pride, pleading with desperate fervor.
The sight of him clinging so desperately to victory stirred something unknown within Mirabel.
She narrowed her eyes appraisingly and placed her foot on Marcus's fingers, which lay flat against the floor.
With a slight increase in pressure, Marcus's four fingers bent backward like a drawn bow, sending dull pain through his joints.
If Mirabel applied any more force, his fingers would snap in the wrong direction, causing excruciating agony.
"I've changed my mind. I'll test your resolve.
I'm going to break your fingers. If you don't scream in pain, I'll help you."
"...!"
"Well? What will it be? If you want to retreat, now's your chance."
He didn't doubt for a second that she meant it.
This girl was the type who always followed through on her words. Once she gave her word, she would break his fingers without the slightest hesitation.
A broken finger could be healed by Madam Pomfrey, but the pain would be unimaginable.
Marcus swallowed hard and looked up at Mirabel.
Truthfully, he wanted to flee. He wanted to say "I give up" and escape this nightmare.
But he couldn't run away, not when he thought of the mocking laughter from the other three dormitories and the faces of his housemates who would be left behind.
That's why Marcus steeled his resolve, looked straight into the golden eyes of the girl who towered above him, and declared:
"I won't give up."
"..."
"Promise me. If I endure this, you'll join the team and bring victory to Slytherin."
"..."
Mirabel stared into Marcus's eyes without expression, then finally smiled.
It was an angelic, breathtaking smile that could captivate anyone who beheld it, but one must never forget that this girl was no angel. She was a demon incarnate.
Still wearing that radiant smile, she praised Marcus's resolve.
"Impressive, Marcus Flint. Your obsession with victory, even if no one else acknowledges it, I will.
Therefore, I swear upon my name that I will grant you the sweet taste of victory."
Her voice was clear and gentle, almost tender.
At that same moment, unbearable agony shot through his fingers.
Marcus heard the sickening crack of bone breaking, and as the pain overwhelmed him, he felt his consciousness slipping away.
But he did not utter a single scream.
Marcus collapsed to the floor with a smile on his face, certain of Slytherin's victory in the coming year.
In that final moment before unconsciousness claimed him, the last words Marcus heard were Mirabel's words of sincere praise:
"Be proud, Marcus Flint. You have earned my assistance."
Time passed, and now it was October.
Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, stood in the chilly locker room at the corner of the pitch, rallying his players.
His voice brimmed with determination and a strange sense of tragic urgency.
"Everyone! This is our last chance. My final opportunity to win the Quidditch Cup."
Oliver paced back and forth before his teammates, delivering an impassioned speech.
"I'm graduating this year. I won't get another shot at this.
Gryffindor has claimed victory only once in the past seven years.
That single triumph was last year, a glorious conquest. I want to leave this school with that glory still firmly in my grasp."
After those words, Oliver paused, clenching his fist.
His expression betrayed unprecedented anxiety and urgency as he gritted his teeth.
"However, there are forces that threaten our glory!
This year's opposition is so formidable, it's as if fate itself conspires against our victory."
As each school year brings changes, so do the team rosters.
Some squads weaken when their pillars graduate, while others strengthen by adding promising newcomers—just as Gryffindor did two years ago when Harry joined.
This year, incredibly, both phenomena were occurring simultaneously.
"Hufflepuff's new captain and Seeker—Cedric Diggory!"
Hufflepuff may be the least prominent and celebrated of the four houses, but it's a house that should never be underestimated, as it occasionally produces extraordinary individuals.
Cedric Diggory exemplifies this perfectly—a popular student who excels in magical ability, appearance, and character alike.
However, there was a figure in this year's competition that even Cedric paled in comparison to.
"And then our worst nightmare became reality...
Mirabel Beresford has declared her intention to join the Slytherin team!"
Oliver's bitter words, spoken as if he were coughing up blood, sent shockwaves through the assembled players.
There wasn't a single student in the school who didn't know that name.
Mirabel was feared, revered, and dreaded by many, earning nicknames like "The Tyrant," "The Demon," and "The Basilisk Slayer."
Her overwhelming magical prowess left no room for rivals, even surpassing seventh-year students and occasionally teachers. In battle, she laughed while trampling even the legendary Serpent King.
Yet her flawless beauty, often described as divine, drew others to her like moths to flame, while her voice effortlessly entranced those who heard it, converting them into devoted followers.
This ultimate wild card of Slytherin House had finally decided to enter the Quidditch arena.
"It was a complete miscalculation! I had underestimated Beresford, assuming she had no interest in Quidditch.
I knew Marcus had been eyeing her talent, but given her personality, I was certain she would never bow to anyone! I was confident she'd never change her mind!
But what methods did he use... No, they were probably just dirty tricks... Either way, our most dangerous possible opponent has emerged!"
"But Oliver, she's just a third-year girl," Angelina Johnson, Oliver's teammate, attempted to calm him.
The moment those words left her lips, Oliver shouted "Just a girl?!" and stared at Angelina in disbelief.
"She's not just any third-year girl!
Have you forgotten that she brutally slaughtered a Basilisk last year?!"
"But she might not be skilled at broomstick flying! Besides, we have Harry!"
Hearing Angelina's words, Oliver replied, "That's right."
He took several deep breaths to steady himself, then raised his head with slightly restored composure.
"You're absolutely right. Beresford is a terrifying opponent.
But we are the elite—the number one, the strongest team in the entire school!
We have three exceptional Chasers! Two undefeated Beaters!
Our Seeker has consistently delivered victory! And I'm the Keeper who seals our triumphs!"
Oliver roared at the top of his lungs, and every teammate nodded with fierce determination.
That's right, there was nothing to fear. They were undoubtedly the finest Quidditch team in recent memory.
Such an assembly of talent was rare even in Hogwarts' long and storied history.
Without question, they represented the strongest lineup to ever grace Gryffindor's ranks.
"Exactly right, Oliver!" Fred chimed in.
"This is our year!" Angelina declared.
"We'll definitely win!" Harry proclaimed, summoning his courage.
Mirabel was indeed terrifying. In fact, no one understood her strength better than Harry did.
But when it came to broomsticks, he would defeat her. The sky was their domain.
Even if it was Mirabel, he refused to lose!
Harry believed this with every fiber of his being.
The collective resolve of the entire Gryffindor team to strive for victory.
That determination echoed as a mighty roar, shaking the very foundations of the locker room that day.
Late October, Halloween.
That day marked the inaugural Hogsmeade Weekend.
The village, blanketed in snow like a scene from a Christmas card, was already bustling with students visiting shops according to their interests.
Mirabel and Edith were also exploring Hogsmeade, but they were accompanied by someone who didn't usually join them.
"I knew you two were close, but I didn't realize it was to this extent.
I never imagined you'd tag along... Granger."
Mirabel's gaze was fixed on Hermione, who seemed unusually withdrawn.
Mirabel wasn't reproaching her or glaring, in fact, she was being unusually cordial, but Hermione still felt pressured under her scrutiny.
Sensing the tension, Edith stepped between them and spoke up.
"She doesn't have anyone else to go with. Harry couldn't get permission from his guardians, and Ron... well..."
"Ah, he's still at St. Mungo's."
Hermione's usual companions were Harry and Ron, but neither could be here today.
Harry was confined to school grounds because the teachers feared for his safety with Sirius Black targeting him, and his Muggle relatives despised anything related to magic.
As for Ron, he remained hospitalized due to the memory charm he'd received from Lockhart the previous year.
The silver lining was that the spell hadn't struck him directly.
Thanks to that, the memory charm's effects were incomplete, and the healers predicted he should be able to return to school within another year.
"Well, if you're coming along, I don't mind," Mirabel said.
"Thank you, Mirabel," Edith replied gratefully.
In truth, Mirabel didn't dislike the talented Hermione, so there was no reason to object.
For instance, if it had been someone like Crabbe or Goyle, useless deadweight, Mirabel would have firmly refused and likely resorted to violence.
For better or worse... no, there wasn't even ten percent good in her... but regardless, she was refreshingly clear about her likes and dislikes.
"Let's start with Honeydukes as planned."
"Right."
Honeydukes, the confectionery shop, was their primary destination for visiting Hogsmeade.
Going there first was already decided in Mirabel's mind.
In fact, that was the main reason she'd come to Hogsmeade at all.
They made their way through the snow-covered village, passing various shops along the route.
When they spotted the pub "The Three Broomsticks," Edith's expression clearly showed she wanted to go inside—understandable given the bitter cold.
"Mirabel, after we buy sweets at Honeydukes, should we stop by there? I've always wanted to try Butterbeer."
"Hmm, Butterbeer. That's definitely the perfect drink for a cold day like this."
Butterbeer was The Three Broomsticks' signature warm beverage.
Despite its name, it obviously wasn't actual beer.
It was a sweet drink made with milk, butter, egg yolks, and sugar, called "Butterbeer" because its foamy appearance resembled real beer.
While it was The Three Broomsticks' specialty, it wasn't exclusive to that establishment, so Mirabel knew exactly what it was.
"Very well. We'll stop by later."
With that, Mirabel strode ahead, and Hermione whispered to Edith.
She seemed to be keeping her voice deliberately low, as if trying to prevent Mirabel from overhearing.
"Hey, Edith."
"Mm? What is it?"
"I've been wondering, why are you so close to Beresford?"
That was Hermione's greatest puzzle.
Mirabel and Edith were always together, just like she was with Harry and Ron, but she found their pairing rather forced.
On one side was Edith, the voice of reason, and on the other was Mirabel, the embodiment of reckless abandon.
Edith was a Slytherin, but she possessed common sense, compassion, and strong moral principles.
She could empathize with others, and spending time with her made her kindness abundantly clear.
Edith Rynagul was so different from typical Slytherins that it was hard to believe she belonged to that house.
But Mirabel was her complete opposite.
She lacked common sense, compassion, and moral principles—she was purely self-serving.
She regarded others as no better than insects and possessed the cruelty to end lives with a smile.
Her worldview was the antithesis of everything decent, yet her demeanor perfectly embodied the arrogant, supremacist essence of Slytherin.
"Honestly, I don't understand why you're friends with her."
"Hmm... Well, I can't say I don't understand your confusion..."
The pairing of Edith and Mirabel was, to put it extremely, as unlikely as Harry and Malfoy holding hands and performing synchronized dance routines.
Their values, preferences, and everything else were completely incompatible. Such people couldn't possibly be friends.
Yet these two were friends, an impossible contradiction made manifest.
Hermione found it utterly bewildering.
"Well, she does have some redeeming qualities. She accepts people regardless of their bloodline."
Mirabel was indeed exclusionary and elitist.
However, her standards were based purely on individual capability, not heritage.
This didn't make her any better than blood purists, it was more a matter of different criteria, but for someone like Edith, it was still a blessing.
"That's why Harry needs to be careful."
"Huh? Why?"
"I don't know exactly what happened, but Mirabel accepted Flint-senpai.
She agreed to join the team, even though it meant going against her usual principles."
In other words, Edith continued, now that her friend had reversed her decision and chosen to lend her strength, there would be no half-measures.
When she committed to something, she did it thoroughly and mercilessly. That was simply who she was.
Which meant...
"I believe she'll utterly crush Harry, Gryffindor's cornerstone.
Mirabel will definitely do exactly that."
At this warning, Hermione's face drained of color—she felt an ominous shadow fall over the future of her absent friend.
Meanwhile...
Mirabel: "Hmm, I want some nougat and chocolate, this candy too, then some Fizzing Whizzbees and Sugar Quills..."
Edith: (She's buying quite a lot)
Hermione: (How does she not gain weight?)
Author's Note:
┌┤´д`├┐＜Exhausted!
This time I brought you three scenes from the previous year: Marcus's desperate plea, the Gryffindor team's rally, and the Hogsmeade visit.
Overall, it's quite Quidditch-focused.
Actually, since there's no one left to defeat this time, there isn't much else to do besides Quidditch...
We could deal with Wormtail, but doing so would delay the Dark Lord's return (though he'd eventually come back anyway), and worst case, he might not return before Mirabel graduates.
Mirabel seems to understand this and isn't interfering.
By the way, with Ron absent, Wormtail is hiding somewhere in the Gryffindor dormitory.
And he's being hunted by Crookshanks.
Plus, with Ron gone, no one's there to protect him. Hang in there, Wormtail.
***
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