For Harry, it was the worst period he had endured since starting at Hogwarts.
Despite having never entered his name of his own free will, almost no one believed him. Hufflepuff treated him with hostility, and Ravenclaw gave him looks of contempt. The ill will from Slytherin was business as usual, so he paid it no mind, but being antagonized by the two Houses he'd gotten along with until now was painful.
The number of people who believed he hadn't put his name in the Goblet was incredibly small.
First, there was Mad-Eye Moody. He suggested that someone aiming for Harry's life might have entered his name into the Goblet. For Harry, the existence of a teacher who believed he was the victim and argued on his behalf was an incredible relief.
Next were Dumbledore and McGonagall. While it was unsettling that they hadn't shown any sign or said anything to that effect, Harry was sure his teachers would believe him. He had that kind of unconditional faith in those two.
Then there were Hermione, Edith, and Ron. Even in this situation, the two girls and Ron worried about him all the same. Despite being a Slytherin, Edith wore neither the "Support Cedric Diggory" badges Malfoy had made nor the ones that read "Potter Stinks." Harry thought Malfoy could stand to learn a thing or two from her.
And finally, there was Mirabel. Surprisingly, she also didn't seem to think Harry had entered his own name. According to her, "Potter doesn't have that kind of skill." A fair point. However, it was dangerous to consider this girl a complete ally. She clearly seemed to be enjoying the situation, which, in a way, made her worse than Malfoy.
These were lonely, uncomfortable days with almost no one on his side. That alone was almost too much to bear, yet the situation only continued to worsen. Some sham journalist named Rita Skeeter wrote nothing but fabricated articles, making Harry's position even more untenable. His head ached just thinking about having to face the tasks under such awful circumstances. He truly wished anyone at all could take his place.
"The first task is dragons. I have to get past a dragon."
Harry spoke these words in front of the lake on the school grounds. With him now were Hermione, Ron, Edith, and her friend, Mirabel. The four of them were among the few who believed him (though Mirabel was a bit ambiguous…). He was telling them about the terrifying task that lay ahead.
Normally, champions weren't supposed to know the details of the tasks before they began, but cheating was a long-standing tradition. Hagrid had told Harry what the trial would be, allowing him to know about the task far ahead of anyone else. But knowing about it didn't make it any easier to solve.
"Also, Karkaroff might have been the one who put my name in the Goblet. My godfather Sirius said so."
Harry's allies were few, but outside the castle, he had a reassuring supporter in his godfather, Sirius Black. According to Sirius, Karkaroff was a former Death Eater and needed to be watched carefully. It would make sense if Mad-Eye Moody had become a teacher this year specifically to keep an eye on him.
Hermione was surprised by this revelation but insisted that the dragon was the more urgent problem. "In any case, let's make sure you're still alive on Tuesday night. We can worry about Karkaroff after that."
"She's right, that's the priority. You can't worry about Karkaroff if you're dead from dragon fire," Edith agreed, looking toward Mirabel.
Mirabel said nothing, but a small nod indicated she shared their opinion. The issue at hand, then, was how Harry, with his current skills, could possibly outwit a dragon.
"How could anyone get past a dragon? I've read about them. They have powerful magic, so most spells don't work. It says it takes half a dozen wizards casting Stunning Spells just to knock one out—that's how tough they are."
The more Hermione shared her knowledge of dragons, the less possible victory seemed. They were large, strong, tough, breathed fire, and were resistant to most magic. How was a fourth-year like Harry supposed to win against such a monster? The only fourth-year who could possibly pull it off was probably Mirabel. At that thought, all eyes turned to her.
"Beresford, how would you fight it?"
"There are several methods. If I were fighting it myself, I would choose complete pulverization from the front. I'd fire off a barrage of attack spells until it collapsed and crush it utterly."
Mirabel gave Harry an impossible answer to his question. It seemed entirely plausible that she could actually do it, but Harry was the one facing the task. A suggestion he couldn't possibly follow was useless.
Edith pressed a hand to her forehead in exasperation. "Only you could do that… How about something a little simpler?"
"If we lower the difficulty a bit, let's see… First, there's the Conjunctivitis Curse. Spells have little effect on a dragon, but its eyes are a weak point. A curse aimed at the eyes will definitely get through. The Conjunctivitis Curse isn't a particularly difficult spell, so even you should be able to master it with some practice. But you'll have to be careful, as the dragon will naturally be in pain and thrash about."
Mirabel raised one finger, presenting a solution. Having at least one answer made Harry feel as though the path forward had cleared slightly.
"Next, a method to rob the dragon of its ability to think. Again, the eyes are the target. You could hit it with a Confundus Charm or a Bewitching Spell to disrupt its judgment. It's not flashy, but it's a reliable method."
She raised a second finger. Having this girl as an ally was certainly reassuring; she produced answers one after another. Of course, that also meant she was completely unmanageable as an opponent, like during last year's Quidditch match.
"Next is using a decoy. Essentially, you create something to draw the dragon's attention away from you. You could use a Transfiguration spell to turn a nearby object into an animal, or produce birds from your wand. However, this is somewhat unreliable, as the dragon might change its mind. Using it in conjunction with a blinding spell would improve its chances… but it's probably impossible for you to master that by now."
"…Yeah."
"Well, I wouldn't recommend this one anyway. It's lacking in safety, reliability, and practicality, and above all, it lacks impact. If you're aiming for a high score, there's a much cleverer method, and one that's perfect for you."
After raising a third finger, Mirabel presented her fourth and final option. The method that came from her smiling lips was, in its own way, the one that seemed the most impossible.
"—A frontal breakthrough. This will have the most impact and earn you the highest score. To face a great challenge without fear, without retreat, without hiding, and without fleeing. A heroic figure, charging forward to overcome it. In the end, that is what the crowd wants to see. A dull progression where you can't even tell when it's over, versus a breathtaking battle that makes you forget to blink and keeps you on the edge of your seat. It's obvious which one is more impressive."
"That's impossible!" Hermione shouted as Mirabel raised her fourth finger. "Only you could do that! How is Harry supposed to defeat a dragon head-on?!"
"Let me finish, Granger. I said 'break through,'" Mirabel replied with a smirk to a livid Hermione.
She had considered various approaches, but this was the only one that was realistic, suited to Harry, and had the potential for the highest score. Thinking about it, she was impressed that the fake Moody, who was originally supposed to suggest this, had observed Harry so well. It was the optimal answer, one derived from a thorough assessment of Harry's current abilities and his strengths. The fake Moody would have taught him this method anyway, but by telling him now, he would have more time to practice and might even display a flight more brilliant than simple knowledge would allow.
Mirabel wanted to see that potential in Harry.
"I'll show you the answer now… Accio Silver Arrow!"
As Mirabel chanted the incantation, her Silver Arrow flew out of a school window, soared across the grounds—knocking over Malfoy, who happened to be in its path—and shot into her hand.
This was Harry's best move. His optimal solution. It was without a doubt a game-changing play that would make the most of his strengths.
"The Summoning Charm!"
"Precisely. It's a spell you happen to be learning this year, and one of the few you have enough time to practice. Use it to summon your broom and break through the dragon's defenses head-on. That, Potter, is likely the method best suited for you."
Having said her piece, Mirabel mounted her Silver Arrow. She grabbed the nearby Edith by the waist, pulled her close, and forced her onto the broom. The next class was about to start. This was her way of saying the conversation was over.
"Well, which method you choose is up to you."
With those final words, Mirabel shot high into the sky. With this, there would be no problem with the first task. Once Harry had his broom, he would undoubtedly succeed. There was nothing to worry about. Conversely, if he failed even after all this help, then that was simply the extent of his abilities. Either way, there was nothing more Mirabel could do.
"Hey, Mirabel."
"Hm?"
After flying through a window back into the castle and letting Edith off, she spoke to Mirabel, her voice unable to hide a hint of confusion. Mirabel magically sent her broom back to its original spot and turned around.
"You were being strangely kind… so helpful to Harry… Did something happen?"
"…Who knows?"
Mirabel didn't usually offer help to others. It was incredibly rare for her to go out of her way to provide an answer as she had this time. Last year, she had dismissed rescuing Buckbeak as "too much trouble." What explained this change of heart? It was no wonder Edith was questioning her uncharacteristic kindness.
"Things like this happen sometimes. It's just a whim."
"…Suspicious."
"Good grief, you're quite doubtful, aren't you?"
Mirabel gave a wry smile at Edith's suspicious gaze and continued walking down the corridor. Edith's suspicion was, in fact, spot on—there was a major ulterior motive behind Mirabel's helpfulness—but there was no need to explain it to her in painstaking detail. Ignoring Edith's question, Mirabel entered the classroom for her next lesson.
A white villa stood tall on Magnolia Crescent. Inside, the house no longer retained its original appearance. All the furniture, like tables and chairs, and decorations, like suits of armor, had been removed. The carpet had been stripped from the floor. In its place, elaborate magic circles were drawn everywhere, and the walls were covered gap-to-gap with strange characters undecipherable to Muggles. Bizarre instruments were placed around the room, each one emitting an eerie magical energy.
Surveying the scene with satisfaction, Mirabel, who had temporarily returned via the cabinet, nodded. "It seems there are no oversights. Excellent work, both of you."
"Your words are too kind."
At the words of praise, Quirrell prostrated himself. Holger, beside him, also bowed his head reverently. Then, raising his face, he spoke. "But, my lady… are you truly going through with this?"
"Are you dissatisfied, Quirrell?"
"N-no… but the method of immortality you intend to use… it is supposed to be incomplete. Historically, no one has achieved true immortality this way."
Mirabel gave a cold smile to Quirrell, who continued to speak despite his fear of her wrath. He was right; the method of immortality Mirabel had discovered was flawed. That was why Voldemort had never used it, had never even given it a second glance.
"True enough. It's unreasonable to try to become that through a ritual in the first place. Originally, 'it' is a type of spontaneous mutation… a being with the right aptitude absorbs the life and souls of others through blood as a medium, fusing with them to be 'naturally born' as an existence that is both an individual and a collective. Many have tried to replicate this artificially in the past, but there has not been a single success. The results are always pale imitations that are an insult to even call degraded."
The being Mirabel was trying to "become" already existed in the wizarding world. It was quite famous and still known as a first-class monster. But they were all fakes. Not the true, naturally born progenitor, but degraded copies who were no longer human after having their blood drunk by one. And those degraded copies created even further degraded copies, who in turn created more. With each passing generation, their blood thinned, weakened, and grew closer to that of humans.
As a result, they were no longer recognized as the most powerful monsters, but had been reduced to beings that were merely "strong, but not unbeatable," the sort that are defeated in stories.
The original "it" was not such a lukewarm existence. It was stronger than anything, faster than anything, overflowing with more magic than anything, and could make you lose your will to fight with a single glance. It was a superior, top-tier monster.
That is what Mirabel was aiming for. It was a form worthy of one who would rule the world, the fantastical king who should stand at the very pinnacle. That was why Mirabel had read every text, sought to know every dark art. She had greedily gathered knowledge from Hogwarts, Durmstang, and beyond Britain to countries all over the world. She had traveled not only to her native Britain but also to France and Russia, considered the three great magical nations. She had collected every legend of "blood-sucking monsters" from around the globe and added them to her own knowledge.
"But I have perfected it. I have analyzed the mechanism by which it occurs by 'chance' and obtained a method to create it artificially."
"My lady! With all due respect, the most important element is missing from this ritual! Only those with the aptitude can become it! There is no method in this ritual to compensate for that flaw…"
"Quirinus Quirrell."
Mirabel silenced him with a single glare and gave a fearless smile. It was a smile of pure arrogance, filled with absolute confidence and conviction in herself. There was nothing she couldn't do. There was nothing she lacked. It was a smile born from a super-narcissism so profound it was an insult to call it mere conceit, from one who wholeheartedly believed this.
"Say my name."
"…Pardon?"
"What's wrong? Can you not answer your master's name?"
"N-no! You are Lady Mirabel Beresford! You are my great master!"
"See? You do understand," Mirabel replied to Quirrell's words, baring her canines in a ferocious grin. Who am I? Is the one standing here some common mortal? No! The one here is the supreme being that is I! The born winner, the absolute, who transcends all others!
"That's right. I am Mirabel Beresford. A chosen being who transcends all others. You say an 'aptitude is required'? Then what is there to worry about? As if there is any aptitude that I, Mirabel, do not possess. Even if no one else has it, I alone do. That is the way of the world."
"Indeed! Indeed!! That was a slip of the tongue, please forgive me!!"
Mirabel looked down at Quirrell, who was prostrating himself so low his head scraped the floor, and placed her foot on his head. His insolence in underestimating her was unforgivable, but he was a useful pawn. She would let it slide this time.
"There is nothing for you to be concerned about. If I fail, it simply means that was the extent of my abilities. If you understand, then be silent and carry out the role you have been given."
"Yes, my lady!"
She pressed her foot onto the back of Quirrell's head one last time before finally forgiving him and removing it. Then, she turned her gaze to Holger.
"Well then, I shall be going. …The next time I return will be when the Triwizard Tournament is nearing its end."
"Yes… travel safely, my lady."
She had confirmed that the preparations for the "ritual" were proceeding steadily and without issue. There was nothing to worry about. For now, it wouldn't be so bad to watch the tournament along with the other spectators. When it came down to it, Mirabel didn't dislike events like these.
***
10 Advanced Chapters Available on my Patreon!
https://patreon.com/Well_being