The Beresford estate on the outskirts of Albania.
When Mirabelle crossed through the door and arrived home, she heard the patter of footsteps.
Then her mother, Maevis Beresford, came to greet her with a beaming smile.
This woman who doted on her daughter always eagerly awaited Mirabelle's return, but this year the tendency was stronger than usual.
Mirabelle came home every year for Christmas break, but she'd rarely been this pleased about it.
"Welcome home, Mirabelle! Oh, my darling Mirabelle! Is everything alright at school? Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Yes, there are no problems... Mother."
She handed her luggage to a servant and headed to the living room.
But Heathcoat and Simon, who should have been there until last year, were absent.
At the end of last year, they'd suddenly fallen ill with a mysterious disease and lost consciousness.
Now they rarely woke at all, living bedridden lives at St. Mungo's.
...Or so Maevis had been told. That was the lie.
The truth was no illness. Heathcoat was already dead.
A year ago, he'd been used as a sacrifice in Mirabelle's ritual and departed this world by his daughter's hand.
What lay at St. Mungo's was just an empty shell without a soul, forcibly kept in a state of biological function.
"Hey, Mirabelle. That boy... is Potter still saying You-Know-Who has returned?"
"Yes. And he's still being treated as a liar."
"I see..."
Maevis lowered her long eyelashes and sighed gloomily.
She was secretly one of those who believed Harry.
Originally she hadn't been a believer, but what changed her perspective was her beloved husband's existence.
"Mirabelle... I feel like what that boy says is true. Because otherwise, there's no way that man would have collapsed. ...It's not illness, I can tell. He was attacked by someone."
"..."
Maevis's opinion was correct.
As she said, Heathcoat hadn't fallen ill—he'd been attacked.
But she couldn't realize the perpetrator was none other than her beloved daughter.
"Speaking of which, Mirabelle, what happened to your personal maid... Mary?"
"...She said she had something she wanted to do, so I gave her time off. Who knows where she is or what she's doing now."
"I see."
Maevis didn't pursue it much and lowered her face gloomily again.
Looking away from her, Mirabelle recalled last year's events.
It was before performing that ritual...
"Mary Orwell. You'll play a crucial role in the ritual."
"Crucial, miss?"
Mary Orwell, a maid serving the Beresford family, was mildly confused.
The moment she'd been summoned, her young mistress—Mirabelle—had suddenly dropped this bombshell.
It was quite sudden and selfish, but that was just who she was.
So Mary didn't particularly mind and waited for her mistress's next words.
"There's something necessary for the ritual. I've already obtained most of it, but one thing remains. That's why I'm ordering you to cooperate."
"Yes... but if even you cannot obtain it, miss, how could someone like me..."
"No, I need you specifically."
Mary already knew what Mirabelle was attempting.
Patricide... she was finally baring her fangs at her own parent, planning to end that life.
But she'd known this was coming.
Ever since that day long ago when she'd lost her kind other half, the mistress had remained a devil.
No—Mirabelle had been a devil from birth.
That's why she could declare it without any mercy:
"What I need is a virgin's living blood and life. But unworthy women's blood is unnecessary for this Mirabelle's offering. Therefore, I command you... die for me, Mary."
"..."
Mary pressed her lips tightly together.
She'd known.
She'd vaguely known this day would come someday.
This mistress needed no one and desired no one.
So surely, even herself who'd been together since childhood would be easily discarded when needed.
She should have known this all along.
"...As you... wish... Miss."
"Good girl."
Mirabelle smiled with satisfaction and lifted Mary's hair.
Then she looked at her with a bewitching gaze that captivated even the same sex.
"Don't worry, Mary. If everything goes well, even life can be easily resurrected. I'll resurrect you properly... I wouldn't waste a subordinate as useful as you, would I?"
"...Such... happiness."
Subordinate... subordinate, huh.
Mary smiled sadly with self-mockery.
They'd been together since childhood, yet she could never become this person's friend.
Couldn't even become her support.
No, a girl like Mirabelle probably never needed friends to begin with.
Except for one person, a girl now deceased, she needed nothing.
"And I'm giving you one more crucial directive."
"One more?"
"Yes. After your death, I'll reconstruct your body using the Philosopher's Stone's power. The flesh will be human, but its specs will undoubtedly be the world's finest—I guarantee it."
"That means... surely not—"
"You're perceptive. You'll use that body to deceive everyone. This is a role absolutely no one but you, who's watched me since childhood, could fulfill."
Mary instantly understood the role being asked of her.
Indeed, as they began taking action, that role would be necessary.
And she was the only one who could do it.
To avoid unnecessary interference, Mirabelle Beresford needed to remain at school as always.
"I'll give you the power befitting that role. There's a parasitic soul synchronized with me... I'll give you a part of it. With that, you should be able to wield power approaching, if not matching, mine."
A wizard's strength largely depended on their soul.
For example, when dark wizards obtained new bodies through dark magic, their magical power didn't diminish at all.
That was because the soul remembered that magic.
Also, from what she'd heard, the Tom Riddle who appeared in second year could use magic despite being just a soul fragment housed in a diary.
Then if she received part of her mistress's soul, wielding that power wouldn't be impossible either.
...Though honestly, she didn't understand what this "parasite" meant.
"You'll do it, won't you?"
Mirabelle threw out not a question but a confirmation.
For her, Mary's compliance was already decided.
Her thoughts were correct, her plan was correct.
With such a twisted mentality that could be so certain, this was the tyrannical assumption of someone who gave no consideration whatsoever to others' feelings.
And just as she predicted, Mary didn't shake her head.
"If that's what you wish."
When she'd gained awareness, her parents were already gone.
She made no friends at the orphanage either—always alone.
And even after being taken in... she remained alone.
Because her mistress was a girl who needed no one and saw no one.
Even so, it was enough if she could be useful to her.
Believing that was her only place to belong, she'd devoted herself mindlessly.
But now Mary's heart was wavering.
Her heart was screaming against deceiving everything.
Because she'd learned about friendship. And about its warmth—
"...Belle... Mirabelle? Hey, Mirabelle."
"...!"
"What's wrong? You're spacing out."
Called to, Mirabelle's eyes snapped open.
She'd gotten a bit too buried in the past.
Looking sideways, Edith was peering at her with a worried expression.
This wasn't good—had she spaced out too much during lunch?
"Ah, yes, I'm fine. Just remembering the past a bit."
"Really? Aren't you tired and worn out?"
"Perhaps. The current Hogwarts exhausts you even doing nothing."
Edith smiled bitterly as if agreeing with Mirabelle's words.
"Dolores Umbridge assumes position of Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
This worst possible news was now known to every student.
Why had it come to this? The cause lay with the DA (Dumbledore's Army) that Harry's group had organized.
Their modest resistance conducted right under Umbridge's nose had finally been discovered, and Dumbledore, who'd covered for them, had been expelled from the school.
If you traced the specific cause, it lay with the student who'd betrayed Harry's group and informed Umbridge—Marietta Edgecombe... or rather, with Cho Chang, who'd forcibly brought her in knowing she was reluctant. But there was no point dwelling on it now.
After Dumbledore's departure, Hogwarts' rules had become Umbridge's personal plaything.
First, the prefect system was effectively nullified, and above it, a position called the "Inquisitorial Squad" was established.
This overturned the fundamental premise that prefects couldn't deduct points from each other, creating an unprecedented system allowing arbitrary deductions.
Naturally, several Slytherin students had been appointed to this.
They seemed thoroughly delighted with this newly granted power (toy), apparently deducting points from Harry's group at every opportunity.
It was terrible—they could deduct points without any reason. "Because you're a Weasley," "Because you're Muggle-born," "Because I dislike you"—with such reasons for deductions, the House Cup system itself stopped functioning.
A perfect example of why fools shouldn't be given power.
"This is still wrong. I'm going to complain to everyone."
"Don't. If you do that, you'll just be next on their list."
The Inquisitorial Squad's idiotic rampage was unbearable to watch, but criticizing them would bring the sparks here.
Nothing was more unmanageable than fools with power.
Leaving them alone was currently the most correct choice.
"If that happened, I'd crush them. You don't want to see Slytherins destroying each other, do you?"
"Ugh... well, that's true."
While saying this, Edith looked a bit happy.
Because Mirabelle's words essentially meant she'd retaliate if anyone harmed Edith.
While giving Edith a puzzled look for her pleased expression, Mirabelle continued:
"Besides, they're just puppets being used. Warning them would just mean someone else immediately takes their place. The only one we need to drive out is Umbridge herself."
If they just drove out Umbridge, the school would return to normal.
Then what they should consider wasn't how to stop the Squad, but how to drive out Umbridge.
"Speaking of which, the Weasley twins..."
Edith said as if remembering something.
No, tried to say.
But immediately after, a thunderous sound like an explosion shook the floor, cutting off her words.
Furthermore, voices of students making noise came from one floor below, and the hall's students all headed that direction to see what was happening.
"...Ah, Hermione said they were plotting something..."
"Hehe, so they've already taken action."
The culprits of this commotion were undoubtedly the Weasley twins.
Mirabelle and Edith nodded to each other and, like the other students, rushed from the hall toward the lower floor.
What they saw there was a sparking dragon scattering numerous magical fireworks while darting up and down the stairs.
And not just one or two. Ten, twenty of them swarmed, shooting sparks in all directions.
"Wh-what on earth is this... eek?!"
Before the confused Umbridge, a Catherine wheel at least five feet in diameter crossed her path.
It scattered sparks all around, then ignited rocket fireworks set on the floor and flew everywhere.
Firecrackers set on the floor caused a chain explosion, and from those explosions, yet more fireworks emerged.
"H-hurry, Filch! Hurry or they'll spread throughout the school! Stupefy! Paralyze!"
Red light from Umbridge's wand struck one of the rockets.
But that was counterproductive.
The rocket exploded from receiving Umbridge's spell, further expanding the damage.
"D-don't stun them, Filch!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
Umbridge had cast the spell herself, but apparently wanted to make it seem Filch had done it.
But as a Squib, he couldn't use magic.
Not wanting to admit her own incompetence was fine, but she should at least choose whom to blame.
Next Umbridge tried a Vanishing Spell, but this too was counterproductive.
The dragon firework she hit split into ten dragons, becoming even more unmanageable.
Apparently casting Vanishing Spells made them multiply.
At this rate, other spells probably had countermeasures too.
"Filch! Don't vanish them!"
"Yes! Headmistress Umbridge!"
Flustered, Umbridge didn't give up and tried a Disarming Charm.
But this was wrong too! This time it grew gigantic and started banging its head everywhere.
"Filch!!"
"My apologies, Headmistress!"
The more spells she cast, the more counterproductive they became.
What terrifying devices.
No, what was truly terrifying was probably the talent of the Weasley brothers who created such things.
Cast a spell. They multiply.
Cast a spell. They explode.
Cast a spell. They grow gigantic.
What an incredible disaster.
Yet McGonagall and the other teachers paid no attention at all.
In fact, they even looked amused, calling out to nearby Edith:
"Miss Lynnagale. Could you run to the Headmistress and report that fireworks have escaped into that classroom over there?"
"Ah, yes!"
Of course, they could probably eliminate the fireworks.
But they wouldn't try to eliminate them proactively.
If asked why, it was because they didn't know if they had that authority.
...That was the pretense—of course, the real reason was they disliked Umbridge.
"I-Inquisitorial Squad! What are you doing? Move, now!"
Umbridge shouted in a panicked voice.
But her shout was meaningless.
Because her prized Squad was just trembling in fear.
Ultimately just a collection of dimwits who could only ingratiate themselves with power.
That they were useless at times like this was perfectly natural.
In the end, Umbridge's first day as Headmistress was spent doing nothing but dealing with fireworks.
***
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