In the wizarding world, Mirabelle Beresford, who lived in a mansion on the outskirts of Albania, believed from the moment she was born that she was special and chosen.
First, there was wisdom. Ordinarily, a human being was born ignorant, a blank slate.
But she was different. From the very moment of her birth, she already possessed self-awareness, wisdom, and a vast store of knowledge.
It was the cycle of reincarnation, to be shed and reborn anew. Tracing back through history, there were records of several witches and wizards abandoning their old bodies and returning in new ones, so it was not entirely unheard of. What set Mirabelle apart was that she carried knowledge from her past life without the use of any magic whatsoever. That was why she believed herself to be special.
She called this a "legacy from a past life" and believed it to be something she had inherited from her previous self's personality.
If I recall correctly, my past life was that of an unremarkable, ordinary office worker, a typical Muggle.
She was a very ordinary woman with a very forgettable personality, living her days without ever drawing attention to herself.
For Mirabelle, with her fierce sense of self-worth, it was impossible to associate herself with such a being.
Therefore, Mirabelle had decided: her past life and her current self were two entirely different things. A born victor who had crushed the personality of her past life and seized its knowledge, experience, and wisdom, that was who she was.
This "inheritance" mostly consisted of the mundane life of a Muggle, but it contained one piece of invaluable knowledge.
The Harry Potter series: knowledge of the future of this world.
That dull woman had read a book in which the events of this world were recorded as a story.
Although she had only read up to the fifth volume of the seven-volume series, an incomplete picture, she had still been able to grasp the entire plot up to the Dark Lord's resurrection.
That was right. I was born with the ability to foresee events that no one else should ever know!
A born winner! Heaven had chosen Mirabelle Beresford to be superior to all others!
Next, talent.
Her mind retained everything it encountered with perfect clarity, rendering any book she had finished useless the moment she set it down. She had begun speaking with remarkable speed, and by her first birthday she could already write.
Her physical abilities were outstanding, and she could hold her own against someone far older. But even more remarkable was the magical talent she had inherited from her pure-blood parents.
Witches and wizards entered magical school at the age of eleven. Long before that, however, the pure-blood Beresford family had subjected their daughter to a thorough, almost brutal elite magical education that would have devastated any ordinary child.
Yet her talent was not content to remain there. Fuelled by the humiliation inflicted upon her by her parents, she transformed everything she was taught into strength, using pain as a stepping stone to ascend to greater heights.
Her parents were overjoyed to watch their daughter absorb every lesson the moment she was given, like a sponge drawing in water, and celebrated the fact that a child worthy of carrying on their legacy had finally been born.
Yet those parents would likely never realise that Mirabelle regarded them with cold, contemptuous eyes.
Mirabelle would never forget the humiliation she had suffered. 'I will never forget my anger towards these vile creatures called parents, who are inferior to me. I will never forget the humiliation of being trampled by those lesser than myself!'
The elite education her parents provided ultimately served only to distort Mirabelle further, warping a nature already bent beyond measure. It instilled in her the conviction that "the right to trample on others should always be reserved for the superior", a kind of chosen-people mentality.
Finally, appearance.
If asked, "What is the most beautiful thing in the world?", Mirabelle would answer without a second's hesitation: "It is myself."
If asked, "What is the most magnificent work of art in the world?", she would answer without shame: "What else could it be but me?"
It was pure vanity and the epitome of self-love, but no one could deny her words.
Her soft, waist-length blonde hair shone even on dark streets, swaying gently with every step. Her fair skin was spotless and soft as an infant's to the touch. Her sharp, cat-like eyes were a striking gold, her nose perfectly formed, her lips a cherry pink, and her teeth flawlessly white.
There was a saying that beauty fades when one opens their mouth, but Mirabelle was the exception. She was beautiful whether she kept quiet or not, and everything she did looked good on her. Her legs were long and slender, and her hands were perfectly formed right down to her fingertips.
Despite being only eleven years old, the girl already possessed a captivating, alluring charm, the seductive power of a true witch, capable of entrancing any man and leaving him powerless.
The only real flaw was her small bust, though that was understandable given her age.
As an aside, the poor servant who had dared to utter this fled the Beresford household that very night. No one knew what had become of him, though anyone who tried to ask was met with a face twisted in terror and incoherent ramblings.
These factors fuelled her arrogance, and nothing could stop it. She had no enemies, no setbacks, and nothing was impossible for her.
Perhaps if she had encountered a wall somewhere along the way, her arrogance might have been tempered and she might have grown into a more ordinary sort of person, might even have come to see herself not as God's chosen one, but simply as a fortunate girl blessed by circumstance. But her innate talent would not allow it. Her fate and her genius, which seemed to urge her ever onwards, meant she perceived no obstacle as a wall, reducing every impediment to something less than dust on the roadside.
And so she reached her eleventh birthday with her warped personality entirely intact.
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To Holger, the house elf who served the Beresford family, Mirabelle was a mysterious girl.
House elves were ordinarily treated like slaves, mistreated where they were not ignored, and rarely if ever treated with kindness. This was especially true of elves belonging to arrogant noble families, and the Beresford family was no exception. They treated Holger as though he were a worn-out tool, sometimes kicking him around for no reason other than that they were in a foul mood.
Mirabelle, however, was the only one who never treated Holger harshly. On the contrary, she even showed him something approaching respect.
Holger was well acquainted with the girl's character. She was extremely arrogant and looked down on everyone around her. He was no exception in that regard, though somehow the degree to which she looked down on him was lesser than it was for the other servants. One day, his curiosity got the better of him, and he asked her about it.
"Why are you so kind to Holger, young lady?"
She turned up the corner of her mouth and replied:
"That is because you are excellent, Holger."
"H-Holger is superior?! That won't do, my lady! You shouldn't say things like that!"
Overjoyed by the unexpected praise, Holger shook his head wildly and shrieked. Mirabelle spoke to him in a voice that was almost gentle.
"It is true. You house elves, who wield powerful magic without wands, are far superior to the head of this household and his wife, who are arrogant for no reason other than being pure-bloods."
"If you wanted to, you could kill everyone in this mansion but me."
"M-Murder them all?! That's horrible!"
"Heh heh heh. It is a hypothetical situation. But it is also a fact."
"Holger, you are an exceptional individual. I cannot stand to see someone as exceptional as you oppressed by incompetent people."
Mirabelle fixed her golden gaze on Holger and placed her slender fingers beneath his chin. She was still just a young girl, yet her gestures belonged to a seductive woman who dragged men into the abyss. Despite the incongruity with her youthful appearance, it suited her strangely well. She continued, a sinister smile on her face.
"Listen, Holger. I know you. You are a house elf who values hard work, yet craves freedom. You wish to serve a better master."
"!"
"Here before us are my father's socks and my pillowcase. I will give you these socks."
The objects were indeed at the girl's feet, and Holger's eyes fixed upon them.
House elves were bound to obey their master's commands unconditionally and were not permitted to leave their service of their own accord. The one exception was dismissal: being granted freedom through the receiving of their master's garments. Holger's master was the Beresford family, and if this girl gave him clothing, it would mean his freedom.
"What you do with your freedom is entirely up to you. But Holger, if you desire a master truly worthy of you, put on that pillowcase and renew your loyalty to me. Not to the Beresford family, but to me, Mirabelle Beresford."
House elves wore something other than clothing as the mark of their servitude. This could be a pillowcase, a bed sheet, or a towel. Now, such a garment lay before him. To wear it after gaining his freedom would be a pledge of loyalty to her.
"B-but..."
"I can assure you that there is no master who understands your worth better than I do, and none more worthy of you. I will never treat you poorly. I will give you the work you desire, and I will be the master you have always wished for."
As Holger listened, he could not take his eyes off her. Those eerie, faintly glowing golden eyes seemed to hold some enchanting spell, holding him captive and refusing to let go. She carelessly placed the sock in Holger's hand and stepped away.
"My master gave me these clothes." Holger was bewildered by the unexpected freedom that had fallen into his hands. From that moment, it was up to his own free will. He could leave, submit to her, or even attack her. But the girl stood with her arms crossed and a smile on her face, as though she were entirely certain of what was to come.
"Now you are free. Do as you please."
"H-Holger is... Holger is..."
There was no need to hesitate.
'I had certainly sought freedom, but that did not mean I wished to stop working as a house elf. I simply wanted a slightly better master than the one I had. And this girl understood that wish. She had understood me and praised me as excellent. She had recognised me as superior.'
'No, even setting that aside, there was something about her that made one inexplicably want to obey. A natural-born ruler! She possessed a mysterious charm that made others wish to follow her without question. Every whispered word melted the heart like a love potion, and those golden eyes robbed one of the ability to think. Then she would discern your desires and draw you entirely into her domain.'
"I pledge my loyalty to you..."
"Hehe. Good boy."
Her hand stroked Holger's cheek as he put on the brand-new pillowcase she had given him. Even a single gesture from her melted Holger's heart and filled him with a strange sense of ecstasy. But her hand quickly pulled away, and Holger could not help the regret that crossed his face.
Mirabelle smiled and began to speak.
"Now, let us get straight to business. Holger, teach me magic. Specifically, the wandless magic you house elves use."
The order caught Holger off guard. Incredibly, this girl intended to study under a house elf — something that had never happened before. She continued, addressing Holger, who had been struck speechless.
"B-but the physical structure of elves and humans is different..."
"Do not lump me in with ordinary people, Holger. Nothing is impossible for me. There are flying techniques that require no broom, so there is no reason I cannot do this."
Regardless of the differences in physical structure, the fact remained that house elves used magic without wands. She would unravel that principle and make it her own. Being tied to a wand was nonsense. Becoming a powerful witch without any tools, that was the ideal.
And in less than a year, when she had mastered wandless magic, Holger understood.
"Ah... so this is the kind of person she is."
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Then, on her eleventh birthday, she received her acceptance letter from Hogwarts, and the gears of fate began to turn.
It all began here, from this very day. The long battle against Voldemort, with Harry Potter as its protagonist, was about to begin. Voldemort's return would come in the fourth year — four years from now.
'I will lie low for those four years. I do not yet have sufficient strength or knowledge. As things stand, any action taken would be crushed without fail, whether by Dumbledore or the Death Eaters.' Mirabelle had no doubt she was the greatest genius in the world, but no great genius, leader, or revolutionary had been great from the very beginning. Only after proper preparation and sufficient growth could one become a truly great ruler.
'Therefore, I will use these four years as a period of incubation, improving myself and making the most of every opportunity to acquire whatever knowledge and skills I lack. The battle will begin the moment the Dark Lord is resurrected. This will not be a simple contest. It will be a power struggle to determine who is most deserving of the highest position in the magical world. The strong rise to power, and the weak perish. Voldemort, with his leanings towards pure-blood ideology, is an obstacle to the world I intend to build, one I must eliminate at all costs. He is an obstacle I absolutely must remove if I am to rise to the top.'
As Mirabelle turned her thoughts to the Dark Lord she had never met, her ambition blazed, and she thought:
'The one who should stand at the top of the world is not a ghost of the past like Voldemort.'
'That one is Mirabelle Beresford!'