Chapter 1: The Ambitious Girl
First, there was her wisdom. Most humans are born as blank slates, ignorant and unknowing.
But Mirabel was different. From the moment of her birth, she possessed self-awareness, intelligence, and vast knowledge.
It was reincarnation—a phenomenon where individuals discard their old bodies to be reborn in new ones. Historically, there were records of witches and wizards undergoing such transformations. Though not entirely unheard of, Mirabel stood out because she retained her past life's knowledge without any use of magic. This conviction solidified her belief that she was unique.
She called this her "inheritance from a past life," something she believed she had taken from the persona of her former self.
Tracing the memories, it became apparent that her past life was that of a mundane Muggle—a nondescript office worker.
A woman with an utterly ordinary personality, living a dull life without ambition or distinction.
To Mirabel, who was proud and self-assured, associating herself with such a being was unthinkable.
Thus, Mirabel decided: her past life and her current self were entirely separate. She viewed herself as a natural-born victor who had crushed the personality of her past self, seizing its knowledge, experience, and wisdom. That was who she truly was!
This "inheritance" mostly consisted of the humdrum life of an unremarkable Muggle. But there was one piece of knowledge among it all that was priceless.
The Harry Potter series—a foreknowledge of this world's future.
This mundane woman had read a series of books detailing the events of this world as a story.
Though she had only read up to the fifth volume of the seven-part series, it was enough to understand the narrative leading to the resurrection of the Dark Lord.
Yes, she possessed knowledge of future events no one else could possibly know!
Truly a victor by birth! Heaven itself had chosen Mirabel Beresford to be an unparalleled existence!
Next was her talent.
Her sharp mind could remember anything she saw once, rendering any book she read useless afterward.
She learned to speak quickly and was able to write by the age of one.
Her physical abilities were also exceptional, allowing her to hold her own even against older boys.
But above all, her most outstanding trait was the magical talent inherited from her pureblood parents.
Those born as wizards or witches typically enter a magic school at the age of eleven.
However, before that, in the esteemed pureblood Beresford family, a rigorous—borderline abusive—training regimen was imposed to cultivate magical talent, breaking down the young girl.
Yet, Mirabel's talent refused to be confined. Fueled by the humiliation inflicted by her parents, she transformed everything she was taught into her own strength, using pain as a stepping stone to rise higher.
Like a sponge absorbing water, she mastered everything she was taught as soon as she learned it. Her parents, delighted by her rapid progress, were overjoyed that a worthy heir had been born to their lineage.
However, they never noticed the cold disdain with which Mirabel regarded them.
Mirabel would never forget the humiliation she endured.
Nor would she forgive these inferior beings, masquerading as her parents, for their cruelty.
She would never let go of the rage of being trampled upon by those she deemed beneath her!
The rigorous education imposed by Mirabel's parents ultimately distorted her already warped personality even further. They ingrained within her a supremacist ideology: "The right to trample others belongs only to the superior."
Lastly, her appearance.
If asked, "What is the most beautiful thing in this world?" Mirabel would answer without hesitation: "That would be me."
If asked, "What is the greatest masterpiece in this world?" she would again respond without a shred of doubt: "What else but me?"
While this was pure arrogance and self-love taken to its extreme, no one could refute her claim.
Her soft golden hair cascaded down to her waist, shimmering even in the dark, swaying gracefully with every step.
Her fair skin was flawless, free from even a single blemish, and as soft to the touch as a baby's.
Her sharp, cat-like golden eyes radiated confidence. Her small, well-shaped nose and cherry-pink lips complemented her perfect white teeth.
There's a saying, "They look attractive when silent," but Mirabel was different. She was beautiful whether silent or not. Everything she did was captivating.
Her legs were long and elegant, her hands delicately formed down to the tips of her fingers.
Despite being only eleven years old, she already exuded a bewitching allure, holding the mysterious charm of a witch capable of ensnaring men and leaving them powerless.
...Her only flaw, if it could be called one, was her small chest, but considering her age, it was hardly surprising.
As an aside, an unfortunate servant who dared to comment on this found himself fleeing the Beresford estate by night the following day. No one knew what had happened, as any attempt to inquire left the servant utterly terrified and incoherent.
These factors fueled Mirabel's hubris. There was nothing to temper her arrogance.
She had no enemies, no setbacks, and nothing she couldn't accomplish.
If, at some point, she had faced an insurmountable challenge, her self-conceit might have been shattered, and her personality might have turned out more balanced.
She might have realized she wasn't some divine chosen one, but simply a lucky girl blessed with everything by chance.
But her innate talent wouldn't allow that!
Her genius and sheer good fortune demolished every obstacle before she could even recognize them as such, reducing all challenges to nothing more than dust by the roadside.
And so, without ever correcting her deeply warped personality, she reached her eleventh birthday.
From the perspective of Holger, the house-elf serving the Beresford family, Mirabel was a peculiar girl.
Typically, house-elves were treated as little more than slaves, rarely experiencing kindness and often facing abuse. This was especially true in proud noble families like the Beresfords, who treated Holger like a worn-out tool, even kicking him on a whim if they were displeased.
Yet, amidst all this, Mirabel was different. She never treated Holger harshly; in fact, she even showed him a degree of respect.
Holger knew Mirabel's personality well. She was arrogant beyond measure and looked down on everyone around her.
Holger, too, was no exception to her disdain, but strangely, the level of contempt she showed him was far less than what others received.
Perplexed by this, Holger one day decided to ask her about it.
"Why are you so kind to me, my lady?"
At this question, Mirabel raised the corner of her lips into a smirk and replied to Holger.
"That's because, Holger, you are exceptional."
"E-Exceptional, me!? Oh no, my lady! Please don't say such things!"
Overwhelmed by the unexpected praise, Holger flailed about, shaking his head with a high-pitched squeal. But Mirabel, speaking to him in an almost gentle tone, continued.
"It's the truth. You house-elves, capable of wielding immense magic without a wand, are far superior to the master or lady of this household, who pride themselves solely on their pure-blood status.
If you wanted to, you could kill every human in this mansion except for me."
"K-Kill everyone? What a terrifying idea!"
"Ha, ha, ha... It's a hypothetical, of course. But it's also a fact.
Holger, you are a remarkable being. I cannot stand to see someone as exceptional as you being mistreated by these incompetent fools."
Mirabel leaned closer, her golden eyes peering into Holger's own as her slender finger lightly touched his chin.
Despite being a girl in her early teens, her gesture carried a seductive allure that seemed to drag one into an abyss. Though incongruous with her youthful appearance, it strangely suited her.
With a sly smile, she continued speaking.
"Holger, I know. Even though you are a house-elf who values labor as a virtue, deep down, you desire freedom. You long to serve a master who is worthy of you."
"!"
"Listen carefully, Holger. Here I have my father's sock and my pillowcase.
I will now give you this sock."
At her feet were indeed the items she had mentioned, and Holger's gaze was fixed upon them.
House-elves were bound to obey their masters unconditionally, unable to resign from their servitude on their own accord.
The only exception was when they were presented with clothing by their master, which would signify their dismissal—granting them freedom.
And currently, Holger's master was the Beresford family. If this girl offered him clothing, it meant he would be free.
"Once you are free, what you do is entirely up to you.
But if you wish for a master who is truly worthy of you, then put on that pillowcase and pledge your loyalty to me—not to the Beresford family, but to Mirabel Beresford."
House-elves traditionally wore non-clothing items such as pillowcases, sheets, or towels as a mark of their servitude.
Now, the pillowcase lay before him. Wearing it after being freed would symbolize his allegiance to her.
"B-But..."
"I can assure you, Holger, that no one understands your worth as I do.
I will never mistreat you. I will give you the work you desire and be the master you seek."
As Holger listened, he couldn't tear his eyes away from hers.
Was there some kind of enchanting spell cast upon those eerie, faintly glowing golden eyes? So captivating were they that Holger felt ensnared.
Casually, Mirabel placed the sock into Holger's trembling hands and stepped back.
"Given clothing by my master..." Holger was now free, and the unexpected gift of freedom left him bewildered.
What lay ahead was entirely up to his own will. He could leave the house, swear loyalty to her, or even attack her.
Yet, Mirabel stood there, arms crossed and smiling, as if she were certain of the outcome.
"Now, you are free. Do as you wish."
"Holger... Holger will..."
There was no need to hesitate.
True, Holger had sought freedom, but that didn't mean he didn't want to work as a house-elf. He simply wanted a slightly better master than the one he currently served.
And this girl—she understood that desire. She understood and declared him exceptional! She praised him as remarkable!
Even setting that aside, there was something inexplicable about her that made him want to obey.
A natural-born leader. She possessed an irresistible charisma that compelled others to submit without question.
Every whispered word was like a sweet aphrodisiac, melting his heart, and her golden eyes seemed to strip away his ability to think.
She saw through his desires and pulled him into her sphere of influence.
"I pledge my loyalty to you."
"Good boy," she said with a sly smile.
Her hand stroked Holger's cheek as he donned the new pillowcase she had given him.
Even that simple gesture dissolved his heart and filled him with a strange euphoria.
But her hand soon withdrew, leaving Holger looking regretful.
Mirabel smiled at him and spoke.
"Now then, let me give you your first order.
Holger, teach me magic—specifically, the 'wandless magic' you house-elves use."
The command left Holger stunned.
What? This girl intended to learn from a house-elf? No one had ever done such a thing before!
Seeing Holger gape in astonishment, Mirabel continued.
"But humans and elves have different bodies..."
"Don't lump me in with the common rabble, Holger. Nothing is impossible for me.
There are ways to fly without brooms in this world, aren't there? Then there's no reason this can't be done."
The physiological differences didn't matter. The fact remained that house-elves could perform magic without wands.
If she could understand its principles, she could make them her own.
Being bound to a wand was ridiculous. A truly powerful witch shouldn't need tools. That was the ideal!
In less than a year, Mirabel mastered "wandless magic."
It was then that Holger understood.
"Ah, so that's the kind of being she is..."
On her eleventh birthday, the letter of acceptance from Hogwarts arrived, and the gears of her story began to turn.
Everything started from here, from this very day.
The long battle with Voldemort, with Harry Potter as the protagonist, would commence.
Voldemort's resurrection was set for the fourth book—four years from now.
During those four years, Mirabel planned to remain quiet. She lacked the strength and knowledge to act just yet.
If she moved prematurely, she would inevitably be crushed by either Dumbledore or the Death Eaters.
Though Mirabel had no doubt she was the greatest genius in the world, she understood that even the most extraordinary leaders or revolutionaries didn't achieve greatness overnight.
Only through proper preparation and sufficient growth could one become a truly great ruler.
Thus, she would use these four years as a period of concealment, dedicating herself to self-improvement. She would make the most of the time, acquiring every bit of knowledge and power available.
Then, with Voldemort's resurrection, she would strike.
It wouldn't just be a battle. It would be a struggle for dominance—a contest to decide who deserved to stand at the pinnacle of the magical world.
The strong would rise, and the weak would perish.
To build this ideal world, Voldemort, steeped in pure-blood ideology, was an obstacle that had to be eliminated.
He was a roadblock that had to be removed at all costs for her to ascend.
As she pondered the dark lord she had yet to meet, Mirabel burned with ambition.
"The one who deserves to stand at the top of the world isn't some relic of the past like Voldemort!
It's me, Mirabel Beresford!"
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