Chapter 8: Beresford
"Next, 666 bats."
"A young sacrifice is needed. A pure maiden is preferable."
"The ritual must take place on a full moon night."
"Place six roses, soaked in the blood of the sacrifice and the relative, into the goblet."
3 a.m.
In the Slytherin girls' dormitory, where everyone was sound asleep, one bed was faintly stirring.
Under the covers of that bed was Mirabel.
With her blanket pulled over her head, she illuminated her space with a magical light and read a forbidden book she had stolen from the restricted section.
Although she had successfully snatched the book, it was only a matter of time before its absence was noticed.
To return it as quickly as possible, she needed to absorb its contents and commit them entirely to memory.
Fortunately, her exceptional mind allowed her to retain everything after a single reading, eliminating the need to transcribe the text.
The book was thick and detailed, describing ritual procedures, the necessary tools, methods of acquisition, case studies of success and failure, and the merits and drawbacks of each ritual. All of it needed to be memorized.
*(Voldemort somehow managed to survive even after losing his body. If that's the case, the quickest way to counter him is to achieve immortality myself.
...But this method seems inferior to Voldemort's immortality.)*
It was inevitable that she would have to face Voldemort or Dumbledore in her quest for world domination.
But with an immortal Voldemort and the greatest wizard of the century, Dumbledore, as her opponents, victory was nearly impossible. To be frank, as she was now, she didn't stand a chance.
That was why Mirabel sought a solution, and the answer lay in the ritual detailed in this book.
A faint squeak reached her ears.
"...Pyotr, is that you? How goes your mission?"
Looking toward her pillow, she saw her black pet rat, Pyotr, perched nearby.
Pyotr had hardly shown himself to Mirabel since her arrival at Hogwarts, but there was a reason for that.
She had tasked him with dominating the other rats within the school.
No creatures at Hogwarts understood its structures and passageways better than the rats.
They were everywhere, entering and leaving all sorts of places.
Mirabel had realized that if she could bring all these creatures under her control, they could act as her eyes and ears, enabling her to monitor every corner of the castle.
Wasting no time, she had magically enhanced Pyotr and released him into the school, entrusting him with the conquest of the rat population.
While Hogwarts appeared peaceful on the surface, an intense battle for rodent supremacy was raging behind the scenes.
"Squeak, squeak..."
"...Half the castle is under control already? Well done, Pyotr.
Take your forces and subjugate the remaining half as well."
She extended her finger, releasing a spell to further empower Pyotr.
A lively and aggressive rat by nature, Pyotr was perfect for the role of a leader.
With the enhancements she'd granted him, ordinary rats wouldn't dare oppose him.
Receiving his master's instructions, the black rat disappeared into the darkness of the night, leaving silence in his wake.
*(If this plan succeeds, there will be virtually no area in the school beyond my surveillance.
Tracking the movements of both teachers and students will be entirely possible.
Ideally, I'd like to keep constant tabs on Dumbledore, but...)*
With a quiet snap, she closed the book she'd finished reading and hid it beneath her sheets.
Suppressing a small yawn, she buried her face in her pillow.
For now, everything was going according to plan. If things continued smoothly until the end of the year, all would be well...
Drowsy thoughts swirled in her mind as Mirabel slowly drifted off to sleep.
Quidditch: The Most Popular Sport in the Wizarding World
Quidditch is the wizarding world's most popular sport.
Having originated in the 11th century on the Queerditch Marsh in Britain, it is a game that everyone knows.
Wizards and witches of all ages are equally passionate about this sport, and it brings immense excitement.
Hogwarts is no exception.
The Quidditch stands were already packed with spectators, some even equipped with binoculars.
"And now, the long-anticipated match is about to begin! Today's game: Gryffindor versus Slytherin!
For the past six years, Gryffindor has endured the frustration of Slytherin's dirty tactics.
Let's hope they can finally settle the score this year!"
"Jordan!"
"Apologies, Professor McGonagall."
In the commentator's box, Gryffindor's Lee Jordan provided lively narration, though his blatant bias drew stern reprimands from Professor McGonagall.
Even before the match had begun, the stands were brimming with energy, almost searing in intensity.
Arriving slightly late were Mirabel and Edith.
"Ah, great… Looks like all the seats are taken already. You took too long to wake up, Mirabel..."
"Who cares? It's a rare day off."
"It's not a day off—it's just that classes are canceled for Quidditch!"
Edith carried a megaphone, a flag, and cheer sticks, radiating enthusiasm, while Mirabel seemed utterly uninterested.
Having stayed up past 3 a.m. the previous night, Mirabel was rubbing her drowsy eyes, practically stumbling as Edith dragged her along.
For Mirabel, the outcome of the match was a foregone conclusion, making it neither necessary nor worthwhile to watch. But, of course, Edith was oblivious to this and had forcibly brought her along.
Just as Edith was resigning herself to standing, a group of students suddenly appeared before them.
"Milady! Good morning!"
"Milady! How are you feeling today?"
The newcomers were Slytherins.
Ranging in age from second to fourth years, they all knelt before Mirabel, bowing their heads.
Ever since the troll incident, these types of followers had strangely multiplied, much to Edith's chagrin.
Regardless of year, students in Slytherin had developed a fervent admiration for Mirabel, treating her as though she were royalty.
Fortunately, they weren't causing any harm, but Edith found the special treatment she received as Mirabel's friend to be immensely annoying.
"What? No seats?! Oi, lads! Milady and her companion are in need! Get up and offer your seats at once!"
"Right this way, Milady! And for your esteemed friend as well!"
"...Uh… thanks..."
Still half-asleep, Mirabel and Edith were seated, surrounded by the group of boys.
They had brought drinks, snacks, and various other items.
Edith couldn't help but wonder: weren't they embarrassed, devoting themselves so completely to a first-year girl?
She decided to keep that thought to herself.
"Milady! Please enjoy this drink!"
"Milady! Shall I fan you?"
"Milady! Would you like a shoulder massage?"
It was unbearably annoying.
Edith briefly considered asking Mirabel to send them away, but the thought of the drama—possibly involving tears from these boys—made her reconsider.
Sighing, she resigned herself to getting used to it.
As for the match itself, there's little to elaborate on.
As Mirabel had anticipated, Gryffindor emerged victorious.
Despite Harry Potter's broom acting out of control during the game, he managed to capture the Snitch, securing the win.
For Mirabel, the match was devoid of any excitement, as the outcome had been obvious from the start.
Still, it confirmed what she already suspected: Quirrell was targeting Harry, just as her knowledge dictated.
At least that made it somewhat worthwhile.
December 25th: The Holy Day of Christmas
December 25th is a sacred day celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ—Christmas.
Though originally a Muggle tradition, it is no less special here at Hogwarts.
On this holy day, all classes are canceled, and students are allowed to return home.
Of course, those who wish to stay and enjoy Hogwarts' Christmas festivities are free to do so, but Mirabel decided to return to her family's home.
It wasn't because she wanted to spend the holy night with her family. If anything, she found it bothersome. However, failing to return might raise suspicions.
Additionally, some of the items necessary for her "ritual" were either strictly prohibited or otherwise unavailable at Hogwarts.
That meant she needed someone to gather these items on her behalf.
Someone like Holger, the house-elf.
To instruct Holger in preparing for the ritual, Mirabel determined that returning home, even briefly, was the correct decision.
The Beresford family estate, Mirabel's home, stood on the outskirts of Albania. (This is unrelated to the Republic of Albania and is a location that does not appear on any Muggle map.)
Rather than a mansion, it resembled a grand manor.
Surrounded by a five-meter-deep moat, the estate boasted a garden spanning 6,500 square meters (about 2,000 tsubo), filled with a variety of blooming trees and flowers.
All of them were magical plants unique to the wizarding world, each serving as ingredients for various potions.
The grounds included a private garden, a swimming pool, and even a Quidditch pitch, yet not a single garden gnome (a type of pest) was to be found.
Trained hellhounds roamed freely throughout the grounds, ensuring that any intruder who dared set foot on the property would be mercilessly devoured.
Beyond the meticulously maintained garden stood a manor resembling a small castle.
In front of its grand entrance, dozens of maids stood in formation, creating a path for the young lady of the Beresford family.
As Mirabel passed, they all bowed their heads in unison and greeted her with a synchronized, "Welcome home."
When Mirabel approached the massive, gate-like doors, two maids swiftly stepped forward to open them for her.
Inside the house, the butler awaited her next.
Without looking back, Mirabel handed him her luggage and proceeded further into the house.
When she entered the living room, her father, mother, older brother, and younger brother were already seated there.
Her older brother, a stern-looking man with slicked-back golden hair, glared at her sharply, but she was used to it.
As the eldest son of the family, he had grown resentful of Mirabel, who, as the brilliant eldest daughter, often outshone him, leaving him to endure a sense of inferiority.
Ignoring his gaze, Mirabel took a seat and addressed her father.
"I have returned, Father."
"Hmm... How is school life?"
"Everything is proceeding smoothly."
Her father, Heathcote Beresford, was a man of imposing demeanor, with slicked-back silver hair and a strict expression.
His thick eyebrows and sunken cheeks were distinctive, and he wore a finely tailored coat resembling an habit à la française—a style reminiscent of courtly fashion. The frills adorning his cuffs and collar added an elegant touch.
Her mother, Mavis Beresford, was a strikingly beautiful woman with waist-length golden hair and blue eyes.
She wore a crimson dress with a boldly low neckline and carried a Japanese fan, which she had imported.
Apparently, she was drawn to the fan's refined design.
"Have you met the Malfoy boy yet?"
"Yes, but he was hardly worth noticing. He's merely a spoiled little brat, Father."
"Is that so? Heh, Lucius... It seems child-rearing isn't his strong suit.
Naturally, he could never produce a child to rival my Mirabel… Kukuku…"
Heathcote fiercely viewed the Malfoy family, especially its current head, Lucius Malfoy, as a rival.
For Heathcote, a man who always demanded to be at the top, the Malfoy family was a thorn in his side.
In every aspect—power, lineage, history, and estate—the Malfoy family was ahead of the Beresfords.
Furthermore, the fact that Lucius Malfoy had once been a Death Eater only exacerbated Heathcote's rivalry.
Heathcote was a man of victory, using any means necessary to convict and win his cases, but Lucius Malfoy was the one person he had never managed to bring down.
"Love isn't just about lavish attention… it certainly doesn't include spoiling.
Everything must be carefully selected… it's enough to love only the most exceptional one, the one who is worthy of becoming the head.
To love only the most capable among us, and to groom them for the future… that's how the family's dignity is maintained.
You agree, don't you, Simon?"
"…Yes, milord," Simon Beresford replied, his face contorted with frustration.
As the eldest son of this family, Simon was not permitted to call Heathcote 'father.'
No one in the family, aside from Mirabel, was allowed to call their parents 'mother' or 'father,' for the future head was already determined to be Mirabel.
Simon's defeat in the succession battle meant he was destined to become Mirabel's "servant."
This is the way of the Beresfords: the defeated or the weak are ruthlessly cast aside, regardless of their blood relation.
"Well, Mirabel, a message arrived from school recently…"
"Oh? What did it say?"
"It praised her academic excellence, but also criticized her lack of cooperation with her peers and her tendency to surround herself with followers rather than friends."
Despite the complaints from school, Heathcote's face betrayed his amusement.
Mirabel, understanding his true intentions, also wore a thin, cold smile.
"Is that a problem?"
"No, no… As expected of my daughter. The future head of the Beresford family must be exactly like this."
The Beresford family's unyielding rule was always to be a victor.
In their eyes, Mirabel's born tyrant temperament made her the very embodiment of a prodigy.
Heathcote poured himself a glass of wine in high spirits and set it before Mirabel.
Though she was only eleven, today such formalities were discarded.
Mirabel took a sip of the offered wine and savored its taste slowly.
"By the way, Mirabel… there's that 'surviving boy,' Harry Potter, isn't there? What sort of boy is he?"
"…He shows promise. Considering he was raised by Muggles for eleven years, he has good adaptability.
Especially with a broomstick, he has a natural talent.
But whether he possesses the strength to defeat Voldemort… I beg your pardon, 'the man in question'—I'm not sure," she replied.
She took another sip of her wine, setting her glass down.
Quickly, her younger brother, Sydney Beresford, took the bottle and refilled her glass.
Unlike Simon, Sydney didn't show any dissatisfaction with serving Mirabel, moving smoothly like a trained butler.
"Here you go, Lady."
"Well, you've become quite attentive, Sydney."
"Always a pleasure, sister."
Sydney, with his waist-length silver hair from their father and his beauty from their mother, was truly exceptional.
Though not as brilliant as Mirabel, he possessed a sharp mind, strong magic, and quick wit.
If only his health were stronger, perhaps he could have been considered as a contender for the next head of the family.
But even if his body had been robust, Mirabel mused, he would have stepped aside, as he was already completely "trained."
Being her younger brother meant he was the closest to her, and he had been under her influence since birth.
Thus, Sydney's sense of Mirabel's absolute authority had already been ingrained, and he had become a perfect servant at such a young age.
The idea of opposing Mirabel simply didn't exist for him.
However, it seemed Simon didn't care for the scene.
He abruptly kicked back his chair, standing and shouting angrily.
"…I don't accept this! I can't… I can't accept it!
Why should a girl be the next head? Father, why not me?"
"Simon, sit down. Your behavior is unbecoming."
"I refuse! Mirabel, I…!"
"A fool! You've already said those same words a year ago, and before Mirabel even became a full-fledged adult, you attacked her recklessly and were soundly defeated by a ten-year-old girl!"
Heathcote's stern voice silenced Simon, who, humiliated, ran off.
As she watched him leave, Mirabel was already thinking about the family blood needed for her ritual.
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