Chapter 10: Those Who Seek the Stone
Even as he climbed the stairs to the third floor, part of him doubted anyone would actually be waiting for him at such a late hour.
Despite knowing he should head straight back to his dormitory, Harry found himself once again wandering through the castle at night. Worse still, he was now entering the girls' bathroom.
If anyone caught him sneaking around in the dead of night, let alone entering a girls' restroom, he'd surely be expelled this time.
But even that risk didn't stop him.
He had to know. He had to find out the truth about that shadow—the one whose mere presence caused his scar to throb in pain.
No, it wasn't just curiosity. It felt like something he had to know.
That's why Harry chose to accept Mirabel's invitation, fully aware of the danger.
"Beresford... are you there?"
Still hidden under his invisibility cloak, he whispered softly.
No answer.
Only the sound of a small rat squeaking as it scurried past his feet and disappeared into the shadows.
"...Guess she's not here."
Harry glanced around.
It was a dark, gloomy bathroom, and he immediately felt uncomfortable.
The mirrors were cracked, the walls stained. The stone sinks were chipped, and the wooden doors to the toilet stalls were covered in peeling paint and deep scratch marks.
It looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years.
If you were looking for a secret place to talk, this place was ideal—no one would willingly come here.
Harry himself wouldn't have set foot in it under normal circumstances.
"Oh? Is someone here?"
A voice called out from the furthest stall, and Harry almost replied instinctively—before quickly clamping a hand over his mouth.
No, that wasn't Mirabel's voice.
His suspicions were confirmed when the source of the voice revealed itself.
Out of the stall floated a ghostly girl with pigtails, thick glasses, and a face dotted with pimples.
The ghost's gaze wandered curiously around the room, her head tilting as if she were puzzled. Then she slowly floated in Harry's direction.
He knew she wouldn't be able to see him under the invisibility cloak, but still, Peeves could always sense when someone was there, cloak or not.
Maybe ghosts had that kind of awareness.
Just as Harry braced himself, a familiar voice echoed through the room.
"It's me, Myrtle. Mind if I borrow the space for a bit?"
"Oh, it's you, Beresford."
Once again, Harry had no idea where Mirabel had come from.
Just like in the Forbidden Forest, she appeared out of nowhere.
With a single glance, she sent Myrtle back into the stall.
Then, she turned to face Harry, her golden eyes flashing in the dim light.
Her lips curled into a sly grin.
"Nice invisibility cloak, Potter. Even I almost didn't notice you."
"!?"
She can see me?!
Harry's heart jumped in surprise, but he quickly shook off the idea.
No, that couldn't be it. She couldn't see him.
This cloak had fooled Snape and every other teacher.
More likely, she was like Peeves—able to sense when someone was nearby.
Calming himself, Harry pulled off the cloak and revealed himself.
"Tell me, Beresford. What was that shadow? The one that killed the unicorn."
Instead of answering, Mirabel tilted her head, letting out a small sigh as if dealing with a stubborn child.
"Before I answer that, Potter, let me teach you about the power of unicorn blood."
Even if she could have answered immediately, she chose not to.
Because if she just gave him the answer outright, he wouldn't understand.
Sometimes, for stubborn minds like Harry's, it was better to start with the reasoning process.
"Unicorn blood, Potter, can save a person on the brink of death. It grants them life, no matter how close to the grave they are."
"But there's a catch," she added, raising a single finger.
"A price?"
"Indeed. A terrible one."
Mirabel's eyes darkened as she explained.
"If you drink unicorn blood, you'll be cursed. The curse lasts forever.
Even if you drink only a single drop, you become something less than human.
Not quite dead, but not truly alive, either.
It's like being a living corpse—just like zombies or ghouls."
Harry swallowed hard.
A curse that lasts for eternity?
That alone sounded terrifying.
If it were him, he'd rather just die than live in such a state.
Mirabel's eyes flicked to him, catching his uneasy expression.
"But what if," she continued, her voice low and deliberate, "there was a way to abandon that cursed, rotting body?
What if you could create a brand-new body? One that was strong, whole, and filled with life?"
"...A new body?" Harry repeated, frowning.
"Yes.
Imagine it—regaining complete power, achieving eternal life in a fresh, perfect body.
If there were something out there that could make that possible…
Wouldn't you endure the curse just to stay alive long enough to obtain it?"
Her words hung in the air like fog.
Harry felt an uncomfortable chill run down his spine.
He didn't like where this was going.
What kind of person would go so far just to cling to life?
Even if it meant living as a cursed creature, neither living nor dead…
And even more terrifying—was there really something in this world that could grant someone a new body and eternal life?
At Mirabel's words, Harry's eyes widened in realization.
…It exists! A legendary item capable of fulfilling that dreamlike goal was hidden within this very school.
The object that had once been concealed in Gringotts Bank… but was later taken out by Hagrid and brought to Hogwarts.
The one and only legendary stone said to grant eternal life and even turn any metal into pure gold.
"...The Philosopher's Stone!"
"Indeed," Mirabel replied calmly.
"Who?! Who's after the stone?!" Harry demanded, his voice urgent.
"The answer is one you already know, Potter."
Her gaze sharpened as she spoke.
"You know his name—the one who has waited for years to reclaim his power.
The man who clings to life, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the chance to strike."
Harry felt a wave of cold dread crash over him.
His blood turned to ice.
A chill ran down his spine, as though invisible claws were gripping his heart.
His scar throbbed with a faint pain, and cold sweat began to drip down his face.
"Then... what I saw earlier… was it… Voldemort?"
Mirabel didn't respond with words.
But her silent grin said everything.
It was an undeniable confirmation.
"B-but there's no way he can get it!" Harry stammered. "It's being guarded by a three-headed dog! There's no way to get past it unless someone tells them how to do it—and Hagrid would never do that!"
"True," Mirabel nodded.
"Then we're fine! Hagrid would never tell anyone! He'd never betray Dumbledore!"
Harry felt a sense of relief flood through him.
There was nothing to worry about.
The Philosopher's Stone was protected by that terrifying three-headed dog, and only Hagrid knew how to get past it.
And Hagrid would never betray Dumbledore or reveal that secret to anyone.
Reassured, Harry let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
But Mirabel's next words shattered that fragile sense of comfort.
"Do you really believe that?" she asked, her voice smooth but sharp.
"...What?"
"Hagrid would never betray Dumbledore. That much is true.
He'd never do it—not even if it cost him his life."
Her eyes narrowed, golden irises gleaming with an unsettling glow.
"But, Potter… to make Hagrid spill a secret, there's no need for betrayal at all."
"What… what do you mean?"
Mirabel let out a soft, humorless chuckle.
"I mean that Hagrid is far more careless than you think."
It was an undeniable truth.
Yes, Hagrid was loyal. Unshakably loyal.
But as a keeper of secrets, he was completely unfit for the role.
He was quick to anger, quick to speak, and slow to think.
If you asked him the right question, tricked him with the right phrase, or nudged him with just the right amount of misdirection…
He'd spill everything.
It wasn't malice. It wasn't betrayal.
It was just that Hagrid… well, he was Hagrid.
He was the kind of person you could trust as a friend, but not as a guardian of vital information.
"Whether you believe me or not is up to you," Mirabel said, shrugging her shoulders.
She had said enough.
This much information was all it would take to light the fire of justice in Harry's heart.
After this, he would be consumed by a sense of duty—"I have to protect the Philosopher's Stone!"—and charge straight toward it.
All Mirabel had to do was sit back, sip her tea, and watch.
Once Harry reached the stone, all she had to do was swoop in and take it for herself.
There was no need for her to act directly.
"Well then, I'll be heading back to my dorm," she said, turning her back to Harry.
"Make sure you don't get caught, Potter."
"W-wait!" Harry called after her, his voice tense.
"Why do you know about the Philosopher's Stone?! And why are you telling me all this?!"
But Mirabel didn't turn around.
She just glanced over her shoulder, her lips curling into a sly, knowing smile.
"Because you're not the only one who has figured out the truth, Potter."
Her voice was calm, eerily calm.
"And when it comes to keeping the stone out of Voldemort's hands, our goals align."
"!?" Harry's eyes went wide with shock.
"Y-you're trying to protect the stone too…?"
Mirabel didn't answer right away.
She gazed at him in silence for a moment, her grin faint but sharp, like a blade hidden behind a cloak.
Then, in a voice as quiet as a whisper but as certain as fate, she spoke.
"I'm counting on you, Harry Potter."
With those final words, Mirabel vanished from the spot.
All that remained was to wait.
A rat was already stationed in front of the fourth-floor door, ready to alert Mirabel the moment anyone approached.
With the combination of Apparition—which was possible within the school grounds in her case—and her rat-based detection system, it was impossible for Mirabel to fall behind.
All the preparations needed to acquire the Philosopher's Stone had already been completed.
The end-of-year exams were, as expected for first-years, remarkably easy.
For Mirabel, who had undergone Beresford's rigorous tutelage, these exams were nothing more than revisiting material she had mastered years ago.
There was no reason for her to falter now.
She was absolutely certain she had aced both the written and practical components, without making a single mistake.
Her superiority was especially evident in the practical exams, as was made clear by the pale faces of the teachers.
For Professor Flitwick's test—where students had to make a pineapple tap-dance from one end of a table to the other—Mirabel went far beyond expectations.
Not only did she make the pineapple tap-dance, but she enchanted every item of classroom furniture to join in the dance as well.
In Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration exam, she transformed a mouse into a dazzlingly beautiful golden snuffbox, far more elaborate than required.
These feats were more than mere theatrics.
Typically, exams were scored out of 100 points, with the criteria for full marks established beforehand.
Teachers would assess how closely each student's performance aligned with the "100-point standard."
But if a student exceeded that standard and displayed extraordinary magical ability, it was possible to score beyond 100—120, 150, or even higher.
Undoubtedly, in this year's class, Mirabel wasn't the only one to achieve this feat.
Hermione Granger was likely to score over 100 as well.
"Ahhh! Finally, it's over! No more cramming for exams for a while!"
With all the exams finished, Edith stretched with an exaggerated groan, her whole body expressing relief.
The past few days had been nothing but endless study sessions, and the stress had clearly taken a toll.
There were dark circles under Edith's eyes, and her cheeks looked somewhat gaunt.
Edith wasn't the type to do much prep or review for her lessons—she was the classic "cram-three-days-before-the-test" type of student.
It was unlikely she had scored well this time, but, as she herself often said, "As long as I don't fail, it's fine."
"So, how did you do, Mirabel? I barely scraped by in Transfiguration."
"Foolish question. I, of course, was flawless in everything."
"Ugh… still as ridiculously confident as ever…"
Edith let out a dry laugh at Mirabel's declaration of perfection.
Normally, such confidence would be written off as arrogance.
But in Mirabel's case, she had the skills to back it up, which made it all the more infuriating.
That said, Edith was by no means incompetent herself.
She may have bombed the written exams, but in terms of practical magic, she was undeniably in the upper echelon of students.
Even in Transfiguration—her self-proclaimed weak subject—she had passed the practical test with ease, to the point that even Professor McGonagall had to acknowledge her skill.
Her issue wasn't with the magic itself—it was with the trivia.
If asked, "Name three historical figures who used Transfiguration to defeat werewolves in the late 15th century," she wouldn't be able to come up with a single answer.
"Honestly, though, I'm amazed at how fast you can cast spells with that massive wand of yours.
I mean, that thing is like half your height."
"Well, naturally. I am Mirabel, after all."
Mirabel's wand was massive.
Absurdly so.
A normal wizard's wand was typically 20 to 30 cm in length.
Even Hagrid's wand, which was considered unusually large, was only 41 cm.
To call Mirabel's wand "big" would be a serious understatement.
The first time Edith saw it, she openly blurted, "What the heck?! That's huge!"
Even the teacher who handed it to her was momentarily stunned, mumbling, "It's… really… big…"
On a side note, Edith's wand was 28 cm long, made from birch wood with a core of Pegasus feather.
According to the shopkeeper, it was "light, flexible, and obedient."
In other words, it was functional… but boring.
"So, what's your plan for today, Mirabel? I'm gonna have dinner, then crash early tonight."
"Hmm… I suppose I'll relax in my room today as well."
In response to Edith's question, Mirabel replied casually.
She had to maintain the appearance of an ordinary student.
No unnecessary actions today.
After all, if everything went according to plan, tonight would be the night that Harry and the others made their move.
And even if events didn't unfold as they had in the original timeline, it wouldn't be a setback for Mirabel.
If, for some reason, Harry and his friends did not move and Quirrell managed to seize the Philosopher's Stone himself, it wouldn't matter.
(Not that it's likely, Mirabel thought.)
Because, in the end, her plan would remain unchanged.
She would simply swoop in and steal the stone herself.
No matter how events played out, the final result would be the same.
The only scenario that could pose a problem for Mirabel would be if neither Harry nor Quirrell made a move, and Dumbledore promptly retrieved the Philosopher's Stone himself.
If it ever came to that, her last resort would be to steal the entire mirror along with the stone.
However, that concern proved to be unnecessary.
The rats stationed throughout the castle had overheard Harry and his friends discussing their plan to head to the hidden chamber that night.
On top of that, Dumbledore had received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic, prompting him to leave for London.
He wouldn't be back until after midnight.
With that, all Mirabel had to do was wait—wait for the perfect moment to strike.
At the Slytherin table, an assortment of dishes was laid out—several types of pasta, pizza, risotto, and bread.
All of them were classic examples of traditional Italian cuisine.
Mirabel was in an exceptionally good mood, serving small portions of pasta and pizza onto her plate.
Her plate was noticeably fuller than usual, and she seemed as if she might start humming at any moment.
Noticing her unusual excitement, Edith gave her a curious glance and asked:
"Mirabel, do you really like Italian food or something?"
"Indeed. I am especially fond of the cuisine from Japan and Italy. I can't help but wish my home country had even half their passion for fine dining."
Mirabel scooped up a spoonful of risotto and took a bite.
The soft rice was infused with the sweet and tangy flavor of tomatoes, and with each chew, the flavor deepened.
It seemed to have bits of finely chopped celery as well, giving it a refreshing aftertaste.
For many, the mention of "rice" might bring to mind Japanese cuisine, but tasting something like this could easily change that perception.
Next, she turned her attention to the carbonara.
She swirled the slightly thicker noodles around her fork, mixing them with the ingredients, and brought them to her mouth.
The rich, creamy flavor of the melted cheese clinging to the noodles was simply irresistible.
It was hard to understand why dishes that involved cheese or butter were always so addictively delicious.
Perhaps it was a secret only the creators of such dishes understood—a truth that the so-called "superior" wizards, who mocked Muggles, would never grasp.
True magic resided not just in wands, but in this kind of culinary mastery.
Her next target was the pizza.
The freshly baked crust was topped with cheese, bacon, tomato, squid, and parsley.
Just looking at it made her gulp in anticipation.
Her excitement threatened to get the better of her, but she knew better than to rush.
Biting into it too quickly would only result in a burnt tongue.
She took a cautious bite, slowly savoring it.
As she chewed, she reflected on the perfect pairing of tomatoes and cheese.
She recalled a line from a manga character she'd seen in her "previous life"—"Cheese enhances the tomato, and the tomato enhances the cheese."
She nodded internally.
That was exactly it.
This was flavor harmony.
A perfect balance that filled the taste buds with joy.
(…Come to think of it… I should have that as well, since I'm already indulging.)
With that thought, Mirabel served herself a portion of Insalata Caprese—a salad of sliced tomatoes topped with fresh mozzarella cheese.
After recalling that manga line, it would have felt like a betrayal to skip this dish.
At first glance, it seemed like nothing more than a slice of tomato topped with cheese, but simplicity in food could often be deceptive.
It was just like sushi, which might appear to be nothing more than raw fish on top of rice.
Yet in reality, sushi was crafted by masters with years of refined technique.
(If I'm going to do this, I should eat the tomato and cheese together.)
Stabbing the tomato and mozzarella together with her fork, Mirabel guided them into her mouth.
Sure enough, the combination was perfect.
The mild taste of mozzarella, which had little flavor on its own, came to life when paired with the fresh, juicy tomato.
The cheese enhanced the tomato's sweetness, while the tomato elevated the cheese's richness.
It wasn't the kind of overwhelming flavor that would make her leap into the air, like in the exaggerated reactions of manga characters.
But it was light, refreshing, and endlessly satisfying, no matter how much she ate.
(*I see… Mozzarella doesn't have much flavor on its own.
But when paired with tomatoes, its creaminess and softness come to life, while the tomato's flavor is also drawn out.
Yes… this is quite the dish…*)
After finishing her salad, Mirabel sipped some water and wiped her mouth with a satisfied expression.
She had spent a very fulfilling evening preparing for tonight's "battle."
Her mind was sharp, her energy was high, and at this moment, she felt as though she could cast upper-level magic even without her wand.
"Well then, shall we head back to the common room?"
"Are you sure that's all you're going to eat, Reinagull? You barely touched your food."
"Leave me alone. I'm on a diet."
"You're hardly at risk of getting fat. If anything, you could stand to gain a bit more meat on those bones."
"Hmph! Easy for you to say, Miss 'I Can Eat Whatever I Want and Never Gain a Pound!' You'll never understand my struggle!"
Laughing and chatting with Edith, Mirabel stood up from her seat and made her way toward the Slytherin common room.
There was nothing else she needed to do.
All that remained was to wait for Harry and his friends to make their move.
Perched on her shoulder, Pyotr the rat shared his report.
According to him, Quirrell had already made his move, slipping into the hidden chamber beyond the trapdoor.
Would Quirrell somehow manage to acquire the Philosopher's Stone himself?
Or would Harry, following the path of "fate," arrive just in time to claim it instead?
It didn't matter to Mirabel.
Her role wouldn't change, no matter who took the lead.
And the outcome would remain the same.
All that mattered was that, in the end, she would be the one holding the stone.
(It doesn't matter what Potter or Voldemort do to struggle.
In the end, the one who laughs last… will be me.)
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