Chapter 15: The Sin of Ignorance

"Good morning, Mirabel."

"Ah, good morning, Rynagl."

Awakening from a restful sleep, Mirabel headed to the Great Hall, exchanged greetings with Edith, and sat at the Slytherin table.

Morning is the start of the day. Whether one spends it pleasantly or not can set the tone for the rest of the day. For Mirabel, this time was irreplaceable. Breakfast was the source of energy for the day, akin to an engine in a car. Without it, there was no way to have a healthy and productive day.

"What's the first class today?"

"Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration."

"Ugh, starting with that?"

Edith didn't like Professor McGonagall. Not only because she was the head of Gryffindor but also due to the suffocatingly strict atmosphere she exuded. Edith wasn't particularly skilled at Transfiguration either, making it a dreadful combination of an unliked subject taught by an unliked teacher.

It seemed Edith's first day of the new term was shaping up to be as gloomy as the overcast weather outside.

"If it were any other subject, I wouldn't mind, but why that of all things…"

"Don't be so dramatic. The next class is your favorite—Flying Lessons."

Mirabel cut into her bacon and eggs with a knife, speared a piece with her fork, and brought it to her mouth. Normally, she would add sauce or mayonnaise, but the bacon's saltiness made that unnecessary.

The buttered toast was crisp on the outside while maintaining the softness of fresh bread inside, leaving nothing to complain about. The house-elves at the school were as efficient as ever.

After swallowing her bite, Mirabel washed it down with milk and let out a satisfied sigh.

This serene, tranquil time was pure bliss. It was a pleasure unique to humanity—a joy that animals, ignorant of culinary culture, could never experience.

Closing her eyes, she let herself savor the lingering flavors, sinking into her own thoughts. This quiet moment was one of Mirabel's small but treasured rituals in the morning.

However—

"Stealing the car was enough to get you expelled! You'd better prepare yourself, young man, because I will not tolerate this! Do you have any idea how your father and I felt when we saw the car missing? Did you even stop to think about it for a second?"

A sudden, thunderous voice reverberated through the Great Hall, shattering Mirabel's morning reverie in an instant.

The sound was so loud that the ceiling seemed to shake, and the dishes on the tables rattled as though an earthquake had struck.

"Last night, we received a letter from Dumbledore! Your father was so ashamed he looked like he'd die on the spot! We never raised you to do something like this! Both you and Harry could have died! I've had enough! Your father even had to endure questioning at the Ministry—all because of you! Break the rules again, and I will personally drag you back home myself!"

The voice, which had been spewing reprimands at a rapid pace, finally subsided.

The students in the Great Hall turned toward the source of the commotion, their eyes landing on Harry and Ron, who looked as though they'd been struck by lightning.

Apparently, the outburst had come from a Howler sent to them.

"Whoa, that scared me… So that's a Howler, huh? They say it amplifies voices hundreds of times, right?"

"..."

"And if you don't open it quickly, it explodes or something. Mirabel?"

Mirabel didn't respond. Without a word, she stood from her chair.

Reaching into her robes, she pulled out a massive wand, disproportionately large for her stature. Made from vampiric wood, it was a wand as intimidating as it was functional, easily doubling as a bludgeon.

Wielding the wand, Mirabel began walking toward the Gryffindor table.

Edith froze as she saw it—a spectral image of a massive, black demon adorned with bear claws flickered behind Mirabel. She could almost hear a dreadful "Khooo-haaah" sound like a dark breathing echoing in the air.

"Wait, Mirabel! What are you planning to do with that wand?"

"What else? To execute that wretch."

"Wait, WHAT?!"

While Edith hoped Mirabel wasn't serious, the look in her eyes said otherwise.

Desperate to stop her friend from becoming a criminal, Edith clung to her, trying to halt her steps. If she let go now, there would surely be casualties at the Gryffindor table.

At this rate, Mirabel might actually cast a dangerous spell at Ron!

"Let go, Rynagl! Ruining my breakfast is a crime worthy of death!"

"It wasn't his fault! The Howler wasn't his fault—he's the victim here!"

"I don't care. Circumstances are irrelevant."

"Why are you so ridiculously short-tempered about food?!"

Thanks to Edith's tireless efforts, Mirabel eventually calmed down and postponed Ron's "execution."

"Postponed" being the key word, which was unsettling in its own right. For now, the only choice was to wait for time to dissipate her anger.

Incidentally, after that day, Ronald Weasley reportedly felt an inexplicable sense of impending doom every time he came within 30 meters of Mirabel.

McGonagall's Transfiguration class was about turning a beetle into a button.

It seemed like a simple task, but it appeared that most students had forgotten what they learned during the break, and surprisingly, only a few were able to complete it.

Of course, it goes without saying that Mirabelle was among those few.

And it's also no surprise that Edith and Malfoy were part of the majority who couldn't manage it.

The break after that task was a perfect time for the students to rest their wings.

Especially since second-year students were now allowed to participate in Quidditch, many of them were practicing flying.

Mirabelle and Edith were walking outside, watching these students.

"Look at this broom. The latest Nimbus 2001. It's nothing compared to Potter's Nimbus 2000," Malfoy boasted, gathering his friends to show off his new broom.

He was proudly displaying the newly released competitive Nimbus 2001. He was probably still bitter about Harry getting a Nimbus 2000 as a special exception last year. Now, with a broom superior to Harry's, he was in quite a good mood.

He noticed Mirabelle walking nearby and, with a smug expression, approached her.

"Well, what do you think, Belesford? Do you still think I'm inferior to Potter?"

"Hmm? ...Oh, it's you," Mirabelle replied, turning her eyes toward Malfoy with an expression of complete disinterest.

In his hand was, indeed, a splendid new broom, gleaming in a way that seemed at odds with its owner.

"By the way, you brought your own broom, right? From second year, we're allowed to bring our own brooms. I'd hate to think you'd still be using the school's broom at this point, like a Weasley," Malfoy teased.

"Of course. This is my broom," Mirabelle said as she presented her broom in front of him.

It was a beautiful broom, with a silver-decorated handle and a sleek, sharp silhouette that was even slimmer than a Clean Sweep. The tail bristles were finely sharpened to the tip, and the words "Silver Arrow" were inscribed in gold in the middle. Beneath that was the logo of the maker, Leonardo.

At a glance, it was clear this was a high-quality broom. It was comparable to Malfoy's Nimbus 2001... No, if Malfoy wasn't having an optical illusion, it seemed to have been crafted with more care, perhaps even surpassing the Nimbus in quality.

"Th-That's...?" Malfoy stammered.

"Silver Arrow. It's a broom that's no longer in production, but I had it specially remade just for me," Mirabelle explained.

Normally, only officially registered, standard brooms are allowed for flying, and modifications or enhancements with magic are strictly prohibited.

The only allowed adjustments are minor repairs tailored to the individual's flying style.

However, the Silver Arrow was an exception. Originally crafted by a single artisan, each broom was unique, with no two being exactly alike. Therefore, all brooms made by Leonardo, bearing his logo, were recognized as "Silver Arrows" and allowed for use.

This broom was undoubtedly one of Leonardo Jukes' creations, bearing the name "Silver Arrow."

In a way, it was simply the last and best-performing of existing brooms. So, banning its use was impossible.

The lax regulation was a result of the handmade nature of the broom.

Of course, this was merely a matter of classification, and when it came to performance, the situation was completely different.

The broom that had been remade, incorporating not only Nimbus technology but also the know-how from the yet-to-be-released cutting-edge broom, the "Firebolt," was no longer just a Silver Arrow.

It was a new-generation competitive broom, designed to soar into a new era, much like the Firebolt. It could be called Silver Arrow II, a refined and improved version.

"Hmph... Not bad, your broom... But the Nimbus 2001 still..." Malfoy started to say, but was interrupted.

"Oh, Miss Belesford, could that be a Silver Arrow?!" Madame Hooch suddenly approached.

She had likely come to keep an eye on the students flying around during the break. Upon spotting the Silver Arrow in Mirabelle's hands, she seemed particularly excited and came over to take a closer look.

It seemed she, too, was someone who appreciated the value of the Silver Arrow.

"Ah, this sleek design, the grip on the handle, and the arrow-like sharpness of the tail... it's so nostalgic.

This really is an excellent broom. I learned to fly on one just like this when I was around your age. It's a shame it was discontinued. If they were still making them, I'm sure they would have outpaced the Nimbus series in sales and been the industry leader," Madame Hooch said fondly.

"Was it really such a great broom?" Edith asked, a bit puzzled.

No matter how great the broom, it was still an older model from the past. It was understandable to question whether it could hold its own against the Nimbus or Clean Sweep of today.

Madame Hooch nodded confidently in response.

"Oh, yes, indeed. It was the pinnacle of brooms at the time, and everyone wanted a Silver Arrow. There were so many people trying to get one that production couldn't keep up, and it was rare to even see them in stores.

Without a doubt, it's one of the few brooms that can still compete with the latest models today. By the way, Miss Belesford... Would it be possible for me to have just a quick ride on it later?"

"Well, I suppose that's fine..." Mirabelle said.

"Oh, thank you! I'll look forward to it after class," Madame Hooch said with a bright smile as she returned to the students.

Edith smiled wryly as she watched Madame Hooch walk away. It seemed that Madame Hooch had quite a fondness for the Silver Arrow. She was practically glowing with excitement, much like a child who'd just found a new toy.

Meanwhile, Malfoy seemed to be sulking, glaring at Mirabelle's Silver Arrow with an expression of defeat.

"Hmph! Broom performance isn't everything!"

Malfoy huffed, storming off, but it was clear to everyone that his remark was simply a sour attempt to save face. After all, just moments ago, it was him bragging about his broom's performance.

Edith muttered to herself, "Well, that's something," and took out her beloved Clean Sweep 7.

Looking at it now, she couldn't shake the feeling that her broom seemed inferior compared to the others.

...But then again, she still liked it.

"Oh, so this is your broom?"

"Yeah. The Nimbus is great, but personally, I like this one better. The stability is just different."

"Hmm. You use a broom that suits you, rather than being swayed by the latest models."

"Haha, it's not that fancy, though."

The Clean Sweep was the first mass-produced competitive broom in the world, created by the Clean Sweep broom company.

Before that, competitive brooms were handcrafted by artisans, like the Silver Arrow, but as demand grew, handcrafted brooms became less and less available due to the inability to keep up with supply. In their place, mass-produced brooms using magic, like the Nimbus and Comet, rose to prominence, with the Clean Sweep series being the first to lead the way.

Starting with model 1, the Clean Sweep brooms were improved with each new version, boasting excellent stability, especially in cornering speed, which was top-class in the industry.

"By the way, why does Malfoy always pick on Mirabelle like that? He just gets humiliated."

"I don't know. I have no interest in the thoughts of that kind of person."

"...You're really ruthless, aren't you?"

Maybe Malfoy was a masochist, Edith thought, considering this rather rude idea. As she did, she watched the students flying through the air on their brooms.

The afternoon class was Snape's Potions class.

They learned about the efficient use of herbs like lavender and sage, and how to properly brew potions, working in pairs to brew them.

During this, Malfoy's followers messed up, creating smoke that smelled like rotten eggs, but there were no consequences.

If it had been Harry Potter, he would have probably been docked points by now.

After that, the next class was the much-anticipated "Defense Against the Dark Arts."

When Mirabelle and Edith reached the front of the classroom, they saw Harry and his two friends walking by, looking tired.

Come to think of it, Gryffindor had their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson before Slytherin's.

Seeing Harry talking in an irritated manner, it seemed like the lesson had been particularly dreadful.

"Hermione, you're overestimating Lockhart. You saw the lesson, right? He couldn't even handle a pixie!"

"That's not it, Harry. He was probably trying to give us some experience."

"Experience? By getting his wand stolen by a pixie and then hiding under a desk? Hermione, wake up."

Edith frowned at what she overheard and looked at Harry and his friends with a suspicious expression.

A man who had defeated vampires and werewolves couldn't handle a pixie? Ridiculous—there's no way that could be true. But then she remembered what Mirabelle had said at the welcome party, and she couldn't just laugh it off.

Just before they passed each other, Harry glanced at Mirabelle with a look as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he walked away without saying a word. It was likely that he wanted to ask about when she defeated Quirrell, but Mirabelle's hard-to-approach vibe must have stopped him from saying anything.

When they arrived in the classroom and everyone sat down, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and pulled out a book.

On the cover of the book was Lockhart himself, winking.

Pointing at the photo of himself, he said:

"It's me. Gilderoy Lockhart, Third-Class Merlin Medal, Honorary Member of the Defense Against the Dark Arts League, and five-time consecutive winner of Witch Weekly's 'Charming Smile Award.'

Of course, I'm not boasting about it. I didn't tame the Cardiff werewolf just with my smile."

He likely thought it was a clever joke.

However, only a few students laughed at that remark, while most of the class stared at him with uninterested eyes.

Lockhart, seemingly oblivious to the cold reception, began speaking in a pompous tone.

"Everyone, of course you all have my book, right? And I assume at least one or two of you have finished reading it.

Now, first, I'd like to administer a simple mini-quiz. Don't worry, it's just to check how much you've read of my book. It's a test you should easily ace."

In Lockhart's mind, it was obvious that all the students had already read his book.

As he handed out the test papers, he continued explaining.

"Unfortunately, when I gave this same test to Gryffindor, only Hermione Granger got a perfect score.

I trust that none of you in Slytherin will disappoint me in the same way."

Upon seeing the test handed out, Mirabelle was overwhelmed by the urge to tear it up on the spot.

After all, the questions were all trivial nonsense—things like what Lockhart's favorite color was, what his secret ambitions were, when his birthday was, and other such inconsequential matters.

What made it worse was that the questions covered both sides of the paper, densely packed with nonsense.

She wanted to punch him. Right now, she wanted to grab Lockhart by the collar and punch him until he was unrecognizable.

Clenching her fist tightly, Mirabelle was stopped by Edith's voice, "Calm down!"

That one phrase brought her back to a tiny bit of composure, and she clicked her tongue in annoyance.

She then forced her irritation down, picked up her quill, and began filling in the answers.

It would be easy to lash out now. But she couldn't do that.

It would be just like last year... nothing would have changed.

She needed to think differently... this was an opportunity, a rare one at that.

She would destroy him—but only after using him to her advantage.

30 minutes later, Lockhart collected the test papers and flipped through them

He then shook his head and said, with exaggerated annoyance, "What is this? Why did no one answer that my favorite color is lilac?

It seems very few students have read Vampires and a Leisurely Boat Ride. No one wrote about how the vampire I defeated started eating only lettuce.

Miss Linagro, my secret ambition is not to become 'the most famous in the world,' you know? This makes it look like I'm just an attention-seeking fame-seeker."

Though it would be more accurate to say that anyone who looked at him could see that he was, in fact, an attention-seeker. However, no one dared say it out loud.

Lockhart shook his head in exasperation and pulled out another test paper.

"However, Miss Beresford, you remembered that the first Muggle ship I boarded was called the Nebrod?

And you also knew that the most delightful gift to receive on my birthday would be the harmony of magic and non-magic?"

He smiled and said, "And you got a perfect score! Excellent! I'll award Slytherin 10 points!"

Receiving the 10 points wasn't exactly something to be thrilled about, but Mirabelle didn't voice any complaints.

The rest of the lesson consisted entirely of Lockhart going on and on about his past exploits, without teaching anything that could be considered an actual lesson.

If it had been the first day, one might think this was to be expected. But with Lockhart, this assumption didn't apply.

Nearly half of the students were convinced that this would be the pattern for the entire year.

As the ridiculous lesson came to an end, Mirabelle stood up from her seat and walked towards Lockhart.

"Professor Lockhart, may I speak with you for a moment?"

"Oh, you're Miss Beresford, aren't you? What is it?"

"Actually, I was hoping to understand more about the 'Illusion-Inducing Match' that appears in The Yeti and a Year in Leisure. Unfortunately, the book on that subject is located in a restricted shelf.

If it's not too much trouble, I was wondering if you might lend me your name and influence to help me access it. With your signature, I would be able to examine the restricted book and gain a deeper understanding of your 'actual accomplishments'."

"Oh, The Yeti and a Year in Leisure. That's one of my favorite books of mine, one I have a lot of personal attachment to. Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes, it's quite a 'well-crafted story'—I was impressed."

While using just the right amount of sarcasm to flatter him, Mirabelle asked for Lockhart's signature. In reality, she wasn't flattering him at all, but outright insulting him. However, it seemed he didn't even notice.

This clueless man probably had no understanding of the significance or danger of the restricted books at all. He likely didn't care to know why younger students weren't allowed to view them.

That was precisely why she could use him. He would easily grant access to books that should never be permitted to lower-year students, books that were supposed to be highly restricted.

Mirabelle was planning to take advantage of this.

"Hm, well, yes. I suppose there's no harm in supporting one of the top students in the year, alongside Miss Granger," he said.

Lockhart said this and signed his name without even asking what book Mirabelle was planning to borrow.

Even if he had asked, it wouldn't have mattered—he would never have known the truth. The book she was borrowing was unrelated to the "Illusion-Inducing Match" and far more sinister.

It was a forbidden book that contained dark spells, spells that would help Mirabelle fulfill her ambition. And now, she had been legally granted permission to read it.

Lockhart would never realize the magnitude of his mistake. He had no idea what kind of fatal mistake he had just made.

Nor could he imagine how many victims would arise from it in the future.

The book Mirabelle held in her hands was one about time manipulation.

It contained knowledge of ancient, forbidden magic, the same type of magic used in crafting devices like the Time-Turner.

Now, that knowledge had ended up in the hands of the one person it should never have reached.

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