Chapter 14: Divergent Ideologies
The book in question was Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart, a tale of Lockhart traveling the world aboard a ship with vampires.
Of course, Mirabel, with her vast knowledge, knew that the book's protagonist wasn't Lockhart himself but someone whose memories had been erased by him. Still, taking the story at face value, it was enjoyable.
Though there were parts that seemed exaggerated or self-aggrandizing, and others that lacked sufficient detail, such flaws were typical in storytelling.
As she read, the compartment door slid open, and a girl's voice interrupted her focus.
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"
"No."
"Thanks. But it's strange... Why is this compartment empty?"
Without lifting her gaze, Mirabel replied and turned another page.
She sensed the presence of two students entering the compartment. As long as they didn't disturb her, it didn't matter who they were.
However, it seemed they weren't planning to leave her in peace. A different voice, this time arrogant, addressed her.
"Hey, hey, you're not some filthy mudblood like Granger, so how about looking up from that book?
Surely you know basic manners, like saying hello?"
"Wait a second, Millicent... Is this person possibly...?"
"Come on, we're sharing a compartment. Introductions are in order, don't you think?"
The speaker seemed to be a student named Millicent, someone who wasn't shy about voicing her opinions.
Deciding she couldn't ignore them, Mirabel closed her book and placed it on her lap.
The moment her face was revealed, both girls gasped audibly and took a step back.
Apparently, her book had obscured her identity.
"Wha—!? Beresford!?"
"I knew it! I thought it was odd this compartment was empty!"
There wasn't a single student at Hogwarts who didn't know Mirabel.
She was Slytherin's top student, the most beautiful girl in the school, and an extraordinary figure whose presence far exceeded that of a typical student.
The overwhelming display of power she had shown during Halloween was still fresh in everyone's minds, etched into their memories with a mix of awe and reverence.
Within Slytherin, opinions of her fell into three main categories: respect, adoration, and fear.
Some admired her for her unmatched abilities and commanding presence.
Others were utterly captivated, viewing her as the rightful leader of Slytherin.
Still others feared her, intimidated by her exceptional talents and unrestrained ferocity.
It seemed these two girls fell into the third category.
""O-Our apologies!""
"Wait."
The two girls turned to flee, but it was already too late. They had willingly stepped into the lion's den.
Mirabel grabbed the hem of their robes, pulling them back into the compartment and forcing them into their seats.
Millicent, though quite tall for a girl, was completely overpowered. Mirabel, despite her appearance, was said to have strength that surpassed most boys.
"Running away just because you saw my face? How rude. Did you mistake me for an orc?"
"Actually, an orc might be preferable, in some ways…"
"Millicent, shut up! You'll anger her even more!"
The second girl, whose squashed features gave her a pug-like appearance, hastily stopped Millicent from speaking further.
This girl, clearly terrified of Mirabel, darted her gaze nervously. Her panicked movements resembled a real pug, to the point of being oddly endearing.
"I'm not going to eat you. Calm down.
As you already seem to know, I'm Mirabel Beresford.
A second-year Slytherin. And you are?"
"I-I'm Millicent Bulstrode… Also a second-year Slytherin."
"P-Pansy Parkinson. A second-year as well."
Millicent and Pansy—both names were familiar to Mirabel's knowledge.
However, she couldn't quite recall their roles or significance. They were likely unimportant, much like Malfoy's cronies.
"Bulstrode and Parkinson, huh? By the way, I heard something about 'filthy blood' earlier..."
"N-No! That wasn't directed at you! It was about Hermione Granger!"
"Y-Yes, absolutely! Millicent would never say something like that to you!"
The two frantically explained, though Mirabel had already figured as much.
She'd heard Granger's name earlier, and in terms of bloodline, Mirabel's lineage was far superior.
The Beresford family boasted one of the purest bloodlines in the wizarding world.
"I know. I'm asking about Hermione Granger."
"Granger?"
"Yes. What makes you call her 'filthy blood'?"
"Filthy blood" was the most offensive insult in the wizarding world—a term dripping with racial prejudice, akin to calling someone the n-word.
Most Hogwarts students avoided using it, but Slytherins were the exception.
Hermione, being Muggle-born yet exceptionally talented, was often a target of such slurs. Mirabel had overheard it numerous times.
"Well, it's because she has Muggle blood..."
"Hmm. And why does having Muggle blood make someone 'filthy'?"
"Uh… because Muggles can't use magic and aren't chosen ones, like us…"
"Then what about Granger, who, despite being Muggle-born, excels at magic? Wouldn't that make her a 'chosen one'?"
"Uh… well, that's… I mean…"
Pansy stammered, unable to counter Mirabel's pointed questions, and Mirabel sighed softly.
As expected, these girls were spouting insults without understanding their meaning.
"To put it simply, you don't really understand, do you?"
"...N-No..."
"So, you're just parroting borrowed ideas—repeating what others say, or what your parents taught you, like a mimic."
Mirabel closed her eyes for a moment, her expression turning somber.
She reflected on how deeply ingrained the ideology of pure-blood supremacy was throughout the wizarding world. Even children, without grasping the true meaning of their words, casually used terms like "Mudblood." The scale of effort it would take to eradicate this mindset seemed overwhelming.
(This runs deep... Even if I were to seize control of the wizarding world, who knows how many years it would take to reform their way of thinking.)
The profound entrenchment of pure-blood ideology left Mirabel with a bitter sense of its challenges. When she opened her eyes, she noticed Millicent and Pansy staring at her curiously, as if they had something they wanted to ask.
"What is it?"
"Um... Miss Beresford, do you not think Muggles are 'dirty blood'?"
"That doesn't matter to me. What's important is whether someone is capable or not."
In response to Pansy's question, Mirabel succinctly conveyed her personal ideology before cutting herself off. There was no point in saying more; their fundamental beliefs were too opposed.
To Mirabel, pure-blood supremacists like them were simply obstacles—filth to be eliminated when she eventually took control of the wizarding world. Rotten branches had to be pruned, and the roots of corruption excised. Only then could a new world be built.
For now, her immediate target was the legacy of Salazar Slytherin—the source of much of this ideology.
The basilisk, left behind in the Chamber of Secrets to kill Muggle-borns, had no place in the new world Mirabel envisioned. She would destroy it completely, leaving no trace behind. By trampling upon Slytherin's ideology and dismantling it entirely, Mirabel would take a profound step toward her vision.
The irony of a Slytherin destroying Slytherin's legacy amused her. For a fleeting moment, a battle-hungry smile graced her lips.
Among this year's new students, none attracted more attention than Sidney Beresford.
With silver hair cascading to his waist and eyes as vivid as a clear blue sky, his striking and androgynous beauty was captivating. But even more so, it was his connection to Mirabel—his elder sister—that drew the spotlight.
After all, during her Sorting last year, Mirabel had silenced an entire hall with her sheer presence and had subdued a troll in moments, cementing her reputation as someone extraordinary and unpredictable.
Naturally, expectations were high that Sidney would follow her footsteps into Slytherin. However, to everyone's surprise, he was sorted into Hufflepuff.
The collective relief among the students was palpable. At least this meant he wasn't as extreme as his sister.
Once the Sorting Ceremony ended, the welcoming feast began. Tables were laden with an array of dishes, and students buzzed with chatter about the new arrivals.
The main topic of conversation, however, was none other than the newly appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Gilderoy Lockhart.
With a significant fanbase, especially among the girls, about sixty percent of the conversations revolved around him. Even the Slytherin table was no exception.
"Professor Lockhart, huh... I never thought the author of those books would become a teacher. It's kind of exciting," Millicent said dreamily.
"Millicent, are you a fan of Lockhart too?"
"Well, not as much as you, but I think of him more as a storybook hero than anything else. His feats are so incredible they don't even feel real."
Listening to Edith's remarks, Mirabel picked up a sandwich from the table.
The sandwich, a simple yet versatile food born in England, was beloved worldwide. The combination of bread and fillings allowed for endless variations, with flavors differing from one country to another.
Mirabel bit into a chicken sandwich. The slightly heavy flavor of the chicken was balanced by the bread, creating a harmonious taste. While sandwiches could be enjoyable no matter what was inside, her personal preference was a balanced combination of meat and vegetables.
If she had one complaint, it was the prevalence of hard bread. Mirabel much preferred the soft, fluffy bread common in Japan.
"Hmm, your impression may not be far from the truth, Edith."
"Huh?"
"The 'protagonist Lockhart' depicted in his books doesn't exist in reality. That character is likely a heavily exaggerated or fabricated version of himself."
"Wait, but Professor Lockhart is real, isn't he? And those books are supposed to be based on his experiences."
"Exaggerations, I said. My words will be proven true during his lessons."
She took a bite of a baguette sandwich with bacon and lettuce.
It wasn't bad... but it didn't quite match her tastes. Most of the sandwiches available were either overloaded with meat or stuffed with whipped cream—neither of which appealed to her.
"Speaking of which, changing the topic a bit—Sidney, that boy, he's Mirabel's younger brother, right?"
"Yes."
"Having such ridiculously good looks in the same family... what kind of cheat code is that? Is your whole family like that?"
"Not really. Sidney and I take after our mother, but our older brother resembles our father and has a much rougher face."
As Mirabel mentioned, their eldest brother, Simon, didn't fit the delicate, refined beauty stereotype. His features were bold and intense, almost enough to be mistaken for a villain. But in truth, Simon was the most sensitive and easily hurt member of the Beresford family—a reminder that appearances can be deceiving.
Of course, without question, the most bold, self-centered, and audacious one was Mirabel herself.
"What about your family, Rynagl?"
"Me? I'm an only child, so there's not much to compare. If my family were big like the Weasleys, I might have some stories."
"The Weasleys, huh... Speaking of which, their youngest brother apparently drove a car straight into the Whomping Willow."
"Ah, yeah, and Harry Potter was with him, wasn't he? Malfoy was gleefully spreading the word earlier, saying, 'Now they'll get expelled for sure.'"
No one knew where the rumor originated, but by now, everyone was aware that Harry Potter and his friend had arrived at school in a flying car.
Ordinarily, such an act would be grounds for immediate expulsion. In fact, if Edith had pulled a stunt like that, she'd likely be packing her bags by the end of the day.
But this was Harry Potter, the wizarding world's hero and Dumbledore's favorite student. While some punishment was inevitable, he and his friend would most certainly walk away with little more than a slap on the wrist.
"What do you think will happen, Mirabel?"
"Ten Galleons says they get off scot-free. You?"
"Ten Galleons says they're back in class as if nothing happened."
"Hardly a bet, then."
In the end, it seemed Malfoy was the only one genuinely hoping Harry would be expelled. Most of the students assumed Harry would be forgiven, and they were right.
The weight of "The Boy Who Lived" was too great to ignore. If Harry were expelled, complaints would flood Hogwarts from every corner of the wizarding world, and Dumbledore's office would likely overflow with Howlers.
No amount of rule-breaking—be it flying a car, being seen by Muggles, or crashing into the Whomping Willow—was enough to overshadow Harry Potter's legacy.
After finishing a dessert of treacle tart, Mirabel and the others returned to the Slytherin dormitory, guided by the upperclassmen.
As always, the common room was a gloomy, oppressive space in the dungeon, but once accustomed to it, its dark atmosphere had a certain charm.
While Mirabel surveyed the room, Edith tapped her on the shoulder with a smile.
"Here's to another year together, Mirabel."
"...Yeah. Here's to it, Rynagl."
For once, Mirabel's smile wasn't a sneer or a mask. It was a genuine, rare gesture directed at Edith, and in that moment, she thought to herself that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't so bad.
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