Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Enough is enough!

Sitting on a low stone wall along Magnolia Crescent, Harry's face flushed with anger as he rummaged through his bag.

Of course, there was a reason for his frantic search in such a place. During the summer holidays, when Hogwarts was out of session, Harry lived with the Dursleys, his relatives—though calling them "good" or "caring" relatives would be a gross overstatement.

The Dursleys had an obsession with being "normal" and an intense hatred for anything magical. Harry was no exception to their disdain.

Never once had they celebrated his birthday or given him a meaningful present. There had never been Christmas cakes, nor even the faintest memory of kindness from them.

Worse still, they insulted Harry's late parents. This time, it was especially awful. Marge Dursley, Uncle Vernon's sister, had come to visit and ranted about Harry's parents, calling them freeloaders and failures, right in front of him.

Harry had finally reached his limit and, in a fit of rage, used magic on Marge, causing him to storm out in anger.

But while he had stormed out, Harry had nowhere to go.

With not a single Muggle penny to his name, how was he supposed to spend the next few months until Hogwarts reopened?

And even if he managed that, could he return to Hogwarts after using magic on a Muggle?

More pressingly, what if the Muggle police found him, questioned him, and forcibly sent him back to the Dursleys?

Unwilling to face that outcome, Harry was now searching for his Invisibility Cloak.

The Weasleys are probably having a great time in Egypt right now, Harry thought bitterly.

The Daily Prophet had reported that the Weasleys had won the Daily Prophet Galleon Grand Prize.

He vividly remembered Arthur Weasley's somber smile in the accompanying photo, saying, "I hope this trip can help ease my son's mind, even just a little."

Arthur, tall and balding, with his petite and plump wife, Molly Weasley, and their children, including Harry's best friend Ron. Scabbers was perched on Ron's shoulder in the photograph.

To Harry, they were the perfect family—everything he wished his own family could be.

How many times had he fantasized about being part of their world?

But reality was far from those dreams, his life mired in misery instead.

Suddenly, Harry lifted his head, looking around sharply.

He felt as though someone was watching him.

Lighting the tip of his wand, he stared in the direction of the perceived gaze.

"…!"

What he saw was a shadowy, menacing figure.

It was large and black, resembling a dog with glinting, eerie eyes.

Fear gripped Harry as he instinctively took a step back.

But at that moment, a clear, ethereal voice called out to him from behind.

"What are you doing in a place like this, Harry Potter?"

The voice was feminine, and it knew his name.

Could it be…? Harry turned to look and, as he expected, there stood a figure he recognized from the wizarding world.

Her golden hair shimmered faintly under the moonlight, reflecting a soft glow. Her alluring golden eyes, flawless pale skin, and slender frame gave her an otherworldly beauty.

Though her small chest was perhaps her only flaw, in Harry's eyes, she embodied perfection.

She was dressed in Muggle-appropriate clothing—a white, two-layered blouse with a ribbon tie and a pristine, pure white chiffon long skirt. Even Uncle Vernon wouldn't have suspected her of being a witch dressed like this.

"B-Berresford! What are you doing here?" Harry stammered.

"…Look carefully at where you're sitting," Mirabel replied, exasperated.

Where he was sitting? It was clearly the stone wall along Magnolia Crescent.

Nearby stood an unnaturally grand mansion, its nameplate bearing the word "Berresford," though Harry thought nothing of it.

"…"

As Harry considered this, he suddenly froze in alarm.

He stared more closely at the grand mansion near the stone wall where he was sitting.

There was no mistake—the name "Berresford" was clearly written on the plaque.

Harry had unknowingly seated himself right in front of the Berresford family's villa.

"Have you figured it out? This is my mansion," Mirabel said.

Harry nodded silently. He had never imagined that the random spot he chose to sit would be her residence.

As he slowly stood up, he glanced back to where he had seen that shadowy black figure. But now, there was nothing there.

"What are you looking at?" Mirabel asked.

"There was… something black there just now," Harry replied.

Mirabel briefly looked in the direction he pointed but quickly averted her gaze, uninterested. Then, she turned her piercing golden eyes back to Harry.

"And why are you here? Your home is at Number Four, isn't it?"

"I… ran away. I don't want to go back there," Harry admitted reluctantly.

"Oh?"

Mirabel's lips curled into a smile as if intrigued by his response. Without another word, she unlocked the gate and swung it wide open.

"Seems like there's a story behind this… Well, standing here chatting doesn't suit me. Come inside. At the very least, I can offer you some tea."

Harry hesitated for a moment at her invitation but soon followed Mirabel into the mansion.

After all, he had no one else to turn to and nowhere else to go. Accepting her hospitality seemed like the smartest choice.

"Wow…!"

As he stepped inside, Harry was awestruck by the sheer size of the interior.

The mansion had appeared grand from the outside, but the inside was even more expansive.

It reminded him of his visit to the Weasleys' home, where wizarding houses often seemed much larger inside than their exteriors suggested.

The ceiling was red, and the walls were pristine white. The floor appeared to be polished marble, covered with a luxurious crimson carpet.

Suits of shining silver armor holding swords stood near columns and windows, as though ready to spring to life.

In the grand hall, tables draped with red cloth held flickering candles, their light dancing across the room.

While it wasn't as large as Hogwarts, the place was more of a castle than a simple mansion.

Curiously, though, despite the mansion's size, there wasn't a single person in sight.

"Um… Where are your parents, Berresford?" Harry asked.

"They're at the main estate. This villa is something my father built on a whim," Mirabel replied casually.

"This is… a villa?" Harry echoed, incredulous.

The size of the building was far beyond what anyone could reasonably call a "whim." Clearly, the Berresford family was part of the uppermost echelons of wizarding society.

Mirabel sat down in a chair in the grand hall and gestured to the seat across from her.

"Sit there, Potter."

"Y-Yes!"

For some reason, Harry instinctively replied in a formal tone and hurriedly took the seat.

Once he was seated, Mirabel snapped her fingers.

Out of nowhere, a man wearing a mask appeared behind her.

Dressed in a black butler's uniform, he was clearly a servant, though his masked face made him unsettling.

The man looked at Harry for several seconds, but his expression was unreadable through the mask.

"I'll introduce you. This is my personal butler, his name is... Severus."

"..."

"You, Severus," Mirabel said, addressing him.

"! H-Ha! My apologies!"

Severus, the butler, seemed confused at first as if the name didn't belong to him. But upon being called again, he hurriedly responded.

Mirabel sighed at his reaction and decided to explain why she had called him over. Though, it was nothing serious—just a simple errand.

"Prepare tea for two."

"Understood, Miss."

With a respectful bow, Severus vanished from sight.

That was the "Disillusionment" spell, though Harry didn't know that. He just watched, curious, as he disappeared.

"It's the 'Disillusionment' spell. It allows someone to teleport instantly to a distant place... Well, I've made a few improvements to it," Mirabel explained.

"Improvements?" Harry asked.

"Good question, Potter. The original 'Disillusionment' spell makes a sound when moving. But that's hardly graceful. So I made it so that no sound is made when I use it."

While she casually mentioned the improvements, Harry knew that this was no trivial feat. Moreover, as far as he knew, Mirabel had been using this spell since her first year. This meant she had been modifying spells even back then.

Surprised, Harry listened as Mirabel spoke, clearly in a good mood.

"So, why did you run away? Summer vacation isn't over yet; there's still two weeks left."

"Well..."

Harry hesitated, unsure whether he should speak. Should he really tell her?

Could he really confide in Mirabel, of all people, especially given her dangerous reputation within Slytherin?

But as he looked into her golden eyes, he noticed his wariness began to fade.

There was an overwhelming impulse to pour out everything to her, to share his anger and fear. He had wanted someone, anyone, to listen.

Before he knew it, he was speaking, his words rushing out like a rapid-fire speech.

His anger at the Dursleys, the humiliation of his parents being insulted, his frustration at his own misfortune—it all poured out without pause. Mirabel watched him with an amused look on her face, as though enjoying the outpouring of emotions.

At one point, Severus returned with the tea, but the taste was mediocre. Apparently, the butler wasn't very skilled at making tea, and Mirabel commented with mild annoyance, "Still bad at it, even after a year."

Finally, after Harry had emptied all his emotions, taking a deep breath, Mirabel spoke.

"I see... Potter, you were right."

"Huh? D-Do you really think so?"

Mirabel's affirmation made Harry smile.

Having someone to back him up at a time like this was truly a relief. If it had been Hermione, she would've undoubtedly scolded him, saying something like, "Harry! What were you thinking! Using magic as a minor is strictly forbidden!"

"There is nothing more bothersome than the sight of incompetent pests chirping without understanding their place.

They said your parents were failures, but the real failures are those pests."

As she spoke, Mirabel took another sip of the tea she had earlier criticized as "bad."

Now that Harry looked at her actions again, even the way she held the cup was refined and elegant. The word "graceful" truly fit her. Despite her worst personality, it was a well-known fact that she was the most beautiful girl at Hogwarts.

When they first met, she was only eleven and had little interest in the opposite sex. But now, Harry was thirteen, and his curiosity about the opposite sex was beginning to awaken. He couldn't help but notice how his gaze lingered on Mirabel's every move.

"Your anger is justified in defending your own pride and the pride of your parents. And there is no sympathy for those commoners. But if I must point out your mistake, it is that you were too lenient."

"Too lenient? You mean by using magic?"

"Yes, completely soft. You should have thoroughly punished them."

Mirabel set her teacup down on the table and smiled faintly. It was a refined smile, but there was an unmistakable... no, an unhidden cruelty in her expression, as if she had no intention of hiding it.

"Swine must be disciplined, Harry Potter. You must show them which power is superior, teach them that they are nothing more than livestock, and make them obedient. You should be able to do that."

"That's... that's too much... After all, they were the ones who raised me..."

Harry stammered, but Mirabel just chuckled softly.

"Do you really believe that?"

"Huh?"

"Do you really feel such gratitude toward them?"

The question struck Harry like a dagger, and he froze, unable to speak. Mirabel was right.

He had no gratitude toward the Dursleys. How could he? He had always been mistreated by them. There was no way he could feel such emotions.

Taking his silence as an answer, Mirabel continued.

"'In truth, you want to beat them with magic, don't you?'"

"?!"

"'You want to strike back for all the abuse you've suffered.' 'You want to give them the same meager meals they gave you and enjoy a lavish feast in front of them.' 'Every time something displeases you, you want to take it out on those pigs,'" she chuckled softly. "Those are all valid feelings, Harry Potter. You have the right and the power to carry them out."

Each of Mirabel's words pierced Harry's heart, and the dangerous sweetness of her words seeped into his soul.

He couldn't deny her words. It wasn't a lie to say he had never imagined such things; just the thought of it filled his mind with a sense of superiority and strange satisfaction.

"Bu-but magic isn't meant to be used for such things..."

"Why not? It's your power that you've worked hard to acquire. What's wrong with using your own strength?"

"But... but that's wrong..."

"Heh, don't be so pretentious, Potter. You're just like me. You want to stand above others with greater power. You want to bask in the envy of everyone and drown in a sense of superiority... Am I wrong?"

Each of Mirabel's words had a dangerous sweetness to them, like an intoxicating drug.

Harry understood that this was a harmful temptation, and he knew it was immoral. But despite that, his heart didn't react to his mind's reasoning.

It was as if he had been soaking in a warm bath for too long and was starting to feel dizzy—his thoughts were slowly being led astray.

"It feels good, doesn't it, Potter? To crush others under the weight of the power you've fought so hard to gain. There's a true pleasure there that ignorant hypocrites can never understand. It's a unique intoxication that no exquisite wine can compare to."

"B-but... I..."

"Don't think with your head, Potter. Ask your heart. Your pure heart, free from the trivial ethics and morals, is the one that will tell you your true desires."

Mirabel leaned forward, her golden eyes meeting his green ones, and they mirrored each other.

Harry couldn't look away. Each time her pink lips moved, or when her scent tickled his nose, his reason began to slip away, and he felt lightheaded.

He realized he couldn't resist. He didn't even feel the urge to fight back.

"Now, tell me, Potter, what is your true desire?"

"Don't worry about the laws of the wizarding world. I'll take care of everything."

"You... will...?"

"Yes, I will. Even if no one else understands, I will. I will support you. You don't need to worry about anything. Just surrender yourself to me and follow your heart."

Mirabel gently touched Harry's cheek, smiling as if she were cherishing him.

In doing so, the slight cleavage of her chest was revealed through the gap in her clothes, which once again caused Harry's reason to falter.

Her invitation was nothing but sweet temptation.

There was no need to worry. No need to think at all.

Just give in to himself, to her. Harry couldn't bring himself to pull away from her hand.

He began to imagine the forbidden desire she urged him to embrace.

"I... I want to... to the Dursleys..."

If he said it, he would feel relief.

If he gave in to the dark desire buried deep within him, he would no longer suffer.

Just as Harry was about to fall into that moment of surrender, a loud knock on the door jolted him back to his senses.

"Tch..."

Mirabel clicked her tongue in frustration, her gaze turning hostile as she glared at the door.

Who was the idiot who knocked at such a critical moment?

After gulping down the rest of her tea, she snapped her fingers, summoning the butler.

"Welcome him, Severus."

"Yes, ma'am."

As instructed, Severus made his way to the front door and greeted the uninvited visitor who arrived in the middle of the night.

Who could it possibly be? To visit a villa in a Muggle town at this hour?

When he opened the door, the man standing there was short and plump. He wore a light green top hat, his white hair was visible beneath it, and his face was marked with deep wrinkles.

His clothes seemed to be an awkward attempt to blend into the Muggle world—an ill-fitting combination of pinstriped trousers, a bright red tie, and pointed purple boots, all mismatched and strange.

As Severus guided him into the hall, Mirabel recognized the man. He was someone she had met several times before due to her father's work. This man was one of the most important figures in the magical world, and if she were to achieve her ambitions, she would have to eliminate him eventually.

It was none other than the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

"Long time no see, Miss Bellesford. You've become even more beautiful."

"The Minister of Magic visiting at this hour... Is there a Sirius Black sighting nearby?"

At the mention of Sirius Black's name, Fudge's face twitched.

Sirius Black, a convicted murderer who had killed twelve Muggles, had recently escaped from Azkaban—a piece of news that had spread throughout the magical world. His name was known even in the Muggle world as a criminal, and his presence was widely reported in the news.

Sirius was believed to be one of Voldemort's followers, still targeting Harry.

"Ah... well, uh, Sirius hasn't been found yet. But, he might... show up here," Fudge replied, glancing nervously at Harry.

He clearly wanted to keep the secret about Sirius from Harry, which was why his response was so vague.

Mirabel, sensing this, decided not to press further.

"Now, Harry. I am Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic."

With a light introduction, Fudge took a seat in the chair Severus had offered him. He took a sip of the tea placed in front of him, but immediately grimaced and set the cup back down, clearly displeased by the tea.

"I'll say this without hesitation—thanks to you, things have gotten quite complicated. Escaping from your aunt and uncle like that!"

He smiled warmly, trying to avoid intimidating Harry, though the tension was palpable. For Harry, the situation was far from comforting—he had broken the laws of the magical world.

But Fudge didn't seem concerned about that at all. He continued speaking.

"By the way, Harry, where do you plan to spend the next two weeks of your summer vacation? I think it would be best for you to take a room at the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley... What do you think?"

This was a completely unexpected suggestion. Harry hesitated for a few seconds before nodding vigorously.

Staying near Mirabel was not a good idea.

Had Fudge not appeared, Harry was sure he would have let Mirabel influence him, and he might have blurted out dangerous desires under her sway.

It was terrifying. He realized again how terrifying she truly was.

She was like a force of darkness, easily pulling people into forbidden territory and corrupting them.

She was like the serpent who offered Adam the apple of knowledge in the Garden of Eden.

Meanwhile, Mirabel, observing Harry's reaction, realized that she had missed her perfect opportunity. Quiet hatred for the small man in the tall hat began to grow within her.

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