Chapter 12: Humiliation

"My, my, I had quite the ordeal," Dumbledore remarked, his tone lighthearted as though recounting a minor stumble on the road. "The castle gates were sealed shut, sticky traps were laid everywhere and clung to the soles of my shoes. Peeves caused trouble at every turn, the doors were all locked in place, and Fluffy wouldn't even respond to music. To top it off, a bird pecked at my glasses, leaving cracks in the lenses."

His casual delivery made it sound trivial, but the content was far from amusing.

Even Quirrell, a former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, had been stumped by the three-headed dog. Yet this old wizard had managed to bypass it effortlessly.

"Mirabel," Dumbledore continued, "may I ask what you intended to do with that stone?"

"My, such an accusation," Mirabel replied smoothly. "I merely kept it out of You-Know-Who's hands."

It wasn't a lie.

It was indeed true that she had prevented the Stone from falling into Voldemort's grasp. She just conveniently left out the part about planning to keep it for herself.

Dumbledore, unfazed by her bold response, maintained his serene expression as he replied quietly, "Ah, Mirabel… there's no need to wear a façade. I've long known that you do not fear Voldemort."

"…I see. Then let's call him Voldemort, shall we?"

Though she had never referred to Voldemort by name in front of Dumbledore or her other teachers, it seemed her true sentiments had been evident all along.

It wasn't something she had cared to hide, so it didn't bother her much.

As they exchanged words, Mirabel's mind was preoccupied with how to escape this situation. Should she Apparate away? Or perhaps take her chances with an unexpected Killing Curse?

But this old man exuded an unshakable presence, as though he could effortlessly counter any such move.

"So… you protected the Stone from Voldemort," Dumbledore mused. "A commendable sentiment… truly commendable. But may I ask, what was the purpose of those traps you set in the corridor?"

"Death Eaters aren't limited to just Professor Quirrell. There was a risk of reinforcements surrounding me. It only made sense to prepare for such a possibility, wouldn't you agree?"

"Indeed, quite sensible. And sealing the castle gates—was that for the same reason?"

"I had heard you wouldn't be returning for a while," Mirabel answered smoothly.

Dumbledore was believed to be away for the day—at least, that's what Harry and his friends had assumed.

That assumption had been a trap laid to mislead Quirrell, but Mirabel had used it to her own advantage, thinking Dumbledore wouldn't return and sealing the gates without hesitation.

Although Dumbledore's sharp blue eyes seemed to pierce into her thoughts, Mirabel had absolute confidence that her mind couldn't be read.

Her true intentions would remain hidden. Which meant she still had a chance.

"And finally, you planned to tuck it away into your own pocket, didn't you?"

"…Heh, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted," Mirabel admitted with a slight smirk.

Lying now would do her no favors, she reasoned.

The Philosopher's Stone offered the gift of immortality, a freedom from death that anyone would covet. That alone was reason enough to desire it.

In fact, to claim she hadn't been tempted might seem more suspicious.

But Dumbledore didn't seem to share her view. He shook his head lightly, sighing as he pressed a hand to his brow.

"Foolish… truly foolish. The Stone isn't as marvelous as you seem to think. You may not understand this now, being so young, but what value is there in a life that stretches on endlessly?"

"…Are you saying eternity is worthless?"

"Precisely. Yet most humans foolishly desire it. It's a peculiar flaw in humanity—to crave what is ultimately the worst thing for them."

Mirabel's brow twitched in subtle disbelief at his words.

Something felt off.

What constitutes the "worst" varies from person to person. Just as people's ideals differ, their worst fears also vary.

For instance, what Mirabel valued most would likely mean little to Harry Potter, and vice versa.

Yet Dumbledore had uncharacteristically labeled eternal life as the absolute worst.

It was an unusual oversimplification coming from him, and Mirabel couldn't help but feel a sense of unease.

"I see… So you consider eternity to be the worst thing," she remarked.

"Indeed."

"Then perhaps… you've sought it yourself?"

As Mirabel's words reached him, Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly.

That small reaction was enough to confirm her suspicions.

So it was true. This man had once sought something—something related to life itself.

That was why he could declare eternal life, something nearly everyone desired, to be the "worst."

"Humans have a tendency to seek what is worst for them," he had said.

Which meant that Dumbledore, too, must have sought such a "worst" thing in some form—and regretted it.

His wearied expression as he spoke seemed to affirm this conclusion.

"Ah, what a foolish pursuit it was. An invitation to folly."

"You do not deny it, then?"

"Who can say?"

Just as Mirabel remained wary of Dumbledore, so too was Dumbledore cautious of her.

A terrifying young woman, he thought.

No matter how much she masked her intentions with feigned indifference, she barged straight into the depths of his heart, as if trampling through it.

She pried open his defenses and delved into the very essence of Albus Dumbledore.

Perhaps this unnerving ability stemmed from how similar they were at their core.

It was why she could see so much of him.

"Mirabel, you must not pursue that which defies the natural order of life. It will only lead to your unhappiness."

"..."

"You are still young—blessed with talent and extraordinary leadership. If you channel that power correctly, you could become the greatest witch of all."

While Mirabel seemed disturbingly adept at understanding Dumbledore, he, in turn, had a clear grasp of her inner workings.

Even though she appeared to have mastered Occlumency within a single year, it was irrelevant.

He couldn't read her mind, but her thoughts were laid bare in her demeanor.

For she reminded him of his younger self—of the foolish boy who, alongside Grindelwald, had dreamed of dominating Muggles.

He couldn't help but recall his arrogant belief that wizards ruling Muggles would change the world for the better.

"Now, hand over the Stone. It will bring you nothing but unhappiness."

"…Hmph."

Given how things had turned out, Mirabel had little choice but to relinquish the Stone.

There was no point in fighting now—she would surely lose. Besides, revealing her hand at this stage was unwise.

She admitted to herself that she had miscalculated, overstepping where she shouldn't have and underestimating her opponent.

Mistakes she wouldn't compound further.

With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the Stone toward Dumbledore, who pointed his wand at it without hesitation.

"Bombarda Maxima! Shatter completely!"

A brilliant flash of light struck the Philosopher's Stone, smashing it into countless fragments.

The shards scattered across the floor, sending a nearby mouse scurrying for cover.

Dumbledore summoned a gust of wind, gathering every fragment into his hand.

"Now, go. I'll see to Harry myself."

"Very well. I'll take my leave, then."

Though this venture had ended in failure, it wasn't without its merits. Mirabel had gained insight into Dumbledore's capabilities and her own lack of preparation.

She would simply use this knowledge for the future.

The fact that she wouldn't face expulsion for this was either an act of mercy—or a sign she wasn't being taken seriously.

She swept past Dumbledore, ascending the staircase without a backward glance.

"Mirabel… there is no future at the end of ambition. Please, never forget that."

"…I'll keep it in mind."

As they passed, Dumbledore was struck by a moment of doubt.

Should I stop her here and now?

From a pragmatic standpoint, Mirabel's actions didn't warrant such severe punishment.

She hadn't committed murder like Voldemort had as a student, nor broken rules as flagrantly as Hagrid with his forbidden creatures.

Theft, while a crime, was not unprecedented. Many students over the years had succumbed to temptation, taking what wasn't theirs.

And it was the role of a teacher to admonish, discipline, and guide them back to the right path.

If minor infractions like these warranted expulsion, James Potter would have been expelled ten times over.

Yet this wasn't about the severity of her crime—it was about her potential for future harm.

Mirabel was dangerous.

Even if she listened to him now, Dumbledore knew her ambition burned undimmed.

And so, he hesitated.

Should he nip this budding danger in the bud?

(What foolishness… You are a teacher, Albus Dumbledore.)

Mirabel was still just a first-year girl.

Dumbledore firmly believed in offering even the worst of people a chance to redeem themselves. It was his duty as an educator, and his compassion that held him back.

Punishment was warranted, but not destruction.

Perhaps his hesitation stemmed from how painfully she reminded him of his younger self—the arrogant boy with grand, foolish dreams born of talent and pride.

"…Can I not guide my students onto the right path?" he murmured.

In the quiet room, where only the unconscious Harry and himself were present, Dumbledore muttered softly.

The future was unknowable.

What had been the right course of action? The answer would only reveal itself once all was said and done.

It had been the same with Tom Riddle.

He had failed to stop Tom from descending into darkness, which had resulted in the birth of the worst dark wizard in history.

Countless lives had been lost, including James and Lily.

And each time, the same thought haunted him—how could anyone call such a man, who could save no one, a "great wizard"?

Now, once again, he found himself unable to prevent a young girl from stepping onto the path of darkness.

How powerless he was... how utterly powerless...

"…I won't give up. If I abandon her now, who else will guide that girl back to the light?"

It wasn't too late.

There was still time.

This time, he vowed to guide his student onto the right path. He would not allow Voldemort's tragedy to repeat itself.

To persevere—that was the only atonement left for this foolish man who, long ago, had drowned in ambition and caused his sister's death.

He could not afford to abandon his students to repeat his mistakes.

Only by doing so could he finally face his sister. That was what he believed.

"…Isn't that right? …Ariana…"

Dumbledore's voice, filled with anguish, hung in the air.

Whether his late sister could hear him or not—no one could say.

Three days had passed since the battle over the Philosopher's Stone. It was the day of the end-of-year feast.

The Great Hall was abuzz with noise as a crowd of students filled the seats.

For now, the House Cup belonged to Slytherin.

The hall was decorated in Slytherin's colors of green and silver, and a large banner depicting a serpent, the house's emblem, hung behind the tables.

But whether Slytherin would still hold the House Cup by the end of the feast remained to be seen.

Knowing what was to come thanks to the "inheritance," Mirabel couldn't muster much excitement.

"What's wrong, Mirabel? You should be happier—we've won the House Cup! And you, especially, earned a lot of points for it," said Reinagle, trying to cheer her up.

"It's too early to celebrate, Reinagle. Haven't you heard the rumors?"

"Rumors? You mean the one about Harry Potter defending the Philosopher's Stone hidden in the school?"

Harry's battle to protect the Philosopher's Stone had already spread throughout the school.

Of course, Dumbledore had quickly imposed secrecy to keep the details hidden. But in a school, secrecy was just another way of ensuring everyone knew.

The source of the rumor was likely Harry's close friends or Hermione. Regardless, few doubted the story.

After all, Harry's injuries and Quirrell's disappearance lent undeniable credence to it.

Thanks to these events, Harry had been catapulted back into the spotlight, reclaiming his status as a hero and regaining the acceptance of his peers.

He was no longer the most disliked boy in the school but the brave hero who had protected the Philosopher's Stone.

"An event like that won't go unrecognized. I wouldn't be surprised if there's a last-minute award of points," Mirabel remarked.

"…Seriously?"

"Yes. That old man loves surprises and would do it with glee. Depending on the points awarded, Gryffindor could even take the lead."

By today, Mirabel had earned 126 points, pulling Gryffindor far ahead of the others.

But she couldn't afford to be complacent. With that sly old man, it wouldn't be impossible for him to bend the rules and force Gryffindor to win.

Still, for now, all they could do was wait for Dumbledore's decision. Just as she thought that, Dumbledore's voice rang out at the perfect moment.

"Another year has passed! Before you all dive into the feast, please listen to this old fool's ramblings.

A year has gone by, and I hope something has filled your heads by now... but the summer holiday is coming, and before the new school year starts, your heads will be emptied out completely.

Before that, let us present the House Cup standings. The points are as follows:

Fourth place, Gryffindor, 308 points. Third place, Hufflepuff, 352 points.

Second place, Ravenclaw, 426 points. And first place, Slytherin, with 598 points!"

At this announcement, the Slytherins jumped up from their seats, their cheers deafening as they stomped their feet in triumph.

Seven years in a row of winning the House Cup! And this victory was by an overwhelming margin, unmatched in recent years.

The first-years celebrated their unexpected win of the House Cup, while the seventh-years were moved to tears, having won the Cup all seven years of their Hogwarts career. It was the perfect graduation! They had nothing more to wish for.

But amidst all this, Mirabel remained seated, arms crossed, waiting for the next words.

"Good, good, Slytherin, well done. However, we must also take into account some recent events."

With that, the room fell silent, as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over the celebrating Slytherins.

Clearing his throat, Dumbledore quietly continued.

"We will award a few last-minute points. Ah, yes… First, Ronald Weasley.

For the brilliant chess game he played, one we have not seen in many years, Gryffindor will receive 60 points."

The Gryffindor table erupted with cheers, so loud it almost blew the roof off.

As expected.

But the points were 10 more than Mirabel had expected.

She furrowed her brows.

"Next, Hermione Granger.

For remaining calm and using her logic while surrounded by fire, Gryffindor will receive 60 points."

Cheers rang out again from the Gryffindor table, and footsteps echoed around the room.

They had been in last place, but now, with these points, they surged up to second place.

But still, they were 170 points behind Slytherin.

It was as though Dumbledore had read their hearts, as he smiled and announced the next score.

"Third, Harry Potter… For his perfect mental fortitude and outstanding bravery, Gryffindor will receive 120 points."

Just 50 more points!

The deafening cheers dominated the hall, shaking the room like an earthquake.

To quell the noise, Dumbledore raised his hand and spoke quietly.

"There are many kinds of courage. It takes great courage to face an enemy.

But it also takes just as much courage to face a friend who needs help.

Therefore, I will award 50 points to Neville Longbottom."

The room exploded in what could only be described as an eruption.

The cheers, no, the overwhelming heat, shook the Great Hall, and every student stood up.

In the end, they couldn't pull Slytherin down from first place, but it was a tie.

This year, Slytherin would not dominate the House Cup!

Every student except Slytherin was rejoicing and celebrating.

(That old man really did it... He tied the scores.

Did he do that out of consideration for me...?)

Meanwhile, the Slytherins looked furious, their faces contorted with frustration, and Mirabel, too, was seething inside.

Honestly, she had thought Dumbledore would give Gryffindor the win, and she had accepted that.

She had aimed for the Philosopher's Stone, and if Dumbledore had deducted points for that, it would have been justified.

But Dumbledore had not done so. He had shown mercy to Mirabel.

No, deductions had probably been made.

The points Harry and the others received were essentially deductions from Mirabel's own total.

Dumbledore had deliberately avoided exposing Mirabel's wrongdoing in front of the whole school, instead punishing her in a way only she would understand by raising Harry's points.

(That sly old fox...)

As she glared at Dumbledore, smiling cheerfully on the podium, Mirabel reassessed her opinion of him.

He was indeed not someone to be underestimated. Despite the fact that she had used a charm to protect her thoughts, he had somehow managed to score her as if he had read her mind.

As she devoured the food on the table, Mirabel shoved her anger deep down into her chest.

This anger and humiliation were the result of her own weakness and naivety.

So, she would accept it. She would use it as fuel.

Fortunately... and humiliatingly, she had been spared. She owed her life to him.

So, she would swallow this anger and use it as a lesson moving forward.

Not striking now had been her biggest mistake. She would make him realize that!

—This humiliation, I will repay it one day... Albus Dumbledore!

After the exam results were announced, Mirabel topped her year, beating Hermione for the highest grade.

Her points, earned single-handedly, were a staggering 126, making her the most outstanding student of the year, drawing the envy of her fellow housemates.

If Harry Potter was the Gryffindor hero, Mirabel was the Slytherin anti-hero.

Some students even began to view the two as rivals, but Mirabel didn't care.

As the time to leave arrived, she packed her bags.

Clothes, wand, textbooks, cauldron… and a small bottle.

Mirabel clicked her tongue when she saw the bottle.

Inside the bottle were several small red shards.

—These are fragments of the Philosopher's Stone.

When Dumbledore destroyed it, she had the rat (the one who had been tailing Harry and the others) collect the pieces from the floor.

As she placed the tiny spoils into her bag, Mirabel suppressed the humiliation inside her.

In the end, this was all she had managed to collect…

But for now, she had no choice but to accept this humiliation.

She would use this anger as fuel to win someday. For now, she would retreat.

This... is not a defeat!

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