Chapter 6: The Gap in Talent
After all, I'm a natural at Quidditch. If first-years were allowed on the team, I could easily secure Slytherin's victory. What a shame it's not possible," Malfoy boasted.
It was Thursday morning. While Mirabel sat enjoying her breakfast, Malfoy's self-satisfied voice reached her ears.
He was enthusiastically explaining to everyone how exceptional he was at flying on a broomstick. But to Mirabel, none of it mattered.
What mattered most right now was savoring her breakfast.
Though British cuisine was infamous for its lack of flavor, breakfast was the one exception.
The novelist W. Somerset Maugham once said, "If you want to eat well in England, have breakfast three times a day." Mirabel wholeheartedly agreed with this sentiment.
"I've been riding a broom since I was a kid. My friends and I used to play Quidditch together all the time.
Naturally, I was always the ace Seeker. I was always the first to spot the Snitch, and I've never been hit by a Bludger, not even once."
Mirabel sliced into a perfectly fried egg with her fork and took a bite. She found herself wishing for some soy sauce, but even without it, the egg was pleasantly flavorful.
She savored its rich taste before moving on to the sausage.
As her teeth bit into its crisp surface, the skin broke, releasing a burst of savory juices that filled her mouth.
Satisfied, she washed it down with a sip of tea, mellowed with milk, and allowed herself a moment of calm.
This, she thought, was what breakfast was all about.
"It was last year, I think. I was flying high on my broom, and out of nowhere, a Muggle helicopter appeared.
You know, Muggles can only fly using those clunky metal contraptions.
But I dodged it in the nick of time! Just as it was about to hit me—barely a second to spare.
Did I think I was going to crash? Ha! Not at all. To me, it felt like everything was moving in slow motion."
Next, Mirabel took a bite of toast spread with strawberry jam.
Even in a country like Britain, where culinary finesse was lacking, bread was a constant.
The sweet jam paired perfectly with the soft bread, delighting her taste buds.
But despite how good the food was, she couldn't fully enjoy her breakfast. The incessant noise was grating on her nerves.
Annoyed, Mirabel stood, her temper visibly rising, and moved two seats over to where Malfoy sat.
Grabbing a fistful of his hair, she gave it a hard yank.
"Foigh—! B-Beresford, what are you doing?!" Malfoy yelped in surprise.
"Malfoy," she hissed, "if you want to brag, do it somewhere else. You're ruining my breakfast."
When it came to eating, Mirabel required complete freedom and peace.
She didn't tolerate loud, spit-filled chatter or people fooling around while eating. To her, such behavior was an insult to the art of cooking—a sacred endeavor of human ingenuity.
Even if the gods forgave such behavior, she would not.
Turning Malfoy toward her, she narrowed her golden eyes and fixed him with a menacing glare.
"…Eat quietly… or I'll make sure you can't eat at all. Got it?"
"…Y-yeah, I got it," Malfoy stammered.
Later, Malfoy would recount, "Those eyes were dead serious."
She truly meant it. When it came to anyone disrupting her meals, she showed no mercy.
Had he dared to reply with "No way!" at that moment, Malfoy would likely have ended up as nothing more than a tattered rag, thrown through a stained glass window.
Her glare was that intense.
With Malfoy silenced, Mirabel returned to her seat and resumed her peaceful breakfast.
At 3:30 in the afternoon, the moment many students had been eagerly awaiting finally arrived: their flying lesson.
On the grassy grounds of the school, Gryffindor and Slytherin students gathered, buzzing with excitement.
Their chatter was filled with discussions about favorite Quidditch teams and broomstick preferences.
Mirabel and Edith were no exception, engaging in lively conversation.
"Hey, Mirabel, do you have your own broom? I've got a Cleansweep Seven," Edith said.
"I have a Silver Arrow custom-tuned just for me," Mirabel replied.
"Silver Arrow? I've never heard of that before."
"It's an old broom made by a craftsman named Leonard Dukes, entirely handcrafted.
Production stopped long ago, but apparently, my father knew the craftsman, so he had it remade with modern technology specifically for me."
As they were talking, Madam Hooch, the instructor, appeared and stood before the students.
Her short-cropped white hair and sharp, eagle-like yellow eyes were striking features. She wasted no time and immediately began yelling at the students.
"What are you all dawdling around for? Stand by your brooms! Quickly, now!"
Prompted by her command, the students hurried to position themselves next to their brooms. Mirabel and Edith were already standing beside theirs, fully prepared. At their feet lay brooms called Shooting Stars—a name that sounded cool but belonged to cheap, substandard brooms.
The Shooting Star was a poorly made broomstick released in 1955 by the Universal Broom Company. Known for its quick deterioration, it also had a high accident rate, true to its name, as users frequently "crashed like falling stars." Complaints poured in, leading to the company's bankruptcy. Why such a flawed broom was chosen as the school's standard broomstick remained a mystery.
...Though the reason was likely because it was cheap.
"Hold out your right hand over your broom and say, 'Up!'"
At Madam Hooch's instruction, the students all shouted "Up!" Mirabel, looking entirely unenthusiastic, joined in. She had grown sick of this exercise by the time she was three years old. Back then, every failed attempt had earned her a whipping.
Her broom floated into her hand effortlessly, but not many others had such luck. The only students who managed it smoothly were Malfoy, Harry, Mirabel, Edith, and a few others. Even Hermione was unusually struggling with the task.
Once everyone finally had their brooms in hand, Madam Hooch began demonstrating the correct way to mount a broom and moved through the line to check their grips. Afterward, it was time to start flying practice.
"When I blow my whistle, kick off the ground hard. Keep your broom steady, rise about two meters, lean forward slightly, and then come back down right away.
Ready? One, two, and—"
"Waaaahhhh!"
Before Madam Hooch could blow the whistle, Neville let out a panicked scream and shot into the air. He had likely succumbed to a mix of nerves and fear of being left behind, triggering a full-blown panic.
Madam Hooch shouted for him to come back down, but someone calm enough to follow such instructions wouldn't have panicked in the first place. Neville soared up about six meters before losing his grip on the broom and executing an unintentional freefall straight to the ground.
A sickening crack resounded as he landed face-first on the grass. He began crying, but despite the apparent fracture, he was conscious—a remarkably tough kid.
"My arm! It's broken…!"
"You have 215 bones in your body! Losing one is nothing!"
Madam Hooch hurried over to Neville, scooped him up, and ran toward the infirmary, offering clumsy reassurances. Before leaving, she turned back to the remaining students and barked sternly:
"I'm taking Neville to the infirmary. None of you are to move while I'm gone. Leave your brooms where they are. Understand?"
"My arm… it hurts…!"
"Yes, yes, I'm taking you now!"
What happened after Madam Hooch left requires little explanation—it unfolded just as Mirabel expected.
Malfoy seized Neville's Remembrall (a small ball that glowed red to indicate forgotten items) and took off on his broom. Harry, chasing after him, managed to retrieve it. But their airborne antics were witnessed by Professor McGonagall, who promptly dragged Harry away.
"Hahaha! Did you see that idiot Potter's face? He's definitely getting expelled!"
After Harry and McGonagall left, Malfoy's triumphant laughter echoed through the courtyard.
His cronies joined in, creating an irritating chorus of laughter. Hermione and Ron looked visibly upset but said nothing, likely imagining the fate awaiting Harry.
Surprisingly, it was Mirabel, a fellow Slytherin, who silenced Malfoy's laughter.
"Malfoy, I hate to rain on your parade, but Potter isn't getting expelled."
"What… did you just say?"
"If he were going to be expelled, you'd be guilty as well for flying with him. Didn't it strike you as odd that Potter was taken away alone? More importantly, what you saw in Professor McGonagall's eyes wasn't anger… it was delight."
Mirabel spoke with her arms crossed, sounding more exasperated than anything else. The surrounding students turned their attention to her.
Now that she mentioned it, her reasoning made sense. If Harry had been caught for breaking the rules, Malfoy should have been punished too. Yet McGonagall hadn't so much as reprimanded him.
"Then why was Potter taken away?"
"The reason lies in the difference between your abilities and his."
"D-difference in abilities?"
"Exactly. Think about it. Potter was on a broom for the first time—an inferior Shooting Star, no less—executed a 16-meter dive, and retrieved a falling object without so much as a scratch. That kind of flying skill is extraordinary. Could you do that?"
Malfoy stammered, "Ugh…"
He wanted to say he could. He wanted to brag that he could do just as well. But something about Mirabel's piercing golden eyes froze him in place. The lie refused to leave his mouth. He felt as though telling anything but the truth in her presence would be a grave sin, as if she could see through everything.
"He'll make an excellent Seeker. A natural talent—an extraordinary prodigy who only appears once in a decade. That's what McGonagall must have thought. That's why she took Potter with her.
Malfoy, you haven't driven Potter to expulsion. Instead, you've turned him into Slytherin's most formidable enemy."
"That's ridiculous! Are you saying McGonagall took Potter to make him a Seeker? He's only a first-year!"
"But a genius. Look through the second-years, even the seventh-years—you won't find a better Seeker than him."
Harry was from Gryffindor, Slytherin's rival house. Yet Mirabel spoke about him with a bright, amused smile, and there was no denying the high regard for Harry's talent laced in her words.
This was the kind of person Mirabel was. She respected talent and ability above all else. It didn't matter who someone was—if they were exceptional, they earned her respect. As a firm believer in meritocracy, she praised excellence and dismissed mediocrity.
"Do you remember what I said in the clothing shop before?"
"…Y-yeah… 'Only the truly superior—'"
"Exactly. 'Only the truly superior will claim glory, while the inferior are eliminated.' Potter's exceptional skill caught McGonagall's eye, and he seized his chance—by stepping over you."
Malfoy's face turned pale, and he stood frozen, stunned by Mirabel's words. She leaned closer and whispered near his ear:
"This is reality, Malfoy. The world runs on talent and ability. Do you understand now how powerless mere bloodlines are?"
"L-lies! That's a lie! I won't accept it! He will be expelled! That's how it's supposed to be!"
Malfoy turned and ran, yelling as though to escape Mirabel's words.
As she returned to her spot, Edith, watching the scene with a mix of surprise and exasperation, greeted her with a wary expression. Despite their short time as friends, Mirabel was already predictably harsh in her demeanor.
"You're ruthless, Mirabel. That was basically calling him incompetent."
"He's not entirely incompetent. He can fly, and with some polishing, he might make a house representative in his second year."
Edith's eyebrows rose at Mirabel's unexpected remark.
Wait, does she actually think highly of Malfoy? she wondered.
But Mirabel's next words quickly dispelled the notion.
"Still, he's a mediocrity. He'll never measure up to the real thing."
"Wow…"
Edith slumped, nearly losing her balance. This was classic Mirabel—lifting someone up only to crush them seconds later.
In her few days of knowing Mirabel, Edith had learned that her belief in meritocracy bordered on pathological.
Why am I friends with her? she thought briefly, knowing she'd never find the answer.
When Madam Hooch returned and resumed the lesson, Mirabel proved her talk wasn't empty. Her acrobatic flying left everyone stunned.
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