Chapter 56: Fractured Tranquility
Yet, even in such a state—or perhaps because of it—Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry continued to welcome its students as usual.
After all, Hogwarts was considered the safest place in the British wizarding community.
With Death Eaters lurking in unknown corners, this bastion of safety was more necessary than ever for the children.
And so, the Hogwarts Express ran as it always did, its compartments filled with students as a matter of course.
"...Sigh."
But not everything was as it always had been.
Sitting alone in one of the compartments, Edith Lynagall let out a hollow sigh, her vacant eyes gazing into the distance.
The excitement she once felt about returning to school was entirely absent from her expression.
Since that incident at the Ministry of Magic, she had been like this—listless, devoid of energy, and unwilling to move unless absolutely necessary.
Some of her friends in Slytherin, concerned about her, tried to reach out, but their words barely registered.
However, it seemed she could not remain in this state forever. As the scenery outside the train began to darken, Daphne Greengrass entered the compartment.
"Edith, we're almost at school! You need to get changed!"
"...Ah, yeah... Thanks. I'll change now."
It wasn't as if she could walk into school in her casual clothes.
Moving sluggishly, Edith began to change into her school robes before stepping out of the compartment.
The corridors of the train were nearly empty, with most of the students having already disembarked.
As she made her way to the next car, Edith tripped over something on the floor and nearly fell.
"...Huh?"
When she turned to look, there was nothing there.
That was odd.
It wasn't impossible to trip over nothing—anyone might slip or stumble now and then.
But this time, she was certain she had felt something collide with her foot just before she stumbled.
And it wasn't a hard object like a step or rail but something soft.
Curious, Edith reached out toward the spot where she had tripped.
To her surprise, she found something tangible there, though it was completely invisible to the eye.
"Hm?"
She touched it again and again.
It wasn't hard, but it wasn't so soft that her hand sank deeply into it either.
It was faintly warm, rising and falling as if it were breathing.
It felt, unmistakably, like a human body.
"Oh."
Realizing what—or rather, who—she had stumbled upon, Edith moved her hands to push aside whatever was covering it.
As she pulled off what turned out to be an invisibility cloak, Harry Potter was revealed beneath it, wearing a pained expression.
His face was streaked with blood, and his nose was bent at an odd angle.
It seemed he had been immobilized by some spell, and his eyes pleaded with Edith for help.
"Uh... Finite Incantatem. End the spell."
Edith cast the counter-curse, freeing Harry from the enchantment.
As soon as he was able, Harry got to his feet and thanked her.
Edith followed this by casting a healing spell to fix Harry's nose, then asked him what had happened.
"Malfoy got me... Let's head to the school first. I'll explain everything on the way."
By this point, the train was empty save for Harry and Edith.
If they lingered, they risked falling behind the other students and starting the term on a sour note by being late.
Hurriedly, the two began walking toward the school, following the others.
"Malfoy's up to something. I was trying to find out what by hiding under my invisibility cloak and listening to him talk, but..."
"And he caught you partway through, leading to... that," Edith replied.
"...Yeah," Harry muttered, nodding ruefully.
For years, Harry and Malfoy had been bitter rivals, but somehow Harry had always come out on top.
This time, however, Malfoy had completely bested him, leaving a wound to Harry's pride that clearly cut deeper than the physical injuries.
"But there's no doubt Malfoy's up to something. Over the summer, we saw him entering Borgin and Burkes. He was threatening the shopkeeper, trying to get him to do something.
And in the train, he said something that sounded like he's acting on Voldemort's orders."
"Did he actually say that?"
"No, not outright. But the way he phrased things, it came across that way. It felt like he was barely able to stop himself from bragging about it."
Edith thought about this.
Could Voldemort really have given Malfoy an assignment?
Malfoy was, of course, the son of Lucius Malfoy and part of Voldemort's faction.
But Voldemort had plenty of skilled Death Eaters at his disposal, even if their numbers had dwindled.
Why would he go out of his way to use a sixteen-year-old?
If he had, there had to be a reason.
"Edith, could you keep an eye on Malfoy's activities from your side? Being in Slytherin, you'd have an easier time monitoring him than we would."
"Sure, I'll try, but don't expect much. I'm not exactly close to Malfoy."
Edith wasn't particularly concerned about whatever task Malfoy had been given.
It wasn't that Malfoy was especially incompetent—it was simply the inherent limitations of being a student.
No matter how brilliant a student might be, entrusting them with a significant mission rarely turned out well.
Perhaps if it were someone as exceptional as Mirabel or Hermione, things would be different, but Malfoy didn't have that level of talent.
If Voldemort truly entrusted him with something critical, it would mean Voldemort himself was a fool.
"Well, from here we need to split up by house. See you, Edith."
"Yeah."
The conversation ended as they caught up with the other students.
Harry joined the Gryffindor line, while Edith returned to the Slytherin group.
Daphne Greengrass, noticing how late Edith had arrived, asked her with concern if everything was all right. Edith brushed it off with a casual "It's nothing."
As usual, the new term began with a feast, and Dumbledore introduced the new staff.
Horace Slughorn, a former Potions professor, had returned to take up his old position.
In turn, Severus Snape, who had been teaching Potions, was now assigned to Defense Against the Dark Arts.
This news shocked many students, especially Harry.
It was no secret that Snape had long coveted the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, but Dumbledore had never granted it to him—until now.
What had changed this year?
Dumbledore also reminded everyone to prioritize safety: house unity, avoiding late-night wandering, and vigilance were all emphasized. After his announcements, the feast concluded.
Edith lingered for a while, lost in thought, until someone tapped her shoulder.
"Hey, Lynagall, what are you doing? Get moving—we need to guide the first-years."
"Oh... right, I'm a prefect now."
"That's right! I suspected it, but you didn't even patrol the train! You completely forgot, didn't you?"
Draco Malfoy scolded her, irritation clear in his voice as he huffed indignantly.
Until last year, Mirabel had been the prefect, but her disappearance meant the role had passed to Edith.
"Sorry, sorry. I'll go now."
"Honestly... try to get it together."
The two escorted the first-years to the Slytherin common room and taught them the password.
Once their duties were done, they headed back toward their dorms.
"Hey, Lynagall," Draco called out.
"What?"
"I wanted to ask... what happened to Beresford?"
To the public, Mirabel Beresford was officially considered missing.
Only those who had seen her at the Department of Mysteries knew the truth: she was alive, abroad, and plotting something monumental.
Draco was in a position to know, given his father's connections, but with Lucius imprisoned, there was no way he could have been informed.
Voldemort might know, but it seemed unlikely he would share such details with Draco.
"She's alive," Edith said simply.
"I-I see... I figured someone like her wouldn't die so easily. But then, where is she?"
"I don't know... Probably in France, Germany, or at the Irish Ministry of Magic."
"What?! Why would she be in a place like that?"
"She's taken over, apparently. Her plan is to lead those countries and eventually destroy the British wizarding world."
Draco's jaw dropped in disbelief.
He had always known Mirabel was an extraordinary peer, but this revelation was beyond anything he could have imagined.
His expression was a mix of shock and incredulity as he stared at Edith, who, unconcerned about whether he believed her or not, merely shrugged.
"...You're joking, right?"
"I wish I were..."
How she wished it were a joke.
But it had long since passed the point of being funny.
At the Department of Mysteries, Mirabel had slaughtered dozens while laughing maniacally.
There was no room left for humor in this situation.
"Malfoy should turn back while he still has the chance."
"W-what are you talking about?"
"Don't bother denying it. I was at the Department of Mysteries, too. I know the connection between your family and him."
"Ah… I guess you would."
"Exactly."
Edith and Malfoy reached a fork in the path and came to a stop.
This was where the boys' dormitory and girls' dormitory split; they could not walk any further together.
Edith, leaving Malfoy behind, who still looked as though he wanted to say something, made her way to the girls' dormitory and closed the door behind her.
Truthfully, she didn't like talking about Death Eaters or the dark side.
It inevitably reminded her of the events at the Department of Mysteries, and of the girl who had died right after Edith had told her to turn back.
"...Sigh."
With a heavy exhale, Edith sank into one of the chairs in the girls' dormitory.
Everyone around her seemed to have found their purpose, whether good or bad, and were acting on it.
But Edith alone felt adrift, caught in an unstable limbo.
She could no longer trust the Ministry of Magic. But Mirabel's goal of destroying it hardly seemed right either.
And she could never see the dark side as just or righteous.
So, what about Dumbledore? Even that felt uncertain.
To Gryffindors, Dumbledore was the wise leader they could always rely on.
But to Slytherins, he often seemed like an old man who neglected their house.
"I don't even know what's right anymore..."
The lines between good and evil had blurred to the point where they were indistinguishable.
Sometimes, it felt as if all sides were equally corrupt.
And yet, the idea of taking Mirabel's hand was tempting—almost irresistibly so.
Edith still cherished the four years they had spent together.
Right and wrong didn't matter.
If her dear friend could smile beside her again, nothing else could compare.
But that path would mean betraying Hermione, Harry, and the others.
"What should I do...?"
Was she really this weak? This indecisive?
Edith covered her face with her hands, overcome by frustration.
"...Hey."
The Prime Minister's residence of the French magical world.
The irritated voice of a man echoed in its grand living room.
But the girl he was addressing—Mirabel—paid no attention, savoring the sautéed foie gras on the plate before her.
Each bite brought a look of satisfaction to her face, her expression radiating the innocent joy of a young girl.
But her appearance was deceiving. This was the very girl who had brought the French Ministry of Magic to its knees.
"Hey, Beresford."
"...…"
For Mirabel, there was nothing more important than enjoying her meal.
She continued to chew her dinner, completely ignoring the man's increasingly irritated tone.
Only after sipping her wine did she finally glance at the source of the noise—none other than Grindelwald.
"How long are you planning to stay like this, Beresford?"
"How long? I only just began my dinner."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it."
Mirabel narrowed her eyes, a mischievous smile curling her lips like that of a playful child.
"You mean, when will I finally invade the British magical world?
Was my promise to reduce it to ashes just an empty threat?"
"It wasn't a lie, was it? You've been stockpiling weapons and even acquiring Muggle arms, haven't you?"
"Then why haven't you attacked yet? Surely everything is ready by now."
Mirabel took another sip of wine and exhaled softly.
Her face, slightly flushed from the drink, carried an air of mysterious allure that contrasted with her youthful appearance.
It was the kind of charm that bewitched and led people astray—a devilish charisma she had always possessed but which had grown exponentially since abandoning the moral path.
Most men would lose all reason the moment they laid eyes on her.
"Now, now, don't rush. Premature actions are never appreciated."
"What are you talking about? It would be easy to invade and destroy them right now, wouldn't it?"
"Of course, it would. But doing so would only earn the people's resentment."
"Resentment? What nonsense. If we're going to turn it all into scorched earth, why would resentment matter? It's all the same if we burn it all to the ground."
"Grindelwald... are you misunderstanding my goals? Do you think I intend to slaughter every magical being in Britain? Yes, I will destroy the magical establishment, but I have no intention of wiping out its inhabitants.
Besides, if everyone is dead, I won't be able to build the new state I desire, will I?"
This surprised Grindelwald.
Mirabel's stated aim was the complete destruction of the magical world, and he had assumed she wouldn't care about the lives of its people.
But apparently, even she gave some thought to the populace, claiming that genocide was not her objective.
"As I've said before, I want to preserve exceptional individuals wherever possible.
What I don't need in my ideal state are harmful incompetents like Dolores Umbridge or Cornelius Fudge—or vile pure-blood supremacists like Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy."
Mirabel's true, unvarnished desire was to keep only the "worthy." She wouldn't deny that.
But even by her standards, the truly exceptional were just a tiny fraction of the population. If she purged everyone else, there would be no nation left.
Thus, she had decided to compromise, cutting away only the "useless" elements that posed a threat.
Using those purges as a warning to instill fear and spur growth among the rest was no bad idea, either.
After all, instilling a dread of becoming like the fallen had long been a fundamental tactic of elitist ideology.
"But what will you do? Destroying a nation is bound to breed resentment."
"Exactly. But that resentment can be minimized—if the destruction is framed as salvation."
Mirabel smirked and snapped her fingers.
An image appeared in the air, depicting Death Eaters and Dementors freely prowling the British magical world, killing people indiscriminately.
Of course, this scene had not yet occurred.
But it was a vision of a future that would inevitably come to pass if Voldemort were left to run rampant.
"For instance... imagine a country where dark wizards and filthy Dementors roam unchecked, and death could come at any moment.
The self-proclaimed emperor ruling over this chaos is a petty man, quick to blame others for his own mistakes and kill them for it.
No doubt he'll also begin hunting Muggle-borns without a second thought, targeting nearly a third of the magical population.
Tell me, Grindelwald, would you want to live in such a nation?"
"…No, I wouldn't."
"Exactly. History has shown this time and again—when a nation becomes unbearable, its people sometimes wish for the strangest thing: to be conquered by an enemy."
Ultimately, the act of invasion itself wouldn't change.
Thinking that all the people's emotions could be altered was far too optimistic.
However, there was a vast difference between invading a peaceful country without provocation and toppling a hellish, corrupt state that had become a nightmare for its inhabitants.
Targeting Voldemort's pure-blood supremacist faction for purges would draw far less backlash, too.
And this was why Mirabel waited.
"You… I see now. You plan to hand the British magical world over to Voldemort, don't you?"
"Precisely. As I told Dumbledore, I have no use for a rotting Ministry of Magic.
Let Voldemort have it—it's the perfect toy for him. I'm sure he'll have a grand time playing with it."
The people would grow resentful, filled with hatred.
They would live in fear, trapped in a world inhospitable to anyone but pure-blood supremacists.
…And that was fine.
Let the pure-blood fanatics gather in one place.
Let them revel in their arrogance, oblivious to the fact that they were a mere minority.
Their oppression would stoke resentment, and that resentment would make Mirabel's move all the easier.
"He's such a conveniently clear-cut villain. Let him remain evil to the end.
And when I execute him before the people, I will be hailed as the savior of the nation."
"Savior, huh…"
Grindelwald chuckled darkly and drained his wine.
Could there be anyone in the world less suited to the word "savior" than this woman?
The thought filled him with a mix of amusement and disgust.
Was this what they had aspired to?
Was this where their elitism had ultimately led?
Grindelwald closed his eyes and reflected silently.
—I've never seen a villain greater than you.
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