Wizard World and the Ambitious Girl

"Aguamenti!" Quirrell's desperate water spell rushed toward her.

"Glacius!" Mirabelle's freezing charm turned his attack against him, creating a wall of ice that she immediately shattered with her staff, sending razor-sharp fragments flying back at the professor.

Quirrell threw himself aside, but the moment's delay was all Mirabelle needed.

"Expelliarmus!"

Red light erupted from her wand, and Quirrell's makeshift weapon flew from his grasp. Though it was among the simplest of combat spells, Expelliarmus was devastatingly effective, disarming an opponent in magical combat was tantamount to victory.

As Quirrell stared at his empty hand in horror, Mirabelle drew a second wand from her sleeve with theatrical flair.

"I believe this belongs to you, Professor Quirrell." She held up his original wand—the one she had stolen during their encounter in the Forbidden Forest. "I've come to return your property."

"N-no, please—"

"Prior Incantato!"

The spell forced the wand to repeat its last-used magic—which happened to be the Cruciatus Curse. The torture curse struck Quirrell's body, sending lightning bolts of agony through every nerve.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHH!" His scream could have shattered glass.

"Wonderful! What a delightful voice, Professor! This trip was worth it after all!" Mirabelle's laughter mixed with his shrieks as she kicked him to the ground.

Then, with deliberate malice, she placed her foot on the back of his head, directly on Voldemort's face—and began to grind her heel down.

The Dark Lord, reduced to being stepped on like refuse in the street! The sight of his features contorting with helpless rage sent waves of perverse pleasure through her.

"There, there! How does it feel, Voldemort? How does it feel to lick the shoes of a little girl like me?"

"You... insolent... child..."

"Hehehe... Your time is over, Voldemort. The world is moving toward a new future, and ancient ideologies about blood purity are being swept away. There's no place for you in what's coming."

She would have loved to continue tormenting him, to hear more of his impotent fury, but time was precious. Dumbledore could arrive at any moment.

Raising her wand high, she made her declaration: "Engrave this humiliation into your soul! My name is Mirabelle Beresford, remember it as the name of the one who will destroy you old fools and build a new world!"

The magic that erupted from her staff was breathtaking and terrible, a creature of pure golden flame over ten meters in length. Nine serpentine necks extended from its burning body, each ending in a head with vertical-slit eyes and razor fangs. In mythology, such a beast was called a Hydra.

This was Fiendfyre, cursed flame that required immense skill and magical power to control. In the hands of an inexperienced wizard, it would consume everything, including the caster. That Mirabelle wielded it so casually spoke volumes about her true abilities.

The flame-beast lunged at Quirrell with devastating force.

"AAAAHHHHH! IT BURNS! IT BURNS!" The professor rolled desperately across the stone floor, but the cursed fire clung to him like liquid agony.

Fiendfyre would never extinguish until it had completely consumed its target or was dismissed by its creator, and Voldemort, sharing Quirrell's body, felt every moment of the torture.

The Dark Lord's screams eventually faded to nothing, leaving only Mirabelle's delighted laughter echoing through the chamber.

"AHAHAHAHA! How does it feel? Is the pain exquisite? This must be the first time you've truly suffered, Voldemort!"

Unknown to Mirabelle, Voldemort's soul was anchored by multiple Horcruxes—he could not truly die. But this agony was worse than death itself.

To escape the unbearable torment, Voldemort abandoned Quirrell's body entirely, fleeing as a disembodied spirit. The Philosopher's Stone would have to wait, survival took precedence.

With his master gone, the cursed flames flickered out, leaving behind a broken man.

"Did he... run away?" Mirabelle stared at the spot where Voldemort's presence had vanished. "How disappointing."

"M-Master! Master, where are you? Don't leave me!" Quirrell looked around frantically like an abandoned animal, searching for any trace of his Dark Lord.

His panicked eyes eventually met Mirabelle's cold gaze, and he whimpered in terror.

"Abandoned... how pathetic." She pointed her wand at him with casual menace. "Well, at least I can show mercy. I'll end your suffering quickly."

As golden flames began to gather around her wand, Quirrell fell to his knees in the style of a Japanese prostration, tears streaming down his face.

"Please don't kill me! I'll serve you! I'll do whatever you command! Cleaning, polishing shoes, anything! Just spare my life!"

"The slave mentality runs deep in you, doesn't it?" Mirabelle mused. "I suppose that's what happens to a man who already surrendered to fear once before."

Truthfully, there was little benefit in keeping such a creature alive. While Quirrell possessed considerable skill and talent for deception, he was fundamentally untrustworthy—a man who betrayed one master out of fear would easily betray the next.

But as she considered this, a cruel smile spread across her features. There was magic perfectly suited for handling such problems.

"Very well. Since you were Voldemort's slave and now wish to become my tool, I'll allow you to serve me."

Hope flickered in Quirrell's eyes, but it would soon transform into despair. Even now, he failed to understand the true nature of the girl called Mirabelle—a twisted soul who derived the greatest pleasure from inflicting pain and watching others suffer.

She pulled a bat's wing from her pocket and set it ablaze in her palm. The flames turned blue and were absorbed into her fingernails, which grew longer and took on the same eerie blue coloration. Tiny, writhing tentacles emerged from beneath each nail.

"Um... what are those?" Quirrell asked, staring at the horrific appendages.

"Don't worry, just a little insurance against betrayal. This is my own creation, based on certain knowledge that only I possess. These blue claws will burrow into your body, spreading roots throughout your system and parasitizing you completely."

She explained with the casual tone of someone discussing the weather: "If you ever refuse to obey me or attempt to remove them, they'll change color—from blue to purple to red."

Quirrell felt a mixture of relief and dread. At least the system seemed straightforward—obey and live.

But his relief was horrifically misplaced.

"The moment these claws turn blood-red will mark your end. Your body will be torn apart piece by piece, and each fragment will be transformed... into a mindless insect with no hope of ever returning to human form."

"What?!" The true horror of his situation finally dawned on him.

Some fates were infinitely worse than death. Being unable to die while trapped in the body of a worm was crueler than any execution.

Mirabelle grabbed the fleeing professor by the throat and drove her claws deep into his arm without hesitation.

"Crabbes Celebs." (Slave's Claws)

"GUHHHHH... AAAAHHHHH!" Quirrell's agonized scream filled the chamber as blue parasites forced their way through muscle and bone, spreading throughout his body like infection.

The spell was complete. Quirrell could no longer defy her, technically he could try, but doing so would transform him into something that couldn't even be called alive. It made the Imperius Curse seem merciful by comparison.

"I-impossible..." he whispered.

"Now then, time for you to hide." She pulled a miniature display case from her pocket and enlarged it with magic. "This connects to our cottage on Magnolia Crescent. Father built it as an experiment, but no one uses it anymore. Perfect for keeping you out of sight."

"Y-yes!" Quirrell scrambled into the cabinet and vanished.

She shrunk it back to miniature size and tucked it away. I could have simply given him the Philosopher's Stone and been done with it, but... the stone's power might be able to break the curse. I can't risk losing such a useful puppet.

"Everything is proceeding perfectly," she murmured, checking her pocket watch. Only four minutes had passed since her arrival, six minutes remained before Dumbledore's expected appearance.

She walked over to the unconscious Harry and carefully extracted the stone from his clenched fist. The prize was finally hers.

"Perhaps I have time for a bit more fun—"

"I'm afraid your time is up, Mirabelle."

The voice from behind her sent ice through her veins. She spun around to find an elderly wizard in emerald robes standing in the doorway.

Blue eyes twinkled behind half-moon spectacles, and a silver beard flowed down to his waist. His very presence seemed to fill the chamber with quiet authority.

Impossible... not even five minutes have passed!

She had ordered every entrance blocked, set elaborate traps, even mobilized Peeves to cause chaos. The room had been secured with mind-controlled beasts and magical barriers designed to delay even the most powerful wizard.

She hadn't underestimated Dumbledore—she had calculated his abilities carefully and predicted it would take twenty minutes to break through, then revised that estimate down to ten minutes for safety.

But he had cut through all of it in half that time!

"It took considerable effort to navigate your traps," Dumbledore said mildly. "Truly impressive work for someone so young."

"Headmaster Dumbledore." She kept her voice steady despite the shock. "You're earlier than expected."

"I was worried about Harry. I rushed back and was quite surprised to find that Voldemort had already been dealt with. However..." His eyes fixed on the stone in her hand. "I'm afraid I must ask you to return that, Mirabelle. It's not something you should possess."

I need to revise my assessment completely. I didn't overestimate him—I underestimated him by three-quarters. No wonder Voldemort feared this man. No wonder he commands such respect throughout the wizarding world.

This was Albus Dumbledore—the greatest wizard of the age, and she was finally face-to-face with her ultimate challenge.

Author's Notes:

DIO: "What a fool, letting your evil deeds be exposed so easily."

Gilgamesh: "You get too cocky and meet a bad end!"

Vegeta: "Idiot! This is what happens when you become overconfident."

This time we've covered three parts: Mirabelle's preparation, her battle with Quirrell (round two), and Dumbledore's arrival. Mirabelle finally got caught red-handed in her villainy. Quirrell's survival remains hidden for now.

Next time: the conclusion of the Philosopher's Stone arc.

Cravus Celebs (Slave's Claws) Dark magic created by Mirabelle based on knowledge from her previous life. It parasitizes the target's body and spreads roots throughout. If the target rebels, it explodes inside them and destroys them, turning each piece of flesh into an insect while denying them even death. Modeled after a certain cursed technique, with the name translated into Latin for appropriate gravitas.