Kapitel 58: Chapter 54: A Clash of Three Forces
Effortlessly, as if exhaling, he unleashed the Killing Curse, the deadliest of all spells.
The curse flew straight toward Dumbledore, but he dodged swiftly, causing the spell to smash into a guard's desk, shattering it to pieces.
Seizing this opportunity, Dumbledore moved his wand with remarkable precision.
The sheer power of the spell that erupted from Dumbledore's wand was so intense that even Harry, watching from a distance, felt his hair stand on end.
But Voldemort conjured a silver shield mid-air to deflect it, and Mirabel evaded the attack with inhuman speed.
In the blink of an eye, her form blurred into a golden flash, and before anyone could register it, she had already maneuvered behind Voldemort.
The Dark Lord, however, spun on the spot and vanished, reappearing behind Mirabel to unleash a torrent of flames. She batted the fire aside with her bare hands, effortlessly.
"Not trying to kill me, Dumbledore?"
Even now, with the stakes at their highest, Voldemort snarled in frustration at Dumbledore's refusal to use the Killing Curse.
"Does such barbarity not suit you?"
"As you well know, Tom," Dumbledore replied in a calm voice, "there are other ways to bring about the end of a man."
He flicked his wand, and the statues scattered around the room rose to their feet, coming to life.
Statues of warriors, summoned by the greatest wizard the magical world had ever known. Their enchanted forms repelled spells and wielded strength far beyond that of any human—a secret art, lethal to even the most formidable wizards.
Obeying the command of their creator, the mighty statues charged fearlessly.
"Indeed, simply ending your life would bring me little satisfaction."
"There's nothing crueller than death, Dumbledore!"
"You are gravely mistaken," Dumbledore said, his voice steady.
A centaur statue galloped in front of Dumbledore, intercepting Voldemort's spell. But Voldemort wasn't the only adversary on the battlefield.
The golden-haired girl crushed, shredded, and smashed the approaching statues without hesitation, scattering their remnants.
"So that's why you sought immortality, is it?"
Mirabel's voice dripped with scorn as she addressed Voldemort.
"How pitiful... How utterly pathetic, Dark Lord.
In the end, you're nothing but a coward afraid of death."
She extended all ten fingers as though they were wands, unleashing an unrelenting barrage of spells:
Death. Paralysis. Disarming. Petrification. Explosion. Destruction.
Each spell was imbued with lethal power, fired with the speed of a machine gun. The statues were obliterated, the walls shattered, the floor gouged out, and even shield charms groaned under the strain before breaking.
Deflecting the onslaught, Voldemort gritted his teeth, his face twisted in anguish.
This girl... This wretched child...!Has she grown even stronger than the last time we fought!?
There was a critical difference between Dumbledore, Voldemort, and Mirabel.
It was a simple matter: Mirabel was young.
She was in her prime, an unfinished work in progress, a golden age of growth.
But she had halted her own time.
She had forsaken the possibility of further growth, or so it seemed.
Yet, what if one considered it differently?
What if she was in an eternal state of growth?
An incomplete, unrefined existence.
It meant there was no endpoint—no limit.
She remained in the stage of youth, a time of unparalleled adaptability and potential.
If that unique trait had been preserved...
Wouldn't that make her a monster with infinite potential for growth?
"...Impossible!"
Voldemort shook off the unsettling thought that crossed his mind.
No, it couldn't be. Such a being couldn't exist.
Desperate to suppress his fear, he strengthened his shield spell.
Even the word "tremendous" felt inadequate to describe the relentless storm of spells that followed. Yet Dumbledore remained unfazed.
With a single flick of his wand, he deflected the barrage and pushed it back.
Mirabel was repelled by the force and slammed into a wall.
From the tip of Dumbledore's wand, a whip-like flame extended, coiling around the girl.
But she tore through even that with ease, a faint smirk on her face.
"I understand now," Mirabel said, her voice cold.
"You two cannot defeat me."
With a single stride, she reached Dumbledore in the blink of an eye, raising her arm to strike.
Her claws, sharp enough to tear through steel like paper, slashed downward. But before they could touch him, a slight movement of Dumbledore's wand conjured a shield charm that deflected her attack.
Seizing this moment, countless serpents coiled around her arms.
Summoned by the Dark Lord, a hundred serpents swarmed toward the tyrant.
Venomous fangs descended, leaving no room for escape. The clash continued in a fleeting instant.
Time Stay
What awaited at the end was the lifeless, shredded remains of serpents, destroyed without a fraction of a second's difference in timing.
It was a result of the extraordinary ability devised by the girl—a technique that transcended reason itself: the power to freeze the "time" of the world.
With a swift motion, her thin leg delivered a kick that sent Dumbledore flying. The sheer force shattered his protective shield spell, proving she was far from human. Had it been anyone but Dumbledore, that strike would have meant certain death.
"No matter how noble your ideals may seem, Dumbledore, in the end, you're just a man trapped by the past. A man who fled from his mistakes, cowered in fear, and halted his progress.
How could someone like you, stuck in the past, hope to stop someone like me, who moves ever forward?"
From behind the girl, fiery serpents lunged at her.
But a golden nine-headed dragon emerged, meeting and subduing them. In an instant, she closed the distance to Voldemort, conjuring multiple spells in her right arm.
Anticipating her assault, Voldemort immediately disapparated, but she predicted his move, appearing again right before him.
"And you, Voldemort, are nothing more than a lamb trembling in fear of death.
But I am different! I embraced the path of immortality to achieve eternal dominion! You, who sought immortality merely to escape death, can never surpass me, who attained it for the sake of power!"
Her spell shattered his defensive shield, cracking his wand and sending his body hurtling away.
But as she was recovering, Dumbledore's paralyzing spell struck her squarely. Yet the golden aura surrounding her did not waver. Even as her body was blasted back, she retaliated with magic, forcing Dumbledore into retreat. His shield buckled under the pressure, and the ground beneath him was carved away as he was pushed further back.
She was impervious to curses. Unaffected by spells of disarmament, paralysis, submission, or even death. Fire, water, ice—all were effortlessly repelled.
In this three-way battle, the battlefield itself gave her the ultimate advantage.
Both Dumbledore and Voldemort were bound by the limitations of human physicality. They had to constantly remain vigilant against attacks from all directions.
But Mirabel was different. Her speed, surpassing even the wind, allowed her to close gaps in an instant. Her magic, cast without a wand, needed no preparation.
Her vampiric resistance to magic meant she could endure spells that would devastate others, granting her unmatched freedom of movement.
What appeared to be a balanced standoff was, in truth, a tipping scale—and it was tilting in Mirabel's favor.
A Monster
Yes, Harry thought, deeply shaken.
Voldemort, and even Dumbledore.
Despite both being considered the most powerful wizards in the magical world, they were being pushed back by a single girl.
Perhaps the outcome would have been different in a one-on-one battle.
But in this three-way struggle, the situation was overwhelmingly unfavorable for the two.
That they had held their ground this far was a testament to their extraordinary prowess.
Had it been anyone else, they would have already perished.
Fear gripped Harry.
A fear so profound that it made his legs tremble and his teeth chatter uncontrollably.
Even when he had faced Voldemort and his Death Eaters in the past, he had never felt terror on this scale.
Now, merely watching this girl filled him with dread.
What could he possibly do?
He, "The Boy Who Lived," was shaking and helpless, doing nothing but cower in fear.
And yet, if he did nothing now, it would all be too late.
Even if it was something small… he wanted to help Dumbledore in any way he could.
Driven by desperate determination, he pointed his wand and shouted:
"E-Expelliarmus!"
It was a reckless and impulsive act—nothing short of suicidal.
To interfere in the battle of these three with his level of skill was pure folly.
The spell hit Mirabel, but she showed no signs of being affected. She simply turned her gaze to Harry.
"Did you… do something just now?"
"…!!"
No, this was impossible.
Just meeting her gaze made him feel like a small, insignificant creature.
Like a mouse thrown before a lion.
Anything—any magic—something to stop this monster!
"Crucio! Suffer!"
In his fear, Harry cast the Cruciatus Curse—a spell he knew should never be used on another person.
It was an act he would never have considered under normal circumstances, no matter the enemy.
But instead of being angered, Mirabel only laughed, her expression filled with twisted delight.
"Ahahaha… Good, Potter. I do love that about you.
No matter how much you preach about morality, when it matters, you act. You're not bound by foolish ideals and can resort to ruthless attacks.
But you're still too soft—far too soft. Listen, Potter, when you cast the Cruciatus Curse, you need malice. The desire to cause suffering. Let me show you how it's done."
"Wha—!?"
As she spoke, Mirabel cast a spell at Harry.
The moment it hit, he felt an unbearable pain unlike anything he had ever experienced.
It was pain that defied description—agony that consumed him entirely.
It was as if his flesh was being flayed, his nerves exposed and scraped raw, his bones crushed. Burning heat, searing cold, stabbing, slicing, twisting—all forms of torment descended on him at once.
He wanted it to end. He begged silently for death, believing it preferable to this unimaginable suffering.
Finally, the pain ceased, and Harry collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air.
"This is the true 'Cruciatus Curse.' Next time you cast it, imagine this pain first."
Mirabelle whispered, lifting her hand toward Harry. He was the protagonist, the central figure whose survival carried the story forward. But Mirabelle cared nothing for such concerns. She had no interest in how the world unfolded—she intended to destroy it anyway.
Typically, someone with "original knowledge" would never commit such an act—killing the protagonist. They would avoid it to maintain the integrity of the story. But Mirabelle wasn't here to preserve the tale; she sought to obliterate it.
Thus, hesitation was meaningless.
"Voltāge Lyraid!"
A blue electric flash struck Mirabelle, causing her body to stiffen momentarily. It was a signature spell—her own creation, a technique no one else could replicate. At least, no one other than Mary Orwell, her loyal servant who shared an almost identical artificial body.
But now, for the first time, Mirabelle realized there was a third person capable of wielding it.
Surprised, Mirabelle turned her gaze toward the caster, Edith, who stood glaring at her with teary but resolute eyes.
"...I'm impressed, Leinagle. When did you learn to wield that spell?"
"This child... my dear friend taught me," Edith replied, her voice steady despite her tears.
"A dear friend, is it?" Mirabelle murmured.
"Ah, I see. Mary must have grown fond of you to teach you such a spell behind my back."
Rather than anger, Mirabelle spoke with calm curiosity. Edith's attack felt to her like little more than a minor act of defiance, almost endearing in its futility.
But while she found the resistance amusing, Mirabelle was merciless in her resolve. She raised a finger toward Edith, who quickly readied her wand.
"Stupefy!"
"Protego Maxima! Absolute Defense!"
The scarlet light of the Stunning Spell was deflected by the shimmering barrier that appeared before Edith. It was the pinnacle of defensive magic, a spell far beyond what someone of her age should have been able to cast.
Even Mirabelle, who prided herself on her knowledge, could not help but admire Mary's teaching prowess.
"Hah, she taught you that too, did she? Quite a complex spell, even for a skilled wizard... Perhaps Mary had a knack for teaching after all."
Glancing briefly at her fallen servant, Mirabelle revised her estimation of Mary. It was a surprising talent, one she might have utilized differently if she'd known.
"But now, let's see how you handle this," Mirabelle continued. "Physical defenses can be bypassed."
A silvery arm materialized in the air—a spectral construct hurtling toward Edith. It was an offensive Patronus, meant to overwhelm its target.
Quickly, Edith summoned her own Patronus, intercepting Mirabelle's attack and nullifying it. Watching her counter, Mirabelle laughed, her voice brimming with amusement.
"Impressive... Truly impressive. That in just one year, you've come this far, despite being taught by a mere shadow of me."
"...What are you saying?"
"But surely you've realized, Edith," Mirabelle continued, her tone shifting to something almost affectionate. "The vast chasm that exists between your power and mine."
It was an irrefutable truth. The strength Edith had gained only served to highlight the insurmountable gap between her and Mirabelle.
"Submit to me, Edith Leinagle. Your young life, your exceptional talent—it would be a waste to let it end here."
"...!"
"There is no need for you to perish alongside Dumbledore and Voldemort. Come with me! You alone are worthy of standing by my side."
For a fleeting moment, Edith was tempted to take the hand Mirabelle offered.
If only she could abandon reason and accept that invitation, how much easier life would be. Memories of the four years she'd spent with Mirabelle flashed through her mind, shaking her resolve.
"You must have realized over this past year how foolish those who call themselves the leaders of the magical world truly are. You've felt the anger at their incompetence, haven't you?"
Edith froze.
Mirabelle's words struck a nerve.
It was true. The Ministry's ineptitude had infuriated her more times than she could count. She had raged at the headlines in the newspapers, despaired at their absurdity, and wished they would all resign.
Honestly, the world might be better off if they did.
"That... that's..."
"It's because of their incompetence that Voldemort and I could infiltrate so easily. How can such fools have any right to lead the wizarding world?
Or perhaps..." Mirabelle leaned in closer.
"Tell me, Leinagle—do you really want to side with those idiots and stand against me?"
Those words shook her.
Edith's resolve, her determination, and even her sense of right and wrong wavered. Everything was thrown into doubt. Into this crack in her heart, Mirabelle's voice slipped, smooth and compelling.
"I will build it for you. I will create it for you—a world that isn't rotting from the inside out, where people aren't judged by the circumstances of their birth. I will change everything.
And you, Edith Leinagle, you deserve to live in that world. Take my hand."
Her emotions whispered to her: Take that hand. You want to laugh with your friend again, don't you?
Her rationality added: Resistance is futile. Taking her hand is the wise choice.
But deep within her, another voice screamed: The path with her is the path of betraying Harry and the others.
While Edith wrestled with her emotions, a panicked voice cut through the tension.
"Wh-what is the meaning of this?! What's going on in my Ministry of Magic?!"
It was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, accompanied by a large number of Aurors.
At the sight of him, Mirabelle's demeanor changed entirely.
Like a hunter spotting long-sought prey, her face twisted into a savage grin, brimming with anger and hatred. She leapt forward like a ravenous beast.
"Run, Cornelius!"
Dumbledore's voice rang out, but Fudge, clumsy and confused, couldn't move.
The Aurors around him tried to counterattack, casting spells at Mirabelle, but they were useless.
Golden and unstoppable, the devil tore through them, slicing down anyone in her path. She severed necks, pierced hearts, dismembered bodies, slashed throats, and crushed skulls.
A crimson hell unfolded in the Ministry halls as she closed in on Fudge, tearing his entire body apart until nothing remained but shredded meat.
"A-ah..."
Percy Weasley, the sole survivor, collapsed in terror, shaking uncontrollably. Dumbledore pounded the floor in frustration, helpless to stop the massacre.
Amid the carnage, Mirabelle remained composed. She calmly cleaned the blood from herself with magic before turning her attention to Percy. Raising her hand toward him, she prepared to strike.
"STOP!!!"
Harry's voice, trembling with rage, echoed through the hall as he rushed forward.
In his desperation, he cast a Severing Charm.
For the first time, it was the right choice.
Fueled by sheer determination, the spell unleashed unprecedented power, slicing cleanly through Mirabelle's wrist and severing her hand.
"...!"
For the first time since the battle began, Mirabelle's face betrayed genuine surprise.
She hadn't expected Harry's skill to be enough to wound her, let alone sever her hand.
For a moment, she stared at the stump of her wrist. Then, as if to flaunt her power, she regrew her hand before their eyes.
"!?"
"What the...!?"
It was an impossible sight. Something no human should be capable of.
And at that moment, Dumbledore, Harry, and Edith finally understood.
They realized the horrifying truth behind her words.
She was no longer human.
"I must admit, Harry Potter, you've surprised me. Truly, I underestimated you. I thought I had accounted for your explosive potential, but it seems you've surpassed even that."
"...You monster..."
"Indeed," she replied, smiling coldly. "A monster that you'll never defeat."
As she spoke, Mirabelle began to glow, her golden hair flowing like waves, her very presence radiating crushing pressure. She didn't need to cast spells—her mere existence overwhelmed them.
Finally, the monster revealed her true nature. Her gleaming, crazed eyes shone with madness as she flipped her blood-stained robes and launched herself at the young hero.
"Damn it!"
Dumbledore cast a spell from his wand, with Voldemort following suit.
Yet Mirabel dodged their attacks with ease, turning her focus to Voldemort as if he were nothing but an obstacle. She swung her arm, and crimson blood splattered. Voldemort's arm went limp.
It must have been a blow that severed not just flesh but bone as well. While Voldemort's magic would likely heal the wound easily, losing the use of an arm in the heat of battle was a dire setback.
Mirabel followed up by disarming Dumbledore with a spell, sending his wand flying. Before he could retrieve it, she closed the distance, aiming to pierce his heart with a thrust of her arm.
Dumbledore barely managed to dodge, but the gap in speed between a human and a monster was too great.
The second strike came immediately, slashing deeply into Dumbledore's leg and forcing the elderly wizard to the ground.
And as she prepared to unleash a fatal third blow, her arm was suddenly grabbed by someone.
"…Why do you stop me, Grindelwald?"
"You've toyed with them enough, Beresford. It's time to stop. Too many are gathering here."
The one who had stopped her was a stunningly handsome young man with golden hair—Grindelwald, as she had called him.
Like Mirabel, he was dressed in crimson robes, and his sharp teeth glinted when he spoke.
Dumbledore's face twisted with shock the moment he recognized the young man.
"Y-you… No… it can't be…"
"…It's been a long time, my old friend. But now is not the time for reminiscing."
Ignoring Dumbledore's murmurs of disbelief, the young man tightened his grip on Mirabel's arm.
She scowled, clearly displeased that her "fun" had been interrupted, but the young man showed no signs of backing down.
Mirabel pressed her claws to his neck, slowly pushing them into his flesh.
Crimson blood trickled down, and a flicker of pain crossed the young man's face.
"Explain yourself… Why do you interfere?"
"I'm telling you, this isn't the place for games. Have you forgotten our goal? To lead France and Germany in the destruction of Britain's magical world."
"I don't understand. Why stop me from killing Dumbledore? Without him, bringing down Britain's magical world would be significantly easier."
Mirabel drove her claws deeper, eliciting a spurt of blood from the young man's mouth.
His face glistened with sweat, but he remained calm and spoke evenly.
"Because he's mine. I joined you for the sole purpose of settling my score with Dumbledore.
If you try to take that from me… I won't stay silent."
"…"
A tense standoff ensued.
Mirabel exuded a deadly aura, but Grindelwald met her gaze with cool indifference.
After a few seconds, it was Mirabel who relented. She sighed softly and withdrew her claws from his neck.
"Hmph… Whatever your reasoning, fighting you here achieves nothing.
This time, I'll defer to your judgment."
"You have my thanks."
"But mark my words—interfere with me again, and I won't let it slide."
"…I understand."
With a faint look of irritation, Mirabel closed her eyes and retracted her claws.
The golden light that had engulfed the Department of Mysteries faded, releasing everyone from its oppressive weight.
"You're lucky today, Dumbledore. I'll withdraw for now.
But surely, you've realized the vast gulf between us."
Mirabel turned gracefully and began to walk away.
She wasn't leaving because she didn't expect an attack from behind.
She simply didn't care. To her, it wouldn't matter. She was certain no one could kill her.
"I'll say this clearly: the only path ahead for those who defy me is death.
But I admire those with talent.
Swear allegiance to me, and I will spare all but Voldemort.
If you desire it, I can even grant you eternal life."
Her voice was almost merciful, sweet and gentle, yet entirely self-serving.
It was the lure of a tyrant—caring nothing for the feelings or circumstances of others, but still possessing an irresistible and terrifying allure.
"Consider it carefully: will you choose to defy me and die, or to follow me and live in a new future?"
Mirabel's gaze briefly locked with Edith's.
Though her words were meant for everyone present except Voldemort and the Death Eaters, they were especially directed at Edith.
Turning on her heel, Mirabel spared one last glance at Edith.
"Reinagle… Think carefully about what I've said."
Whether her words came from genuine sentiment or mere recognition of Edith's potential, Edith couldn't tell.
Confused and overwhelmed by the spiraling chaos, Edith could only watch as Mirabel lifted the body of her doppelgänger.
"Wait," Edith called out instinctively.
Don't take her away—please!
But Edith's desperate plea fell on deaf ears.
Before her very eyes, her former friend vanished with the lifeless form of her shadow.
And the storm passed.
"…It seems we're safe, for now."
Dumbledore exhaled in relief before turning to Voldemort.
The glance he gave was a signal—are we continuing?
Voldemort picked up Bellatrix's wand from the ground but froze as Ministry officials poured into the room.
Apparently, those Mirabel had slain weren't the only ones present.
Clicking his tongue in irritation, Voldemort vanished with a silent Disapparition.
He clearly had no intention of fighting this many reinforcements.
"What a terrifying… truly terrifying girl.
Without question, she's the most dangerous threat in British magical history…"
In a single battle, the devastation had been immense.
Death Eaters and Aurors alike had been slaughtered, their defiance met with merciless violence.
The magical world now faced a new, unprecedented threat—one that belonged to no faction.
From now on, vigilance would be required not only against Voldemort but also against the movements of that girl.
"What will become of us now, Professor Dumbledore?"
"I do not know… This is unlike anything I've faced before.
But still, we must fight. For the future we must protect."
Dumbledore's words sounded as though he was speaking to himself as much as to anyone else.
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