Chapitre 52: Chapter 48: Dilemma
As Mirabel stepped through its doors and returned home, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed.
It was her mother, Mavis Beresford, who came to greet her with a beaming smile.
Mavis, who adored her daughter, always eagerly awaited Mirabel's return. But this year, she seemed even more thrilled than usual.
Mirabel had come back for Christmas break, as she did every year, but her mother's joy this time was extraordinary.
"Welcome home, Mirabel! Oh, my dear, sweet Mirabel! How is school life treating you? Are you enjoying it?"
"Yes, no issues at all, Mother."
Mirabel handed her luggage to a servant and headed to the living room.
However, Heathcote and Simon, who were always present until last year, were nowhere to be seen.
At the end of the previous year, the two had mysteriously fallen ill and lost consciousness.
Now, they rarely woke up and lived bedridden at St. Mungo's.
…Or so Mavis had been told.
The truth was, there was no illness. Heathcote was already dead.
A year ago, he had been offered as a sacrifice in a ritual performed by Mirabel herself, leaving this world at her hands.
What remained at St. Mungo's was merely an empty shell—his life force sustained unnaturally without a soul.
"Say, Mirabel… Is that boy—Potter—still claiming 'He Who Must Not Be Named' has returned?"
"Yes. And as usual, he's being labeled a liar."
"I see..."
Mavis lowered her long lashes and sighed with a melancholic air.
She was one of the few who secretly believed in Harry's words.
Though initially skeptical, her perspective changed due to the influence of her beloved husband.
"Mirabel... I can't help but feel that what he says might be true.
If it weren't, there's no way he would have collapsed.
...This isn't some illness—I can feel it. Someone attacked him."
"..."
Mavis was correct.
Heathcote's state was not due to illness but an assault.
Yet, she could not realize that the assailant was none other than her beloved daughter.
"By the way, Mirabel, what happened to your personal maid, Mary?"
"...She mentioned having something she wished to pursue, so I granted her leave. I have no idea where she is now or what she's doing."
"I see."
Mavis did not press further and lowered her gaze in sorrow once again.
Avoiding her mother's gaze, Mirabel recalled the events of the past year—before she conducted the ritual.
"Mary Orwell. You are to play a critical role in this ritual."
"Critical... role?"
Mary Orwell, a maid serving the Beresford family, was visibly perplexed.
The girl she served—Mirabel—had summoned her and made this abrupt, grave announcement.
It was sudden, selfish, and typical of Mirabel.
Though caught off guard, Mary awaited her mistress's next words without protest.
"There's something essential for the ritual. I have most of what I need, but one thing remains out of reach.
I require your assistance to obtain it."
"I see… But if you can't obtain it, my lady, how could I possibly…?"
"No, it must be you."
Mary already knew what Mirabel was planning.
Patricide. Mirabel had finally turned her fangs against her own family, intending to claim their lives.
It was no surprise.
Ever since that fateful day in childhood, when the kind girl she once was had vanished, Mirabel had been nothing short of a demon.
No, Mirabel had been born a demon.
Thus, she spoke without the slightest hint of mercy.
"I require the blood and life of a virgin. But I will not taint my ritual with the blood of some insignificant girl.
Therefore, I command you… Die for me, Mary."
"…"
Mary pressed her lips tightly together.
She had always known.
She had sensed, deep down, that this day would come.
Her mistress neither needed nor sought anyone.
Even someone who had been by her side since childhood would eventually be cast aside without hesitation.
She had always known this.
"...As you wish, my lady."
"Good girl."
Mirabel smiled with satisfaction, running her fingers through Mary's hair.
With an alluring gaze that could captivate even women, she looked at her maid.
"Don't worry, Mary. If all goes well, resurrecting a life will be a trivial matter.
I'll ensure you're brought back to life.
After all, I wouldn't waste such a useful servant as you."
"...I am… grateful, my lady."
A servant. A servant, nothing more.
Mary let a self-deprecating, sorrowful smile cross her face.
Despite spending her entire life alongside Mirabel, she had never been her friend.
She had never been her support.
No, Mirabel had no need for friends.
With the sole exception of a girl long gone, Mirabel needed nothing and no one.
"And one more thing, Mary—I have another vital task for you."
"Another task?"
"Yes. After your death, I will reconstruct your body using the power of the Philosopher's Stone.
Though your body will remain human, its capabilities will be second to none in the world."
"Does that mean…"
"You catch on quickly. Using that body, you will deceive everyone.
It's a role only you, who has observed me since childhood, can fulfill."
Mary instantly grasped the role being demanded of her.
It was true—given what Mirabel intended to accomplish, such a role was indispensable.
And she alone could fulfill it.
To prevent unnecessary interference, Mirabel Beresford needed to remain at school, just as she always had.
"A Power Worthy of the Task"
"I'll bestow a fitting power upon you.
A parasitic fragment of my own soul is fused with me... I shall grant you a piece of it.
With it, though you may not match me, you will wield power near my level."
The strength of a wizard is largely tied to their soul.
For instance, Dark wizards who acquire new bodies through magic do not lose their magical prowess because their souls retain the memory of their power.
It is said that Tom Riddle, appearing as a fragment of a soul in a diary during the second year, still wielded magic.
If part of Mirabel's soul could be transferred, wielding that power would not be impossible—even if the notion of a "parasite" remains unclear.
"Will you do it?"
This wasn't a question but a statement of confirmation.
Mirabel had already decided Mary would comply.
In Mirabel's twisted psyche, her plans and beliefs were absolute truth. Her self-assured tyranny left no room for others' emotions.
As expected, Mary did not shake her head in defiance.
"If it is your will, my lady," she murmured.
When Mary first became conscious of the world, her parents were long gone.
At the orphanage, she had no friends and always stood alone.
Even after being taken in by the Beresford family, she remained alone because her mistress never sought companionship.
Yet Mary found purpose in serving Mirabel. That alone defined her existence, and she believed it with all her heart, devoting herself fully.
Now, however, her heart wavered. The thought of deceiving everyone caused it to scream in anguish.
Why? Because she had come to understand friendship and its warmth.
"Mirabel? Hey, Mirabel!"
"Huh?!"
"What's wrong? You seemed lost in thought."
Mirabel blinked and snapped out of her reverie.
She had been dwelling too deeply in the past.
Next to her, Edith peered with concern, her face close.
Perhaps she had been too distracted during lunch.
"Ah, it's nothing. I was just... remembering something from long ago."
"Are you sure? Maybe you're overworked?"
"Perhaps. Hogwarts these days is exhausting even when you do nothing."
At Mirabel's comment, Edith gave a bitter laugh in agreement.
"Umbridge's Reign"
The dreadful headline read:
"Dolores Umbridge Appointed as Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Every student knew the weight of this news.
The catalyst was the discovery of Dumbledore's Army (DA), an underground resistance led by Harry Potter.
When Umbridge uncovered it, Dumbledore shielded the students, resulting in his expulsion from Hogwarts.
Some blamed Marietta Edgecombe, who betrayed the DA. Others held Cho Chang accountable for pressuring Marietta to join.
Regardless, the damage was done.
With Dumbledore gone, Umbridge's influence consumed Hogwarts.
She dismantled the prefect system and created a new hierarchy: the Inquisitorial Squad.
Members, mainly Slytherin students, were granted unprecedented authority to deduct points at will.
Reasons ranged from the trivial to the absurd:
"You're a Weasley,""You're a Mudblood,"
"I just don't like you."
The system was a blatant misuse of power, eroding the fairness of the house points system entirely.
"I hate this! I'll confront them!" Edith burst out.
"Don't," Mirabel warned. "You'll only make yourself a target."
The Inquisitorial Squad's antics were infuriating, but opposing them would only invite trouble.
There's nothing worse than fools drunk on power.
"For now, it's best to leave them be. A clash between Slytherins isn't what you want, is it?"
"Well... no, you're right," Edith admitted reluctantly.
Her initial frustration melted into subtle joy.
Mirabel's words, though pragmatic, carried a protective undertone: Harm Edith, and I'll retaliate.
Mirabel noticed Edith's expression and raised an eyebrow but pressed on.
"They're just puppets being used. Even if we stop them, someone else will take their place.
The only one we need to remove is Umbridge herself."
If Umbridge fell, order would be restored.
The question wasn't how to stop her squad.
It was how to bring down Dolores Umbridge.
"The Fireworks Fiasco"
"By the way, the Weasley twins…"
Edith began to say something, seemingly recalling a thought.
But before she could continue, a sudden, deafening explosion reverberated through the floor, interrupting her words. The ground shook violently, followed by the rising commotion of students shouting from the floor below.
The Great Hall was soon abuzz as curious students rushed to see what was happening.
"…Ah, Hermione mentioned they were up to something…"
"Looks like they wasted no time putting it into action."
There was no doubt about it—the Weasley twins were behind this.
Mirabel and Edith exchanged knowing glances before following the other students out of the hall and down to the dungeons.
What greeted them there was a scene of utter chaos: fiery dragon-shaped fireworks darting wildly up and down the stairs. Not one or two, but dozens of these magical dragons filled the space, scattering sparks everywhere as they flew.
"What… what is this…? Eek!"
A massive firework in the shape of a rat, about 1.5 meters in diameter, zipped past a bewildered and horrified Umbridge, scattering flames in its wake. The rat's fiery trail ignited another rocket firework rigged on the floor, causing it to shoot across the room.
The resulting chain reaction of firecrackers created a cacophony of explosions, each burst revealing yet another set of fireworks.
"Filch! Do something quickly, or this will spread throughout the entire school!
Stupefy! Stun them!"
A red bolt of light shot from Umbridge's wand, striking one of the rocket fireworks.
But instead of stopping it, her spell triggered a powerful explosion, worsening the chaos.
"No! Filch, stunning them is useless!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
Although Umbridge was the one casting spells, she tried to shift the blame onto Filch, as if he were responsible. But as a Squib, Filch couldn't perform magic, making her deflection absurd.
Unwilling to admit her own incompetence, she foolishly kept barking orders.
Next, she tried a Vanishing Spell on one of the dragon fireworks.
The result?
The dragon split into ten smaller dragons, each just as unruly, now multiplying the mayhem.
It became apparent that the fireworks were designed to counter spells, rendering them even more uncontrollable with each attempt.
"Filch! Don't use vanishing spells!"
"Understood, Headmistress Umbridge!"
Frustrated but undeterred, Umbridge attempted a Disarming Charm on a firework.
This backfired spectacularly, causing the targeted firework to grow to enormous proportions and slam its oversized body into the walls and ceiling.
"Filch!!"
"My apologies, Headmistress!"
Each spell cast made the situation worse.
Explosions. Multiplications. Giant fiery monstrosities.
The Weasley twins had crafted something truly terrifying. Or perhaps, it was their sheer genius in creating such ingenious chaos that was more fearsome.
The disastrous scene unfolded: spells only exacerbated the fireworks' antics.
Yet, the teaching staff, including Professor McGonagall, seemed entirely unconcerned.
In fact, McGonagall watched with faint amusement as she approached Edith.
"Miss Lineagle, would you kindly inform the Headmistress that some fireworks have escaped into the adjacent classroom?"
"O-Of course!"
Naturally, any of the professors could have easily dealt with the fireworks.
But none of them made any effort to do so.
Why?
Officially, it was uncertain whether they had the authority to interfere.
Unofficially, they simply loathed Umbridge and had no desire to help her.
"Prefects! Why are you just standing there?! Move!"
Umbridge's frantic orders echoed through the chaos, but they fell on deaf ears.
Her proud Inquisitorial Squad, handpicked for their loyalty, stood paralyzed with fear, trembling uselessly.
They were, after all, a collection of sycophants who thrived only on borrowed power. It was no surprise they proved utterly ineffective in a real crisis.
In the end, Umbridge spent her first day as Headmistress chasing down fireworks, overwhelmed by the havoc the Weasley twins had unleashed.
Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon
https://patreon.com/Glimmer09
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone