Ch: 20

After that incident, the relationship between Mirabelle and Edith became strained. Where they had once spent nearly every day together, that closeness vanished overnight. Edith barely spoke to Mirabelle anymore, her words reduced to clipped acknowledgments when forced to interact.

Neither the Quidditch match nor Slytherin's crushing defeat had affected their friendship. The loss of another student to the mysterious heir hadn't driven them apart either. They never fought, never exchanged harsh words—Edith simply stopped reaching out, and with that single change, their fragile bond crumbled.

They passed each other in the corridors like strangers. Though Mirabelle occasionally caught Edith watching her with unreadable eyes, she never acknowledged these glances. Edith lacked the courage to bridge the gap she'd created, while Mirabelle felt no inclination to compromise.

This cold war stretched on for two months, until one December afternoon just before the Christmas holidays.

Mirabelle was walking down a corridor when a slender figure with flowing silver hair approached from the opposite direction. Sydney Beresford moved with careful grace, his delicate features and pale complexion making him appear almost ethereal—a trait that ran in their family.

"Sister," he said, stopping directly in her path. His voice carried its usual formal tone, though something urgent flickered in his blue eyes.

"Sydney?" Mirabelle raised an eyebrow. "What brings you to find me?"

"Are you aware of the Dueling Club meeting tonight?"

"Ah." Of course she knew about Lockhart's ridiculous venture. The thought of watching that pompous fool make a spectacle of himself held little appeal, especially when she already knew how the evening would unfold.

Sydney, however, seemed genuinely excited about the prospect.

"Will you be attending?" he asked.

"I hadn't planned on it. But if you're participating, it might be amusing to see how much your skills have improved."

A hint of satisfaction crossed Sydney's features. "Thank you for your confidence. I won't disappoint you."

Mirabelle studied her younger brother thoughtfully. While she had no real interest in Lockhart's charade, Sydney remained one of her most useful allies. Monitoring his progress served her interests.

"Very well. I'll attend."

After parting ways with Sydney, Mirabelle made her way to her remaining classes, already anticipating the evening's entertainment.

•~•

"Gather round, everyone! Can you all see me? Excellent!" Professor Lockhart's voice echoed through the Great Hall as he posed dramatically on a golden stage. "Professor Dumbledore has graciously permitted me to establish this dueling club, so that you might all learn to defend yourselves as I have done countless times throughout my illustrious career!"

Each word dripped with theatrical flair, accompanied by sweeping gestures that made Mirabelle want to roll her eyes.

"Allow me to introduce my assistant, Professor Snape!" Lockhart continued with his insufferable grin. "He has generously agreed to help demonstrate proper dueling technique, though I daresay he knows precious little about the finer points of combat. But don't worry, young ones—after our little demonstration, you'll still have your Potions master. No need for concern!"

The smile froze on Lockhart's face as he caught sight of Snape's expression. The Potions master looked murderous, his dark eyes promising retribution for the slight. Even from her position in the crowd, Mirabelle could feel the waves of barely contained fury radiating from him.

Well, she thought with genuine amusement, this should be entertaining.

The demonstration that followed exceeded even her expectations. Snape's disarming spell sent Lockhart flying across the platform in a undignified heap, his wand clattering uselessly to the floor. The Defense professor scrambled to his feet, muttering excuses about being caught off guard, but his face had gone pale beneath his usual tan.

"Excellent demonstration!" Lockhart declared weakly, apparently deciding that discretion was the better part of valor. "Now, let's pair you all up for practice. Professor Snape, if you would assist me?"

Mirabelle watched with interest as the professors moved through the crowd, separating obvious partnerships. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were split apart, much to their visible dismay.

"Mr. Weasley, you'll partner with Mr. Finnigan," Snape announced coolly. "And Potter... you'll face Mr. Malfoy. Let's see how the famous Boy Who Lived handles himself."

His black eyes swept the crowd before settling on Hermione Granger, Gryffindor's brightest student. Mirabelle could practically see the gears turning in the professor's mind. Pairing Granger with a weaker opponent would be too obvious a favoritism, while matching her against an older student would seem unfair.

There was really only one logical choice.

"Miss Granger," Snape said with what might have been anticipation, "you'll duel Miss Beresford."

The color drained from Hermione's face as whispers erupted around them. This would be a battle between the top students of their respective houses—and everyone knew both girls operated far above their year level.

Mirabelle, by contrast, smiled with genuine delight. Finally, something interesting.

"How unexpected," she murmured, moving to face Hermione across the designated dueling space. "I confess, Granger, I've been curious about your abilities for some time."

"The honor is mine," Hermione replied, though her voice trembled slightly.

The attention of nearby students focused on their pairing, creating a small arena of expectant faces. This wasn't just another practice duel—this was a clash between academic rivals, a chance to determine who truly deserved the title of most talented second-year.

"Face your opponents and bow!" Lockhart called out.

The pre-duel bow was a tradition Mirabelle respected, regardless of her opinion of most people. It acknowledged that one's opponent was worthy of formal combat. As she executed a perfect, graceful bow, she noted that Hermione's form was equally proper, if less refined.

Interesting, Mirabelle thought. The girl understands protocol.

"When I count to three, disarm your opponents!" Lockhart shouted. "Just disarmament, mind you—we don't want any accidents! One... two... three!"

Both girls drew their wands simultaneously. Hermione had the advantage in speed—her shorter wand allowed for quicker movements. Mirabelle's walking stick, at seventy-two centimeters, required more deliberate handling.

But what Mirabelle lacked in conventional speed, she made up for with supernatural reflexes and precision.

"Expelliarmus!"

Two red bolts collided midway between them, crackling and canceling each other out in a shower of sparks. The crowd murmured appreciatively.

She's faster than I expected, Mirabelle noted with growing interest. This might actually be enjoyable.

Of course, if she truly wanted to end this quickly, she could overpower Hermione's spell entirely. But where was the fun in that? This was the first interesting opponent she'd faced in months.

"Avifors!" Hermione called out, her wand tracing complex patterns. "Transform!"

The spell shot toward Mirabelle's wand, but she was already moving.

"Vedimilias! Rise!"

A section of the floor lifted between them, intercepting the transformation spell. Instead of turning Mirabelle's wand into a bird, the magic struck the floating stone, creating a bizarre hybrid that flapped uselessly before crashing back down.

Mirabelle laughed, the sound rich with genuine pleasure. "Clever! But you'll need to be more creative than that."

Hermione's response came without hesitation. "Oppugno! Attack!"

She commanded the stone-bird chimera to dive at Mirabelle, but flowers suddenly erupted from beneath the Slytherin's feet.

"Orchideous!"

Thick vines shot upward, ensnaring the attacking creature and sending more tendrils toward Hermione's position.

"Incendio!" Hermione countered, flames bursting from her wand to incinerate the approaching plants.

The exchange drew gasps from their audience. Both girls were displaying magic well beyond their year level, each spell countered with increasing creativity and skill.

"Excellent work, Granger!" Mirabelle called out, her eyes bright with excitement. "You've studied well!"

"Of course I have!" Hermione replied, breathing hard but standing her ground.

"Admirable dedication," Mirabelle said, then stepped forward with inhuman speed. "But you're fighting too by-the-book!"

Before Hermione could react, Mirabelle closed the distance between them and struck upward with her walking stick. The impact sent Hermione's wand flying, leaving her completely defenseless.

Rather than press her advantage, Mirabelle simply held her wand to Hermione's chest and grinned.

"There. One death. If I'd cast a spell just now, this would be over, wouldn't it?"

"That's not fair!" Hermione protested. "You came at me directly!"

"Hmm." Mirabelle tilted her head mockingly. "Professor Lockhart said to disarm our opponents. He never specified how. I'd call this excellent strategy, Granger."

Hermione's cheeks puffed out in frustration, which only made Mirabelle's smirk widen.

Perhaps annoyed by her opponent's composure, Hermione suddenly lunged forward, trying to grab Mirabelle's wand with her bare hands.

Mirabelle caught her by the collar effortlessly and swept Hermione's legs, sending the Gryffindor tumbling to the floor.

"I appreciate your adaptability," Mirabelle said conversationally, "but your movements are still too predictable."

"This is—!" Hermione jumped up and tried again, but Mirabelle simply caught her arm and used a gentle throw that sent her opponent floating through the air before landing hard on the stone floor.

It wasn't magic—just martial arts, using Hermione's own momentum against her.

"Besides," Mirabelle continued, not even breathing hard, "I'm quite confident in my physical abilities as well. There's no scenario where you could defeat me in hand-to-hand combat."

Hermione sat on the ground, tears of frustration gathering in her eyes as she rubbed her bruised tailbone. Still, she didn't give up, and that impressed Mirabelle more than any spell could have.

Remarkable, she thought. Most students would have surrendered by now. This girl has genuine steel in her spine.

The rare pleasure of facing a truly determined opponent filled her with satisfaction. Even inexperienced, Hermione possessed the kind of relentless spirit that made for excellent entertainment.

"Stop! Everyone stop!" Lockhart's panicked voice cut through the hall.

Mirabelle looked over to see chaos erupting around Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. A large snake writhed on the floor between them, its hood flared in aggression.

Ah, she realized. Time for the main event.

"Sorry to interrupt just as things were getting interesting," she murmured to Hermione, offering her a hand up. "Perhaps next time we can continue without interruptions, Granger."

"R-right," Hermione stammered, accepting the help despite everything.

What followed played out exactly as Mirabelle had anticipated. Harry spoke to the snake in Parseltongue, sending it slithering away but revealing his dangerous gift to the entire school. The whispers began immediately—if Harry Potter could speak to serpents, perhaps he really was the Heir of Slytherin.

In the chaos that followed, the dueling club dissolved entirely, leaving students to scatter back to their dormitories with this new, troubling knowledge.

•~•

The revelation of Harry's abilities transformed the school's atmosphere overnight. Where students had once viewed him with admiration or curiosity, now they watched him with suspicion and fear. Parseltongue was the language of Salazar Slytherin himself, a gift supposedly passed down only through his bloodline.

When Justin Finch-Fletchley—who had argued with Harry just days before—became the next victim, found petrified with Harry as the first person on the scene, suspicion hardened into certainty for many students.

But Harry Potter had loyal friends, and they refused to abandon him.

"We need some of the people we're going to transform into," Hermione explained in hushed tones as they huddled in an abandoned bathroom. "Hair will work—it's the easiest to obtain. Obviously, you two should target Crabbe and Goyle. They're Malfoy's loyal followers, so they'll tell him anything."

Harry and Ron exchanged disgusted looks at the prospect of consuming anything connected to those particular Slytherins.

"What about you?" Harry asked. "Whose hair are you planning to use?"

"I already have mine," Hermione declared, producing a small vial from her robes.

Inside, a strand of golden hair caught the light like spun sunlight.

"Whose is that?" Ron asked, though something in Hermione's expression already suggested he wouldn't like the answer.

"Mirabelle Beresford."

Both boys went pale. "Of all people—how did you get that?!"

The idea of obtaining anything from Mirabelle Beresford seemed as impossible and terrifying as plucking a hair from a dragon.

Hermione smiled proudly. "Remember our duel? When she threw me around? Some of her hair caught on my robes. I saved it just in case."

"But Beresford and Malfoy don't get along," Harry protested weakly.

"That doesn't matter. Malfoy is terrified of her. One glare and he'll tell us everything he knows."

Despite their continued misgivings, the plan moved forward. Obtaining hair from Crabbe and Goyle proved ridiculously simple—a pair of chocolate cakes laced with Sleeping Draught, left conspicuously on a staircase banister, was enough to knock them unconscious. The two Slytherins devoured the obviously suspicious treats without a moment's hesitation.

After collecting their samples and hiding the unconscious bodies, the trio returned to their brewing location with their prizes.

"Add the hair now," Hermione instructed, holding three glasses of completed Polyjuice Potion.

Harry's potion turned a sickly brown-green that resembled something unmentionable. Ron's became a dark, muddy color that made him gag just looking at it.

Hermione's transformation liquid, however, became a brilliant, shimmering gold that seemed to glow with its own inner light.

"This isn't fair," Ron complained. "Why does yours look like liquid sunshine while ours look like—"

"Stop complaining and drink!" Hermione interrupted, though she seemed pleased with her potion's appearance. "Mine smells pleasant too."

"Lucky," Harry muttered. "Beresford really is beautiful... in terms of appearance."

They retreated to separate stalls, pinched their noses, and forced down the vile-tasting potions. The transformation process was deeply unpleasant—bones stretching, features reshaping, hair changing color and texture.

When Harry emerged, now wearing Goyle's bulky form and ill-fitting robes, he found Mirabelle—or rather, Hermione disguised as her—waiting outside.

"The transformation worked perfectly," she said, and Harry had to do a double-take. The voice was exactly right, but something felt off.

"You really do look like Beresford," he admitted. "It's strange seeing her act friendly."

"I practiced in the mirror," Hermione replied, spinning to show off the transformation.

Ron emerged as Crabbe, his face a mask of concentration as he tested his new features.

"This is unsettling," he said in Crabbe's low voice. "The disguise is perfect."

Harry and Ron studied their transformed friend carefully. Visually, the transformation was flawless—Hermione had become a perfect replica of Mirabelle Beresford, complete with her ethereal beauty and commanding presence.

But something was missing.

"You need to work on the attitude," Harry said slowly. "Beresford is more... condescending."

"Right!" Hermione straightened and adopted what she thought was a haughty expression. "Well then, enlighten me about what amuses you so! Is this better, Harry?"

"The expression needs to be more arrogant."

"Ha! You pathetic fools! ...How's this?"

Harry and Ron exchanged uncertain looks. The visual transformation was perfect, but this fake Mirabelle lacked something essential—the real Mirabelle's natural intimidating presence, her subtle cruelty, the way she could make someone feel insignificant with just a glance.

This version was too... kind. Too obviously performing rather than simply being.

"There's no time to perfect it," Hermione decided. "As long as we can fool Malfoy, that's enough. Let's go!"

They hurried through the castle's corridors toward the Slytherin dungeons. Hermione seemed to know the way, walking confidently despite never having visited the Slytherin common room before.

As they rounded a corner near the dungeon entrance, they encountered an unexpected obstacle.

"Mirabelle?"

A second-year Slytherin with short brown hair stood before them, her dark eyes sharp with confusion. Among all the students at Hogwarts, Edith Reinagle was the only one who had never feared Mirabelle, the only one who could claim to truly know her.

And right now, she looked suspicious.

"Oh! Edith," Hermione replied, trying to sound casual. "What brings you here?"

"We're in front of the Slytherin dormitories," Edith said slowly. "But weren't you supposed to be home for Christmas?"

"I remembered some urgent business at school, so I returned briefly."

Edith's eyes narrowed further, studying the unusual group. Mirabelle, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle—a combination that made no sense given their usual dynamics.

"I see," Edith said finally, stepping aside but continuing to watch them with unveiled suspicion.

Hermione quickly led Harry and Ron past her, whispering the password "Pure-blood" to enter the common room. Behind them, Edith remained in the corridor, staring at the spot where they'd disappeared.

After a long moment, she spoke to the empty air.

"Edith, you say?"

It was the way Hermione had said her name—too familiar, too casual. The real Mirabelle would never have addressed her so simply, not after months of cold silence between them.

---

Author's Note: This episode covers the Dueling Club, Hermione vs. Mirabelle, and Hermione's transformation into Mirabelle. Unlike the original story, Hermione dueled Mirabelle instead of fighting alongside her, which changed who she chose to impersonate using the Polyjuice Potion.

The interrogation of Malfoy goes about as well as you'd expect—Hermione-as-Mirabelle threatens the cowardly Slytherin and extracts what information she can, though ultimately without success.

Meanwhile, the real Mirabelle is probably causing trouble at home during the Christmas holidays.

***

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