Hogwarts' Great Hall had now become a hell where no place remained safe.
But even in such hell, there were those who fought without losing hope.
Ron, Fred, George, Ginny. Arthur and Molly—the Weasley family.
Cedric, and Krum and Fleur who'd rushed over from other schools.
And DA members like Neville and Luna.
Others too—those who loved the current wizarding world fought desperately, wands in hand, not a single one cowering.
But still, it wasn't enough.
The numbers were utterly insufficient.
Wave after wave of Inferi, countless trolls.
Wizards clearly outnumbering their side, vampires and numerous other dark creatures.
Muggle soldiers with incomprehensible weapons and sturdy golems.
...It was inevitable.
Their side now consisted of Hogwarts alone, while the enemy's forces comprised the Three-Nation Alliance—including even Muggles.
Moreover, the majority of British wizards sided with them.
From the start, there were no conditions for victory.
"Fred, George! Aren't you getting tired? Your magic's slowing down!"
"You jest! Percy, haven't you gone dull from Ministry work?"
The Weasley brothers encouraged each other while guarding one another's backs.
In truth, they had no leisure for jokes.
But without doing so, the overwhelming numerical disparity would break their spirits.
Their only salvation was that they weren't the only ones fighting Mirabelle.
Since the battle began, others had burst onto the scene.
Dozens of Acromantulas, and the roughly hundred Dementors that remained.
And the last Death Eaters who'd escaped Mirabelle's clutches by staying near Voldemort.
Voldemort's forces, reduced to less than ten percent of their original numbers, were attacking the Allied forces, causing mutual destruction.
But even combining Hogwarts and the dark faction, their numbers likely didn't reach even ten percent of Mirabelle's Allied forces.
The enemy wasn't a single faction, nor a single school.
They were three nations themselves.
Neville Longbottom waved his wand, anxiety rising in his chest.
This wasn't the place to be fighting.
No—as long as they fought here, they had no chance of winning.
They should strike down that Golden Tyrant. Unless they defeated her, this battle would never end.
So truly, some of those here should go to Durmstrang to strike her down.
But... who?
Who could break free from this chaotic battlefield?
If they pulled more forces from this already disadvantageous battle, what then?
And if someone dear to them died while they went to defeat Mirabelle?
The thought kept him rooted to the spot, unable to leave.
McGonagall, Flitwick, Madam Hooch.
Each carrying their pride, scattering enemies with the highest level of skill they'd ever achieved.
Yet the numbers never decreased. Never stopped.
The army united by malicious gold trampled over their comrades' corpses and continued advancing.
To them, death held no fear. Killing held no terror.
"For the Greater Good"—for that, they would transcend both life and death.
When this battle ended, the world would change.
That golden girl would change it.
This wizarding world, unchanged even after hundreds of years.
The disparity with pure-blood supremacy continuing since ancient times, the never-extinguished seeds of conflict.
All of it would disappear, leading to a brilliant future.
Once they handed dominion to that eternal girl, no more wars would occur.
Everything would be unified, and elements destabilizing the world would be eliminated beforehand.
No need to hide from Muggles while living, no more cowering before the dark faction.
If it meant creating that world, they'd gladly throw their lives into the gutter.
Thus they would not stop.
To make this the wizarding world's final war, they'd discard all mercy and advance forward.
And the battle situation worsened further.
Breaking through walls on all sides, fearsome creatures—veritable embodiments of terror—were deployed.
They were serpent kings combining massive builds, venom capable of destroying Horcruxes, and eyes that instantly killed any who saw them.
Slytherin's monster that had once plunged Hogwarts into terror with just one of its kind.
Basilisks... those abominable creatures had emerged in a swarm.
The unfortunate ones who saw their eyes fell one after another, pierced by fangs, crushed by coiling bodies.
Those who avoided looking were bathed in wizards' death magic, shot by Muggles, crushed by trolls.
And unluckily, Percy was the first to see the Basilisk's form.
"...Ah."
Percy collapsed to the ground, and Fred and George released anguished cries at the sight.
Death Eaters too were devoured one after another by Basilisks, transforming the hall increasingly into a hell adorned with blood and screams.
When the dark faction was finally completely eradicated, the Allied forces halted their movements.
No—the man commanding them made them stop.
"Gentlemen. Brave gentlemen of Hogwarts. You have fought well. You fought admirably against such numbers and quality."
That praising voice was one Hogwarts students and staff would recognize.
The voice of the former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who should have died six years ago.
The voice's owner parted the crowd of soldiers, exposing himself before Hogwarts' heroes.
"But do you understand? The numbers you've defeated are merely a fraction of our total forces. Even that can be resurrected with Lady Mirabelle's power. And that no small number have already died just to defeat those few troops. Do you realize this?"
Battle was about numbers.
Sometimes quality could overturn that, but if the enemy was also superior in quality, then there was nothing to be done.
Seeing the man speak thus, McGonagall and others cried out.
Impossible... why was this man here?!
Why was he commanding the Alliance here?!
"Quirinus Quirrell...!"
The man who once taught here now sought to destroy this place.
At this situation, McGonagall and the others raged, shouting while forgetting even their astonishment that he lived.
But Quirrell spoke with a cool face, as if admonishing them.
"You understand now, don't you? That you cannot defeat us. Further battle will only create pointless sacrifices. Therefore, I ask you gentlemen. Will you not sheath your weapons and follow us?"
What emerged in a gentle tone was a surrender demand.
Victory was already clear—if you don't want more sacrifices, follow us.
Arrogantly, selfishly, he spoke thus.
"Our master favors the superior. She considers the deaths of excellent individuals like yourselves a loss to the wizarding world. Therefore, you gentlemen have the right to live in the new world our master creates. Now, those who wish to live in the new world, step forward."
Who would go?
That's what McGonagall was about to say.
But faster than that, someone stepped forward.
Marcus Flint of Slytherin.
More students followed in succession, among them even students from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor.
Devotees who'd been drawn to and yearned for Mirabelle while she attended the school.
They had moved in the worst possible way.
They all knelt before Quirrell in unison, showing their loyalty.
Perhaps this had been coordinated from the start.
Marcus Flint had seemed to hold feelings for Mirabelle since his school days.
His presence on Hogwarts' side—that itself had been the trap.
Likely he'd been lying in wait precisely for this moment, this演出.
"We all pledge loyalty to the new world."
"Well come, Marcus Flint. You are welcome."
When this happened, group psychology began to work.
Already there was no hope of victory; continuing would only lead to death.
Then, once people like that switched sides, the balance of their hearts would collapse completely.
The courage they'd desperately maintained would vanish.
As if drawn in, one person, then another stepped forward, defecting one after another regardless of house or position.
"W-wait, all of you! Have you forgotten Hogwarts' pride?! Come back, return! Return!"
McGonagall desperately tried to call them back, but no one complied.
And McGonagall saw with eyes widened in despair.
Among them was Neville, a student she'd taught who was particularly slow to learn and had given her much trouble.
Yet troublesome students were the most endearing, and she'd secretly cherished Neville.
Even he was leaving, and McGonagall's heart screamed.
...But wait, something was wrong.
Neville ran as if blending into the group, and drew his wand.
Then he fired a spell at Quirrell!
Quirrell quickly deflected it with a Shield Charm, then blew Neville away with Expelliarmus.
"Oh, you still have the spirit to resist at this point. When I taught you, you were just a dropout. People do change. Rejoice, boy. You too are worthy of serving Lady Mirabelle."
At Quirrell's words, however, Neville spat.
Blood-mixed saliva stuck to the ground. Wiping his mouth, Neville stood up forcefully.
"I'll join you when hell freezes over."
Glaring at Quirrell head-on without fear, Neville roared even without a weapon.
"We are Dumbledore's Army!"
It was a courageous cry.
Words that revived everyone's breaking spirits.
The hall, wrapped in silence, erupted, and everyone regained their will to fight.
At that sight, McGonagall wept and thought.
Never had she been more proud of him as a student than now...
And if he, a student, had roared like that—
Then she couldn't very well remain on her knees.
She couldn't let that wonderful young man die.
McGonagall gripped her wand tightly and charged.
It wasn't over yet.
Hope still remained—!
Sidney Beresford, despite being Mirabelle's actual brother, pledged loyalty to her.
Mirabelle considered this the result of her own training, but that was actually wrong.
Even if she hadn't trained Sidney, he would have been devoted to Mirabelle.
With loyalty unchanged from now, he would have followed her without a single difference.
Because the reason Sidney followed Mirabelle wasn't loyalty in the first place.
In Sidney's world, there was only one color.
Only supreme gold was necessary.
No other colors were needed, invisible, unnecessary.
Not even worth entering his field of vision—dust and refuse without exception.
Sidney's world was divided into gold and colorlessness, with nothing else.
While Mirabelle possessed innate, intense self-love, what Sidney held was love for a single other.
Since birth he'd yearned for that gold, and no other emotions existed in his heart.
Sidney Beresford loved Mirabelle.
That she was his actual sister—such things didn't matter.
Since he could only see her, he could only love her.
To Sidney, everything except Mirabelle had no value, and he didn't even recognize himself.
Thus he had no heart, no self, and all his thoughts were constantly filled only with Mirabelle.
Sidney had nothing.
Mirabelle alone was his entire world.
Even Sidney didn't know why he yearned for her so, had never considered it.
Perhaps Mirabelle had taken away the emotions and heart Sidney should have originally possessed.
Either way, it didn't matter.
That extremely abnormal love was something Mirabelle, who wouldn't try to understand love, could never comprehend.
That's fine, Sidney thought.
He didn't want to insert the impurity called himself into that gold.
She just needed to continue being herself.
If anyone defiled the gold, he'd give them a hell worse than death, no matter who they were.
Even his actual father—he'd tear apart his soul and make him regret it.
Mirabelle didn't know—that her father had remained in this world even after death.
Heathcote wasn't a soul that would quietly go "over there."
He'd clung stubbornly as a ghost trying to see his daughter's future, but Sidney captured him.
Then tore apart his soul, eliminating him with intense pain that could never be tasted with a body.
If anyone interfered with her—simply eliminate them.
No exceptions, no matter who.
That alone was Sidney Beresford's reason for existence, his everything.
The Room of Requirement on Hogwarts' eighth floor.
Before it, a battle unfolded between four young people.
Numerically three versus one. Additionally, the three were undoubtedly top-class among Hogwarts students.
In Defense Against the Dark Arts, the second-seat after Mirabelle, the wizarding world's hero who'd driven back Voldemort twice—Harry Potter.
Though Muggle-born, boasting grades second only to Mirabelle, third in Defense Arts for her year—Hermione Granger.
And having received instruction from Mirabelle's body double, surpassing even the previous two in magical combat—Edith Lainagull.
Yet consistently dominant was not the three but the one.
Mirabelle's brother, Sidney Beresford, was overwhelming all three single-handedly.
"Invaderent Patronum!"
Edith summoned a Pegasus Patronus, charging it at Sidney.
But just as it was about to hit, Sidney's body "distorted."
"Eh?"
Before Edith's eyes, the small boy's arm transformed into a massive dog's head, baring fangs.
At that absurdly chaotic attack, Edith hurriedly dodged, distancing herself from the boy.
The magic he used wasn't particularly special.
Magic Harry, Hermione, and Edith could also use... just ordinary Transfiguration.
Only the speed was on a different scale.
No magic was more unreasonable or defied physical laws more than Transfiguration.
Size differences didn't matter; even transforming inorganic matter into living beings was possible.
The incident where fake Mad-Eye transformed Malfoy into a ferret remained vivid—seeing that showed just how much Transfiguration ignored physical laws.
And Sidney had just transformed his own arm into a living creature.
"...Barrage."
When Sidney waved his wand, something small appeared.
Only Edith recognized its form.
It was a rat! The black rat named Pyotr that Mirabelle had kept. Hundreds of them!
Having literally multiplied exponentially, every single one was a soldier following Mirabelle.
And if Transfiguration could turn humans into ferrets, the reverse was possible—namely, transforming all these rats into soldiers.
No, even more—they could become even greater threats!
With heads left intact but bodies from the torso down transformed into gun barrels like Muggles used, even granted wings enabling flight—they were truly autonomous remote weapons.
Instantly, Edith and Hermione raised their wands and chanted spells.
"Protego!"
Simultaneous fire from all directions!
They barely blocked it with Shield Charms, and Harry attacked during that opening.
"Sectumsempra!"
A cutting curse belonging to dark magic assaulted Sidney.
His arm was severed, blood pouring from the lost elbow.
But Sidney's expression didn't change.
For some reason, he transformed nearby rubble into an iron rod and stabbed it into his own severed surface.
Without a flicker in his complexion, he gouged it grinding into the wound, then cast Transfiguration.
Then the Transfiguration that transformed even inorganic matter into living beings became a new arm, and Sidney used his next spell as if nothing had happened.
Cannons appeared on both his sides, resounding thunderously as they assaulted Harry and the others.
"T-this is absurd!"
Hermione shouted while running, the other two following.
Immediately after, explosions.
Though they'd deployed protective magic just before and didn't lose consciousness, damage was unavoidable.
The three rolled across the floor from the blast, groaning in pain.
"Voltage Erase!"
Edith released the lightning magic once taught by her friend.
Lightning-speed—impossible to evade or defend against!
It struck Sidney's chest directly, making him reel backward.
But the boy regained his posture as if nothing had happened, looking at Edith with mechanical, cold eyes.
Though the lightning curse was impossible to evade or defend against, its creator was his sister in the first place.
Naturally, he knew the countermeasures thoroughly.
Sidney had used Transfiguration to change all his clothing into insulating materials.
Therefore, no matter how much electricity was poured in, it was completely meaningless.
"Confringo."
The boy coldly spoke the spell name.
The ground beneath Edith's feet exploded, the impact striking her.
Blown to the wall in one hit, she collided hard back-first.
"Agh!"
Pain intense enough to make her think bones had broken.
But she couldn't collapse here.
She immediately leaped from that spot, evading the incoming green flash.
"Ha... haa... haa..."
Breathing heavily, Edith thought.
Strong.
She'd known he wouldn't be weak, but never imagined such a gap existed.
Of course, the numerical advantage using rats played a role, but that wasn't all.
Simply put, his magical skill was high, standing above them.
As expected of the prestigious Beresford family—his elite education was thorough.
"...Target, combat continuation possible..."
Sidney muttered in a high, girlish voice.
A mechanical, cold, inorganic voice.
In a sense, the complete opposite of Mirabelle, who projected will more than anyone.
"Tch..."
Somehow standing up, she considered what to do.
No chance of victory through orthodox methods.
But then, they'd just have to win through unorthodox methods.
"Expulso!"
She shattered the floor with a blasting curse, raising smoke.
After blocking vision thus, she rushed to Harry and the others.
"Harry, Hermione, somehow open the Room of Requirement. At this point, we can only outwit him and recover the Arch."
"...Indeed, that's the only way."
"No, let's use it. We'll push Sidney into the Arch."
At Edith's proposal, Hermione nodded, and Harry added a modification.
To do something about that boy, they could only use the concept of Death itself.
Edith still hesitated, but hesitation on the battlefield was foolish.
The three exchanged glances, deciding Harry would open the room.
Then Edith and Hermione would have to buy time in the meantime.
"Let's go, Edith!"
"Tch, no choice then!"
The two girls charged, and simultaneously Harry stood before the Room of Requirement.
The door hadn't appeared yet.
To make the Room of Requirement's door appear, one needed to walk before the wall three times while strongly focusing on the purpose.
Mustn't run. Mustn't disturb one's thoughts.
Simple appearance conditions, but in the midst of battle, they seemed quite difficult.
Edith and Hermione fired spells in rapid succession, keeping Sidney in check.
But Sidney's unleashed spells assaulted the two, immediately putting them on the defensive.
Meanwhile, Harry walked before the room, completing one round trip first.
"...!"
That movement amidst battle was far too wasteful and unnatural.
Sidney's eyes turned toward Harry, tinged slightly with wariness.
He pointed his wand and tried to chant the killing curse, but Edith tackled him there, throwing off his aim.
But nothing was more reckless than close combat against Sidney, who'd casually transform his own body.
Sidney's hand transformed into a thick, ugly arm like a troll's, grabbing Edith's slender neck and lifting her.
Two round trips.
Faster, faster, faster!
Harry walked before the room, inwardly anxious.
He'd never thought the condition of "walking" would feel so frustrating.
Even while this continued, Edith's resistance weakened, her arms and legs beginning to convulse.
Hermione desperately tried to rescue Edith, but the surrounding rats kept her at bay, preventing approach.
Moreover, overwhelmed by the numerical difference, she too fell into a predicament.
(This is bad! At this rate, both of them will be killed!)
No time for the Room of Requirement anymore.
Unable to let his friends die, Harry switched his thinking.
First, save those two! The Room of Requirement came after!
Drawing his wand, he heightened his consciousness to chant a spell at Sidney.
But just as Harry was about to attack—
"Avada Kedavra."
Sidney's merciless voice rang out, and a green flash struck Edith's body.
"...Eh?"
Released from the hand on her neck, Edith fell to the floor, eyes wide open.
Everything she saw seemed to move in slow motion.
Harry reaching toward her, shouting something.
Hermione wailing, tears flowing.
A thud sounded, and only then did Edith realize her body had fallen to the floor.
Her body wouldn't move.
Her eyelids were heavy.
Her vision slowly faded to black, a strange sense of liberation dominating her body.
(...Ah, I see...)
Watching the weeping Harry and Hermione, Edith understood.
What had happened to her.
And what would happen next.
(I'm... going to die...)
Slowly closing her eyes, even sound ceased.
All five bodily senses were lost... and Edith stopped moving.
***
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