Professor McGonagall watched this display with barely concealed amazement. What leadership and presence for someone so young! She calmed an entire house with mere words!
While the professor found such talent somewhat intimidating, she also recognized the opportunity it presented. With the students' composure restored, the prefects could efficiently escort everyone to their dormitories.
"Prefects! Return all students to their houses immediately!" McGonagall commanded.
The prefects sprang into action, organizing the gradual exodus from the Great Hall. However, in all the confusion, no one noticed that Mirabelle herself hadn't joined the procession to the dormitories.
•~•
"How simple," Mirabelle murmured, watching the last students disappear down the corridors.
While she'd lectured others about returning to safety, she had no intention of following her own advice. Her rousing speech had served a single purpose—creating a diversion to draw the teachers' attention elsewhere.
"Time to visit the Restricted Section," she whispered to herself.
Her true objective was infiltrating the library's forbidden collection, acquiring certain volumes she required, then departing without trace. The troll incident provided perfect cover for this endeavor.
Mirabelle slipped away from the emptying Great Hall, moving through the castle like she owned it. She entered the library and proceeded directly to the shelves of prohibited texts.
"Now... where is it?" she muttered, scanning the ancient spines with practiced efficiency.
Time was precious—selecting the wrong tome could prove disastrous, especially since some books would shriek if touched. One wrong move would force an immediate retreat.
Fortunately, she quickly located her target, lifting it with a satisfied smile. She flipped through several pages to verify its authenticity.
"No doubt about it... this is the one."
With her prize secured, Mirabelle departed the library, casting a concealment charm to mask her presence before heading toward the dungeons. If her timing was correct, the Slytherin students should be engaging the troll in the girls' bathroom right about now.
•~•
In the second-floor bathroom, a fierce battle raged between Slytherin upperclassmen and the mountain troll. They cast spells with coordinated precision, watching each other's backs as they fought to defend their school.
"Stupefy!" "Protego!" "Expelliarmus!"
Spells flew in brilliant arcs while students moved with tactical awareness, some casting offensive magic while others maintained defensive barriers.
"Gryffindors! Get out while you can!" a seventh-year Slytherin shouted, spotting Harry and Ron.
"Hurry while we're holding it back!"
Another student grabbed Hermione Granger's trembling hand, attempting to help the terrified first-year escape. But the troll noticed the movement and raised its massive club.
At the last second, Harry Potter leaped onto the troll's back, grappling with its enormous head.
"Harry!" Hermione cried.
"Run, Hermione!"
Harry's presence here stemmed from his determination to help Hermione, knowing she'd been hurt by Ron's cruel words and missed the Halloween feast. His courage wouldn't permit abandoning her to face danger alone.
Using the distraction Harry provided, Hermione fled the bathroom. However, the troll shook him off and pursued, knocking aside Ron who tried to intercede.
Worse still, another student stood directly in the creature's path outside the bathroom—a girl who made no move to escape!
"No! It's heading for the corridor! You there, run!" Harry yelled frantically.
The Slytherin students desperately tried to cast spells, but their angle was wrong. The troll raised its club toward the motionless girl, bringing it down in a devastating arc.
Everyone expected tragedy. Hermione covered her face with her hands, unable to watch.
But the girl simply raised one hand...
And caught the club in her palm.
"Gob...?" the troll grunted in confusion.
"What...?" Harry breathed.
It was an impossible sight—a girl barely 135 centimeters tall stopping a four-meter troll's club with one hand. The creature looked bewildered, switching to a two-handed grip and applying more force, but the weapon refused to budge.
The golden-haired girl responsible for this miracle was Mirabelle Beresford, the same student who'd rallied the Slytherins earlier.
To observers, her method remained incomprehensible—she appeared to be performing wandless magic through physical contact. In reality, she'd cast a silent Softening Charm on the troll's club, reducing the supposedly solid wood to something with the consistency of foam.
Additionally, she'd applied a Weakening Hex to the troll itself, reducing its legendary strength to manageable levels. What appeared to be a small girl overpowering a mountain troll was actually precise magical manipulation.
"Pathetic," Mirabelle said with obvious boredom.
She leaped gracefully upward, seizing the troll's head in both hands before slamming it into the stone floor with tremendous force. This time she'd used a silent Knockback Jinx, amplifying the impact until cracks spider-webbed across the stones.
The troll somehow retained consciousness, struggling to lift its head, only to receive a devastating kick to the jaw.
"Rictusempra," she whispered—a spell that, in its movie adaptation, sent targets flying through the air.
Once again, she cast without speaking or using her wand, making it appear as though she'd blown the massive creature away through physical strength alone. The troll tumbled across the bathroom floor before coming to rest in a crumpled heap.
Mirabelle stepped deliberately onto the fallen creature's head, establishing absolute dominance through this degrading position.
"Where's all that pride in your strength now?" she asked mockingly. "Stop groveling on the ground and stand up."
The troll didn't rise. It flailed its limbs desperately, trying to escape, but its weakened body couldn't break free from being trampled by a girl half its height.
It was being toyed with like an infant—a clear and humiliating demonstration of predator and prey. The strong dominated while the weak weren't even permitted resistance.
Once the hierarchy was firmly established, Mirabelle grabbed the troll's head and hauled it upright, bringing its face level with her own.
"Gob..." it whimpered.
"Fascinating. Even lower life forms understand fear," she observed with clinical interest.
The troll trembled pathetically, all fight gone out of it. Its greatest weapon—brute strength—had proven useless, leaving it completely defenseless. Being simple-minded creatures, trolls were acutely sensitive to displays of superior power. When a predator realized it had become prey, instinctive terror followed.
With the creature's spirit thoroughly broken, Mirabelle released her grip.
"Now then, do you understand your place?"
"G-g-gob..." the troll stammered.
Rather than attacking when freed, the massive creature instead dropped to its knees and began licking Mirabelle's shoes with its enormous tongue—a degrading display of absolute submission.
Who could feel intimidated by such a pathetic sight? The once-fearsome mountain troll had been reduced to a bootlicking servant, desperately trying to appease its new master.
It was dominance in its purest form—victor and vanquished clearly defined for all to see.
The Slytherin students erupted in wild cheers, their excitement reaching fever pitch. This was victory! This was how true wizards handled threats!
For Slytherins, with their strong elitist tendencies, Mirabelle's display of absolute dominance resonated far more powerfully than simply killing the troll would have. She'd captured their hearts completely.
"Now then," Mirabelle announced to her enraptured audience, "the teachers will handle things from here. Let's return to our dormitories before we lose house points."
No one protested. The Slytherin students obeyed without question, filing back toward their common room in orderly fashion.
As Mirabelle prepared to follow, Harry called out to her.
"M-Mirabelle... Beresford, right?"
"Indeed. We've shared classes, but this is our first real conversation since the incident at Diagon Alley. I'm pleased to see you're well, Harry Potter."
Mirabelle responded naturally, though Harry remained visibly nervous. To him, she represented something even more dangerous than Malfoy—someone to avoid at all costs. Witnessing her overwhelming brutality had only strengthened that conviction.
"Thank you for helping us..." he managed.
"There's no need for gratitude," Mirabelle replied coolly, not bothering to face him. "I didn't act for your benefit."
"If the teachers discover this mess, it'll create complications. I'm leaving now. Feel free to take credit for defeating the troll."
With that dismissal, she walked away without waiting for Harry's response.
Harry panicked and ran after her, only to lose sight of her around the next corner. Despite having nowhere to hide, Mirabelle had vanished like morning mist.
She's terrifying, Harry thought, his heart still racing.
That night, Harry Potter experienced both overwhelming power and genuine fear in the presence of Mirabelle Beresford, sensations that would haunt him for years to come.