Having traversed countless realms, can you possibly be as clever as me?

"I'm sorry," Harley shrugged, though she still couldn't help but harbor a sliver of inappropriate hope—but, oh well.

He likes himself, so it's best not to dream about such things. After all, if you don't dream, you won't be disappointed.

At 6:20 p.m., half an hour before the ball started, Harley stood in the empty women's dressing room and took out the dress her aunt had given her for the ball.

The dress was a faded pale purple, printed with blurry little flowers, and the neckline was adorned with yellowed machine-woven lace. It reached her ankles, making her already petite figure appear even more inconspicuous. But she had no other dresses.

She tucked the pink and white rose into her collar, just enough to cover the yellowed lace. She took some hairspray from the girl next door and tucked her messy hair behind her ears. She washed her face, and her pale complexion looked a little cleaner.

She smiled at herself in the mirror, and the person in the mirror smiled back. Actually, Harley Quinn looks quite pretty with her bangs pulled back; she's a bit like a mix of Eva Green and Anne Hathaway.

Which girl doesn't want to be beautiful? It's just that soon...

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The smile faded, and Harley regained her composure, speaking softly to herself in the mirror.

"It's so ugly! If you don't want to be laughed at, don't go and join in the fun!"

She would only be laughed at if she went to the dance, so although she felt bad for the nice boy named Chris, she had no choice but to decline his invitation.

After saying that, she unscrewed the cap and took a small sip of her drink. It was lemon-flavored, a little sweet, and a little cool. She took another sip.

then

Harley opened her eyes

What came into view was the high ceiling of the auditorium. She tried to prop herself up, but her body felt extremely heavy—no, that's not right, it wasn't just heavy.

Her wrist ached. It burned, like it had been strangled by a rope. She opened her mouth, wanting to scream, but no sound came out. Her throat was dry, as if she had swallowed sandpaper, and her head was spinning, as if something strange had been poured into it. She tried to remember, but her memories were like shattered glass, impossible to piece together—

A cold wind swept in from all directions, making her thin body shiver. She looked down and saw that she was still wearing Aunt Peggy's floral dress—pale purple, faded, with blurry little flowers, and yellowed machine-knitted lace at the neckline. The dress fluttered in the wind like a tattered flag.

And she was being hung from the flagpole.

In the center of the auditorium, the metal flagpole that usually raised the national flag had become her torture rack. Ropes bound her wrists, suspending her three or four meters off the ground. Like a pathetic exhibit, she swayed and twirled in the very center of the ballroom.

Below, the auditorium was full of people.

The colorful lights were still spinning, and the cheerful music was still playing, but no one was dancing anymore. They looked up at her, their faces displaying a variety of expressions—shock, excitement, schadenfreude, and some taking pictures with their phones.

Then, laughter erupted.

"My God—she really was hoisted up!"

"Look! Look! She's awake!"

"Look at what she's wearing! What era is that dress from? It's even funnier than before!"

Harley's mind went blank. She tried to struggle, but the rope tightened, and her wrists burned with pain. Like a butterfly pinned to a wall, she fluttered in vain, only to spin helplessly in the air.

The laughter below pulled her back from her fragmented memories. Halle looked down and saw Chris standing in the center of the crowd, next to Emily, looking up at her.

His face still held that same smile, his eyes curved into crescents, a smile filled with cruel delight.

"I won! I won!" Chris said to the people around her, her voice loud enough for her to hear. "I thought she'd be hard to handle, she's so stupid!"

The people around them burst into laughter and joined in.

"Chris, you're so mean, hahaha—"

"Did she really drink it? Did you watch her drink it?"

“Of course,” Chris shrugged. “Emily and I were hiding by the door waiting for this.”

"Guess what she was thinking when she woke up?" Emily, arm in arm with Chris, laughed heartily. "Did she think she sleepwalked up here?"

"That would be even more fun!" someone chimed in.

"Hey, Harley! Do you sleepwalk?"

The laughter grew louder. People started throwing things at the flagpole—Easter eggs, crumpled paper, sequins. The colorful fragments landed on Harley's hair, her shoulders, and her old floral dress.

Harley looked down at the smiling faces below. Colorful lights danced across their faces, and the cheerful music continued, making the entire auditorium feel like a grand carnival party.

She was the center of the party, not as the queen of the ball, but as a clown, a joke, an exhibit hung up for people to amuse themselves.

Her wrist was so painful it was numb. The wind blew, making her shiver. She heard someone shout, "Spin! Spin! Spin!" and then someone actually ran over and pushed the flagpole, and she began to sway slowly in the air.

One lap, two laps, three laps, and with each lap, a different smiling face appeared. Chris's, Emily's, those classmates whose names I couldn't recall, and even those teachers who stood by indifferently, seemingly oblivious.

Everyone was laughing, except for Dudley, who was standing at the edge of the crowd and cursing while talking to the person next to him. They were all pushing Harley around in the air.

Laughter surged in like a tide, wave after wave. Meanwhile, his wrist was being pulled and rotated relentlessly, causing excruciating pain.

Harley didn't move, nor could she. She just stood in the middle of the crowd with her head down, drowned out by laughter, sequins, and taunts.

She tried to count, from one to one hundred, and from one hundred back to one, but she found her mind completely blank and she could no longer maintain even the slightest bit of composure.

And just then... another voice rang out.

A voice, incredibly clear, rose from the depths of her heart—a deep, resonant voice, as if from the ancient darkness.

"Oh, my poor child, the best way to deceive a child who has never been treated kindly is to give her a little warmth. Just a little, not much. She will make up the rest herself." The voice was laced with malice.

"Look at your past, what kind of heartless person would entrust the child of a hero to such a couple to take care of, and be so stingy as to not give a single penny in child support?"

"I think that person must be a high-ranking, great wizard who was born in the Victorian era, ruled an entire era, and thought he could control everything."

"Who are you, and what can you give me?" Harley asked softly in a dazed voice amidst the surrounding laughter and the howling cold wind.

“Oh, child, you may think of me as a little devil. But I can give you the truth of the world, extraordinary power, unparalleled greatness. Most importantly—freedom.”

"No one can tamper with your freedom anymore, no one can harm your freedom. It's not about doing whatever you want, but about always refraining from doing things that make you unhappy."

Harley nodded without hesitation, and the next moment, a pitch-black card appeared in front of her.

"Go, child, with the power of malice, with the courage to kill, crush everything that mocks you, insults you, and abandons you!!!"

The jeers around them grew louder and louder. Dudley, whether out of embarrassment or something else, kicked Chris and yelled, "You fucking went too far!" No one noticed the crimson shadows spreading endlessly around their feet.

By the time they noticed, all the lights in the auditorium had gone out. They looked around and immediately saw the source of the problem.

At the heart of the pervasive black mist, Harley Potter, mocked and shrouded in an unparalleled aura of black fog, emerges from the shadows one after another, the shadows of the serial killer known as 'Jack the Ripper,' amidst their fear and screams.

Harley looked up, a sinister smile spreading across her face as she stared at the bewildered people below. She bit the card, gently crushing it.

"It is not worthy of being considered the end of a tragedy (Natural Born Killers)."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

P.S.: I originally planned to write a school setting story, but I found that firstly, it would be difficult to create drama, and secondly, the moe version of Harley in that kind of story would make the story very homoerotic. So I ended up writing too much about Harley. If you really don't like it, just skip it.

On the road to godhood, you must kill, kill, kill! Chapter 291: The Squib Savior (Bonus Chapter and Discussion)

When Snape arrived in Surrey, the area had already been completely sealed off by the Aurors.

The pale-faced Potions professor clenched his fists, his expression sinister, and strode towards the white-bearded old man who had arrived earlier than him on the street!

"Is this what you promised me?!"

Severus Snape pointed

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The misty town pointed at Albus Dumbledore and roared.

"You assured me that Lily's daughter would live safely in her family's home, that the magic of love would protect her! That's why I gave up taking care of her—that's your promise!"

"Calm down, Severus, calm down."

Dumbledore soothed the furious Snape with his usual wise and calm tone, but his brow was furrowed as he stared at the town completely shrouded in fog.

Who exactly did this? The remnants of the Death Eaters? Or someone else?

It's all so sudden and unclear.

This fog was also very strange. Dumbledore tried many methods, such as transfiguration, divination, and summoning spells, but all the spells were rendered ineffective in this fog.

Those who go inside can't get out, and what was originally inside can't get out either.

Without a doubt, this was a bizarre thing that only wizards could create. Dumbledore simply couldn't understand who would do such a thing.

Even though Harley's existence is no longer a secret.

"I told you long ago that Harley should be brought to Hogwarts!"

Seeing the furious Snape, Dumbledore also felt guilty, after all, things really shouldn't have turned out this way.

“Calm down, Severus,” Professor McGonagall interjected, trying to smooth things over.

“We all feel sorry for Harley, but she really wasn’t chosen by the Book of Admission; she’s a Squib. It would be the cruelest thing to force such an unfortunate child into Hogwarts.”

"You wouldn't want Lily and James's daughter to end up like Mr. Filch, would you?"

Professor McGonagall's words calmed Snape down a little, but he immediately revealed an even more gloomy and pained expression.

Yes, who would have thought?

The savior who saved the entire wizarding world turned out to be a Squib.

Or rather, this entire prophetic story is now a complete joke in the wizarding world!

According to the prophecy, a person who can fight against the power of the Dark Lord will be born at the end of July. He will be born into a family that has defeated the Dark Lord three times.

At the time, only two families met this condition—the Longbottom family and the Porter family.

Voldemort chose the Potter family as his first target because he firmly believed that his nemesis, a half-blood, must be another half-blood.

However, he made two mistakes in this matter—or rather, the Potter family and Voldemort made mistakes simultaneously.

For some reason, James and Lily both said their child was a boy when he was born. But a few days later, they found out he was actually a girl.

This is outrageous, but it's entirely possible in the wizarding world. Maybe the child is a natural-born Animagus who can disguise himself? Or perhaps the couple has simply mistaken him for someone else.

After all, when their child was born, only the couple and a doctor from St. Mungo's Hospital were in their safe house, and the doctor later died in an attack by Death Eaters.

But they didn't have time to clarify this matter later, at least not to Snape.

Then Snape told his master about the prophecy, and Voldemort, completely unaware, chose a little girl as his nemesis.

And then...and then Voldemort was killed by his own Avada Kedavra.

The entire story has a strong sitcom feel to it.

Most importantly, when the savior the entire wizarding world had been eagerly anticipating finally turned eleven, everyone's high expectations were dashed when they discovered...

The savior was a dud.