The Great Hall fell into a profound silence.
Everyone had watched the Bloody Baron look into the eyes of the young girl for a few seconds before fleeing in cowardice. At the Gryffindor table, two red-headed little wizards were inappropriately high-fiving each other.
"Hey, I won, George!"
"Though the second one to go mad wasn't a professor or a student, it still counts. You win! Where we're going tonight is entirely up to you!"
"Who on earth is she? Pulling a stunt like this on the very first day of term?"
"I'd rather know how she managed to do it."
Over at the Slytherin table, Draco had moved far away from Iblis. "You... what did you do to him...?"
Just moments ago, the Bloody Baron had merely locked eyes with the girl for a few seconds, only to display the same abject terror as the Sorting Hat, his face even more distorted than the hat's had been. Draco looked Iblis up and down; ever since she had appeared, unexpected disasters had followed one after another.
Iblis blinked innocently, looking both helpless and wronged as she aired her grievances. "Who knows? Turns out the Slytherin ghost is terribly shy."
She picked up a chicken leg from the table and began to devour it with gusto. Her eyes instantly lit up, and she reached out to grab several other dishes, the utter lack of decorum creating a stark and jarring contrast.
At the staff table, Dumbledore put down his dinner knife, his deep, azure eyes solemn and heavy. He turned to Professor McGonagall beside him. "Minerva, could you tell me everything that happened when you went to fetch this child?"
The welcoming feast ended in a bizarre atmosphere, with the prefects of the four houses leading the students back to their common rooms. As the prefect droned on with a lengthy introduction to Slytherin House, Iblis's eyes glazed over, her mind drifting off into her own world without the slightest trace of interest.
The heavy door of the common room was pushed open, and Snape walked slowly inside, wreathed in his habitual gloom. Wherever his gaze fell, absolute quiet ensued. His hollow eyes stared straight ahead, his speech slow and steady, his voice magnetic and low.
"Miss Grimm. Come out."
Every eye in the room turned from Snape to Iblis. Her name bore no association with any noble, pure-blood lineage, yet after tonight, not a single person would forget it.
She, however, remained lost in her daydreams. Draco was completely unsurprised by this point; no sooner had the feast ended than she was attempting to provoke their Head of House once again.
"Grimm," Snape repeated the girl's name, a thread of impatience now lacing his tone.
No response.
"Iblis Grimm!"
Still nothing.
The girl sitting next to Iblis could no longer bear the terrifying fury radiating from her Head of House. She hurriedly gave Iblis a shove. "Hey... Professor Snape is calling you."
Startled out of her trance like someone waking from a deep dream, Iblis looked around with a trace of bewilderment, following the girl's anxious gaze. Snape's cold, sharp stare was piercing straight into her without reservation.
The girl lowered her head and walked silently up to Snape. Just as everyone thought she had been cowed by their Head of House's intimidating presence, she raised her chin and looked at Snape with the benevolent, tender gaze of an elderly sage, even lifting a hand as if to pat his head.
"It's been so long since anyone called me that. Is something the matter?"
Iblis discovered that she was entirely too short to reach Snape's head. And so, she jumped up and struck Snape squarely in the knee.
An exaggeration, of course. No matter how petite Iblis might be, she was still a healthy eleven-year-old girl.
She had jumped up and struck the area around Snape's neck. To everyone else, it looked very much as though she had tried to leap up and give their Head of House a—
The prefect hastily intervened to diffuse the atmosphere, desperately wanting to avert the imminent eruption of his Head of House. "Everyone to your dormitories! Now!"
Once the common room was cleared of everyone except Snape and Iblis, Snape finally spoke, though his words sounded thoroughly gritted through his teeth.
"Splendid, Grimm. Disrespecting a professor, disrupting the welcoming feast, destroying Hogwarts's venerable and historic Sorting Hat, and harassing the resident ghost. You can officially kiss your free time goodbye for the next year."
Iblis found herself enveloped by Snape's towering figure, his face darkened to the extreme as it loomed over her from above.
"Shut your foolish mouth. Now, follow me."
Iblis quietly trailed behind the fast-walking Snape, continually eyeing the portraits lining the corridors, whose subjects were peering back at her in curiosity. After navigating an unknown number of corners and climbing countless flights of stairs, the black-robed figure ahead of her finally came to a halt.
He stood beside a stone gargoyle, offering no password to take Iblis upstairs, but instead turning to fix a piercing stare directly into her eyes.
"What did you do to Sara that night?"
"What?"
Iblis failed to catch up. She looked up at the gloomy man before her, her expression one of utter puzzlement. "What thing? Who? Sara what?"
A night breeze drifted through the corridor window, sweeping across Snape's tense features, and the tiny ripple of hope that had briefly stirred in his heart sank utterly into dead silence. He turned back toward the stone gargoyle.
"Lemon drop."
"Absurd."
As Snape uttered the password, the girl's voice drifted into his ear. Like the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back, the thread of reason in Snape's mind snapped completely.
The man suddenly let out a soft laugh, casting a look of supreme contempt down at the girl. "It seems our dim-witted young lady has failed to notice the mocking ridicule directed at you from all sides while you spouted your grand illusions."
He raised an eyebrow, dripping with sarcasm. "It appears no one has bothered to inform you of this: such a thing as a god simply does not exist in this world.
Merlin—is not a god either. Perhaps the place you belong is not Hogwarts, but St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, where the healers might actually listen to your delusions."
Snape ruthlessly shattered any lingering fantasies the girl might harbor. Every wizard knew of Merlin, but that did not mean Merlin was an object of supreme religious worship to them. To be precise, the wizarding world had never believed in any religion, nor was there any concept of deities.
They believed in magic; powerful magic was what they pursued. Everything the girl had said in the Great Hall tonight had instead struck everyone else as a ridiculous fairy tale.
"Merlin has always existed, and my faith is not something you are qualified to judge. I thought I might witness some amusing display of loss of composure; is it possible you can think of no more entertaining way to amuse me than these boring, cynical remarks?"
Unfazed by Snape's words, the girl seemed to lose interest and stopped arguing with him altogether. Striding ahead up the stairs, she outright ignored Snape—a clear provocation that caused the low pressure radiating from the Head of House to deepen considerably.
Inside the headmaster's office, to Iblis's surprise, Professor McGonagall was present alongside Dumbledore. With his hands folded atop the desk, Dumbledore beckoned to the girl. "Miss Grimm, do sit down."
Iblis sat directly opposite Dumbledore, a plate of multicolored sweets materializing on the desk before her.
"Miss Grimm, you missed the greater part of the opening ceremony, so allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of this school. The two individuals beside you are undoubtedly already familiar: Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape, the Head of Gryffindor House and the Head of your own house, Slytherin."
The old man pushed the candies toward the girl, gently gesturing for her to partake. "Would you like a sweet? These are my personal favorites. To avoid startling you, I took the liberty of removing the cockroach clusters."
The girl's gaze had remained locked on the glass display case behind Dumbledore ever since she entered. She showed no appreciation for the gesture, remaining unmoved and pointedly rejecting Dumbledore's hospitality.
"Ho ho, then let us get to the point." Dumbledore was unperturbed, motioning for the two Heads of House to be seated on either side of the girl.
"According to reports sent from London, you were escorted to a police box by an officer at the station. Perhaps it was because he wished to protect a lost child, or perhaps for other reasons, you missed the train to Hogwarts." Dumbledore's voice was warm and steady, entirely devoid of any tone of reprimand. Seeing that the girl remained calm, he continued, "When Professor McGonagall went to fetch you, she found five or six police officers weeping and pouring their hearts out to you. Do you know them? Why did that happen?"
At this, the girl finally grew interested. She straightened up in her chair and held her hands out, palms up. Both McGonagall and Snape turned their heads slightly, sensing that this girl was off on another one of her tirades.
"They did not know me, but so what? They were merely wandering lambs, in need of the proper guidance of a deity. I bestowed upon them true faith, mercifully praying for Merlin's protection over them."
Dumbledore listened quietly to the end, even nodding in approval. "Indeed, you did nothing wrong, child. However, you overlooked a grave problem. Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the way things are here, much like any young witch or wizard arriving for the first time: Muggles are entirely unaware of the wizarding world's existence, and we are not permitted to casually disclose anything concerning magic to them. Naturally, they know nothing of Merlin—despite the legends of King Arthur being known far beyond magical circles."
He paused, his gaze turning serious, hoping this demeanor would convey the gravity of the situation to the girl.
"As a young witch experiencing accidental magic, you would naturally manipulate the magic within you involuntarily. Child, you cast a spell upon those officers entirely unawares. This constitutes a violation of the Statute of Secrecy. Though the magic was exceedingly faint—so faint you could not even feel it—you did, in fact, use magic."
Professor McGonagall could not help but glance at Dumbledore. As an eyewitness on the scene, she knew full well that the girl had not used a scrap of magic—to say nothing of a novice witch yet unable to control her magic single-handedly influencing multiple people at once. Catching Dumbledore's eye, McGonagall bit back the truth and remained silent.
They were all observing the girl's reaction, well aware that Dumbledore was probing.
Iblis leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands against the edge of the desk, her legs swinging playfully beneath the chair. A serene smile returned to her face, her innocent eyes carrying a sense of wonder as she locked gazes with the old man without blinking.
"I violated the so-called Statute of Secrecy? And used magic? So, what, then?"
The moment the girl's words fell, the memory of the Sorting Hat screaming "Azkaban" at the top of its lungs flashed unbidden into the minds of all three adults.