The girl's muttering only deepened Dumbledore's distress, yet even her basic background remained a complete mystery.
No records indicated who Iblis's parents were, or even where she had come from. This was something Dumbledore had known from the very beginning; telling Professor McGonagall that the girl's parents had long passed away was merely an excuse to brush the matter aside. Where on earth had the owl delivered the acceptance letter? It was as if her name had simply materialized out of thin air on the Book of Acceptance.
"Miss Grimm, just to confirm, you did receive an acceptance letter from Hogwarts, didn't you?"
Seeing the blank look on Iblis's face, Dumbledore felt a cold sweat bead on his forehead. Come to think of it, even her initial wizard's robes had been transfigured by McGonagall on the spot. Dumbledore probed further, "No wonder you couldn't get onto the platform. Surely you don't... even have a wand?"
Iblis blinked again, her gaze drifting toward an elm branch standing beside the desk, and she reached out to snap it off. "We can have this one."
Dumbledore hastily waved his hands, moving the branch out of her reach. "There's no need to rush. I'll have your Head of House take you to Diagon Alley this weekend to get all your supplies... Until then, you can temporarily share books with your classmates. As for daily necessities, I'll have the house-elves here send over some essentials."
Seeing the girl sit back down in her chair, Dumbledore finally let out a sigh of relief. Mentally exhausted, he no longer had the energy to probe into the girl's secrets.
"Let's call it a day, shall we, Miss Grimm? Is there anything else you'd like to say to me?" Dumbledore had already stood up; he just needed to escort this girl back to the Slytherin dungeon, then come back and get a good night's sleep, and everything would be fine.
To his surprise, Iblis remained seated, leaving Dumbledore with no choice but to sit back down and wait for her to speak.
"Why are the representative ghosts of the four houses not their founders?"
"Now that really has me stumped. The Founders disappeared long ago, and their souls have likely departed. At least from the time I entered here as a student down to the present day, I have never laid eyes upon them."
"As long as they remain in this school, the accumulated magic should be enough to anchor their souls, just like the ghosts here. Have you never considered such a question?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "It's not that I haven't considered it. The most likely answer is that they harbor no more regrets regarding this place... or perhaps they are still slumbering somewhere, unwilling to be disturbed. These are hardly matters for us juniors to speculate upon."
Iblis nodded silently, then stood up as well, preparing to leave.
"The ghosts here have nowhere else to go, nor can they truly leave. It was the Founders who allowed their physical forms to reappear, sparing them from loneliness. They are a part of Hogwarts."
"Pitiful souls lingering in the mortal world, shrouded in the shadows of the past, yet you feel a sorrow for them." Iblis knitted her brows slightly and looked at the old man behind her. "Are you warning me?"
"No, I merely hope we can get along in peace."
The girl did not give her assent, instead fingering the green badge in her pocket.
"As the headmaster, can you alter the recorded history here?" Seeing that Dumbledore had no intention of answering, Iblis continued.
"Though Salazar Slytherin and Merlin were both renowned figures of the Middle Ages, they were separated by more than a thousand years. Arthur, as the king assisted by Merlin, was born long before the so-called Founders, making Merlin naturally older than him. On what grounds is it said that Merlin was a student of that lad Salazar? At that time, Hogwarts was probably nothing more than a wasteland. Salazar Slytherin was not Merlin's teacher; on the contrary, he became Merlin's disciple."
White eyebrows furrowed as Dumbledore seemed to ponder the truth of the girl's words, before finally shaking his head. "Without conclusive historical proof, none of us know the truth, do we?"
Iblis let out a soft laugh, her eyes filled with undisguised contempt.
"However," Dumbledore said with a playful tone, "the history as originally recorded lacks conclusive evidence as well, doesn't it? I will go and consult the past headmasters for their consent."
The girl's attitude executed a complete one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn, revealing an innocent and lovely smile. "In that case, I shall live in peace with the Baron and the others."
After escorting the girl back to the dungeon, Dumbledore departed, citing his excuse that the damp and chilly environment of the dungeon was quite unkind to his aging knees.
The bright moonlight, tinged with a hint of sorrowful rumination, spilled downward, its pure silver radiance shimmering across the tips of the girl's hair. The youthful face looking down at the badge in her hand surprisingly carried the melancholy of one who had seen all of life's vicissitudes, along with a trace of passing regret and pain.
Iblis lifted her chin toward the night sky, her expression as desolate as the twilight lake—flat, heavy, and utterly devoid of ripples.
"A century of glory, a millennium of decay, and now not a soul even knows your true past. Merlin, was it worth it...?"
[Merlin is]
[Yet he is Merlin, my...]
[I am... his believer.]
[I refuse to recognize...]