"The soul of the priest is different from ours, and the place it goes after death is also different. This could be considered a blessing for their descendants," Grindelwald possessed profound knowledge indeed.
He might not be wrong; staying in a quiet place, reading and contemplating for decades, in some ways, he certainly had a deeper knowledge foundation than Dumbledore.
"Descendants would benefit from this, but being an ancestor would be miserable," Ian could imagine the scene, where Sybil Trelawney occasionally disturbed her own ancestors. Cassandra Trelawney managed not to kill her descendants, seemingly having a good temper.
"Hahaha, your perspective is quite interesting," Grindelwald laughed heartily, but then made Ian feel his capriciousness again.
"I'm a bit tired, do you intend to stay here overnight?" It was clearly an indication to leave, completely different from the pleasant conversation just moments ago with Ian.
"... "
Ian assumed even old men could have menopause, he quickly packed up his basket, the skeletons inside rustled.
Watching Grindelwald's eyelids twitch uncontrollably.
"Are you planning to sleep with these ghostly things tonight? Aren't you afraid of scaring your roommates?" He escorted Ian to the door of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Class office.
"Today is Halloween, professor."
Ian blinked, waved goodbye, then ran towards the spiral staircase, by the time he looked back, the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts Class office was already closed.
The lights were still on inside.
Clearly, Grindelwald saying he wanted to sleep was just a ruse for the kid.
"Anyway, I've regained my freedom and gained a lot, tonight I'll research all night in the Room of Requirement!" Ian ran through the hallway with heavy skeletons on his back.
His heart was full of excitement—the skeletons of Slytherin Descendant Clan!
If the knowledge recorded in "Bloodline Origin" wasn't too mistaken, he might be able to glimpse the secrets of Parseltongue, learning the mysterious language to communicate with the beloved Snake Monster.
God knows how much time Ian wasted in the library trying to learn Parseltongue; this ability hidden in the bloodline certainly required some special methods to learn.
"I want you to speak to me, descendants of the Four Founders!" Ian, with a backpack full of skeletons, charged excitedly towards the eighth floor where the Room of Requirement was.
However.
He had just arrived on the fourth floor, when he bumped into several ghosts flying in the air—at this time, they indeed had the right to utilize the school, but today the ghosts were dressed exceptionally well, different from what Ian usually encountered.
"It's Little Ian who always stays up late and doesn't grow tall!" A chubby ghost blocked Ian, as if "drunk," grabbed Ian.
"He's the child who can touch us! He surely has the qualification to join our banquet! Yes! That's right!" The chubby ghost proposed to the other ghosts nearby.
Without asking Ian if he agreed—this ghost was named Edmund Grubb, died from eating poisoned plums right at the restaurant door.
He was a rather quirky ghost, often blocking students from dining, whether out of jealousy or fear they might eat poisoned food like him.
"He's definitely prepared to join our banquet! Look! He even brought a skeleton band!" A ghost even fatter than Edmund Grubb lay on Ian's back basket.
He was the resident ghost of Hufflepuff College, the Fat Monk, executed for suspected use of a magic wand to heal peasant pox and conjuring rabbits from the Holy Communion Cup for fun.
"No, I didn't!" Ian quickly explained, but the lively ghosts couldn't care less, lifting him and flying towards the underground classroom.
To prevent Ian from being blocked by the walls on the way, they chose the right path, very considerate, but clearly not the "ghost lifting" experience Ian wanted.
Being able to touch ghosts evidently wasn't without its drawbacks.
"The feast continues! We've welcomed a living wizard!" A multitude of ghosts placed Ian in the underground classroom, festively decorated with candles dimly glowing.
Even with their dark glimmers, the candles painted Ian's young face with eerie shadows.
Ian felt as if he had stumbled into the Hell Border, with distressing heavy metal music playing, scratching away unpleasantly, like hundreds of vampires clawing a blackboard—causing toothaches and goose pimples, Ian almost shouted "Long live Cthulhu."
The pollution was indeed overwhelming!
"Welcome, welcome!" Nearly Headless Nicolas quickly approached, draped in black velvet curtains, dressed celebratorily.
"I'm so glad to have a young wizard here," the man removed his feathered hat, bowing with greater excellence and sincerity towards Ian.