Chapter 227: Helga Hufflepuff
Of course, he couldn't leave empty-handed.
Phineas spotted a groove carved into the stone wall at the end of the tunnel—shaped exactly like an upright golden cup. It was obvious: Hufflepuff's cup needed to be inserted to open it.
But he couldn't help feeling confused. Wasn't Hufflepuff's golden cup just an enchanted piece of tableware that made food taste better? Why would such a simple item serve as the key to so many important places?
Thoughts raced through Phineas' mind. Despite the flurry of speculation, only a few seconds passed before he placed the cup into the stone groove.
The wall opened silently. No tremor, no magical glow, not even the hum of enchantments. It was a simple mechanical trigger—exactly the kind Muggles might have built a thousand years ago.
That raised another question. Could any object of the same shape have opened it? Had Hufflepuff simply used her cup because it was conveniently shaped?
Phineas dismissed the thought as a joke. Surely the cup had deeper significance.
As the wall slid aside, he finally stepped into the legendary Hufflepuff Chamber of Secrets.
It was nothing like he expected.
Rather than a vault of ancient magical relics, the space resembled a warm, well-furnished lounge.
He'd never had a reason to enter the Hufflepuff common room, but he had seen a scale model of it in the castle's control center above the Headmaster's office. This chamber looked remarkably similar.
There were no separate passages for dormitories, but in one corner stood a four-poster bed—the kind found in every Hogwarts dormitory. Slytherin's version, of course, was the most opulent, given the number of wealthy pure-blood families in the house.
Still, the presence of a bed didn't surprise him. Ravenclaw had built her Chamber of Secrets in her office. It wasn't hard to imagine Hufflepuff using hers as a private retreat.
What startled him was the neatly packed set of luggage on the bed—and the fact that the bedding was free of dust.
Someone had been living here recently.
The realization hit like a jolt. He stopped searching for relics and immediately examined the room. There was only one entrance, the one he had just passed through, and it could only be opened with Hufflepuff's cup.
Worse, once the stone walls were opened, there was no way to close them again.
That meant whoever had lived here entered long ago—possibly even when the chamber was built.
Which meant…
They had lived for a thousand years.
Phineas had entertained the theory that the four founders might still be alive, but he'd never taken it seriously. True, Nicolas Flamel had lived for over five centuries, and Herpo the Foul—creator of the Horcrux—was still alive, though sealed away by the Elder Council.
But this… this suggested Hufflepuff herself might still be here.
Why would she hide away in a chamber she couldn't leave?
Just then, a voice broke the silence, eerie and rasping—like wind from the depths of the Underworld.
"Why is there only one of you this time?"
Phineas froze.
Puff and Egg Roll immediately positioned themselves at his side, alert and ready to defend him.
The sound of footsteps echoed from the cold fireplace at the heart of the chamber.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The steps grew louder. Phineas's nerves tightened with each echo.
Whatever—or whoever—was approaching had lived for centuries. Even with his companions, he wouldn't stand a chance in a fight.
Finally, a figure emerged from the fireplace—a stout woman in a khaki robe.
As she stepped into the light, Phineas realized the fireplace wasn't real. It was a magical entrance, like Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
The woman's light golden hair glinted silver in the dim glow. Her pale brows, wide nose, and gently pointed chin gave her a kindly appearance—until you noticed her eyes.
They were red-yellow, full of murderous intent. Her ears were pointed. Her lips parted to reveal sharp, bloodstained teeth.
Despite the horror, Phineas recognized her.
Helga Hufflepuff. The resemblance to her portrait at Hogwarts was unmistakable—except for the monstrous details.
Her appearance reminded Phineas of three creatures: werewolves, vampires, and elves.
The aura she exuded made him want to flee, but his body wouldn't obey. He was paralyzed, held in place by sheer dread.
"Let me ask you again," she said coldly. "Why are you the only one here?"
Phineas couldn't respond. His lips wouldn't move.
"Which branch are you from? Prowse? Prince? Or Smith?"
She paused for an answer, then continued.
"I left clear instructions. Every twenty years, two descendants must come. Yet now, only you, and not even twenty years have passed. By my count, this round should have been the Smith family's turn. What happened?"
The names struck him. So all three families—Smith, Prince, and Prowse—were descended from Hufflepuff?
But… the Prince line was down to one known descendant: Severus Snape, whose mother, Eileen Prince, had married a Muggle. He likely didn't even know his ancestry.
The Prowse family had fared even worse—reduced to a single five-year-old girl, now raised in an Elder Council orphanage.
The Smiths had two young descendants left, one in Gryffindor, the other in Hufflepuff.
If this was true, then the Elder Council had deliberately isolated or culled Hufflepuff's bloodlines.
Phineas's mind worked furiously.
"No answer?" Hufflepuff asked, her voice tightening. "Then you're not my descendant."
Her eyes burned.
"Where did you get the golden cup? Answer me—and I might let you live!"
Phineas's survival instinct kicked in.
"I'm not one of your descendants, Madam. I'm a Hogwarts student. I came here seeking the inheritance of the four founders—it's said each left something behind before they died."
He continued, voice steady despite the fear.
"As for the golden cup, it belonged to Hepzibah Smith, your descendant. Over a decade ago, she showed it to someone… someone dangerous. She was killed for it. The man who took it was Tom Riddle. He later became the Dark Lord Voldemort."
Hufflepuff's eyes narrowed.
"Tom Riddle? He made it a Horcrux?"
At that, the cup flew from Phineas's hand, pulled by unseen force toward Hufflepuff.
"I can smell the stench of a soul split. And basilisk venom? Clever—cleanses the soul fragment without destroying the artifact."
The cup shimmered in her hand, then shrank into a small metal sphere.
"But the soul isn't completely gone. This method only works halfway."
She turned to Phineas.
"So. Tom Riddle." Her voice was ice. "He cost me a tool. Fine. Now, explain why it was you who recovered it and not one of my descendants."
Phineas told her everything—the decline of the three families, the schemes of the Elder Council, the state of the wizarding world.
Hufflepuff's face darkened with fury.
"The Elder Council," she whispered. "They chose one path and denied all others. So be it. If they've severed my line, then I'll sever theirs."
Then, looking at Phineas again, her voice shifted.
"You said you came here seeking my inheritance?"
He nodded, ready to speak again, but she cut him off.
"Hmph. You smell like Salazar. Are you his descendant?"
He blinked, surprised, then nodded slowly.
"In that case, I won't kill you. He's one of my few friends. He'd throw a fit if I harmed his bloodline."
Her eyes softened slightly.
"Well, since you've told me all this, I can't let you walk away empty-handed. Here. This is for you."