Chapter 238 : Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets
She had wept here for so long, leaving puddles scattered throughout the bathroom, that the place had eventually been abandoned. Yet even now, she remained, tormented by Peeves and mocked by the younger students at Hogwarts.
Phineas sighed as he looked at the sink in the middle of the bathroom.
It seemed ordinary enough. But after a thorough inspection, he finally discovered a small serpent engraved on one of the copper taps.
He knew at once—this was the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.
Phineas recalled from the original book that this particular tap had never produced water, which was the final confirmation he needed.
He stared at the tiny snake, then hissed in Parseltongue.
Unlike Harry, Phineas had mastered the snake tongue on his own. He didn't need to trick his brain into thinking the carving was alive.
A strange hissing sound escaped his lips—Open.
Suddenly, the faucet emitted a brilliant white glow and began to spin rapidly.
The sink shuddered, then slowly vanished from view, revealing a massive pipe wide enough for a person to slide through. This was the true entrance.
Taking a deep breath, Phineas slid into the pipe, plunging into darkness like a twisting, slimy, endless chute.
As he descended, he noticed several smaller pipes branching off from the main tunnel, winding in every direction.
The pipe turned sharply and always sloped downward. Judging from the angle and the speed, Phineas guessed he was already below the kitchens—perhaps even below the old house-elf graveyard.
At last, the pipe leveled out and spat him into a damp, stone tunnel with water pooled across the floor.
This place was dark, built entirely of stone, much like the other secret chambers of the Founders. The ceiling was just high enough to stand, making the space feel claustrophobic. Covered in grime from the pipe, even Phineas—who wasn't fussy about dirt—longed for clean robes and a hot bath.
He closed his eyes and tried to sense his surroundings.
"Feels like... we're beneath the Black Lake," he muttered, activating the light on his left glove and continuing forward.
The narrow tunnel stretched into darkness. Even with his enchanted glove, the light only revealed a small area ahead. His shadow danced along the walls, monstrous and flickering, heightening the eerie silence.
Click.
The sound beneath his foot startled him. Looking down, he saw he'd stepped on a mouse skull. The floor was littered with tiny bones—dozens of small animal remains, silent and haunting.
It felt more like a tomb than a tunnel.
Ordinarily, he wouldn't care about such things, but now... something about these scattered remains made his skin crawl.
In that moment, Phineas realized he wasn't as emotionally strong as he believed. He had faced vampires and killers without flinching, yet now he felt it—fear.
He paused, taking two deep breaths to steady himself, then pushed forward.
Around a bend, he caught sight of something that made him freeze.
A colossal shape was coiled at the end of the tunnel.
Phineas crept closer on tiptoe, only to realize it was not a beast—but a shed skin. A massive, gleaming green snake slough, easily over twenty feet long.
It was undeniably from a basilisk.
And yet, the sight of it was strangely less terrifying than the scattered bones had been. Emotion, he noted, is often ruled more by the eye than by reason.
He passed the skin and soon reached a stone wall adorned with carvings of two intertwined serpents. Their emerald eyes glittered in the gloom.
Phineas recalled a theory from a forum he'd read in his past life: the current entrance to Slytherin's chamber had likely been modified by one of his descendants. After all, Hogwarts' plumbing must have been updated over the centuries. The original entrance was likely destroyed long ago. Someone must have rebuilt this one.
He hissed again in Parseltongue: Open.
The snake carvings stirred, slithering apart. The wall split open, revealing a new chamber.
This space wasn't a tunnel, but a vast, dimly lit room. Thick stone columns carved with coiling serpents held up the ceiling, casting deep shadows.
Phineas drew his wand and stepped forward cautiously. He still didn't know whether the basilisk was asleep—or awake.
If it was the latter, things could turn deadly very quickly.
When he passed the final row of pillars, he saw it: a towering statue pressed against the rear wall, its sheer size dominating the chamber.
He craned his neck to study the face—ancient, simian features with a long, straggly beard that nearly brushed the hem of the statue's robes. Water shimmered at its feet.
Phineas raised his voice and spoke:
"Speak to me, Slytherin—the greatest of the Hogwarts Four."
He wasn't sure the phrase would work, but he remembered Riddle using it in the movie to summon the basilisk.
The statue's mouth began to open, slowly forming a gaping black maw.
From within, something slithered forth.
Phineas stepped back, giving space for the creature to emerge, and said in Parseltongue:
"Close your eyes, treasure of Slytherin."
The basilisk obeyed.
It dropped to the floor with a shuddering boom, and the entire chamber trembled.
The serpent unfurled itself—enormous, emerald, and glowing with deadly radiance. Its body was thick as an oak tree and coiled like a resting dragon. Its eyes remained shut.
It gave a low hiss.
Phineas understood it.
It was hungry.
He frowned. Clearly, Slytherin had left no obvious way for the basilisk to hunt. The animal bones in the tunnel offered one clue—perhaps once, there had been a passage to the Forbidden Forest, blocked during later renovations. Or perhaps Riddle had commanded it to wait here indefinitely after Myrtle's death.
Either way, the beast was starving.
Still, thanks to parseltongue's influence, it remained obedient—for now.
"If you follow my commands," Phineas said gently, "I will help you find food."
The basilisk stirred at his words, recognizing the Parseltongue.
"Do you have a name?" he asked.
A hiss.
"Basque."
That was the name of the basilisk. As they conversed, Phineas learned several remarkable things.
Basque resented the previous summoner—Tom Riddle—but was bound by blood-contracts to obey. Only those with Slytherin's blood could command him.
Indeed, Basque could sense the blood. Slytherin had given him a drop of his own, granting him wisdom and loyalty.
Phineas finally understood: the so-called "Heir of Slytherin" wasn't about blood purity, but about lineage and duty—to protect Hogwarts.
At the time of Slytherin's departure, Muggles still hunted young witches and wizards. It made sense he'd leave behind such a guardian.
To be his heir meant more than command—it granted authority. Not only did it bestow access to his legacy, but also contractual power over Hogwarts itself.
The castle had once been Slytherin's personal property. He had leased it to the school in perpetuity for a single knut, but legally, it still belonged to him.
Thus, the Heir of Slytherin was also heir to the castle.
If Phineas claimed that title, even the magical control center above the Headmaster's office—used to monitor the castle—would be blocked from observing him. Slytherin had designed a backdoor for his chosen heir.
Finally, Phineas asked about the true chamber—the place where Slytherin left his inheritance.
It was inside the statue's mouth, where Basque had emerged.
Activating his glove's light, he stepped into the dark passage.
It was wide, clearly designed for Basque's movement. The air smelled stale and heavy.
Soon, he reached the basilisk's nest—a foul, musty corner of the statue, long neglected.
Near the nest stood a stone door, covered in strange runes.
Behind it lay Slytherin's greatest secrets.