Hufflepuff now felt as if her heart had stopped beating.
After spending the summer in Diagon Alley, she had gained a much clearer understanding of the prices in the modern wizarding world.
Now, upon learning that the cup she had sold for two hundred Galleons was being resold for three thousand, she felt like she couldn't breathe.
Compared to the bold and forthright Godric, the aloof Rowena, and the wealthy and extravagant Salazar, Helga Hufflepuff was more frugal and better at managing household affairs—so it was even harder for her to accept that she'd been swindled by that peddler.
She had already begun calculating how long the money she lost could have sustained Hogwarts.
Once she figured it out, Hufflepuff became even more furious: that amount was enough to keep the school running for a month and a half!
Unlike the headmasters who came later, the four founders were always extremely tight-fisted when it came to managing the school. They had no choice—pioneering was never easy, and only they could truly understand the hardship of building something from nothing.
"I'm going to settle this with that guy!" Hufflepuff couldn't even be bothered to eat her ice cream anymore; she was entirely focused on finding Borgin to confront him.
Although the unspoken rule in this line of work was that once a deal was done, it couldn't be pursued any further, Hufflepuff clearly had no intention of abiding by that rule.
"He only listed it for three thousand!" Seeing that his old friend was on the verge of breaking down, Rhys quickly tried to console her. "The Greengrass family didn't end up buying it."
"Oh, they didn't buy it…" Upon learning that the cup hadn't been sold, Hufflepuff immediately calmed down. If it hadn't been sold, then what difference did it make whether it was three thousand or three hundred?
Of course, there was a difference—if the price had been listed at three hundred, it might've actually sold. But Hufflepuff could only comfort herself this way. What else could she do? Beating up Borgin wouldn't change anything.
Hufflepuff smiled and said, "I knew it, who would pay three thousand Galleons for those three shabby cups?"
Rhys: "…"
"Don't say that—there really might be someone. Many pure-blood families' wealth didn't match their intelligence. And more importantly, those three cups were actually fine… From another perspective, this just shows how much modern wizards admire us!"
Rhys tried to comfort Helga in a different way.
Helga fell silent for a moment and quietly made a decision.
Seeing that Hufflepuff's mood had stabilized, Rhys relaxed and took his leave, enjoying the ice cream she'd bought for him as he went.
The next day, Rhys arrived at Platform Nine of King's Cross Station on time.
As usual, the platform was crowded. Rhys noticed Percy Weasley chatting with a pretty girl with long curly hair. Percy's face was flushed with excitement, and the badge on his chest—Head Boy—gleamed brightly.
Rhys raised an eyebrow: adolescent boy wizards—yep, that's exactly how they were.
Squeezing his way onto the train with the flow of the crowd, Rhys had to put in some effort before finally finding an empty compartment.
Just as he finished stowing away his luggage, Daphne and Astoria appeared.
"Homemade ice cream took a bit of time—but good thing you found an empty compartment. Otherwise, we'd be crammed in with other people," Daphne said, placing a chilled box emitting a frosty mist onto the little table in the compartment.
"Oh?" Hearing that it was homemade ice cream, Rhys immediately perked up.
"Pure whole milk, just a bit of sugar and raisins added," Daphne said proudly as she introduced her handmade ice cream to Rhys.
"Mmm!" Rhys took a small taste and found it quite good.
At that moment, a commotion came from the adjacent compartment. Judging by the voices, it was Malfoy showing off to others.
"Is it really a relic left by one of the Founders?!"
"Of course! My father spent over three thousand Galleons on it—take a look—"
"It really turned into wine!!!"
Everyone in the compartment looked a little strange: so Mr. Borgin had ended up selling them after all… and the price had even gone up a bit.
All that could be said was—some people really did know how to do business.
What Rhys didn't know, however, was that Lucius Malfoy hadn't paid the entire three thousand-plus Galleons in cash. He'd offset part of the cost with a few items from his personal collection.
As the train was about to depart, Neville appeared at the compartment door, holding his toad.
"Everywhere else is basically full. Do you guys—"
"Come in, there's just enough room here," Rhys scooted over a bit to make space for Neville.
The train started moving.
Rhys struck up a casual conversation with Neville. During their chat, he learned that Neville's toad was named "Trevor," a gift from his uncle.
"Don't let his looks fool you—Trevor's actually really well-behaved. He just tries to run away sometimes."
Rhys smiled. That was to be expected. Because Neville's way of interacting with his toad was actually incorrect. Proper wizards didn't truly keep toads as pets—they used them for potions or magical experiments.
Toads could also be used as conduits for curses. After a series of spells and rituals, a wizard could establish a mystical link between a toad and the cursed individual.
At that point, simply giving the toad the target's name would allow the wizard to carry out a lethal curse.
So Trevor had likely been trying to escape from Neville all along because of some instinctive warning—his spiritual intuition, perhaps?
After all, most toads didn't meet a good end in a wizard's hands.
Still, seeing that Neville had no such intentions, Rhys didn't tell him this rather cruel truth. Instead, he gave him a vial of the same potion used on Scabbers, one that would help keep the toad calmer.
In the afternoon, it began to rain outside. By the time the sun had set, the rain had intensified, and the lights in the corridor and on the luggage racks had all turned on.
Looking at the lights, Rhys recalled the sense of awe he had felt the first time he stepped into Hogwarts under the identity of "Rhys."
He wondered what Helga was thinking now. All of this must seem novel to her too, right?
No—she'd seen airplanes. She probably wouldn't be all that amazed...
Rhys's thoughts drifted. When he brought his attention back to the compartment, he noticed the train was slowing down, and the world outside the window had turned pitch-black, like ink.
He narrowed his eyes. Something was off—wasn't the train arriving a bit earlier than usual this time?
Rhys lifted his head. The feeling of unease in his chest was growing stronger.
Creeek! Bang!
The train suddenly jolted to a halt. Immediately after came the sounds of thuds and crashes—luggage falling from racks—and then, all the lights went out at once.
The compartment was instantly plunged into darkness.
"What's going on? Is the train broken?" Daphne's voice came from beside him.
"No," Rhys replied, casually conjuring a few balls of flame to drive back the darkness.
In the eerie blue glow of the firelight, his expression shifted between light and shadow.
"The train's been stopped—deliberately."
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