The days leading up to the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match were charged with excitement across Hogwarts. Banners fluttered in the Great Hall — red and gold clashing against green and silver — and every corridor buzzed with debate about who would win.
Roy, however, had his own quiet rhythm.
For the past week, every night after curfew, he had slipped silently from the Hufflepuff dormitory — his footsteps masked by alchemic concealment charms. The library's forbidden section had become his private study. There, under flickering candlelight, he pored over tomes about ancient spells, runic inscriptions, advanced potion theory, and even lost branches of alchemy known only to a handful of scholars.
He never touched dark magic. Even though the forbidden shelves were filled with temptations — cursed scrolls, forbidden sigils, and grimoires that whispered when opened — Roy's focus was unshaken.
He would master power on his own terms.
And to aid that goal, he had spent the previous night inside the Room of Requirement. The mysterious chamber had transformed into a massive open training ground, glowing runes tracing the walls. Roy tested the two spells given to him by "Professor Quirrell":
Fulmen Arcanum crackled from his hand like a focused thunderbolt, striking a conjured target with blinding precision.
Glacius Nova froze an entire section of the floor, the temperature dropping instantly, crystalline ice blooming like a lotus beneath his feet.
Clean. Efficient. No corruption in the magic itself, Roy noted with satisfaction. Even if it came from Voldemort's hand, knowledge is still knowledge.
After perfecting their control, he dispelled the magic, left no trace behind, and quietly returned to his dorm to sleep.
Now, a week later, the morning of the big Quidditch match had arrived.
The Great Hall was roaring with anticipation. Gryffindor students cheered wildly for Harry Potter, who had just received a Nimbus 2000 — the fastest broomstick on the market. Everyone knew it was Professor McGonagall's doing, even though she had tried to keep it a secret.
At the Hufflepuff table, Roy sat with Cedric, Susan, and Hannah, watching the chaos with mild amusement.
"Looks like the whole school's gone mad," Cedric laughed, buttering a piece of toast."Harry's first match," Roy said calmly, sipping pumpkin juice. "Gryffindor hasn't stopped talking about it since Tuesday.""Slytherin's gonna play dirty," Susan muttered. "You can feel it.""They always do," Roy replied with a smirk.
When the bell rang, everyone hurried toward the Quidditch stadium. Flags waved in the stands, enchanted banners flashing "Go Gryffindor!" and "Crush Them, Slytherin!"
Roy and the Hufflepuff Quidditch team sat together, watching from the top row. As a new chaser for his house, Roy studied the teams closely — every movement, every strategy, memorizing how players shifted in the air.
Observation is half the battle, he thought. If we face either team later, this knowledge will matter.
Madam Hooch's whistle blew.
"Mount your brooms… and—""UP!" the teams shouted in unison, and the players shot into the sky.
The match began in a flurry of wind and sound.
Flint, the burly Slytherin captain, dove for the Quaffle and immediately collided with Angelina Johnson. Gryffindor's chasers fought back hard, and the stands erupted in cheers.
Then Harry Potter — the youngest Seeker in a century — flew higher, scanning the field for the Snitch. His Nimbus 2000 gleamed like gold under the sunlight, cutting through the air with ease.
From where he sat, Roy couldn't help but smile slightly.
He's talented, Roy thought. Instinctive flier… fast reflexes.
The match was brutal. Bludgers swung dangerously close to players, Slytherin's beaters aiming with malicious accuracy.
But then — the moment that would be remembered for years — Harry's broom jerked violently in midair.
The entire crowd gasped.
Roy's sharp eyes narrowed. From the opposite stands, Professor Snape stood rigid, muttering under his breath — counter-hexing. And near him, Quirrell's hand was subtly raised, trembling ever so slightly.
So that's how it starts, Roy thought grimly. Voldemort testing his influence… even during a match.
Hermione, sitting several rows below, noticed too. She dashed across the benches, setting Snape's robes aflame to break Quirrell's focus — just as in the original timeline.
Moments later, Harry regained control, leaned forward on his broom… and caught the Golden Snitch right in his mouth.
The stadium erupted.
"POTTER CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS!" Lee Jordan screamed through the commentary mic.
Cheers thundered through the arena as Gryffindor students hugged one another, chanting Harry's name. Slytherins groaned in frustration, and Madam Hooch blew her final whistle.
From the stands, Roy clapped lightly, his expression unreadable.
"A good game," Cedric said beside him. "That kid's got guts.""He does," Roy agreed quietly. "But that broom… wasn't the only thing under attack."
He glanced toward the teachers' stand where Quirrell sat perfectly still, his eyes faintly cold behind that turban.
You're moving faster than expected, Voldemort, Roy thought. But I'll keep watching from the shadows… for now.
The wind rustled through the banners above, carrying the echo of cheers across the field.Gryffindor had won their first match of the season —But for Roy Valvas, the real game had only just begun.