The Great Hall buzzed with morning chatter as students gathered for breakfast. The air smelled of fresh bread and sizzling bacon, mingled with the faint aroma of pumpkin juice.
Roy sat quietly at the Hufflepuff table, Dvalin curled up beside him, the small dragon occasionally twitching its wings. His silver-white hair caught the candlelight, his diamond-blue eyes scanning the hall with calm indifference.
"Roy!" a young Hufflepuff student piped up, almost bouncing in his seat. "Can you… can you lead Hufflepuff to victory again this year in Quidditch? Just like last year?"
Roy let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slowly.
"I'm afraid I've resigned from being a chaser," he replied, his tone casual.
A hush fell across the table. Plates clinked as students froze mid-bite. Whispers started spreading across the hall like wildfire.
"What? But… he was amazing!" another student gasped.
Some of the Hufflepuff team looked concerned, while Cedric Diggory, seated a few seats down, simply nodded knowingly, his face unreadable but respectful.
One brave Hufflepuff finally asked their team captain for clarification.
"But sir… what about Roy? He was the best chaser last year!"
The captain cleared his throat and explained:
"Before Roy joined the team last year, he told Professor Sprout he would only play for one year. She agreed, and so did I. Cedric knows this too."
Cedric gave a subtle nod, confirming the captain's words.
Across the hall, whispers grew louder. Students from other houses—Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and even Slytherin—exchanged satisfied glances. The "Shura," as Roy had earned the nickname for his dominance on the pitch, would not participate this year.
The captains of the other houses' teams looked almost relieved, quietly gathering their team members.
"Alright, everyone, training starts now!" the Gryffindor captain announced.
Some players groaned, unhappy at the prospect of another brutal practice, but no one dared refuse. The teams shuffled out of the hall, their excitement mixed with trepidation.
Meanwhile, a single student in Gryffindor couldn't hide his glee: Ronald Weasley. A wide grin spread across his face as he whispered to himself:
"Finally… no Shura to worry about. Maybe this year, we'll actually have a chance."
In contrast, Hufflepuff students were left with a bittersweet feeling. Many remembered Roy's incredible skills—the way he had flown through defenses, the precision of his passes, the fierce energy that had earned them last year's victories. And now, that brilliance would be absent from their team, leaving them both grateful and wistful.
Roy, for his part, didn't seem to notice the murmurings. He quietly finished his breakfast, Dvalin yawning beside him, already plotting his next adventure or training session. To him, Quidditch was no longer a game to dominate—it was simply another part of the castle's bustling life.
And yet, even in his calm demeanor, the faintest flicker of anticipation danced in his diamond-blue eyes. After all, power, knowledge, and mastery came in many forms—and sometimes, the field wasn't the only place to prove one's skill.