The morning after the Dueling Club disaster, the air in Hogwarts felt different.Harry's fame — once blinding — had begun to tarnish. Whispers followed him through corridors. Parseltongue… the language of Slytherin.No matter how many times Harry said, "I didn't mean it," few believed him.
Roy watched it all quietly from the Hufflepuff table, his breakfast untouched. So the Chamber rumor spreads faster than sense, he thought, his silver-white hair glinting faintly under the enchanted ceiling's pale light.
But today wasn't about rumors. Today was Quidditch.
The Clash on the Pitch
Out on the cold morning air, the Gryffindor Quidditch team arrived at the pitch, brooms slung over shoulders.Oliver Wood, their ever-driven captain, was already barking orders, a rolled-up schedule in his hands.
"Alright, Potter! Let's make use of the whole morning. The pitch is ours till—"
He froze mid-sentence.
Across the field stood Marcus Flint and the Slytherin team, green robes gleaming, brooms lined neatly in hand.
Wood frowned. "Flint, we booked the pitch for practice today!"
Flint smirked, holding up a parchment. "Not anymore. We've got permission from Professor Snape himself — to train our new Seeker."
Wood's eyes narrowed. "New Seeker?"
A familiar, smug drawl cut through the cool air."Me," said Draco Malfoy, stepping forward, silver-blonde hair slicked back, brandishing a brand-new Nimbus 2001.
Behind him, the entire Slytherin team raised identical brooms — polished, sleek, faster than anything Gryffindor owned.
Malfoy smirked. "Father bought them for the team. Generosity, you see. Slytherin pride and all that."
Flint added with mock sympathy, "You could always ask Potter's fans to buy you some new ones."
Hermione, who had come along with Harry and Ron to watch, stepped forward before Harry could retort."At least the Gryffindor team has talent," she said sharply. "You can't buy that."
The sneer that curled on Flint's face was cruel."No one asked you, Mudblood."
The word hung in the air — sharp, vile, and venomous.
Harry froze. Ron's face went red with rage. Wood looked horrified.But before any of them could react—
The temperature around them dropped.
A pressure, invisible yet suffocating, filled the air.Even the sky seemed to darken for a moment.
Every player on the field — Gryffindor and Slytherin alike — turned toward the source.
Roy Valvas was walking toward them.
His silver-white hair shimmered like moonlight against his dark Hufflepuff robes, and his diamond-blue eyes glowed faintly, cold as glaciers.He had simply been passing by, hands in his pockets — but that single slur had frozen him in place.
And now, with each calm step, his killing intent rolled across the pitch like a silent storm.
Flint's smirk faltered. His legs trembled slightly, breath hitching in his throat.
"R–Roy… I didn't mean—"
The sentence never finished.
Roy appeared before him in a blink — faster than the eye could follow.A crack echoed as Roy's fist connected with Flint's jaw, sending him sprawling into the dirt.Before anyone could move, another crack — Flint's arm bent at a wrong angle. Then a leg.
Roy stepped forward again, his voice calm — too calm."Watch your mouth when you speak to my people."
He pressed his boot against Flint's chest, pinning him effortlessly to the ground. The pressure alone made the air around them waver.The other Slytherin players, pale-faced, collapsed one by one under the sheer weight of his presence — some fainting, some gasping, unable to move.
The Gryffindors weren't much better — frozen in shock, hearts pounding, unable to lift a finger.
The field had gone utterly silent.
Then, as swiftly as it came, the pressure vanished.Roy turned away, brushing dust off his sleeve as if nothing had happened.
"Next time," he said softly, glancing back once, "remember who you're talking to."
And with that, he walked off — calm, unhurried, the morning sun catching the faint glint of silver in his hair.
By lunchtime, the story had spread through all four Houses.
Whispers followed him down corridors — admiration, fear, awe.Roy Valvas broke Marcus Flint's arm.He did it for Hermione Granger.Even the Slytherins won't speak his name lightly now.
Among those listening, Astoria, Cassandra, Daphne, Penelope, Cho, Ginny, and even Luna couldn't hide their pride.Hermione herself sat quiet through lunch, cheeks warm, fingers brushing the spot where Roy had stood before her — the memory of that moment replaying in her mind.
They all shared the same unspoken thought, hearts fluttering as one:
He'd protect us. Always.
And when Roy passed by them later, offering a small, effortless smile —every one of them blushed.