The Valvas estate in France hummed with quiet activity. Outside the massive walls, the autumn wind carried the scent of distant forests and the faint tang of magic that lingered in the air. Inside, Roy Valvas stood in the training hall, his robes flowing as he moved with the grace of a true master swordsman.
For the past month, he had immersed himself entirely in mastering swordsmanship and conquering Haki. Every morning, he sparred with his grandfather, Darius Valvas, whose movements were a masterclass in strength and precision. Some days, the Shadow Guards—elite warriors loyal to the Valvas family—stepped in, their attacks sharp and relentless, challenging Roy to push past his limits.
Roy's sword gleamed under the enchanted lights, coated in the invisible layer of Conqueror's Haki he had perfected. Every strike carried weight and intent; every parry demonstrated absolute control over both physical and spiritual energy. By now, Roy's mastery was near flawless. Not even a single guard could land a decisive hit, and Darius often found himself testing Roy rather than training him.
Despite his focus on the physical, Roy never neglected the magical world. Reports from the Daily Prophet and Wizard Weekly floated across his enchanted communication system. Accusations and slanderous stories about Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore filled the pages—claims spun by none other than Cornelius Fudge. Roy, unsurprisingly, paid them no mind. Dumbledore seemed similarly unconcerned, but Harry—grieving the loss of Ron Weasley at Voldemort's hands—found himself isolated, with no one believing the truth. Roy, reading from afar, only felt a quiet pang of pity for his friend.
At the same time, Roy's magical fanbase kept their correspondence coming. Letters poured in from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang—notes from students, professors, and admirers eagerly requesting another concert. Grayfia Lucifuge, Velenala Bael, Albedo, Rem, Ram, Nagini, Bela White, and Narcissa Black burned each one as they arrived, carefully shielding him from distractions while keeping the flood of attention in check.
Meanwhile, in the shadowed corridors of Malfoy Manor, tension reigned. Lucius Malfoy knelt on the cold marble floor, his face contorted in pain as Voldemort's wand pressed against him. The Cruciatus Curse seared through him relentlessly. On the sidelines, Draco Malfoy clutched his stepmother, Lisana Selwyn, trembling as they tried to shield each other from the horror before them.
Voldemort's voice was cold and calculating. "Where is the Lestrange vault, Lucius? Speak."
Lucius gasped between curses, knowing any wrong word could cost him his life. "L-Lord… the vault… the artifacts… I—Roy Valvas auctioned them off years ago. Even the Hufflepuff Cup. Someone purchased it. I… I need time to investigate… to find the buyer."
The Dark Lord's eyes glimmered with dangerous intent. "Time… you have. But the one who holds the cup… shall die."
Lucius swallowed hard, careful not to show the truth Voldemort could not suspect: that Roy had sold the artifacts for Galleons at the age of eight, and he had been completely unaware of the true nature of the Hufflepuff Cup as a Horcrux. Voldemort accepted this explanation, his mind assuaged that Roy was still merely a child in his estimation.
Then, his attention turned to Draco. "And you… what is your relationship with this… Roy Valvas?"
Draco's voice was cautious, measured. "We… we know each other. You could barely call us friends."
Voldemort's gaze darkened, and for a moment he fell into thought. He recalled the first year at Hogwarts, when he had attempted to inhabit Quirrell and confront Roy. He remembered the boy's strength—his ability to throw him using Harry as leverage. That encounter had planted doubt: Roy was formidable, but not yet an equal.
Yet Voldemort's mind churned. Even now, the faintest echoes of that confrontation reminded him that Roy Valvas was no ordinary child. And somewhere deep inside, a seed of caution began to sprout.
Roy, in France, trained relentlessly, unaware that the dark powers he had already crossed were already plotting, scheming in shadows. The magical world, the Muggle world, and the darkest forces of wizardry were all moving toward him—but Roy Valvas, as always, was already ten steps ahead.