The morning after his return to Hogwarts, Roy Valvas sat by the window of the library, sorting through a new bundle of letters.Among the usual congratulatory notes from professors and schoolmates lay one sealed with deep blue wax — the Valvas family crest, an eagle wreathed in lightning.
Roy broke the seal and unfolded the letter. The handwriting was firm and precise — the unmistakable hand of General Darius Valvas, his grandfather.
The Letter from Darius Valvas
My dear grandson,
First, congratulations. The Order of Merlin — First Class — is no small feat, even for a wizard twice your age. You have made the Valvas name echo in both worlds, magical and muggle alike.
But mark my words, boy — Cornelius Fudge smiles with one hand while counting daggers with the other. The Ministry does not give power without strings. Watch him carefully.
Still, you've done what few ever could — wrested influence from politicians without bleeding for it. I call that proper generalship.
I'm proud of you, lad. Don't let the robes and gold blind you. Keep your blade sharp, and your mind sharper.
— Darius Valvas, Retired General, Royal Defence Command
Roy chuckled quietly, eyes glinting. He knew that tone — half warning, half pride.With a faint smile, he picked up a quill and began to write back.
Roy's Reply
Grandfather,The Minister sought my support. I gave him strategy instead — something he valued more than loyalty.Three Wizengamot seats secured in exchange for advice that costs me nothing to offer.
I hold no allegiance, yet wield influence. It's like chess — the trick is to make your opponent believe he's winning while you move his pieces for him.
Your lessons on misdirection served me well.
Your grandson,Roy.
He sealed the letter and handed it to his phoenix familiar, which vanished in violet flame.
At the Valvas Estate
Far away, in the quiet countryside manor of the Valvas Family, General Darius Valvas sat at his study desk surrounded by medals, maps, and old campaign portraits.When the violet flame flickered and Roy's letter appeared, the old man unfolded it eagerly.
As he read, his expression broke into a grin — then a booming laugh echoed through the halls.
"Ha! That's my grandson!"
He slapped the letter against the desk and bellowed,
"Clara! Clara, come here! You need to hear what the boy's done!"
Family Reactions
Moments later, Clara Valvas, elegant in her pearl shawl, entered with Alex and Jessica, Roy's parents.
Darius read the letter aloud, relishing every word.
Clara smiled proudly.
"Oh, Darius, he's got your mind — that same strategic madness you used to terrify your superiors with."
Alex chuckled.
"He outplayed the Minister of Magic himself. I'd say that's higher stakes than your old campaigns, Father."
Jessica, her eyes bright with both worry and pride, murmured softly,
"Just like him to make allies without bowing to anyone. But I hope he's careful — politics aren't fought with swords but with poison."
Darius puffed out his chest.
"Let them try. My grandson just outwitted the most conniving bureaucrat in the magical world. That boy could command armies."
Then, grinning, he took out parchment and began another letter — this one addressed to an old friend.
Letter to Nicolas Flamel
My old alchemist friend,
You remember that grandson I once told you about — the one you called "too clever for his age"?He's just secured three Wizengamot seats by outmaneuvering the Minister himself — and all before he's of age.
Seems your teachings and our family instincts made quite the combination.
— Darius Valvas
At the Flamels' Residence
In the ancient stone house of the Flamels, Nicolas, Perenelle, and Rowena Ravenclaw sat together in the sunlit study when the letter arrived through a soft shimmer of alchemical flame.
Nicolas opened it, reading with a delighted twinkle in his eyes.
"Ah, the boy has learned the art of the political philosopher. Wisdom and subtlety — the rarest form of power."
Perenelle laughed lightly.
"He outplayed Cornelius Fudge at his own game. The Minister won't even realize he's been maneuvered until it's far too late."
Rowena, seated by the window, smiled softly — that serene, knowing smile she wore when thought met affection.
"Roy Valvas," she murmured. "Ever climbing higher, yet still humble enough to thank his grandfather first."
Her quill floated to life, writing almost on its own — a letter forming in her elegant script.
To Roy Valvas,Your intellect is matched only by your restraint. You have turned power into an instrument, not an addiction — and that is the rarest kind of wisdom.You make even immortals like us proud.
— Rowena Ravenclaw
As her ink dried, a faint light glimmered in her eyes — something more than pride, something warmer.