Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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"Hello, my friend. I am Sertirares Skeggi, a traveler in search of all the magical legacies. I've been traveling around the world gathering clues to find these legacies, and I wonder if you've come for the same reason upon seeing this image of mine."

"This is the nineteenth ancient ruin I found, left by a powerful awakened wizard. This esteemed predecessor participated in the Demon Hunting Campaign. He successfully emerged from the depths of the Abyss and secured a precious breathing space for the wizarding world."

"The three treasures left here are from the demon gods they hunted. The silvery leather is likely a magical skin resistant to magic, the wooden spear is probably connected to the body's vascular system, and the irregular stone may be the shattered core of the demon god's power. I took the magical core with me for my research."

"However, my knowledge of the demon wars from so long ago is limited. Ordinary wizards didn't have a part in the core of that conflict, and there are very few clues left by the outside world. It's only after visiting various ruins that I've managed to piece together a few threads of information."

"The traces left by the awakened ones are incredibly scarce. The legacy of the awakened ones was probably destroyed after that war. I've been wandering the world for seventeen years since leaving Hogwarts, but I haven't found another companion with powers similar to mine. Sometimes, I wonder—am I the only living awakened wizard in the world?"

"If that's true…"

A trace of melancholy appeared in Sertira's eyes. "I suppose I would feel somewhat lonely, my friend."

"However, time will not erase the traces we've left in this world. Perhaps in a hundred or two hundred years, after I'm gone, new awakened wizards will be born."

"I believe, one day, in this vast world, we will meet—maybe only through this image—but we won't be alone."

"I don't have much to leave for you. My dream is to gather all the magical legacies passed down through our bloodline. I believe these legacies hold the power to create worlds, and that is the goal I've been pursuing with all my might in this lifetime."

"Here are all the legacies I have gathered, including the ones I currently possess. If you have similar aspirations, I hope this can offer you some help. If not, I hope you'll take the knowledge here and ensure it isn't buried in the dust of time."

During his seventeen years of wandering, Sertira collected another eleven magical legacies, three of which came from this ruin: Fus—Power, Ro—Balance, Dah—Promotion.

Harry committed Sertira's legacies to memory, just as he had done at Hogwarts. He also kept the three magical words from Paradise Island that he had acquired earlier. If this place hadn't been destroyed by the Ministry of Magic, perhaps the next awakened wizard to come here might find these traces as well.

In contrast to Sertira's formal recording, the content recorded in the emerald-green whirlpool was far less serious. Or rather, the awakened wizard who left this image centuries ago wasn't leaving a legacy at all. Instead, they were documenting their own life, much like a social media video.

The unknown wizard babbled in some North American dialect, though judging by his appearance, he was likely boasting about his proud collection hall. His face radiated excitement and an almost unbearable pride.

The combination of Fus—Power, Ro—Balance, and Dah—Promotion formed the "Unyielding Force" magic, used when he showed off an alchemical magic statue that resembled a Gundam. But that now decayed, rusted statue was no longer the imposing figure it once was in the image.

Harry put away the silvery leather. Compared to the invisibility cloak, this unprocessed leather didn't have the one-sided invisibility effect. However, in all other aspects, it could do everything the cloak could.

The process of retrieving the final "artifact" was much smoother than Harry had anticipated. When he returned to the entrance, the tranquilizer had at least ten minutes left to take effect. After some hesitation, Harry decided not to use the Cruciatus Curse to control the group into advancing toward death and silence. Since he no longer needed to play the role of Voldemort, he saw no reason to continue down a path of violent madness. It wouldn't add value—it would only lead to a twisted, perverse path.

Clad in the invisibility cloak, Harry concealed himself and walked back through the door into the crowded ruins.

Outside, the entrance was guarded by Aurors in full armor, but they didn't notice the transparent figure walking out. Wizards relied too much on magical vigilance, which was exactly what the invisibility cloak was designed to counter. If there were Dementor-like guards stationed at the door, Harry would have been detected immediately upon appearing.

The magical barriers around the area, including anti-Disillusionment charms and other magical shields, couldn't stop Harry. It wasn't until ten minutes later, when the Aurors began to stir from their stupor, that the disturbance began, signaling a flurry of activity.

Rumors spread like wildfire among the bounty hunters outside, with word that the Ministry of Magic had acquired the final artifact. The bounty hunters, who had already been restless, now glowed with greedy intentions. While a direct confrontation with the Ministry seemed unlikely, the promise of sudden wealth was too tempting for some petty thieves to resist.

The turmoil in North America had nothing to do with Harry. After bidding farewell to the blonde young man, Harry wasted no time and left. He discarded all his previous disguises. The Christmas break had just begun, and with twelve days left, he wasn't about to waste any more time.

---

Meanwhile, far away in Europe, Tom, locked in a laboratory in Nurmengard, had clearly not enjoyed the Christmas holiday. Grindelwald was taking his work very seriously. During the forty-eight hours since he took charge of Voldemort, he hadn't taken even a ten-minute break. High-concentration stimulants kept his mind sharp.

Hard work naturally brought results. The memory extractions through potions and curses yielded highly valuable data. Voldemort had pursued a path in dark magic that was very different from Grindelwald's. For a dark wizard, this information was incredibly useful.

Wizards like Grindelwald, who had reached such a high level, were hardly influenced by others. He had his own way, and any research from others would only serve as supplementary material without any substantial impact on his work.

"Did this ruin him?"

Looking at young Tom, who lay motionless with his tongue out, Grindelwald sighed in mild regret. He admired the dark wizard's potential, but that was limited to his research in dark magic. As for Tom's personal character, Grindelwald had no respect for him. The petty tricks and covert actions he took in England hardly qualified him as a true leader. He was more of a big, insignificant thug than a formidable force.

However, Tom, now thoroughly dazed, couldn't offer any responses. After enduring Grindelwald's "careful treatment," Voldemort had completely given up. He was broken—truly broken.

What kind of torment was this? "Heart-wrenching, bone-gnawing"? Was that even considered real torture?

In the face of Grindelwald's torment, the Cruciatus Curse seemed like a child's toy!

"Get out of here! I can't stay in England—no, in Europe any longer!"

Before his mind shattered completely and his consciousness was obliterated, Voldemort finally realized the ominous nature of this place. His awareness fully awakened. Did he have a personal grudge against Harry? No. It wasn't Harry who had killed him; it was his own foolishness. Why should he persist in his vendetta against him? That young fool was only getting stronger. He should count himself lucky not to be causing trouble himself—getting involved would surely lead to his death, with Lily Potter herself beating him down with a single hand.

Did he have a grudge against Dumbledore? No, not really. It was only that, during his time at Hogwarts, all the professors favored him, while Dumbledore did not. But could that even be considered a grudge? Professors weren't his parents; they couldn't be forced to like him. Voldemort now felt embarrassed by his past arrogance.

And Grindelwald? He realized he had no choice but to avoid him. It would be foolish for anyone to challenge the leader of the wizarding supremacist faction, which controlled half of Europe. Voldemort admitted that he had spoken too rashly earlier and should not have clashed with Grindelwald's associates.

In a world as vast as this, surely there was a place where he could lay low? Not everywhere was like Europe, teeming with monsters and dangers. Picking a fight on a dead-end path was the dumbest choice. His true goal had never been to dominate England—he was after immortality, not some petty pursuit of power. The Death Eaters were merely tools to gather strength; tools could be found anywhere.

Having endured the torment and knowing that his soul had been fractured countless times, Voldemort now realized that only in the process of resurrection could he sense the connection between his soul and his Horcruxes. He had chosen not to resurrect from any specific Horcrux this time. Seizing this moment, his shattered consciousness reconnected to all of his remaining Horcruxes—those yet undiscovered and undestroyed. If he couldn't stay in Europe, there was no need for the Horcruxes to persist.

At that moment, all his scattered Horcruxes were activated simultaneously, their magical essence flowing through the invisible bonds between them, converging toward one direction.

The ring had likely been exposed already, so it wasn't a good place to revive. The locket hidden in the cliffside cave had been moved, so Voldemort decided against using that for his resurrection. The crown left in Hogwarts was far too dangerous; Dumbledore was likely waiting for him to make a move so that he could be captured and tortured by Grindelwald again. The only option left was the Horcrux kept by his most trusted subordinate, Bellatrix Lestrange.

The Hufflepuff cup, hidden within the Lestrange family vault in Gringotts, was supposedly one of the safest places in the wizarding world. While Gringotts wasn't without its flaws, it was the best option left.

---

In the dimly lit vault full of gold, a semi-transparent shadow formed rapidly, fueled by the magical energy contained within the Horcrux. Unlike previous resurrections, Voldemort's shadow was now more solid and real than ever.

But the next moment, a blood-curdling scream echoed through the empty vault. The torment Grindelwald had subjected him to would not simply vanish with his resurrection. Although his tortured memories had become muddled after his numerous breakdowns, the excruciating pain from that time remained sharp and vivid.

A silver thread of memory emerged from Voldemort's trembling fingers, and when he severed it, his agonized body finally relaxed. Much like Horace Slughorn, who had altered his memory to avoid the knowledge he had given about Voldemort's Horcruxes, Voldemort too chose to modify his own memory—but with far greater decisiveness.

He had completely erased the painful memories of his torture.

Now, there was only one thing he needed to remember:

Immortality.

It had been his original dream, his purest and most beautiful aspiration. There was no need to repeat the mistakes of his past. Since he had chosen to leave this place, he would sever all ties with the wrong paths he had walked before.

As Voldemort regained clarity, he took deep breaths. He no longer wanted to use the name "Voldemort"—a name too closely tied to his adolescent delusions of grandeur.

Living a simpler life seemed like no great sacrifice. At least it would allow him to endure the weakest phase of his existence in peace.

Tom Riddle surveyed the Lestrange family vault. Gold coins in the millions piled high around him. As a noble and ancient wizarding family, money was certainly not an issue here.

Whether for research on immortality or any other purpose, money was an essential tool.

He grabbed a preserved dragonhide cloak. Without a wand, it would be difficult to perform magic, but it wasn't impossible. Soon, he had crafted a simple dragonhide cloak and an enchanted pocket large enough to hold countless golden, silver, and bronze bullets. He left the useless golden trinkets behind, as taking them could risk exposing his presence. But the coins, crafted by goblins, posed no such threat.

"It's time to leave," he muttered.

Now looking like an ordinary person, Voldemort donned his hood and picked up a discarded wand, which wasn't particularly comfortable. He aimed it at the heavy vault door and fired.

A deafening alarm rang out in Gringotts. In the deepest vault, a dragon's agonized roar echoed, followed by blinding flashes of fire. The bank was now experiencing the largest heist in its history!

Yet the mastermind remained unseen. Voldemort had already packed his bags and disappeared into the distance, leaving the place of turmoil behind.

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(End of Chapter)