Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

Support me and be 30 chapters ahead of webnovel:

patreon.com/Draco_

******

"Forget about it."

All three of them had guns pointed at their heads. With the pull of the trigger, a silver thread shot out from the other side of their skulls—it was the thread of memory.

For a brief moment, their gazes became hazy. The memories of the past two minutes were erased from their minds, but this would not have any significant effect on the wizards.

As their vision cleared, Dumbledore lit a blazing fire in his hand. The ominous flame was capable of scorching souls, and the silver threads were ignited, leaving no trace of smoke or ash.

"Eh, did a thief break in here?" Harry asked, somewhat confused, as he looked around at the scene, which resembled a ruin. "Did your potion kettle explode, godfather?"

"It was Dumbledore who insisted on making a cake, and then the dust exploded," Snape said, nodding confidently. "How could my potion kettle possibly explode?"

"It must have been you, Harry, eating too many beans and farting it out," Dumbledore said, waving his hand in front of his nose as if sensing some strange lingering odor in the air.

The three exchanged glances and then, wordlessly, raised their wands and recited a restoration charm. The shattered and collapsed interior of the room rapidly restored itself, as though time itself had reversed. In just a few seconds, the headmaster's office had returned to its original state.

"The Ravenclaw idiot crown," Harry muttered, wincing at the shiny golden crown. Although the embarrassing history associated with it had naturally disappeared, they had left behind memories of the true effects of the Ravenclaw crown to prevent repeating past mistakes.

"Though I'm not sure what happened, becoming an idiot must be a truly terrifying thing," Snape said, his voice tinged with unease as he patted his chest. "How did my rib break?"

He pulled out a vial of potion and drank it, then easily snapped his ribs back into place. In just a few seconds, the injury was healed.

"Give me some, my wrist is also broken."

Dumbledore furrowed his brow slightly as he rubbed his left wrist, where a bruised scratch remained. He had already guessed in that instant who was responsible, but he didn't mention it. Since he had chosen to erase that memory, there must have been a reason for it.

"Though I don't know why, but it hurts. It really hurts."

Harry, holding his forehead, noticed his eyelids twitching violently the moment he saw the crown. It was an ominous premonition, an extremely intense sense of foreboding.

"I think I might understand what the message inside the crown from Ravenclaw means."

"Ravenclaw was an awakened witch, and inside the crown, she left the words, 'I am too intelligent to fit into this world.' This crown, which turns people into idiots, might have been her design to help her communicate normally with others," Harry explained.

"The crown doesn't bring wisdom; instead, it lowers Ravenclaw's intelligence so that others can understand her. Only by reducing her intellect could people understand what she was saying."

"That sounds about right," Snape nodded slightly. "It's certainly difficult to talk to idiots. Albus, couldn't you have included IQ as a selection criterion when admitting students?"

"Especially those pureblood families. Inbreeding has led to a surplus of idiots. Although there are some smart ones, compared to the number of idiots, the smart ones are too few."

Although Snape was the head of Slytherin, he didn't entirely favor the pureblood students there. The majority of Slytherin's composition consisted of half-bloods, and the elite group among them were mostly half-blood wizards. This was the true reason Slytherin had been able to hold onto the House Cup for seven consecutive years before Harry arrived.

"There's a shortage of students, a shortage of students," Dumbledore chuckled. "And besides, we can't measure intelligence with magic."

"Then just give more students to the other houses. Slytherin's done for if they keep adding idiots."

"Ah, this..." Dumbledore looked up at the Sorting Hat, which had its eyes tightly shut and was muttering, 'I didn't see anything, I don't know anything.' "I can't control that."

"So being a headmaster is this easy?" Snape asked, his lips twitching slightly, making Dumbledore look slightly awkward.

"Let's just set the crown aside for now. I'll keep it safe. If everyone finds out the truth about it, many might be heartbroken."

Dumbledore carefully levitated the crown with a spell, not even wanting to touch it with his fingers. He placed it into an ornate brass-and-wood box, which was then placed high on a bookshelf.

"The Golden Cup and the Resurrection Stone ring," Dumbledore said, looking at Harry. "Which one interests you more?"

With the precedent of the Ravenclaw Idiot Crown, the Helga Hufflepuff's Golden Cup no longer seemed like a good choice, despite its seemingly harmless appearance. Helga Hufflepuff had been the kindest of the four founders, but no one could say for sure how much the truth matched the historical legends.

"I'll go with the ring instead."

Harry gripped the Resurrection Stone set in the ring, and with a twist, the stone detached from its base.

The crystal-clear black gem radiated no magical power, yet when people gazed at it, their vision seemed to be drawn into it, as if the transparent gem contained a slowly spinning vortex, exuding a mesmerizing, powerful magic.

However, the pull was too weak—especially when the wizard had no pressing desire. This faint attraction wouldn't be enough to sway one's will.

The other two, Dumbledore and Snape, stared intently at the stone in Harry's hand. Both wanted to witness a figure appear, but they restrained their expectations. Dumbledore had already accepted that the Resurrection Stone could not bring the dead back to life, and Snape understood that he could only see those clear, green eyes in Harry.

It was for the best that the Resurrection Stone was in Harry's hands. Neither Dumbledore nor Snape would have been able to control themselves if they had it. Once one truly possessed the stone, it was impossible to say whether they would be able to resist the temptation of drinking from the deadly poison it represented.

Harry didn't spin the Resurrection Stone. That was the way to 'summon' the souls of the deceased into the real world. It was the "proper" method of use in the legends, but it was a trap—a trap where a single misstep could lead to a fatal end. The stone was a cruel gift, a silent assassin's poison dagger.

Iron-gray magic gathered in Harry's palm and slowly seeped into the black gem.

The vortex that seemed to exist inside the stone became clearer. A voice whispered in Harry's ear, speaking in the softest tone, as though calling him gently.

But Harry didn't pay attention to the beguiling whisper. He increased the flow of his magic, and the vortex inside the gem began to spin faster. The once-gentle voice became hurried, urgent—until it erupted into a sharp, threatening scream, like a shrieking banshee, filled with malice and curses.

The vortex, now spinning at maximum speed, was flooded with endless magic. The previously venomous scream trembled, as if begging for mercy, pleading for Harry to stop.

Eventually, the once-transparent black gem became clouded with a murky gray, its surface gleaming with a cold, steel-like shine.

The vortex shattered. Some magic was violently destroyed by this forceful method, thoroughly crushed at its core.

"Qo (Lightning)."

A current of electricity leaped and gently wrapped around Harry's fingertip, making his hand feel heavy, almost as if it were about to drop.

It was solidified lightning, the 'element of thunder' now bearing weight and form.

(End of Chapter)