Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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Harry, jogging toward the auditorium, came to an abrupt halt at the corner.

"Sorry, Professor Flitwick! Almost ran into you," he apologized.

Harry's sudden appearance startled the diminutive Professor Flitwick.

"If you had, I might have gone flying," Flitwick joked, completely unbothered.

"I've recently improved that spell you brought back," he continued with a playful tone. "Voldemort's research on magic is fascinating. Come by my office when you have time—I'll teach it to you."

With a snap of his fingers, Flitwick's unique goblin heritage became evident. Unlike most wizards, he had a natural advantage in wandless magic. A puff of mist enveloped him, lifting him lightly until he floated at eye level with Harry.

"This spell is a game changer for me. Using books to prop myself up during lessons was getting rather annoying."

"You didn't just change the color of the mist, did you?" Harry asked, his sharp eyes noticing a difference. At first glance, Flitwick's floating mist and Voldemort's ominous black smoke seemed to differ only in appearance, but Harry sensed there was more to it.

"Of course not!" Flitwick nodded. "I've enhanced it significantly. For instance..."

Suddenly, the white mist surrounded Harry, giving him a weightless sensation. The cloud lifted him a foot off the ground.

"Wow, you're heavy!" Flitwick wiped sweat from his forehead as though he'd just carried a boulder. "It felt like I was lifting a bull. As you can see, my modifications allow this spell to carry objects—or even people—with ease. Its speed is comparable to an old Nimbus 5000, and the magic consumption is reasonable. An adult wizard could carry luggage weighing half their body weight without slowing down."

"Congratulations!" Harry replied with a grin. "A spell that lets you fly without a broom is sure to be popular among wizards."

"Perhaps, but it's not easy to master. For most wizards, flying on a broomstick is still simpler and more practical."

"Oh, by the way, Harry, are you ready?" Flitwick asked, shifting the topic.

"Ready for what?" Harry blinked, momentarily confused.

"The dueling competition, of course! I signed you up for the seventeen-year-old category this time. If you advance, you'll qualify for the World Junior Wizard Dueling Championship. This tournament is far more prestigious than the ones you've participated in before."

"Ah, sorry, Professor. I've been so busy lately that it slipped my mind." Harry chuckled sheepishly.

"I understand. But remember, taking breaks can help you study better. Give yourself a little vacation, Harry."

"Twice a week, three hours each time—plenty of breaks, Professor," Harry replied, smiling. "Flying dragons on the field is surprisingly relaxing."

"By the way, Professor Flitwick, when's the dueling competition scheduled?" Harry asked, holding up a letter. "The Quidditch Organizing Committee sent me this. The European Cup Quidditch Championship starts in June, and I need to bring my team along. Hopefully, the dates don't clash."

"The dueling competition's dates are set for the end of this month—May 15th and June 1st. If I recall, the Quidditch Championship kicks off on June 24th. Even with no snitch-catching delays, the timing shouldn't overlap."

Flitwick, clearly interested in Quidditch, perked up. "You're joining a professional team? That's intriguing. Which one? I'll bet on you to win!"

"The Falmouth Falcons. Well, I bought the team and renamed it the Astartes Monks," Harry explained. "I've already released the previous players. You remember the battle group I organized at school? I'm recruiting them for the team. Winning this year's championship guarantees us a spot in next year's World Cup."

"The current head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports is Ludo Bagman, isn't it?" Flitwick pondered. "You should reach out to Professor Sprout. Bagman graduated from Hufflepuff, after all. But let me warn you, Harry: the Ministry of Magic isn't as fair and impartial as people think. Performance isn't their only criterion for selecting England's representatives."

"I'll make sure they play fair," Harry replied confidently, nodding. "Thanks for the reminder, Professor. I'll be ready for the dueling competition. All this theoretical learning has been piling up—I could use some practical combat to put it to use."

"Bring me back a championship, Harry. Off you go now, but don't forget to rest," said Professor Flitwick, patting Harry on the shoulder before heading into the Great Hall ahead of him.

It was just after classes had ended, and with dinner underway, nearly every student was gathered in the Great Hall. Harry quickly located all the members of his squad, including Draco Malfoy, whose behavior had been a bit different since Christmas.

Upon hearing about their participation in the European Cup Quidditch Championship, the group couldn't even spare time for a proper meal. Grabbing just a couple of sandwiches each, they hurriedly followed Harry out of the hall. They found an empty room and gathered around a round table conjured with a Transfiguration spell, their faces filled with eager anticipation as they looked at Harry.

"Here's the situation," Harry began. "Let's talk about the position assignments. If you have any ideas, feel free to share."

"Let Cedric handle the Golden Snitch," Cho suggested, resting her chin on her hand. Her puffed cheeks made her look like an adorable hamster, but this "hamster" could take down two Cedrics in a duel with one hand. In terms of physical enhancement through magical training, she was second only to Harry. "I think I can just about keep up with your pace, Captain. Don't forget to pass to me—I'd like to score a few goals myself for fun."

"And Marcus, what about you? Didn't you want to try being a Beater before?"

"Forget it, Captain." Marcus scowled, his voice low and gruff. "After taking a few Bludgers to the face, I realized I'm not cut out for it."

Marcus was far stronger than the Weasley twins, and swinging a Beater's bat with his strength made him someone players desperately wanted to avoid. However, brute strength alone didn't make him suited for the role.

"Maybe his head's been enchanted with a special effect," one of the twins teased with a cheeky grin. "You've got to take out the minion with the taunt first!"

"Maybe I should try using two bats!" Marcus growled menacingly, grabbing the twins with one arm each and locking them under his massive chest. "Perhaps with Weasley-brand bats, the Bludgers might actually listen, huh?"

"Help! We're being crushed by chest muscles!"

"Save us, Captain!"

The twins flailed like fish out of water, their expressions exaggeratedly morbid. Marcus, who had likely just come from Herbology, carried a familiar and unpleasant odor of dragon dung fertilizer. Recently, Norbert had developed a fondness for dragon chili with his meals, which made the fertilizer far more potent—and far more pungent.

"Do you believe..."

"...we'll vomit in five seconds if you don't let go?"

Marcus, thoroughly disgusted, released the twins. Having fallen victim to their pranks several times before, he wasn't willing to gamble on their so-called "standards."

"Over the next two months, our squad's daily training will focus on tactical coordination," Harry continued. "Even though this is just the European Cup Championship, we need to prepare seriously. After all, we're amateurs. If we don't take this seriously, we'll embarrass ourselves."

"No one wants to make a fool of themselves in front of such a big audience, right?"

"The tournament starts on June 24th. We need to arrive at the venue by the 23rd at the latest for medical exams and to familiarize ourselves with the field. I'll speak to your Heads of House to arrange for everyone to take their final exams early."

"Wait, we can do that? Why not just have the exams canceled altogether, Captain?"

The twins looked at Harry with gleeful anticipation. As hands-on wizards, they weren't exactly fond of written tests. It wasn't that they couldn't learn; they just didn't prioritize things they wouldn't use in practice.

"Maybe Professor McGonagall will generously let you take your exams during the tournament breaks," Harry replied dryly. "But trust me, while she loves Quidditch, Professor McGonagall is a witch with firm principles."

"Oh," the twins sighed, dragging out the sound in exaggerated disappointment. "It was worth asking, though."

"Alright, that's everything. Dismissed. Draco, could you stay behind? I'd like to have a word with you."

(End of Chapter)