Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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"Harry, do you know what qualities a true duelist must possess?"

Professor Flitwick, who wasn't fond of long-distance travel via Apparition, had opted for a Thestral-drawn carriage due to the number of passengers. On their way to Austria, he started a casual conversation with Harry.

The other passengers were members of Flitwick's dueling club. The spacious carriage allowed them to sit in small groups, chatting and sipping tea.

"Prudence, sharp instincts, and the ability to decisively end a fight in one blow?"

Harry was unfamiliar with the essence of being a true duelist. To him, dueling felt more like a game—a thrilling opportunity to let loose. At Hogwarts, no peer could challenge him, but the world was vast, and monsters and prodigies were never in short supply. Only on the world stage could Harry truly measure his abilities.

"No, no, no," Flitwick waved a finger with a knowing smile. "What you've described is just the bare minimum for a duelist. The dueling arena is a battlefield—a place for strategy and combat. Naturally, one must always stay vigilant."

Then, with a twinkle in his eye, Flitwick added, "But a true duelist's most essential quality is this: Cool, Cooler, Coolest!"

"Winning the duel is just the first step. A true duelist must win with style and grace, earning applause and admiration. That is the hallmark of a master duelist."

"Dueling has endured for thousands of years not merely because it's a stage for wizards to unleash their combat instincts. It has persisted because dueling is an art—akin to painting, opera, or ballet. It is our art," Flitwick paused for emphasis, "the art of the elite wizard."

"Winning beautifully doesn't mean relying on flashy gimmicks. First, you must win, and then you can pursue winning beautifully."

"Dueling celebrates refined skill. Regardless of the task—whether wielding a hammer to forge metal or casting spells—mastering extraordinary technique transforms even crude actions into breathtaking artistry."

"Your foundational knowledge is solid. You've almost completely mastered sixth- and seventh-year spellwork. You are the most disciplined—perhaps even ruthless—student I've ever seen. But now, I want to teach you something new. The true wonder of spellcraft lies not in flawlessly reciting incantations or mastering wandless magic. Those are merely the basics."

"If you wish to go further on the path of magic—further than anyone else—you must learn to unlock the potential of spells. In other words, you need to shape standard spells into forms that suit you best."

"There are tens of thousands—maybe even hundreds of thousands—of spells in the world, yet the number of standard spells is surprisingly small. Currently, only a little over 1,100 standard spells are officially cataloged. So, how did they expand tenfold, a hundredfold?"

"Take Voldemort's dark fog spell you brought back for me, for instance. Its roots lie in the simple Levitation Charm. Most spells in existence are adaptations of standard spells, created by wizards refining them. With your strong foundation, it's time for you to carve out your own magical path."

"In this area, I can't provide detailed guidance. I'm not you—I can't predict what spell variants would suit you best. But I believe you have the talent. At the upcoming dueling competition, you'll see many spells you've never encountered before. Each of them is a treasure unique to its caster. Study them carefully. Observe, analyze, and ultimately, find the path that's most suited to you."

Flitwick's gaze held a glimmer of hope. He wanted his most promising student to reach new heights in magic. Yet, Harry's relentless self-discipline left Flitwick uneasy. Harry seemed almost obsessed, constantly striving to learn more spells. To Flitwick, it bordered on unhealthy fixation. As his mentor, Flitwick felt it was his duty to caution Harry—to remind him to focus not only on the horizon ahead but also on the ground beneath his feet. A single misstep could result in a devastating fall.

"Can you give me an example?"

Harry began to grasp Flitwick's message. The professor's sincere concern warmed his heart. In a world where genuine kindness was rare, having such a dedicated teacher was a profound blessing.

"Of course, you may refer to it," Flitwick readily agreed. It was a relief to see Harry reconsider his approach. Taking strides too large and too fast wasn't always a good thing.

"If I were to describe the magic I've pursued, the word would be speed—extreme speed. The flight speed of most spells is rather slow. On a standard twenty-meter dueling platform, with full focus, it's not particularly difficult to dodge incoming spells."

"This is the secret to my success, the key to my championship titles, and something no one has surpassed to this day—spellcasting at unparalleled speed."

He drew his M500 revolver, its sapphire-blue finish gleaming under the light, and raised the barrel. With a steady hand, he pulled the trigger. "Lumos Maxima."

What emerged from the gun's muzzle wasn't the usual wobbling orb of light but a blinding, tightly focused beam of white-hot brilliance.

"Voldemort's Avada Kedavra death ray is different from mine. He altered the spell's output mechanism, transforming it into a sustained casting that continuously channels power. What I did, on the other hand, was compress the magic to its limits, condensing the spell to an extreme degree and releasing all its power in an instant."

"This turns the slow, traceable path of a spell into something so fast that even if you see it coming, dodging becomes impossible. Not even Apparition can save you in time. Though this sacrifices stealth entirely, it ensures my spell reaches its target the moment I set my eyes on it. Once I've locked on, evasion is simply not an option."

"This is the magical path I've chosen to walk. Take it only as a reference."

In his youth, Professor Flitwick—small in stature but mighty in skill—was the most dazzling figure on the dueling stage. His lightning-fast spells rendered him nearly untouchable, allowing him to break through waves of attacks and defeat opponents one by one. At high noon, six shots rang out. The M500 emptied its chamber, and six adversaries fell in quick succession, unable to withstand his precise and devastating strikes.

"What kind of path do I want to take?"

Harry gripped his ebony and ivory wand tightly, lowering his head as he pondered. To step beyond the confines of standard spells and carve out a magical path unique to himself—this was a choice that demanded deep reflection.

As he wrestled with his confusion, a sudden beam of light seemed to pierce through the fog of uncertainty. Harry recalled the magic he had once seen—a spell so stunning, so captivating, that it had left him in awe.

"Maybe I know now," he murmured.

A faint smile curled across Harry's lips.

(End of Chapter)