Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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After returning from Hagrid's, Harry plunged back into a busy routine. He had taken two weeks off, and the accumulated tasks now demanded careful attention.

Academics were manageable. If Hogwarts allowed skipping grades, Harry's current level would be sufficient for fourth-year classes, at least in Transfiguration and Charms. However, Potions and Herbology required significant time and practice to gain experience—these weren't skills that could be rushed. Even Snape, for all his genius, had progressed steadily step by step, supplementing his studies with extra practice on potions beyond the curriculum to broaden his knowledge base.

One critical matter in the third week was addressing the affairs of the Battle Corps. Recruiting new members was essential. Last year, Harry had already scouted the Quidditch team, selecting six official members. This year, however, the second-year students were a bit too immature. While it's true that fostering loyalty is best started early, Harry found it hard to appreciate the handful of freshmen joining the team.

The numbers were, frankly, disappointing. When Harry learned that only three new recruits had passed the trials to join the Quidditch team, he was reluctant to even show up. The Battle Corps had officially separated from the Quidditch team, and the members who still played Quidditch did so out of personal passion and to maintain their skills. Since starting magical body conditioning, the physical advantage Battle Corps members had developed allowed them to dominate casual matches effortlessly.

This year, Harry had his eye on a different group: Professor Flitwick's Dueling Club. Those who caught Professor Flitwick's attention were naturally talented in dueling and showed promise in combat—a perfect pool for recruitment.

That said, Harry wasn't optimistic about finding many suitable candidates this school year. The issue wasn't Professor Flitwick's disapproval but the nature of dueling itself. It's an activity that emphasizes individual ability to its fullest extent. Flitwick designed tailored training regimens for each member, honing their strongest traits.

This emphasis on individualism clashed with the collective philosophy of the Battle Corps. Outwardly, the Dueling Club held greater appeal than Harry's Battle Corps. Furthermore, the Corps' requirement for loyalty significantly raised the entry bar, making it even harder to attract new recruits.

Harry didn't have a compelling enough incentive to draw people in. The recruitment methods used for the Quidditch team last year couldn't be easily adapted elsewhere.

Since there weren't many other opportunities, Harry decided to visit the Quidditch team anyway. After all, the school team served as the foundational recruiting pool for the Battle Corps. Small as it was, there was always the chance of discovering someone promising.

As soon as Harry arrived at the Quidditch pitch, he witnessed an exchange match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, acting as spectators, were enjoying the drama from the sidelines. In the air, the two teams were locked in fierce combat. Marcus Flint faced off against the Weasley twins, and while outnumbered, Marcus's impressive physique allowed him to hold his ground and even gain the upper hand.

Unfortunately for Slytherin, Gryffindor had an unbeatable secret weapon: Oliver Wood. The goalkeeper was relentless, blocking seven out of ten shots, which seriously hindered Slytherin's offense.

The rivalry between the school teams wasn't as hostile as it had been. After their island retreat and the intense night raid during that event, many old prejudices had been set aside. This camaraderie made the Quidditch pitch one of Hogwarts' rare havens free of inter-house discrimination.

About ten minutes later, amidst the cheers of the spectators, Slytherin's Seeker finally caught the Golden Snitch, ending the game with a score of 470 to 460. If not for Angelina scoring a critical goal in the final second, the match would have ended in a 460-460 tie, with Slytherin claiming victory by virtue of catching the Snitch.

"Hahaha! You lost, Marcus!"

Oliver Wood roared with laughter as he sped toward Marcus Flint, throwing an arm around his neck and taunting him with mock ferocity. "Next week at Hogsmeade, you're buying us drinks!"

"Humph." Marcus, his face darkened, slapped Wood's arm away in irritation. "Fine. One bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky for each of you. Whoever passes out first is a dog."

"Oh, you're on!"

Marcus thumped Wood's chest provocatively, causing Wood to flush red with anger. "It's a bet! Whoever can't finish is—Fred! George! Let me go! I swear I'll teach this gorilla a lesson!"

"Give it a rest, Wood," Fred dismissed with a wave of his hand, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"With your drinking tolerance, even Cho could drink you under the table," George added, rolling his eyes.

"We really don't want to hear you barking like a dog while throwing up in the Three Broomsticks. It's embarrassing."

Dragged along by the twins, Wood was so furious he almost let out an actual bark, but he knew they weren't wrong. Cho could outdrink him any day. With his abysmal tolerance, butterbeer was probably the strongest drink Wood would ever handle.

Though he'd won the match and the bet, Wood felt utterly defeated. As the twins hauled him away like a lamentable prize, Marcus, the supposed loser, strode off with a chest full of pride and a spring in his step.

"Captain!"

Marcus's booming voice carried across dozens of meters as he spotted Harry. The team converged in Harry's direction, their admiration for him growing alongside their own strength. Even as their physical conditioning improved through magical training, none of them could yet match the sheer athleticism Harry had displayed, such as diving at 400 miles per hour with perfect control.

Athleticism, after all, required talent—and Harry had it in spades.

"Captain, what do you think of my new Seeker? Pretty good, right?"

Marcus dragged forward a skinny boy, though he kept his interaction brief. After introducing the boy, Marcus took a cautious step back, his reluctance almost palpable.

The boy's identity made things tricky. If it weren't for family obligations, Marcus would have preferred to avoid this responsibility altogether. Though not the sharpest tool in the shed, Marcus could clearly see who the real leader was—and it wasn't this kid.

"Draco Malfoy."

Harry's smile was polite as his gaze fell on the nervous boy in front of him. At that moment, Harry finally pieced together the cryptic conversation between a certain brother and sister from the other night.

The Malfoys loathed Fudge. Naturally, they hated Sirius Black even more. While Sirius's identity wasn't widely known, the Malfoy family was well aware of it. If it were biologically possible for two men to have children, no one would have batted an eye at the idea of James Potter and Sirius Black marrying. Their bond was as strong as that of true brothers, transcending blood ties.

When Sirius was exonerated, Harry, as a direct beneficiary of this event, became a prime target of the Malfoy family's ire. Half of the Black fortune, at the very least, was Harry's to inherit. If Sirius didn't marry and have children, the entirety of the Black estate would eventually fall to Harry. This wasn't just wealth—it was tens of millions of Galleons, much of it stripped from other wizarding families, dripping with figurative and literal blood.

"You played well just now. Have a seat."

Harry's expression betrayed nothing as he extended a simple invitation. The boy in front of him, however, lit up with a flicker of hope and joy in his eyes.

In that moment, the Draco Malfoy standing before Harry seemed entirely different from the one he'd encountered on the train months ago.

(End of Chapter)