Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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"Harry! Potter!"

A venomous shout echoed from an unseen source. Though the figure remained out of sight, Voldemort would never mistake that voice.

"Don't get so worked up. If you shout yourself hoarse, it won't be as much fun when we start playing," came the taunting response.

"Not having a body is great, isn't it? A soul can take on more than just 108 poses—"

The teasing voice was abruptly cut off by a thick beam of green light. What had been a fleeting Killing Curse now transformed into a deadly, piercing death ray. Compared to last year, Voldemort was far from his former weakened state. Lucius, ever the dutiful servant, had sacrificed at least two-thirds of his life force to his master. Now, Voldemort possessed an ample reservoir of magic to expend.

The ghastly green light pierced through the curtains and windows. Even from outside the manor, one could see the beams divided into four segments by the panes, shooting straight into the night sky. The suffocating killing intent poured out without restraint. Leon and his Umbrella Squad narrowed their eyes, their vigilance heightened to the utmost. They were worried about the boy—no physical body could withstand the Killing Curse head-on.

BOOM—! 

The explosive sound of shattered bricks and collapsing walls abruptly silenced the glaring green light. It was as if a rampaging monster had awakened within the house. Fragments of walls, as large as human heads, flew out from the broken windows and landed on the grass a hundred meters away, leaving deep craters in the ground.

In the instant the Killing Curse's green light had flashed, a figure like a boulder moved against the deathly beam. A towering shield, large enough to cover Harry's entire body, swallowed the deadly green light like a black hole. This silent consumption didn't even give Voldemort, the caster, a hint that something was wrong.

Only when the sound of the shield slicing through the air reached his ears did Voldemort realize something was amiss.

But by then, it was already too late.

A burst of immense force erupted. The wall grazed by the shield's edge shattered completely. Voldemort, in his black mist form, was struck directly by the massive shield. The swirling black fog instantly dispersed as Voldemort was hurled through three walls, finally crashing into a bookshelf in the second-floor study of Malfoy Manor.

Though Voldemort's current body was still in a spectral, ghost-like state, it had taken on a more tangible form after absorbing so much life force and magic.

It was fortunate for him that he didn't possess true flesh and blood. Otherwise, any normal person struck by that shield would have been reduced to a pulp with no chance of survival.

"Sectumsempra!"

The hand not holding the shield pulled the trigger. A gray, transparent, invisible magical blade shredded through the rising dust and smoke from the shattered walls. The onslaught of spells, as dense as a torrential downpour, pierced through the second floor of Malfoy Manor, leaving no room for respite.

A cacophony of metallic clashes echoed, sharp and rapid. A heavy silver shield emerged from the gun's muzzle, intercepting the incoming blades. While it could block one or two strikes of the invisible Sectumsempra slashes, it was no match for the relentless storm of blades.

Within mere moments, the thick silver shield was reduced to shattered remnants. However, the fleeting instant it bought allowed the black mist to rise once again.

"Die!"

The transparent tower shield, nearly invisible from the front, swung once more. The bookshelf and walls struck by it erupted into a larger cloud of debris. Yet, a pair of sharp eyes locked onto the shadow trying to escape the dust.

Harry understood better than anyone that to defeat Voldemort head-on, he had to exploit Voldemort's greatest weakness while capitalizing on his own strengths. He couldn't allow too much distance between them. In terms of magical prowess, Harry was no match for Voldemort—he had learned that the hard way last year. However, Voldemort's greatest shortcoming was his lack of skill in close combat.

Smoke dragons rampaged across the manor, a once-grand residence with centuries of history, now reduced to a playground for monsters. Amid the collapsing ruins, treasures of gold and silver flew out, along with pages from manuscripts chronicling the "glorious" history of the Malfoy family. The pages fluttered under the night sky like scattered leaves.

The relentless explosions and furious roars filled the air, drowning out everything else. No one could clearly make out the close-quarters battle between the older and younger combatants inside. The invisibility-cloaked tower shield proved to be the bane of magic itself. With its ability to absorb magic and disrupt spells at their core, it was a far more decisive weapon than Finite Incantatem.

There are many ways to extinguish fire, but cutting off its fuel is the most ruthless and effective. Without magical energy, a spell is no longer magic—it's nothing more than the deranged ramblings of a madman.

"Narcissa! Narcissa! Narcissa!"

A now-elderly Lucius staggered through the ruins of the mansion. As its master, he was intimately familiar with every corner of the house. His wife's room was on the second floor, at the opposite end of his own bedroom, separated by a grand reception hall showcasing their collection.

Lucius had once been proud of this hall, a space where guests could admire the illustrious history of the Malfoy family—a testament to their noble heritage. But now, he wished he could cast away all these relics of glory and prestige. All he wanted was to see his wife as quickly as possible.

The mere dozens of meters to his destination felt endlessly long as the chaos of two inhuman monsters rampaged nearby. He had to dodge terrifying spells and debris from the collapsing house, blasted away by overwhelming force. Whether struck by a spell or a fragment of rubble, there would be no chance for him to remain in this world even for a second longer.

A piece of stone grazed his calf, tearing through his skin and muscle. Clenching his teeth, he stifled a groan and grabbed a wand left behind by some unknown ancestor. Pointing it at his injured leg, he pulled the trigger. The healing spell stemmed the bleeding, and a levitation charm lightened his weight. He snatched a gem-encrusted cane nearby and, limping heavily, continued his arduous journey toward his goal.

"Dobby! Dobby, where are you?! Get over here!"

As he neared the grand door, Lucius finally remembered the house-elf still in his service. He couldn't leave by magic himself, but perhaps the elf could help.

Yet his call did not summon his servant as it usually would. Stumbling, Lucius grabbed the gilded door handle and prepared to push it open and rush inside. But before he could twist the lock, an immense force slammed him and the door backward, hurling him into the hallway wall behind him.

Blood trickled down his forehead, blurring his vision. Through the cracked doorway, he saw the manor reduced to utter devastation—a hollow ruin open to the outside world.

"Narcissa! Narcissa! No! This can't be! You can't do this!"

A despairing wail burst from his throat. Already aged beyond his years, Lucius now looked utterly broken, his eyes filled with hopelessness and defeat.

The weight of the shattered wooden door pinning him down seemed to crush what remained of his spirit. The wand he had been clutching slipped from his hand, and the light in his eyes dimmed completely.

"Master?"

A voice broke through, snapping Lucius out of his daze.

"Dobby has already taken the mistress to safety. Dobby didn't flee alone—Dobby came back for you."

The elf hunched over, his voice cautious and trembling. Gently, he pushed aside the broken door covering Lucius and nervously grasped his hand.

"Dobby will take you out, Master."

A spark of vitality returned to Lucius's vacant gaze.

"Narcissa is safe?"

"Dobby has taken the mistress out, Master."

"Good Dobby! The best Dobby! Whatever you want, I'll give it to you—all of it!"

Hope and determination surged anew in Lucius's heart. The very servant he had punished and tormented countless times—whom he considered 'lowly'—had become his lifeline, his salvation.

"This is Dobby's duty," the elf replied, lowering his head slightly. Though he disliked his master, Dobby was compelled by the nature and instincts of a house-elf to fulfill his role.

Although Apparition was disabled, other magic remained functional. Before the once-luxurious manor became nothing but a monster-ravaged ruin, they escaped this prison-like cage.

A silver shackle snapped shut.

"Take him away and keep watch," Leon commanded calmly, his gaze never leaving the dust-filled ruins.

(End of Chapter)