Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

Support me and be 20 chapters ahead of webnovel:

patreon.com/Draco_
*****

The invigorating aroma of fresh grass filled the kitchen. Harry had brewed centaur herbal spice packets as tea. Woken up by the commotion, Vernon and Petunia were now enjoying the steaming cups of tea.

“This is amazing, Harry. Way better than coffee,” Vernon said, feeling refreshed and revitalized, as he poured himself another cup.

“I brought plenty back with me. These are small things produced by the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts. It’s also great for stewing meat. Aunt Petunia, you should give it a try sometime.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Petunia said with a smile. She had always felt a little regretful about not being able to learn magic herself. However, being able to experience magical items from the wizarding world was a decent consolation.

The Ministry of Magic was quite lenient with Muggle families that had young wizards. They even allowed them to visit Diagon Alley with their children to explore the magical world. Parents had a right to know about their wizarding children’s lives.

While Vernon and Petunia sipped tea gracefully, Dudley had his face buried in a basin, guzzling it as if he were washing his face.

“I’m saved! I’m alive again!” Dudley gasped, leaning back in his chair. The horrid taste that had filled his mouth was finally neutralized by the grassy tea. But then, remembering he’d have to drink that vile stuff for the next four months, his face instantly turned pale.

“You don’t have to drink it, Dudley,” Harry remarked, glancing at him as he sat across the table, placing a familiar glass bottle in front of Dudley.

“Get that thing away from me! Far away!” Dudley shrieked, hugging himself and trembling in fear. He dreaded the idea of Harry pinning him down and forcing the potion down his throat again. He never wanted to relive that terrifying experience.

“Tch,” Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. He knew the potion he brewed wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t the worst out there. Compared to Snape’s concoctions, which were on a whole other level of foul, his potions were nothing. Snape had pushed the limits of bad taste, so Harry’s attempts were amateurish in comparison.

“You can’t expect to get stronger without paying a price. Magic can accomplish many amazing things, but it’s not omnipotent.”

Harry casually unscrewed the bottle’s cap and downed the potion in one gulp, wiping his mouth afterward. Thanks to his experience with Snape’s potions, Harry had built up a lot of tolerance. Unfazed, he sipped the herbal tea to rinse his mouth, not even flinching at the lingering aftertaste.

Dudley shivered at the sight, then cautiously grabbed Harry’s bottle, licking the few remaining drops inside.

“Ugh—Ugh—Ugh!” Dudley gagged, clinging to the basin as his face turned green. After chugging half a teapot of tea, he finally managed to speak, his voice trembling.

“The wizarding world is terrifying. It’s only been a few months, and Harry’s already turned into some inhuman monster. How is this potion even fit for human consumption?”

“You’ll get used to it,” Harry replied nonchalantly. “Plus, haven’t you noticed? After drinking the potion, your body feels warm. You could run around naked in the snow and not feel a thing.”

“Actually... yeah?” Dudley said, bouncing up and down, his suspicion fading. Sure enough, a warmth was spreading through his body. He was still wearing his thin pajamas, but didn’t feel cold at all, even though he normally would.

“This is a diluted version of the Sunshine Nourishment Potion I made with Professor Snape’s help,” Harry explained. “It’s disgusting, yes, but it will genuinely improve your physical abilities. According to Snape’s estimate, after completing all twelve doses and with enough exercise, your muscle strength, endurance, and other attributes will be about fifty percent higher than the average person’s. That’s the upper limit of what the human body can handle.”

"Don't underestimate this stuff. Without Hagrid’s help, or a master potioneer, I never would’ve been able to make it. Just the cost alone is a hundred Galleons per bottle, which converts to about 500 pounds."

"That expensive?" Uncle Vernon asked in surprise. "That's not small change, Harry."

"That’s the external cost. For Hagrid, though, the ingredients are dirt cheap. The main ingredient is a drop of unicorn blood. Normally, it’s impossible to get your hands on it anywhere else, but in the Forbidden Forest, a bundle of alfalfa can get you as much as you need. The unicorns are really tame and friendly—at least to Hagrid."

"That big oaf of a giant can do that?" Uncle Vernon muttered, clicking his tongue. It seemed he had underestimated Hagrid’s abilities. After all, being a gamekeeper and keyholder didn’t sound like a particularly powerful position.

"Hagrid is basically the king of the Forbidden Forest. He can grab a ten-ton dragon by the tail and throw it over his shoulder. Then, he'll pin it down until it's knocked out. There’s probably no one else in the magical world who can do something like that."

Hearing this, the Dursleys were dumbfounded. Was someone capable of such feats really human? They’d never considered Hagrid a normal person, but this was beyond their wildest imaginations.

"I suddenly don’t regret not being able to go to the wizarding world anymore, Harry. The normal world seems just fine," Dudley said, swallowing nervously. His mind conjured up wild images of a magical world full of brawny men in gladiator-style brawls, screaming “WAAAAYAYAYAYA!” He wasn’t sure if this was magic or some kind of bizarre muscle-bound battle arena.

"I think you're misunderstanding something... but never mind," Harry muttered, shaking his head before holding up Dudley's Christmas gift. "What’s this invitation all about, Dudley?"

"Oh, that!" Dudley perked up as soon as Harry asked about it. "You inherited Grandpa’s hunting license, right? And you became a full member of the England Hunters’ Association. Someone in my class was talking about it, so I figured I'd surprise you!"

"Christmas break would be so boring if you just stayed cooped up in your room all day. I’m too old for playing alien shooter games on the computer, that’s for kids. I figured you’re the same. So, I sent in an application for you. I got Dad to grab your details from the Hunters’ Association and sent everything off. And guess what? They approved it!"

"Pretty cool, right, bro?" Dudley leaned in, his face full of smug satisfaction.

"Well done, Dudley!"

Bang!

With a loud smack, Harry’s hand came down on Dudley’s back, sending him sprawling across the table. If it weren’t for the 20-centimeter-thick solid wood, the table might not have survived their roughhousing.

Dudley gasped for breath, coughing loudly. Before he could even start cursing, Harry had already wrapped a strong arm around his head.

"Come on, let's go! It’s too nice a day to waste sitting around. We’re hitting the gym now. Ten sets of squats with 200 kilos to warm up!"

"WTF! I’m still trying to grow taller! Let go, Harry, you jerk! Let go! I’m your older cous—my neck! You’re gonna break my neck!"

"The gym’s closed for Christmas! Everything's closed!" Dudley wailed.

"No problem. I’ve got the key. I’ll call Uncle William, and we’re good to go."

With a grimace on his face, Dudley reluctantly changed into workout clothes under Harry’s relentless threats, and the two stormed their way through the snow to the familiar gym. The first day of Christmas was spent in a flurry of intense exercise.

But for the holiday break, this was just the appetizer.

Unlike other European countries, the Soviet Union, this massive entity dominating Northern and Eastern Europe, stood out starkly from its neighbors.

It wasn’t just due to the difference in political systems—there was also the fact that people here were, frankly, a bit too strong.

While the major European nations were busy with English gentlemanly conduct and French romanticism, the Soviets maintained their tradition of downing a bottle of vodka and wrestling bears bare-chested. Not that everyone was a bodybuilder, but out of ten people, you could easily call seven or eight of them "hulks."

The harsh cold had forged strong bodies, and centuries of survival pressures had weeded out the weak. The law of natural selection worked just as effectively on humans as on animals.

When Harry and the Dursleys landed here, they immediately felt the difference in atmosphere.

Among his peers, Harry was definitely top-tier in terms of physique. Dudley was shorter, but even he was quite the standout. Yet, the people they encountered during their trip completely shattered their worldview. In freezing temperatures, bare-chested kids playing snowball fights were a common sight. These kids were about their age and just as well-built. They even saw a massive woman hoisting a tree that had snapped under the weight of the snow with one hand.

"Maybe Hagrid could find happiness here," Harry muttered as he gazed out the window. His thoughts wandered: 'No wonder the Soviet Union hasn't collapsed yet in 1992. Who’d dare dismantle it? Release millions of refugees with arms bigger than your thighs, and Europe’s little weaklings would get pummeled to tears.'

Harry recalled reading a news story in his previous life about 200 Russian football fans drunkenly beating up 2,000 English fans. Now, seeing these "enhanced" Russians firsthand, they seemed even more formidable. This level of physical prowess wasn’t normal.

As an official competitor, Harry received proper accommodation. The organizers had rented several floors of a hotel for the participants. If he wanted to explore, translators were available at any time.

The Dursleys, as family members, weren’t officially invited and had to hitch a ride on the hotel bus. But they weren’t bothered by this, as they had already planned their sightseeing route before leaving.

"I’m going to find some long-legged beauties while you go wrestle bears with these muscle-bound gorillas in the snow!" Dudley teased, slipping on a rather peculiar-looking jacket. Before leaving England, Harry had received a package from Madam Malkin with custom clothes, including matching outfits for Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley.

"Shut up! Finding beauties? You don’t even know more than ‘Hello, comrade’ in Russian!"

Harry scoffed. "With Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon watching, all you’ll be doing is taking pictures."

Dudley, head hanging, turned away with a camera in hand, shooting Harry a resentful look. Reality was already cruel enough, so why did Harry have to rub salt in the wound with brutal honesty?

After saying goodbye to the Dursleys, Harry headed to the front desk to update his registration details.

"Only a snowy owl as your hunting assistant?" The curious receptionist asked. "The hunting grounds are vast. Without a dog, it might be tricky."

Compared to Harry’s age, the staff seemed more intrigued by his minimalist gear. For the Slavic people, taking down a bear was no big deal, but finding them in the snow was nearly impossible without help.

"Hedwig is my eyes in the sky. She’s better than a hundred hunting dogs."

"You also offer hunting equipment rentals here, right? Can you show me? I need to stock up. There were a lot of things I couldn’t bring on the plane; England’s too far from here."

"Of course." After a brief pause, the receptionist’s eyes lit up. She stored Harry’s registration sheet and, after notifying a colleague, cheerfully grabbed Harry’s hand and led him outside.

It seemed she’d been waiting for an excuse to leave the hotel. Despite the cold winds howling outside, she was unaffected. Though the hotel’s heating made it far warmer indoors, she unbuttoned her coat as if the freezing air didn’t bother her at all.

With her bare legs exposed to the cold, the tall receptionist seemed completely unfazed. In this country, keeping milk warm appeared to be the only thing that needed insulation.

"I’ve been suffocating in there. If it weren’t for my dad, I wouldn’t have come at all," she said cheerfully. "I’m Anastasia Mikhailovna Pavlyuchenko. Just call me Aya." Her friendliness was on par with the Weasley twins. Combined with her striking looks and figure, chatting with her was an enjoyable experience.

"Harry, Harry Potter." Harry had no reservations and was happy to learn more. Having someone to talk to was always a good thing.

"Aya, I’m curious—why are kids my age allowed to participate in this competition? Are there a lot of competitors my age?"

"Is there an issue with age?" Aya asked, slowing her pace slightly, a hint of confusion in her expression as she looked at Harry. "You’re only twelve, sure, but you’re almost thirteen. It’s not that far off."

"Although this tradition isn’t as widespread anymore, some families, especially those from hunter backgrounds, still uphold it," she continued.

"On that special day, the father gifts the child their first hunting rifle and a pack of hunting dogs. The task? Hunt a gray wolf. When they return home, the mother sews the wolf’s pelt into a warm, soft hat, symbolizing the child’s first step toward adulthood."

"Boys who complete this task tend to be quite popular with the girls. Some girls also participate, though they’re usually given until they’re fifteen to join."

"Look, I have one too!" Aya said, proudly removing her hat to reveal her radiant blonde hair. "My mom made it for me when I was fourteen. If it weren’t for my dad saying that any hunter who can’t down five bottles of vodka isn’t worthy of hunting bears, I’d be competing this time as well."

"Why does alcohol have to be involved? I’ve never liked the taste. I’ve never been drunk, but still, I just don’t like it."

‘What kind of battle-crazy nation is this?’ Harry thought, baffled, as he examined Aya’s hat. It was indeed genuine wolf fur, expertly tanned. ‘Though, now that I think about it, maybe it’s not that surprising,’ he mused. After all, this world was created by A.K. Rowling! This isn’t just favoritism—it’s power scaling!

"Wait!" Harry blurted out, still stunned as he handed the hat back. "You’re telling me you went out at fourteen, alone, with just a rifle and some dogs, to hunt a gray wolf? Seriously?"

He cast a quick glance at Aya’s legs, which, admittedly, could crush someone to death.

"Of course!" Aya replied confidently. Leaning down, she tugged at her collar, exposing her pale, smooth skin. However, amidst the creamy white, a few faint scars—four or five centimeters long—disrupted the perfection.

"I wasn’t lucky and ran into a large pack of wolves. One of them got a swipe in, but I slit its throat in one blow. Since it became my hat, I’m not mad at it anymore."

"Come on, Harry! It’s rare for me to get some fresh air. How about hanging out with me for a bit longer?"

"Staying at the front desk is so boring. Most of the people I deal with are just drunk old men reeking of alcohol."

Despite her fierce story, Aya bounced ahead, all carefree and light-hearted. For them, whether fighting other people or battling prey, it seemed to be a natural part of life’s rhythm.

Left with no choice, Harry became Aya’s personal human shopping cart. She dragged him through every mall in the city center. Though the lavish meal they had as a reward was nice, by the end of it, Harry was utterly exhausted, tongue hanging out from fatigue.

But when they arrived at the hunting equipment rental store, all of Harry’s tiredness vanished instantly.

A wizard's wand, which evolves with their power, is impressive, but Muggle firearms are undeniably practical. When it comes to usability and versatility, these technological weapons are superior.

If an average wizard were to face a fully armed soldier and didn’t immediately flee or activate magical defenses, the wizard would surely be the one to die.

Spell-casting doesn’t hold a candle to the speed of a high-energy pulse laser that can zip across the sky in an instant. Even the slowest projectile from a plasma weapon offers no room for dodging. With temperatures reaching thousands of degrees in a split second, they could melt most known materials on Earth, leaving nothing but a pool of molten lava on impact.

Muggle science, powered by electricity, had already developed plenty of absurdly advanced technology.

Maybe magical creatures that have integrated magic into their physical forms, giving them immense resistance, could withstand the onslaught of technological weaponry. But wizards? Forget it. Unless every wizard was as tough as Hagrid, they’d be obliterated in any direct confrontation with Muggle forces.

And now, Harry was holding a piece of that Muggle technological marvel in his hands.

【"All equipment and tools for this winter hunting competition are proudly sponsored by the Kalashnikov Weapon Manufacturing Plant."】

Just this one sentence alone gave Harry a clear sense of how fiercely equipped this hunting competition would be.

This wasn’t just any company—it was a military arms manufacturer, known for dealing in large-scale warfare, destruction, and mayhem. Though the world is mostly at peace nowadays, the weapons they provided for this event were "civilian hunting versions" made as part of their business shift.

But Russian civilian versions... the only real difference was that they were single-shot. Otherwise, there was hardly any distinction from their military counterparts. They all used high-energy disposable batteries, and if you pulled the trigger fast enough, it might as well be fully automatic!

In that instant, Harry’s head spun at the sight of all the options!

Almost every type of modern light firearm had a scaled-down version here, but one that especially stood out to Harry was—

The AK-47 Electromagnetic Rifle!

The world’s only multi-shot electromagnetic rifle for individual soldiers!

Known as the ultimate weapon for "real men," it could dent a 400-millimeter thick repulsion shield in one shot. Forget a brown bear—even an elephant would be obliterated with one hit.

"Too bad I can’t choose it," Harry muttered begrudgingly.

"That’s the grand prize for the winner—the only custom snow-camouflage AK-47 made by Kalashnikov, just for this competition," Aya explained, her eyes glinting with admiration as she stared at the weapon. But this wasn’t her first time seeing it. She knew very well how much boys were drawn to it—her own brother was desperate to compete just to claim the prize.

"This year’s champion... I’m going for it!" Harry exclaimed dramatically, feeling his inner fire ignite with a rush of youthful determination.

At his outburst, many of the adults turned to look, and upon realizing it was a child speaking, they chuckled. Their laughter, though hearty, wasn’t mocking—it was filled with warmth and understanding.

"Come back when you’re a bit older, maybe then you’ll take the championship!" said a heavily accented voice in English. A towering figure at least two meters tall clapped Harry on the shoulder. There was no doubt in Harry’s mind—this man could wrestle a bear with his bare hands. Dressed in a thick bear-hide cloak, his furry chest was exposed to the cold without a care.

"Aya, is this your new boyfriend?" The giant teased Aya with a grin, clearly familiar with her.

"Shut up!" Aya’s side-kick whipped the edge of her coat as she spun gracefully, landing a firm kick on the giant man’s chest with a solid thud.

"Wow, the little girl who used to sit on my shoulders and cry has really grown up," the giant man laughed, unfazed by the blow, his face filled with playful amusement.

"Stop joking around, or I’ll have my dad go to your place for a drink, Uncle Artyom."

"No, no, no! Please don’t!"

Artyom immediately fell silent, his face darkening as if this was some terrifying punishment. A forced, apologetic smile stretched across his rugged face.

"Forget it," Aya waved her hand dismissively. "Harry, let’s not pay him any mind. Go ahead and choose—everything here is available for rent, and the prices are quite reasonable."

Pushing Harry’s shoulder, Aya guided him around the store. She seemed familiar with all the equipment, able to explain the pros and cons of each one Harry asked about, confirming her impressive knowledge of hunting.

Before long, Harry selected his gear. This competition forbade the use of any traps, and besides their hunting partners, each participant could only carry up to two high-energy beam rifles.

Plasma weapons, though powerful, were mostly too heavy and banned from the event anyway. If one hit, it would incinerate the bear, leaving nothing behind—not exactly great for hunting.

Harry chose a Valkyrie III precision rifle and a Makarov energy cannon. Hunting bears was different from hunting deer or sheep—these thick-skinned creatures wouldn’t go down easily unless hit in a vital spot, and small-caliber weapons would only make them angrier. Larger caliber was essential. Both the Valkyrie and Makarov had a 3cm diameter shot—three times larger than Harry’s previous cheap charge rifle. But their power wasn’t just three times greater—it was a complete upgrade.

With either of these weapons, Harry was confident that if a jackalope even closed its eyes, he’d be able to shoot blood from its eyelid!

It was a game-changer. He could finally break through those magical creatures’ ridiculous energy resistances. Their resistance wasn’t just to magic—it also made non-magical damage less effective. After all, in terms of energy, magic was far more potent than any current electric power source.

With everything ready, the winter hunt was scheduled for two days later. In the meantime, Aya helped Harry find a private shooting range where he could practice with his new companions—the two rifles that would see him through a full week in the snowy wilderness.

---

"Harry, Harry, hand me the towel."

"Aya, why are you always so forgetful? I’m coming, I’m coming."

"Careful, the floor’s wet..."

“Ouch!”

“I told you to be careful! Look, you’ve even made your nose bleed. Let me help you clean it up.”

“No, no, I’ll just get you another towel. This one’s all dirty now.”

“Dirty or not, it can be repurposed. Don’t move, just listen to me, okay?”

“I’m not a little kid!”

“True, you’re definitely not a little kid anymore.”

“Huh?!”

Bang!

“Why did you close the door?”

“It’s windy. It’s cold.”

“The heating is on inside; it can’t be that cold.”

“The bathroom isn’t heated, and I’m still wet. Why can’t you stop your nosebleed? Is it because—”

Cough, cough “I think I’ll just go stand on the balcony. A little wind will cool me off—ow!”

“It’s your fault; your blood dripped all over me! It’s disgusting.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going out—ahhh!”

“I can’t stand irresponsible men!”

“Clearly, I’m the victim here—ah, wait! You’re not playing fair. I surrender, I surrender! My neck is about to snap!”

“Then hurry up and get up! Serve me!”

“You’re pushing me into this! A gentleman hides his skills and waits for the right moment—now is that moment!”

“Ah~ Hmm. Not bad.”

“Just ‘not bad’?!”

“Waaah, I can’t take it anymore, I can’t, I can’t—waah!”

“Heh~”

(End of Chapter)