Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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To be fair, Hagrid wasn’t completely tone-deaf, nor was he someone whose singing could be considered a crime. In fact, his voice was surprisingly decent.

However, lullabies were something Hagrid should definitely avoid singing.

He had turned what should have been a soothing lullaby into a battle cry, and Harry was almost knocked out by it. Now he finally understood how Fluffy managed to fall asleep—Hagrid’s singing had a hypnotic effect, though it was more physical than magical.

The moment Hagrid began singing, his booming voice filled Harry’s ears like thunder, leaving him stunned. The sheer force of the soundwaves rattled his brain, and he fell to the ground, unable to get back up for a long while.

Harry still vividly remembered Halloween. With just a single shout, Hagrid had interrupted more than ten professors who were in the middle of casting spells. Some of the weaker ones even lost their ability to fight. Getting close to a muscle-bound brute like Hagrid was a surefire way to get yourself killed.

Even if he didn’t use his fists, just one roar from him would be enough to knock you out.

Rubeus "Battle Roar" Hagrid lived up to his reputation.

Fortunately, Hagrid only hummed a few lines. If he had sung an entire song, Harry doubted he’d live to see the next day. Maybe only magical creatures with thick skin, like Fluffy, could withstand Hagrid’s sonic assault during their youth. As for Harry, despite being a sturdy child, he would’ve been as good as dead.

“Thank you, Hagrid, for sparing my life,” Harry said weakly, still shaken as Hagrid finally closed his mouth. His head was throbbing painfully, and his brain felt like it had been shaken to the point of liquefaction—an experience he never wanted to go through again.

“Huh? What’s wrong, Harry?”

A confused Hagrid bent down and lifted Harry up, clearly unaware of the chaos he had just caused.

“Well... Hagrid, next time you plan on singing, could you please give me a heads-up first?”

“Ahaha,” Hagrid chuckled awkwardly. “Was it that bad?”

“Not at all. Actually, your voice is pretty nice. It’s just... you’re so loud. My ears—or rather, my entire body—can’t handle it.”

Realizing the situation, Hagrid nodded in understanding.

“Well, rest for a bit. I’ll pack up my gear, and we’ll head to the forest. You can pick something you’d like to eat, and I’ll do the hunting. We’ll bring it back and roast it over a fire.”

To Hagrid, the Forbidden Forest was like his backyard. He fed and managed the magical creatures that lived there, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t eat them. Aside from a few cute, obedient ones that he kept as pets, most magical creatures in the forest had made an appearance on Hagrid’s dinner table.

As the "King of the Forbidden Forest," Hagrid’s duties included not only guarding and managing the forest but also holding the power of life and death over the creatures he protected. He followed the law of the jungle: survival of the fittest.

After Harry had rested for a while, Hagrid finished gathering his hunting gear and prepared to leave.

“We need to be quick. The fire in the stove is burning too hot. I’m worried something might happen if no one’s watching it.”

“Leave it to me,” Harry said, rubbing his temples. He pulled out a Glock 18 and aimed it at the blazing fireplace.

“Fireproof Shield.”

He pulled the trigger, and a transparent cover appeared over the fireplace, constructed by the spell. Inside, the dragon egg continued basking in the flames without any issue, but the stifling heat in Hagrid’s cabin eased up considerably.

“I should’ve sent for you sooner,” Hagrid said happily. “Now Fang can come back inside.”

Seeing this, Hagrid was clearly pleased. Although Dumbledore had secretly repaired his broken wand, Hagrid had not practiced magic much for a long time. As a result, his spellcasting abilities had deteriorated. Most of the time, his life was no different from that of a Muggle. So, when faced with this problem, magic hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Yeah, Fang’s probably cold outside. But the spell won’t hold for too long. Hagrid, what kind of wood are you burning? The flames seem strong enough to weaken the magic.”

“I read in a book that dragon eggs with iron bellies need very high temperatures to hatch properly. Ordinary wood can’t provide that kind of heat, so I chopped down a few magical pine trees to use for firewood. There are plenty of them in the forest, and the only hassle is relocating the tree guardians.”

Hagrid opened the door to let Fang in, while Harry once again used a spell. This time, he kept the trigger held down, unleashing a barrage of spell projectiles that created thick, protective barriers in front of the fireplace.

After receiving proper guidance from Professor Flitwick, Harry's spells no longer lost potency due to his awkward pauses and pronunciation errors. Even though the fireproof charm was something he hadn’t practiced much, the rapid-fire rate of his Ivory Wand had improved from three shots per second to six.

If he used spells he was more familiar with, the Ivory Wand’s maximum output could reach eight to ten shots per second. Once Harry pulled the trigger, a deluge of spell projectiles would rain down instantly.

Unfortunately, Harry had yet to encounter a foe worthy of his full strength. Even when combining all his peers from the same year, they wouldn’t stand a chance against him. Until he reached a certain level of maturity, the existence of the Ivory Wand made Harry feel like a walking cheat code.

The only thing limiting Harry's magic use was his magical power. After consuming the Frost Tyrant's heart, Harry estimated he could quickly cast about 120 spells before hitting a short cooldown period for recovery. Compared to the previous limit of 100, this was an improvement. Once he fully digested the Frost Tyrant's heart, that number might increase to around 130 or 134.

Exchanging about twenty thousand Galleons for such a slight increase in magical power was a bad deal, as most wizards, even when using a set of spells, rarely faced issues with running out of magical energy in a short time.

Once a wizard reaches adulthood, their magical capacity will steadily grow from the level of “one” at age eleven to ten or even more. Such reserves allow most wizards to operate with a significant buffer.

“Have you decided what you want to eat, Harry? If you’d like, I can tell you about the strange creatures in the forest. Some of them aren’t very tasty—their meat is quite foul. Take the pustule leopard, for example. Its meat is both sour and rotten. I tried a bite once and ended up with a bad case of diarrhea that night.”

“Sounds like you were poisoned, Hagrid. The pustule leopard is notorious for its diseases and venom.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Thank goodness Hagrid had a strong constitution; otherwise, a single bite could have sent any other wizard straight to their grave.

“Curiosity got the better of me, so I had to try it. Processing the creature’s body was a hassle, though. I couldn’t bury it or burn it. In the end, I fed it to a slime that eats anything, but unexpectedly, it produced a bunch of mutated poisonous slimes! I was furious; I nearly lost my mind!”

Hagrid waved his hand in front of his face, clearly recalling that unpleasant experience.

“Are there any creatures in the forest that are both physically powerful and magically strong? Something on par with the Frost Tyrant?”

“Absolutely, there are plenty. If you’re talking about something with both great magical and physical strength, there’s probably only the Sphinx. They can be a bit tricky to deal with, as they seem to possess some sort of power related to rules. Once caught in their riddles, it’s a hassle unless they voluntarily release you.”

“Let’s choose something else then. There’s only one Sphinx left in the forest, and it’s very well-behaved—it never causes any trouble.”

“What about the mountain tyrannosaurus? That creature should be capable of fighting the Frost Tyrant. After all, a fire dragon wouldn’t necessarily win in close combat against it. Plus, its meat is quite chewy and flavorful.”

“The best part is there are more than ten mountain tyrannosaurs in the forest, and they’ve been rather unruly lately. They make quite a ruckus at times.”

“Then it’s settled—we’ll go for the mountain tyrannosaurs.”

Harry nodded in agreement without hesitation, following closely behind Hagrid as they stepped into the eerie darkness of the Forbidden Forest, even in broad daylight.

(End of chapter)