Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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Six hundred units of magic power seemed to trigger a minor shift, a small quantitative change leading to a qualitative one. This slight push allowed Harry to break through a previously unknown barrier.

If marked as a percentage, his current magic purity was approximately 80% of that of an Awakened One. To utilize the inherited magical runes of the Awakened, such as activating the lightning-elemental armor framework before him, he would need to increase this value by another 10%.

Previously, Harry could only rely on the help of Philosopher's Stones to advance. However, now a solution presented itself. Even if this would slightly lower his ultimate potential compared to other Awakened Ones, how many people in the world ever truly reach their maximum potential? For the foreseeable future, this would suffice. There was no need for Harry to worry unnecessarily; his sole focus should be accelerating his growth and improving his magic purity until it matched that of the Awakened.

Only by doing so could he grasp the complete key to unlock the treasure chest in his hands and claim the wealth it contained.

Beside the black-silver vortex, Harry left a small gray vortex behind. Upon breaking through the 80% purity threshold, he naturally learned the technique of magic projection. However, the records he could leave behind only lasted for a brief period, no longer than a minute. Still, it was enough for him to jot down a short passage.

*Lok—Sky, Wuld—Whirlwind, Kest—Storm*

These were magical words he had heard in the projections from Paradise Island. With this, he now had a record of twelve magical runes. Though he wasn't particularly interested in Setti's theories of creation, Harry had received many gifts from him. Offering this small token of return seemed only fair. If Setti were still alive, Harry would have loved to ask him whether he still clung to his dreams from a century ago.

Wizards could live up to 150 years, and with the help of potions, even longer. The Elixir of Life wasn't the only magic capable of extending life; potions made from unicorn blood could also achieve similar effects. Gaining a few extra decades was far from impossible.

Speaking of long lives, Dumbledore and Grindelwald, both just over a hundred years old, were technically still in their middle age. For those two, acquiring life-extending potions would be child's play. With another century ahead of them, perhaps Harry might one day actually attend their wedding?

"Would Dumbledore be the one in the wedding dress?" The thought of this scene made Harry's face scrunch up in distaste. "Forget it. A white beard, white hair, and a white wedding dress... That's way too much for my aesthetics to handle."

Pushing open the door to the secret chamber, he noticed that faint rays of morning light were already streaming through the corridor windows ahead. Stretching lazily, Harry's joints cracked audibly. Pulling an all-nighter didn't bother him in the slightest. Since the Great Hall wasn't serving breakfast yet, and Harry didn't want to trouble the house-elves into working overtime, he decided to wander over to Hagrid's place for a hearty breakfast instead.

However, as Harry reached the stairwell, hurried footsteps echoed from above. Judging by the sound, they belonged to a girl. Yet the scents that invaded Harry's nose didn't align with what one might expect from a girl.

The smell of rusty water, a faint trace of blood, the stench of decay, an unidentifiable metallic tang—all of this was intermingled with the fragrant scent of Hogwarts-provided bath and shampoo products. The specific blend of olive, bluebell leaves, soap pods, lavender, and serpent's tongue was unique to Slytherin House, designed to alleviate the psychological strain of living in the damp, cold dungeons. It was soothing to the mind and ensured a restful sleep after a bath.

Slowing his steps slightly, Harry paused as the approaching footsteps reached the middle of the staircase. He stepped out from the corner, and the hurried steps abruptly came to a halt. Glancing up, Harry caught a glimpse of shock and panic.

Cassandra, startled by Harry's sudden appearance, froze in place. It was barely dawn—just past five o'clock. Who would be wandering around Hogwarts at this hour? In her surprise, she lost her balance, her body pitching forward. Instinctively, she tightened her core, attempting to twist and regain her footing. But when she saw Harry raise a hand, the move she hadn't even started died midway.

Like any other girl in such a situation, Cassandra let out a short, sharp yelp and cast a pleading, helpless look at Harry, hoping he would catch her.

Their eyes met briefly in midair. But instead of catching her, the boy stepped gracefully to the side, retreating half a step as he watched the girl fall with a decidedly ungraceful arc.

Smack. Smack. Smack. 

Harry clapped his hands lightly and smirked. "Nice flexibility."

"You!"

Cassandra's head snapped up, her face tinged with a faint blush. Realizing Harry had no intention of catching her, she was forced to twist her body mid-fall to avoid landing face-first. Her strong core managed to pivot her enough so that her rear took the brunt of the impact against the floor instead.

Harry grinned, his white teeth gleaming in amusement. He had chosen his position wisely—it offered a perfect vantage point. Stepping back just in time had been the right decision.

"You're quite something, Miss Malfoy," Harry said, his tone light and teasing. "Out exercising this early in the castle? It's barely dawn, and the Slytherin common room is, what, a mile from here?" He paused for effect and extended a hand, albeit only halfway. "Need a hand?"

The outstretched hand was purely for show—it couldn't possibly reach her unless his arm was absurdly long. Gritting her teeth slightly, Cassandra responded coolly, "I don't need your pity, Potter."

Supporting herself on the floor, she pushed herself up and stood, brushing off her robes. "Where I go is none of your business," she said irritably, turning to leave. However, her slightly awkward gait betrayed the sting of the fall.

"Be careful when walking in the future, Miss Malfoy. Wouldn't want you slipping in a bathroom," Harry called out, his voice laced with mock concern. "Oh, and, forgive me if this is rude, but I feel obliged to let you know—you've got, um, something a bit... strong-smelling stuck to your backside."

"I do NOT!" Cassandra whirled around in outrage, her voice tinged with embarrassment.

Harry, unfazed, fanned the air in front of his nose dramatically, a look of exaggerated disgust plastered on his face.

"Ah, but you do. I mean, if it weren't for that smell, I would've been the perfect gentleman and offered a real hand to catch you." He shrugged nonchalantly, feigning helplessness.

Cassandra's eyes narrowed in fury as Harry continued. "Well, I won't disturb your noble quest to visit this part of the castle for some ahem privacy, Miss Malfoy. Watch your step—the floors can be slippery at this hour."

With his hands stuffed in his pockets, Harry turned on his heel and walked away, not bothering to glance back at Cassandra's undoubtedly furious expression. Oh, it must have been a masterpiece of indignation.

After putting some distance between them, Harry's expression darkened slightly. This encounter had been unexpected. Normally, Cassandra would only venture out like this on weekends, returning to the Slytherin common room by 10 PM. But today was a Monday—and it seemed she had spent the entire night in the secret chamber.

This deviation in timing was already a clue. During their brief encounter, Harry had also caught a flicker of something in Cassandra's eyes—something that confirmed his suspicions.

Her outward demeanor had been well-controlled, but her heartbeat betrayed her. No matter how calm she appeared, the steady rhythm of her pulse remained unshaken, devoid of any genuine panic or anger. Someone with such poise wouldn't blush or lose composure so easily.

"So, you really are after me, huh?" Harry mused to himself, his mind piecing things together. "It seems you're not just interested in the Chamber of Secrets, Tom. You're after me. Disgusting. Truly shameless."

Though fleeting, Harry had detected a brief surge of killing intent from Cassandra. It had surfaced the moment he first mentioned the word bathroom. Her previously steady heartbeat had skipped slightly then—just for half a beat—but enough to confirm his suspicions.

"Getting Draco to track my movements... I suppose the long-dormant Basilisk in the Chamber has been well-fed by now. I wonder, after living for nearly a thousand years, would it still taste tender if made into snake stew?"

"A thousand-year-old serpent spirit," Harry muttered under his breath. "One white, one green... We've got the green one. So where's the white snake?"

Too lazy to climb the stairs, Harry walked over to a nearby window and leapt out. He landed effortlessly on the dewy grass of the Hogwarts grounds, the cool morning air brushing against his skin. Hagrid's hut wasn't too far away—its chimney wasn't smoking yet, but it would be soon.

(End of Chapter)