Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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"Greetings, esteemed Headmaster Dumbledore." 

A squad of twelve wizards stood before Dumbledore, bowing respectfully. Their impeccably tailored uniforms bore a bold statement: "I am an elite wizard." 

Despite the arrogance implied by their attire, their attitude toward Dumbledore was deferential, bordering on reverent. 

"Our master received your letter," their leader began, inclining his head. "However, as he is currently immersed in a research project he cannot leave, he has sent us in his stead to assist you and this young gentleman. We ask for your understanding." 

"You may call me Leon," he continued, puffing out his chest with pride. "I am the master's assistant and the captain of Umbrella Squad One. These are my team members." Leon gestured toward his squad. "Each of them has completed countless arduous missions. You can trust us." 

"Grindelwald mentioned you to me," Dumbledore replied, waving a hand dismissively. He had anticipated Grindelwald's absence—partly because he truly was busy, and partly because the situation hadn't escalated to the point where his intervention was necessary. "However, this time, your assistance isn't for me, but for him." 

Dumbledore gestured toward Harry, causing the squad to shift their gaze to the young man. 

Even before the gesture, the burly boy had already caught their attention. Though Harry stood with his back to them, his presence exuded an inexplicable aura, as if an ominous entity were watching them. Yet, he wore nothing more threatening than the standard Hogwarts uniform, hardly the attire of a menacing figure. 

"I'm almost done. Just give me a moment," Harry said, turning to flash them a bright, boyish smile—a picture of sunshine and innocence. 

But as he turned back, their eyes fell on the object he was tinkering with: a massive tower shield forged from expensive magical metals. The shield was at least three centimeters thick, large enough to fully conceal Harry's nearly two-meter frame behind it. 

The shield, weighing an estimated four to five hundred kilograms, lay docile in Harry's hands, easily manipulated as though it were no heavier than a toy. 

"This Invisibility Cloak is such a pain to modify," Harry muttered under his breath, his frustration evident. "Just punching a hole through it feels like it's going to be the death of me. A sticking charm would've made this so much easier—or even just some superglue." 

He grumbled while threading a fine gray needle, formed from magic, through the fabric of the cloak. The aim was to turn the Invisibility Cloak into a covering for the tower shield, securing it firmly over the surface. 

Although Dumbledore had never explained the true nature of the Invisibility Cloak to Harry, the boy had pieced it together after surviving Nagini's calculated ambush. The truth wasn't hard to deduce once one dismissed the legends surrounding the cloak. 

The cloak's ability to block all magical detection was, in itself, a clear clue. It didn't merely conceal magic—it consumed it. Any form of magic, prophecy, or power tied to magical energy would silently vanish upon contact with the cloak. This conceptual "devouring" of magic left no trace, no detectable residue. 

Dumbledore speculated that the Invisibility Cloak was made from the "skin" of a seven-part deity—a supreme demonic entity. After all, weren't demons known to feed on magic itself? 

Before the support squad arrived, Harry had been hard at work for quite some time. Using fine strings woven from unicorn hair, he meticulously fastened the cloak onto the tower shield—a gift sponsored by Dumbledore himself. As a skilled alchemist, Dumbledore had no shortage of high-quality materials in his collection, and crafting a life-sized shield for Harry had been a relatively simple task. Though the shield lacked engraved runes or alchemical arrays, its durability was guaranteed. It could withstand even a 150mm armor-piercing round without shattering, though the impact might leave a small dent. 

"Finally done," Harry declared, lifting the shield effortlessly with one hand to inspect it. 

Once draped with the Invisibility Cloak, the shield became completely invisible from the front. From the rear, however, one could still see the tightly knotted bindings and excess fabric of the cloak that hadn't been used. The craftsmanship might have been a bit rough, but the end product was undeniably effective. 

"Less than half a ton. This weight feels just about right," Harry remarked, casually swinging the shield strapped to his left arm. 

The motion sent a faint breeze across the room, but every witness could only stare, their eyebrows twitching at his casual display of strength. 

"Ahh," Dumbledore sighed deeply. "Harry, could you please act a little more… human?" 

"Human? What's that?" Harry shot a glance at Dumbledore. "Aside from my devastatingly handsome face, what part of me looks remotely human to you?" 

"Don't be so dramatic, Professor," Harry added with a smirk. "Remember that legendary Hufflepuff alumnus? Let me tell you a little secret—he could prance around wearing an alchemical suit weighing at least seven or eight tons while performing Animagus transformations in the second stage." 

"I'm still nowhere near that level." 

Harry's tone was humble, but not a single person present believed him. Seven or eight tons? No humanoid creature—not even a troll—could bear that weight while moving freely. Being able to lift such a mass didn't mean one could sustain it for extended periods, let alone act as if it were nothing.

 "Professor, what do you think? If I use this shield to bash Tom right on the nose, how many meters do you think he'd go flying?" 

Harry chuckled maliciously. "Heh, one good hit like that, and he'll truly live up to the name 'No-Nose Freak.'" 

Harry's laughter was filled with mischief. In this life, the Voldemort he had encountered actually had a nose—and a rather handsome face to boot. Harry always felt a bit disappointed that the infamous Dark Lord wasn't the noseless monster he had heard so much about. 

 "No-Nose Freak…" Dumbledore sighed, staring at Harry with a complicated expression, as though trying to peer into the boy's mind and figure out what bizarre thoughts constantly churned within. "Are all chaotic lunatics this way? No wonder Grindelwald is so… creative." 

Dumbledore clicked his tongue and, as if subconsciously, adjusted his posture. Clearing his throat, he spoke. 

 "Ahem. Let's focus on the task at hand." 

 "You're right," Harry nodded. "If Tom realizes something is up and flees, it'll ruin the fun. Men's sixth sense can be surprisingly sharp. Let's just hope he's not too sensitive." 

His words sounded innocuous enough, but there was something off about them—though no one could quite place what. 

Harry extended his hand to Leon, who stood noticeably shorter than him. "Mr. Leon, I'm Harry Potter. Thank you for your help. When we get to the location, I'll leave the task of setting up Anti-Apparition and similar spells to your team. Please make sure Tom doesn't have any chance to escape." 

Leon grasped Harry's hand for a firm shake, nodding in acknowledgment. "And then?" 

Leon furrowed his brow slightly. "Our target tonight… it's the Dark Lord from twelve years ago, Voldemort, correct?" 

As someone outside the English wizarding community, Leon knew of Voldemort's infamous reputation but didn't feel particularly impressed. That said, he wasn't about to underestimate someone who had caused such chaos in England years ago. 

 "Yes, it's him—our dear, not-so-lovely Tom." Harry smirked. "Your job is to make sure he can't escape easily. He has a spell that allows him to turn into a black mist and fly through the sky. It's not very fast—about as quick as an old-school Cleansweep Seven—but it's incredibly nimble." 

Harry grinned and added, "Don't underestimate me. Last year, I killed him once. This year, he may have regained more of his strength, but I've grown too." 

He patted Leon on the shoulder with his left hand—the one holding the tower shield. The force of the casual gesture nearly embedded Leon into the floor. Clutching his aching shoulder, Leon grimaced silently. He was now thoroughly convinced of Harry's "weightiness." 

If that shield smashed into anyone—wizard or otherwise—leaving with half a breath would be considered an act of Harry's mercy. 

 "Professor, you're not stepping in today?" Harry asked Dumbledore as they prepared to leave. 

 "Only if you want me to," Dumbledore replied with a warm smile and a nod. 

 "Alright then. Let's get going. Target: Malfoy Manor, Swindon, Wiltshire, England." 

Harry turned to the phoenix perched nearby. "Thanks for taking us, Fawkes." 

Golden-red flames erupted, more brilliant than ever before as Fawkes prepared to transport over a dozen people in one go. The fire roared with unparalleled intensity as they disappeared in unison. 

(End of Chapter)