Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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"What's wrong with you people?"

Sitting atop a pile of people, Harry moved his wrist and cracked his fingers with a snap. "I'm a born and bred Englishman. Is this how you welcome a fellow countryman?"

"Weren't you just screaming in pain a moment ago? How come you're silent now? Or should I check if I'm strapped with explosives?"

When a pair of fists, as big as sandbags, start swinging in front of you, your tone of voice tends to soften, especially when you're facing someone who isn't afraid to throw a punch, and you're unable to resist.

"Misunderstanding... It's all a misunderstanding."

The man, whose body ached all over, gasped painfully. Harry, weighing over 400 pounds, was like a human tank, sitting on his back with enough pressure to snap bones. "We only received... ahem... a warning. Just routine, you know? Routine."

"Oh, so it was a misunderstanding. In that case, what I'm doing now is self-defense, right? I'm a law-abiding citizen, never had any intention of attacking an Auror."

"Yes, yes, you're right. It's a misunderstanding."

Satisfied with the response, Harry jumped off the human pile. Moments earlier, this group had used Apparition to show up, and without a word, they cast a Stunning Charm. However, not only did the spell miss, but Harry also blocked their Apparition and kicked them in the backside, causing seven or eight of them to collapse into another towering human mound.

The Aurors, struggling to rise, had a hard time hiding their embarrassment, but that awkwardness soon disappeared.

As the group continued to eye him warily, Harry had no choice but to introduce himself.

He pointed to his forehead and spoke. "I'm Harry Potter, the one you're thinking of. So, you don't have to worry about me causing trouble for the Ministry, right?"

Fame, in some cases, is truly useful, especially when dealing with strangers for the first time. A good reputation always makes interactions smoother. But Harry's fame wasn't something that could simply be described as just a good reputation. He was the savior of England, the boy who survived defeating the Dark Lord! Anyone who didn't recognize him within England would surely be a rarity. Though, thankfully, Harry didn't look much like a 13-year-old boy anymore. His height, a good head taller than most, and his long, muscular build often made it hard for people to place his identity.

"Is it really you, Harry Potter?"

After a careful look at Harry's unhidden forehead, a middle-aged man, presumably the team leader, shook Harry's hand firmly. "What an honor, Mr. Potter! You're truly the one who defeated the Dark Lord."

The resentment the man had felt moments earlier vanished. The man who had shattered the unstoppable Dark Lord at the age of one, now grown, was certainly stronger than before. There was no shame in losing to him; in fact, it was almost expected. After all, Harry must have been extraordinary to accomplish such feats at that time.

Most people didn't know that the spell that rebounded Voldemort's Killing Curse was cast by his mother, Lily. When people retell stories, they often embellish them, making them more dramatic to suit their imaginations. The present Harry, however, fulfilled all those imaginations.

Tall, powerful, handsome, and incredibly skilled—everything about Harry screamed "savior" to the crowd. His presence instantly boosted his popularity.

The bystanders, previously just watching from the sidelines, couldn't help but start talking, throwing out ridiculous claims about Harry. Some said he had crawled out of the womb by himself, biting through his umbilical cord. Others said he had thrown furniture around as soon as he turned one month old, or that he learned Apparition before his first birthday and would fly all over the place while sleeping.

Harry's superhuman hearing let him catch these bizarre rumors clearly, and he had to restrain his urge to punch someone.

"It seems the situation is clear now. If there's nothing else, I really need to get going," Harry glanced at the clock in the hall—only half an hour left before the workday ended.

"You're here on Ministry business? Is there anything I can help with?"

"I'm just submitting an entry application for the Celestial Empire, nothing to worry about."

"Is it urgent? If you're in a hurry, I can take you there. Although old Batty is the most reliable guy in the department, he's swamped with work. If you go directly, you might have to wait a day or two."

As an insider at the Ministry, the unnamed Auror squad leader knew all too well about the internal workings. Batty Crouch, who had once lost to Fudge in the race for the Minister of Magic due to his son's troubles, was a very capable and pragmatic wizard—serious, strict, and highly efficient. He ran the International Magical Cooperation Department, which handled a significant portion of the Ministry's diplomatic duties, and still managed to keep it running smoothly despite the chaos around him.

"Thanks, I appreciate it. The workday's almost over, so how about I buy you all a drink as my apology? I was a little too rough earlier."

"I've got a batch of fine wine that's been aging for over thirty years. It's always better to drink together, right? We can call it a 'getting-to-know-you' moment."

The sore Aurors exchanged glances before smiling. "Alright, but let us handle the snacks."

"Zold, Jeffrey, you two go to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and get some good stuff. Didn't they just take down some rampaging magical creatures? Pick out some good meat to bring back."

Aurors held a significant position within the Ministry. Although they couldn't match Harry in a fight, a single team of Aurors was enough to handle any major or minor incident in England. They were a formidable group.

With an internal guide leading the way, Harry's efficiency in handling his task skyrocketed to the highest level. Who needs to queue? There was no need for that at all. The guide took Harry through the internal passage, and within just fifteen minutes, a receipt stamped by the International Magical Cooperation Department was already in Harry's hands. Tomorrow at 11 AM, he would head to the European Wizarding Union headquarters for his final interview.

If anything were to perfectly complement a glass of Ogden's Old Firewhisky, it would be meat from the Ice Stone Beast, a creature from the Carflanca Snowfield Salt Pools. It might sound like just a stone, but it's actually a giant frog-like creature with some turtle features. Its body is covered with white salt crystals, and when motionless, it may resemble a stone, but if you break open its thick crystalline back armor, you'll find a delicate, bouncy white meat inside, which is an exquisite delicacy.

Even when preparing spicy bullfrog, there's no need to add salt; simply tossing it into the fire, shell and all, results in a salt-baked giant frog. Although this creature is a specialty of the northernmost European countries and has no direct ties to England, poachers everywhere make sure to bring it to market. The magical creatures confiscated by the Ministry often end up in the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures for processing.

As the fiery whiskey slid down his throat, Harry felt the residual warmth of magical fire on his lips. After biting into the frosty, crispy meat of the Ice Stone Beast, the contrasting flavors of ice and fire overwhelmed his senses in the most exhilarating way.

Having tasted many magical creatures before, Harry was stunned by the offerings at tonight's gathering. These Aurors had clearly indulged in magical creatures often, given the dangerous and strenuous nature of their work. After all, they dealt with the most hazardous, physically demanding jobs at the Ministry. A little reward for themselves was deserved, right? Perhaps they should try facing black wizards, smugglers, and poachers?

After finishing off an entire barrel of Firewhisky, the Aurors, already tipsy, cheered and clapped for Harry. Within just a couple of hours, they had quickly grown close, wrapping their arms around his shoulders, calling him "bro" with sincere enthusiasm. It wasn't just because he had out-drunk them—it was because they genuinely felt that this strong, generous, and straightforward young man was worth making friends with, regardless of his age.

Once the alcohol started to take effect, the conversation shifted to gossip from within the Ministry. Fudge had been struggling again recently, his already diminishing reputation further tarnished by recent events. The primary culprits were Grindelwald and Dumbledore, but the blame had unfairly fallen on Sirius Black.

After the events in North America, Harry had heard little of Sirius, though his godfather seemed to be involved in some significant matters. He had sent Harry a letter, reassuring him that all was well. Perhaps Sirius was in contact with Lupin, and upon learning of his greatest rival—Severus Snape—had begun working discreetly to secure his godfather's position.

Amid the Aurors' idle chatter, Harry picked up on a subtle shift in tone. Sirius was planning something big. Once, Harry had despised the Black family, but now, Sirius was rekindling connections within the ancient and powerful family, using their vast wealth to reignite old alliances. The fall of the Malfoy family had freed up political resources, which now were being absorbed by the Black family's reemerging power. Their influence had reached deep into the Ministry.

"You think Black's planning to get back at Fudge?" one Auror mused.

"Yeah, Fudge was the one who sentenced him to Azkaban," another added. "If it were me, I wouldn't forget that either. Eleven years in Azkaban? No way I'd let that slide."

Several Aurors shuddered, reflecting on the horrors of Azkaban, especially the Dementors. Even a brief exposure to them was enough to break a person's sanity. The idea of spending eleven years there was chilling.

"Maybe Black wants Fudge's job as Minister?" someone suggested. "Nothing would hurt Fudge more than being kicked out of office."

"If Black gives me a raise, I'll vote for him," another grumbled. "I've been an Auror for four years, and my pay's only gone up three Galleons and eleven Sickles. After all the close calls with curses and dark magic, I've barely gotten a raise. Last month, I nearly lost my arm in a duel."

"The Brighton Bloodhand bust? Ha, you were unlucky there," another Auror joked. "Me and the captain caught three guys that time. We even bagged a big fish."

As the night wore on, the Aurors staggered off, waving tipsily. Though they couldn't use Apparition, Flu Powder was a safer alternative. After ensuring their destinations were clear, they threw the powder into the flames and stepped into the blazing green fire.

Harry, who had spent the night at the Leaky Cauldron, woke up early the next day. He borrowed the pub's kitchen to prepare breakfast and brought a box filled with food to Fleur's house.

"Harry! You finally made it!" Fleur's father, Mr. Delacour, called out with a hearty voice as Harry approached the garden gate. He waved from the gazebo, sipping his morning tea, wearing a smile that looked like a proud father welcoming his son-in-law.

"Come on, tell me, how's it going with Fleur? Should I speed things up? In France, girls can marry at fifteen, you know..."

Before he could finish his sentence, Mr. Delacour was struck on the head by something from above. He crouched down, clutching his head in pain. From the second-floor window, Fleur peered out, her arms crossed, coldly staring down.

"Sorry, Daddy! I slipped!" she called down.

"No worries, it doesn't hurt," Mr. Delacour grinned through the pain, his fatherly authority completely absent in the face of his daughter. At home, the real authority figure was Fleur's mother, and Mr. Delacour's only job was to look good. He figured if he had to wear women's clothes, he might even outshine Fleur's mother.

"I brought breakfast," Harry said, lifting the food box and waving it at Fleur.

"I'll fix my hair. I'll be right down!" Fleur called back.

(End of chapter)