Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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This year's intake of new students at Hogwarts was nearly half again as large as the year Harry had started. It wasn't surprising, really. During Voldemort's reign of terror, people naturally weren't focused on having children. But once the darkest days passed, well, people turned to more productive pursuits.

Next year's intake would likely be even larger, though it probably wouldn't exceed two hundred students. Hogwarts didn't only admit students from England—it also accepted them from neighboring regions. After all, England's small population of just over three thousand couldn't consistently supply even a hundred new students annually.

Luna, who'd had a pleasant chat with Harry on the train, was sorted into Ravenclaw, while Ginny predictably joined Gryffindor. The Sorting Ceremony dragged on for nearly an hour and a half, with Professor McGonagall finally removing the Sorting Hat and returning to the staff table. Dumbledore, acting as the ever-eccentric host, made a brief but cryptic comment—one of his incomprehensible riddles—before the Great Hall erupted with the clatter of knives and forks against plates.

The main course hadn't changed much, but the desserts were a different story. The house-elves had outdone themselves, offering several new treats. One particularly unique pastry, a fruit-and-custard tart, paired perfectly with vodka, prompting Harry to resolve to visit the kitchen later and ask for the recipe.

As he ate, Harry couldn't help but glance over at the Slytherin table from time to time. The phrase "padding the truth" kept flashing through his mind. Hogwarts had its share of strange occurrences every year, but when one hit close to home, it was hard to ignore.

Cassandra had somehow gone from last year's utterly average A-cup to a respectable C. Try as he might, Harry couldn't make sense of the sudden transformation, except to describe it as miraculous—or suspect some padding shenanigans.

"Could Dobby have been cursed because he accidentally caught Cassandra using Draco as a tool?"

His imagination began crafting increasingly outlandish scenarios. "Yikes, the old pure-blood families sure have their quirks."

The term "noble" often came hand-in-hand with extravagance, particularly in Europe, and pure-blood only intensified the eccentricities. Their infamous penchant for close intermarriage had already caused the downfall of many wizarding families, but they continued the practice undeterred.

"Hey, Harry! What happened to you over the summer? Did you drink some strange potion or something?"

A pat on his muscular arm pulled Harry from his thoughts. Turning, he saw Rolf, who was eyeing him with amazement.

"I almost didn't recognize you at first. Neville and I had to think for a while before we were sure it was you."

"Too much training during the break," Harry replied with a wry smile. "Now I'm all bloated, and I hate how clunky it feels. Give me a couple of months to refine it, and your dashing Hogwarts roommate will be back."

"That's not great news for us," Rolf quipped, rolling his eyes. "All the girls already look at you. What's going to happen to the rest of us?"

"Relax, relax. I'm only after older students," Harry said with mock seriousness. "When I was younger, I thought younger girls were the way to go, but older sisters are where it's at. I'll always have a soft spot for seventeen-year-olds."

Even in a school where students matured quickly, twelve-year-old boys couldn't keep up with Harry's innuendo. Rolf, blushing furiously, waved him off and sneaked a nervous glance toward the older girls before sitting up straighter and changing the subject.

"By the way, Harry, did you like my birthday present?"

"The Thunderbird feather quill? Of course! It's amazing! Doesn't even need ink, and the lightning effect is so cool—it's awesome."

Although Harry had spent his birthday on an island, his friends' gifts had arrived punctually by owl. Rolf's present stood out: a quill made from a Thunderbird feather. It left faintly charred black marks on parchment in place of ink, thanks to the quill's gentle electric charge. While the occasional static shock was a bit annoying, it was undeniably stylish.

"So, you've been using it?" Rolf asked, a touch of excitement in his voice. "The lightning hasn't caused any trouble, has it?"

"Not at all. It's like a massage," Harry said. "Why are you asking?"

"That's fantastic!" Rolf exclaimed, leaning in closer and lowering his voice. "I need your help. My family's Thunderbird just laid four eggs. I begged my grandpa, and he let me have one. But the chick is already sparking, and I have to wear gloves to touch it."

"Thunderbirds stay in their juvenile phase for five years. If I want to ride it one day, I need to build a bond with it during that time. My grandpa could tame a fully grown Thunderbird, but I can't. If I can't even handle it now, I'll have to give it back."

"You've got a knack for physical training, right? Could you teach me something?"

Rolf's eyes sparkled with hope. "Magical body enhancement is dangerous, and while I can get magical potions, I need the right person to guide me. You're that person—aren't you?"

"You sure about this?" Harry asked.

*Harry's lips curled into a mischievous smile.*

It didn't surprise him that Rolf knew about his magical body-strengthening training. Even though Harry hadn't mentioned it in their dorm, this method wasn't exactly a secret in the wizarding world. The catch was that it was prohibitively expensive and incredibly painful, which meant very few people pursued it. In peacetime, the drive for power wasn't nearly as strong as during an era of conflict.

"I know it's difficult," Rolf admitted, his voice low. "I've read a lot about it, but there's hardly anyone practicing it anymore. In England, you're the only person I could find."

After a moment's hesitation, Rolf leaned closer and whispered, "I've heard some rumors. The magical world has secretly formed an airborne wizarding corps. I don't know what their mission is, but it sounds fascinating. After graduation, I want to join them."

"You mean the Dragon Riders?"

"You've heard of them?"

Rolf's expression shifted from surprise to excitement.

"Exactly! The Dragon Riders! My grandfather even helped with the selective breeding of their dragons. But to be precise, their mounts aren't purebred fire dragons. They're a subspecies—quadrupedal drakes. Fully grown, they're barely fifteen meters long, making them medium-sized at best. But they're tamer and much smarter. Fire dragons, on the other hand, are all brainless brutes, easily the dimmest creatures in the magical world."

"Thunderbirds are the real rulers of the skies," Rolf declared, his passion evident. "I've dreamed of flying on my own Thunderbird. Lightning might let me ride him sometimes, but he's still my grandfather's partner. Without his protection, I can't withstand the incredible speed, and with it, I get shocked senseless."

A hint of helplessness crossed Rolf's face. He truly adored Thunderbirds but couldn't tame the majestic creatures.

"I'm serious! I can handle the magical potions myself. If you need materials, I can supply them. My grandfather may be a magical creature conservationist, but he's also involved in breeding research. England might not have done much in this field, but elsewhere, large-scale magical creature domestication has seen great success. They've even bred fire dragons for meat—there's a dragon farm with over 300,000 purebred fire dragons worldwide."

"Meat dragons?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"They're lower quality, sure," Rolf admitted, "but they're plentiful. I asked my dad to get me some materials—100 kilograms of heart tendons from dragon hearts. They're not great for making wands, but they're perfect for brewing potions!"

Hearing this, Harry's eyes lit up. Fire dragon magic cores resided in their hearts, and the most concentrated magical essence was found in a small segment of tendons within the heart. Such materials were rarely measured in kilograms. One hundred kilograms—dried or not—would require the slaughter of at least a hundred or two hundred fire dragons.

"As expected, anyone who deals with potions or magical plants is always secretly rich," Harry thought. Whether it was Hagrid, Professor Sprout, or Snape, they all had hidden fortunes. Transfiguration and charms couldn't create money, but potioneers could harvest, grow, or extract resources that essentially printed gold. Rolf's Scamander family was clearly not to be underestimated.

"One more won't hurt. As long as you can endure it, welcome aboard," Harry said, grinning.

Though he wasn't short on funds, Harry wouldn't turn down a well-resourced partner. Relying on the Forbidden Forest for supplies wasn't sustainable, and with Rolf's materials, it would be a profitable venture even if he had to buy them outright.

"Yes!" Rolf clenched his fists and beamed with excitement. But Harry wasn't done.

"If you're joining, there's no backing out. Even if you're crying your eyes out later, you'll have to grit your teeth and push through," Harry warned, his smile turning wolfish.

The sight of Harry's sharp grin sent a shiver down Rolf's spine. But after a moment of hesitation, he nodded firmly. He knew how grueling the process would be. If he hadn't steeled himself, he wouldn't have brought it up in the first place.

The rowdy Great Hall gradually quieted as the plates vanished from the tables. With everyone full and satisfied, Dumbledore rose to his feet, ready to introduce the minor changes to Hogwarts this year.

(End of Chapter)