Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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"Another new school year begins."

With a cheerful smile, Dumbledore stood before the hall, his face radiating warmth.

"Before everyone heads back to their dormitories for some well-earned rest, I have a few things to share. At the start of this term, I'd like to announce several new initiatives that Hogwarts will be implementing starting this year."

"Last year, I visited Durmstrang Institute, and I gained a wealth of new insights during my time there. I decided to bring some of these ideas back with me. While your Professor Grindelwald introduced you to a year full of fresh perspectives, this year, it's my turn."

"First, Hogwarts will be implementing a credit system. We will be discontinuing the Ministry of Magic's O.W.L.s (Ordinary Wizarding Levels) and N.E.W.T.s (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests). Instead, Hogwarts will issue certificates of subject-specific qualification under the Hogwarts School of Magical Warfare."

"The details will be explained in your classes tomorrow by your respective Heads of Houses. Please be patient until then."

Dumbledore raised his hand slightly, silencing the buzz of chatter that had erupted throughout the Great Hall. This marked the first step in his ambitious plan to reform Hogwarts, aligning it with the vision of a 'new magical world.' His experience at Durmstrang had taught him the value of specialized education. However, altering the educational system in England was no small feat and would require time.

"Secondly, starting this year, we are launching an exchange student program. Fourth-year students and above may apply. After reviewing applications at the end of this academic year, we will select a group of students to spend one year at schools such as Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. Hogwarts will cover your tuition and living expenses during the exchange. Even seventh-year students may apply, as Hogwarts operates on a seven-year curriculum, unlike some other schools."

The hall erupted into even louder murmurs than before. After allowing the students a moment to process the news, Dumbledore gestured for quiet again, understanding that these announcements would take time to sink in.

"Finally, please join me in welcoming this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Gilderoy Lockhart!"

Dumbledore extended a hand towards his side. Standing there in a resplendent golden robe was none other than Lockhart, who had already drawn many curious gazes. The moment Dumbledore mentioned his name, Lockhart became the absolute center of attention.

With his signature dazzling smile, complete with a set of gleaming white teeth that seemed to shimmer under the candlelight, Lockhart's handsome face elicited delighted squeals from several young witches in the audience.

For a moment, the Great Hall felt less like a school and more like Lockhart's personal fan club. In the wake of Harry's withdrawal from the spotlight, Lockhart had become the most popular male figure at Hogwarts this year.

Amid the glares of envious young wizards, Lockhart waved enthusiastically to the crowd.

"Thank you very much, Professor Dumbledore," he said with exaggerated charm.

Meanwhile, Harry, utterly uninterested, drifted into a daze, tuning out Lockhart's five-minute monologue of self-congratulatory drivel. To Harry, those self-aggrandizing speeches were nothing but empty words, not worth listening to.

As golden letters flowed from Dumbledore's fingertips, the Hogwarts students rose and sang the ever-bizarre Hogwarts school song. With that, the opening feast came to an end. The older students headed to their respective common rooms, while the first-years trailed behind, guided by their prefects.

Back in his familiar dormitory, Harry was delighted to find that the Walking Grass he had been nurturing on the balcony had fully grown. The plant pot had two small holes dug at the base, and the green, curling tendrils blocked the openings. When the sun rose, the tendrils would unfurl to ensure the Walking Grass could always bask in the sunlight.

"Just a little longer, and I can pluck some for stir-frying with cured meat. Perfect," Harry said, pleased as he gently stroked the tender green leaves. With sufficient fertilizer, Walking Grass grew rapidly, but overfeeding was risky. If it absorbed too much before flowering, the resulting blooms would emit a stench so foul it would turn the dormitory into a place far worse than any outhouse.

"Harry, come here! I've got something to show you—my little Neal!"

Once everyone had returned to the dormitory, Rove eagerly waved Harry over. Neville and Justin were already crowding around him, having learned about Rove's plans to bring a Thunderbird to school during their train ride.

After locking the dormitory door, Rove placed a rectangular suitcase carefully on his bed.

"My grandfather has a suitcase the size of a zoo, but it's ridiculously expensive. I had to beg my father to get me this smaller one. Still, it's perfect for Neal since he can't fly yet and doesn't need much space."

Opening the suitcase revealed a wooden trapdoor. Rove swiftly lifted the lid and climbed down a ladder. Neville and Justin, brimming with excitement, followed. When it was Harry's turn, he hesitated at the narrow entrance. Neville barely managed to squeeze through—would his own broader shoulders even fit?

"Let's hope I don't get stuck. That'd be embarrassing."

With a chuckle, Harry grabbed the ladder and climbed down. Despite the tight-looking entrance, it had a stretchy, rubbery texture that accommodated far larger objects than its appearance suggested.

Inside the suitcase, the space was astonishingly vast, about the size of five or six dormitories, with no sense of confinement. A magical starry sky adorned the fifteen-meter-high ceiling, reminiscent of the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall.

Beneath their feet was soft grass, and a small creek meandered through the area, surrounded by stone-like hills. The three early arrivals were already gathered around a large nest at the center. The nest, made of a unique vine framework and padded with small branches and feathers, was a warm and cozy home.

Excited chirping came from the nest. Hurrying forward, Harry saw a small, blue Thunderbird chick hopping around, its size not much larger than a fledgling sparrow.

"Isn't Neal super cool?"

Rove, now sporting an electrified hairstyle thanks to the static around the bird's nest, introduced his little companion to Harry with a proud grin. He was already wearing thin dragonhide gloves, a necessity given the baby Thunderbird's tendency to release small currents of electricity. Without the layer of Thunderbird feathers lining the nest, the electricity would have set the twig-constructed nest ablaze within minutes.

"Baby Thunderbirds can't control their lightning very well. Only when they mature can they manage it to some extent. But taming an adult Thunderbird is almost impossible. My grandpa is the only one who has ever succeeded. The best way is to bond with them when they're young so their magic-infused lightning recognizes you."

"Recognizes you?" Harry asked curiously. "You're saying Thunderbirds can't control the lightning they generate?"

"They can control part of it, but not all," Rove explained. "At least, that's the case with the Thunderbirds in my family. My grandpa says their lightning is divided into two types: one created through magic—like how wizards cast spells—and another similar to natural storm lightning. Even without using magic, the latter kind of lightning constantly generates on its own. It doesn't harm the Thunderbird, but it's not fully controllable, either."

"I don't really understand, but I'm very impressed," Justin interjected, his eyes glued to the baby Thunderbird. To him, this infinite-energy, mobile power generator was a treasure beyond words in a Muggle world now dominated by electrical technology. If the issue of magical interference with delicate instruments could be resolved, strapping some weapons onto a Thunderbird would create an airborne, infinite-firepower turret—a total game-changer in technological warfare.

With no energy supply issues, weapons like plasma cannons, notorious for their immense power consumption, could be unleashed without restraint. Descending from the sky, thousands of degrees of molten plasma could incinerate an entire city in moments.

"Talk about a spark igniting a prairie fire," Justin murmured to himself. "This thing's plasma coverage would redefine 'wildfire.' Too bad it's outrageously expensive and impractical—like trying to fund a plasma cannon with a nation's treasury. You're stuck with mass-producible rifles while cannons remain strategic weapons."

"Can I touch it, Rove?" Justin asked eagerly, unable to resist the temptation. The baby Thunderbird was the perfect mix of cute and awe-inspiring, irresistible to anyone.

"You can," Rove replied, "but I wouldn't recommend it. Neal might not be able to peck through dragonhide gloves yet, but it hurts, and, uh, there's the shocking part..."

At that exact moment, the baby Thunderbird flapped its wings and grazed Rove, sending him into an involuntary spasm. A few seconds later, he collapsed onto the grass, a puff of black smoke escaping his mouth as his visibly darker complexion emitted a faint burnt smell. The three onlookers stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Cooked?" Harry crouched down and poked Rove's chest, relieved to feel a steady heartbeat.

"Medium-rare," Rove groaned, baring his teeth as he pushed himself up. "Now you understand my struggles, huh?"

"Let me try," Harry said with a grin.

"Go ahead," Rove replied, nodding. Then, crouching next to the baby bird, he began speaking in a coaxing tone. "Neal, listen up. From now on, Harry is your godfather. But don't go loving your godfather so much that you forget your dear old dad, okay?"

The baby Thunderbird, enjoying the attention as Rove gently stroked its little head through the gloves, cooed contentedly. The touch wasn't as satisfying as direct contact, but it was the best Rove could manage for now.

However, as Harry approached, the docile little bird suddenly bristled, fluffing up its feathers in alarm. It screeched at Harry in a rapid series of chirps that sounded suspiciously like, "Stay back! You giant scary thing, don't come any closer! If you do, I'll zap you! I mean it! I'm fierce!" 

The air around the bird crackled with static, forcing even Rove to take a cautious step back to avoid another shock.

But to Harry, the weak jolts of electricity were inconsequential. Evolving steadily into a true magical creature himself, he simply chuckled, extending a large hand toward the trembling bird.

"Well, well," Harry teased with a mischievous smile. "What do we have here? A little thunder-chicken!"

Grabbing the squawking baby Thunderbird in his palm, Harry ignored its indignant cries and playfully rubbed its soft little face. The bird puffed up in a fit of impotent rage, but the only effect of its frantic attempts to retaliate was transforming Harry's hair into a comical explosion of frizz.

"Let's see if my godchild is a little mister or a little miss," Harry said with a laugh, peering at the squirming bird.

"Eh-he-he~"

(End of chapter)