Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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Feeling a bit bored, Harry crouched on the ground, playing with a trembling little snake. It was strange, really. Harry couldn't speak Parseltongue. Even before he destroyed the piece of Voldemort's soul, he hadn't discovered any ability to communicate with snakes.

Perhaps it was because Lily, as an Awakened, had magic strong enough to lock that soul fragment firmly away, preventing it from ever touching Harry's soul.

Not that it mattered much. While learning an extra language is nice, who would waste time chatting with snakes? Sure, snake soup might be delicious, but Harry had no desire to talk to ingredients. He wasn't aiming to be some culinary sage, emotionally bonding with his ingredients before cooking them, muttering strange things like, "I'll turn you into a delicious dish, Mr. Snake. Even in death, you'll ascend happily to nirvana."

After about an hour and a half, as the sky began to darken, Lupin emerged from the woods. The snake Harry had been toying with, utterly drained, seized the opportunity and darted into the forest like its life depended on it, vanishing without a backward glance.

"Feeling any better?"

Harry dusted off his hands as he stood up and began walking alongside Lupin.

"I guess I vented some frustration," Lupin replied in a low voice. Then, with a slightly tired smile, he added, "I've learned that debt collecting is more physically exhausting than I thought. I'll take it slow from here. I'd like to talk to Snape. Fenrir and the other werewolves are... different. Maybe studying Fenrir could inspire improvements to the Wolfsbane Potion."

Lupin was well aware of how expensive the potion he relied on was—far beyond the means of the average werewolf. But it could change lives, allowing werewolves to avoid hiding away on full moons and suffering through nightmarish transformations during what should be peaceful, moonlit nights.

"If only we'd had this potion back then. If we had... maybe they wouldn't have left."

With a sigh, Lupin reopened old wounds. Talking about his parents' past was like twisting a knife in his heart. He had thought he'd moved on, but how could he ever forget?

"Wishing Snape had been born thirty years earlier?"

"Maybe," Lupin chuckled softly, shaking his head. "But without you, Harry, Snape wouldn't have researched the potion even if he had been born earlier."

"And if he had been born thirty years sooner, your father and Sirius..." Lupin trailed off mid-sentence, suddenly falling silent.

"What about Sirius?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Oh, by the way, Uncle Lupin, he's my godfather just like Snape. But why do they dislike each other so much? Snape seems to hate Sirius even more than my dad."

"Did something happen between them at Hogwarts?" Harry asked curiously. Snape had only shared stories about his mother, Lily, so Harry knew little about James, Sirius, or the others.

Lupin slowed his steps, his gaze drifting toward the distant castle as if lost in memory.

"Lily probably had the best judgment of all of us," he sighed quietly. "Sirius Black... he doesn't deserve to be your godfather."

"Because of the Fidelius Charm betrayal?"

Harry glanced at Lupin, his expression slightly odd. Then it clicked. Lupin had been living as an outcast, possibly hiding in the wilderness with other werewolves, disconnected from much of the wizarding world. The Daily Prophet wouldn't bother sending owls to people in hiding.

"You know?" Lupin's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"It was Peter," Harry said casually. "About two months ago, I, Professor Grindelwald, and Professor Dumbledore caught him at Hogwarts. Sirius was foolish during that time—and so was my dad. The traitor was Peter. You can check the archives in the library if you want."

"So you've met Sirius?"

Harry shrugged. "Not yet. But does it really matter?"

"I..." Lupin started to speak but stopped, the words catching in his throat. He'd already learned more shocking news today than he could process.

The two walked toward the castle in silence, the distant chatter of the Great Hall growing louder as they approached.

"Is that Harry? Why does he suddenly look so handsome again?"

"Quick, someone support me—I think I'm pregnant!"

"Since when could magic cause remote pregnancies?"

"Don't you think the man next to Harry is pretty cool too? Is he a new professor?"

"Is that the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? Oh no, help me—I'm definitely having twins this time!"

Lupin's appearance had certainly caught the girls' attention. When he first arrived at Hogwarts, 32-year-old Lupin looked closer to 42. Now, he could easily pass for a dashing 25-year-old. The combination of weathered maturity and quiet strength was utterly irresistible.

Even the boys found it hard to resent him. This clearly "well-seasoned" man might not match Grindelwald's allure, but he was leagues ahead of Lockhart. As for Snape? Well... if Snape ever retired, Lupin might just become the most handsome professor at Hogwarts.

The party celebrating Snape's departure from teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts was in full swing in the Hufflepuff common room. While Harry's presence had shielded the second years from Snape's wrath, the same couldn't be said for students in other years.

Snape neither favored nor targeted Hufflepuff specifically, but his impartiality didn't make his lessons any easier than McGonagall's Transfiguration classes. Potions was an exacting subject, and even under a "fair" approach, Snape's teaching was notoriously strict.

Harry, meanwhile, found himself surrounded by students eager to extract details about the new professor. Somehow, his robe pockets had accumulated a stack of scented notes with a faint fragrance of bath soap. Harry hesitated to accept the invitations, though—many of the meeting spots mentioned in the notes were well-known romantic locations like the central garden of Hogwarts Castle. Venturing there alone seemed like tempting fate.

"Wait, there's a hidden room opposite the infirmary? That's genius—learned something new today," Harry mused, marveling at the ingenuity of some older students as he shoved all the notes into his bag.

After enjoying the food and drink, Harry lounged lazily on his bed. Across from him, Rolf was gnawing on a chew stick, his body twitching occasionally. Nightly magical body-conditioning exercises were a personal routine for Rolf, a testament to his grit. Determined to bond with his Thunderbird, Rolf pushed himself relentlessly.

When Rolf finally finished his self-inflicted training and lay on his bed, barely conscious, Harry saw his chance.

"Hey, Rolf, can I borrow little Neal for a couple of days?"

"Sure, you want to take him out for some fresh air?" Rolf mumbled, struggling to prop himself up and head to the bathroom.

"No, Hagrid wants to... breed him."

"What? Neal's still a baby!"

Rolf shot upright, his hair bristling. In his haste, he toppled off the bed with a loud thud, smacking his head against the brass bedpost.

"Are you serious?"

Practically scrambling, Rolf crawled over to Harry with alarming speed, his wide eyes filled with disbelief.

"That's what Hagrid said." Harry spread his hands, looking innocent. "Honestly, I don't know much about magical creature breeding. Why don't you ask your grandfather if a month-old Thunderbird can lay eggs?"

"Neal's a boy! Male!"

Rolf, now more amused than angry, clutched his head in mock exasperation. First, his body ached from exercise, and now his brain throbbed from the absurdity.

"I need to stop Hagrid before he goes any further down this twisted path."

"And you too, Harry!"

Rising with great difficulty, Rolf leaned against Harry's bed and stared at him with mock severity. "I know Britain has its quirks, but if you're not interested in those girls' notes, you should hand them over to me. Don't let them go to waste—bro code!"

"Get out of here and take your bath!"

Laughing, Harry shoved Rolf back, sending him sprawling. "I'm just busy, okay? Otherwise, I'd already be off having a sweet romance myself."

Rolf shot out of the dorm like a cannon, towel and basin in hand, landing a good two meters away before he recovered. Behind him, Harry slammed the door shut, muttering darkly under his breath.

Moments later, the distinct click of a suitcase being opened echoed in the room. Neal, the little Thunderbird, had been sound asleep but suddenly found himself airborne. Before he could relish the dreamlike sensation of flying, a powerful gust of wind pummeled him, ruffling his carefully preened feathers into disarray.

When he opened his eyes, Harry's grinning face loomed close.

"Don't be scared, godson. Let your godfather give you a big hug."

Crackling bursts of electricity filled the room as Harry's mischievous laughter echoed, sinister and unrepentant. By the time he left, his hair a wild, spiky mess resembling a punk rock explosion, Neal lay in his nest looking utterly defeated. His once-proud plumage was now a fluffed-up mess. Staring blankly at the enchanted ceiling, Neal's lifeless eyes seemed to ask: Why me? 

Content with his mischief, Harry flopped back onto his bed with a grin, ready for another night of sweet dreams.

(End of Chapter)