Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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Just before the roar emerged, Harry, no longer concerned with hiding, gave a sharp push to the handle of his Nimbus 2000, soaring at an angle higher into the sky.

The Nimbus’ acceleration was slightly better than other broomsticks, but as a first-generation model, it had many shortcomings. Its consistent acceleration was decent, but it lacked the burst of speed that was desperately needed at this moment.

If Harry had been riding a Firebolt—capable of reaching over 500 miles per hour and too wild for anyone but professional players to handle—the Frost Tyrant's roar would have barely affected him.

Unfortunately, Harry didn't have a Firebolt. That broom wouldn't be released for another two years. As Harry shot more than 30 meters ahead, he still couldn't escape the range of the Frost Tyrant's roar. Luckily, he had moved out of the core area; his body hadn’t been shattered into splinters like the pine trees in front of the Tyrant.

A fierce icy storm flipped Harry in midair. Nearly losing control, his Nimbus 2000 slammed into the treetop of a pine. Harry was immensely grateful he was wearing glasses—otherwise, those thick, stiff branches could have pierced his eyes.

But there was no time to catch his breath. A blur of white fur hurtled in his direction. The pine tree, which had weathered decades in the frigid snowfields, snapped effortlessly under the Tyrant’s casual swipe. The branches grabbed at Harry, trying to drag him to the ground. Fighting through the agony of blunt force trauma and the ringing pain in his ears, Harry kicked hard off the branches. His battered Nimbus 2000 jerkily rose once again!

The broom’s tail, frozen by ice, now felt like a heavy weight, ruining its balance. Harry, who had hoped to gain altitude and leave the danger behind, wished desperately for a spell that could shatter the ice. But his options were limited; his damaged broom couldn’t save him now. He was learning the hard way how frustrating it was to know too little magic in critical moments.

Although Harry had learned more spells than most first-year students, he couldn’t control a spell precisely enough to break the ice without damaging his Nimbus 2000. He simply hadn’t had enough time to master magic yet.

"Diffindo!"

The tip of his wand flashed red, and a third of the ice on the broom’s tail was sliced away. The sudden shift in weight made him brush against the treetops below. The Frost Tyrant gained on him once more—the distance between them was now less than 50 meters.

Swallowing a curse, Harry leaned low to stabilize the broom. His mind raced as he plotted an escape route. Although his Nimbus gave him a speed advantage, choosing the right direction was crucial.

Doubling back was not an option. Even though the tournament committee valued sportsmanship, ordinary people were at an enormous disadvantage against magical creatures. Unless an army was stationed there with heavy artillery, Harry wouldn't dare turn around. If there was anything a T80 heavy tank’s 180mm tungsten-steel electromagnetic cannon couldn’t pierce, then let them fire a volley!

Not even a magically enhanced body could withstand a pure kinetic projectile traveling at ten times the speed of sound—unless that bear had lived for 500 years and fully evolved into an armored beast. Only then would it stand a chance.

Returning would only endanger the civilians. Now, there was only one way forward for Harry: toward the path from which the Frost Tyrant had come.

Its wounds didn’t seem like those caused by other magical creatures. In fact, they looked strikingly similar to damage from spells, especially the charred areas. The scent lingering around them seemed oddly familiar to Harry.

Slightly adjusting his course, Harry glanced back to see that he had gained another ten meters on the Frost Tyrant. In five more minutes, he would be far enough ahead to deal with the frozen tail. Once he regained altitude, he’d be completely safe.

But the Frost Tyrant, now in hunting mode, wasn’t about to let its prey escape. Its speed surged again, and its healed wounds split open once more. The sharp pain fed its rage, fueling it further.

As the Frost Tyrant’s chest heaved during its sprint, it leapt nearly twenty meters into the air, breaking through the canopy of the pine forest. Frosty breath gathered in its mouth. With a furious roar, the Tyrant released a freezing blast that carved an icy road through the treetops below!

With his eyes wide in desperation, Harry lowered the Nimbus’ handle and dove into the forest, hoping the trees would slow the Tyrant down, even if only for a second or two.

"Incendio!"

Harry squeezed the trigger of his Glock 18, leaving a blazing trail in his wake. Despite the biting winter winds, the pinewood, highly flammable, ignited instantly. The rising flames momentarily pushed back the cold, but the Frost Tyrant’s icy breath soon swept over them, crushing the flames with brutal force.

The piercing cold had surpassed the protective limits of Harry’s enchanted thermal clothing. Wrapped in his invisibility cloak, his body began to tremble involuntarily as he fought to generate enough warmth to stave off numbness.

"Protego Maxima!"

Harry barely managed to cast the spell, his frozen fingers struggling to pull the trigger. The barrier gave him a moment’s respite, but the drop in speed filled him with dread.

His Nimbus 2000 trembled in his hands, warning its rider. The Frost Tyrant’s frigid breath had damaged it beyond repair. Its declining speed and increasing vibrations signaled that it could no longer carry Harry to safety.

Just over a hundred meters beyond the edge of the forest, Harry leapt from his broom, tumbling across the snowy ground. His Nimbus 2000, now battered and frozen, had several cracks running through it. The alchemical runes inscribed within had stopped glowing, marking the broom’s demise, just moments before it could deliver Harry to safety.

“Am I next?”

The boy’s face showed no trace of despair, fear, or frustration. Instead, a twisted, ferocious grin stretched across it, as if he was ready to devour anyone in his path.

Harry stuffed the cumbersome invisibility cloak into his backpack and tossed it aside. He unzipped the small pouch hanging from his chest, and one by one, bottles of potions appeared in his hand.

"If you drink this all at once, you'll die. Remember, just three drops. That’s the limit your body can handle."

Snape’s voice echoed in Harry's mind. When Snape had handed him the pouch, he’d given plenty of warnings. His potions were potent, but with that strength came severe side effects.

Harry unscrewed the cap of the strength-enhancing potion, the same one Snape casually drank like mouthwash. Pressing a finger over the bottle’s opening, he carefully added one drop of the slow-release potion.

With each drop, the potion’s effects would extend by one minute. What was initially a short burst of strength had now become a potion granting enhanced power for one minute.

Even so, the potion was still too brutal for Harry’s untrained body. He should have added three drops to stretch the effect to three minutes, minimizing the strain on his body.

“If I can’t kill it in one minute,” Harry spat out a mouthful of blood, “two more minutes to dig my own grave?”

As the Frost Tyrant charged out of the forest, Harry dropped one final dose of the ultimate life potion into the strength-enhancing brew and gulped it down in one go. At the same time, he poured the concentrated Centaur grass broth, which Snape had once called "flavoring," into his mouth. Its sharp, overwhelming scent still couldn’t mask the sheer terror that urged him to welcome death instead of facing this monster.

But even so… it was enough!

Harry’s muscles swelled, gradually stretching his tight clothes, and in seconds, he shot up by half a foot, his body emitting a series of unnerving cracks and pops.

The roaring bear was already upon him!

(End of Chapter)