Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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The winter hunting tournament, sponsored by the Kalashnikov Weapons Company, concluded successfully. Despite a slight disturbance on the fourth day due to the Frost Tyrant, it didn’t really affect the event, and the Aurors quickly wrapped things up.

In the three days that followed, Harry, now stronger than before the tournament, became even more adept at hunting. Hedwig served as his eyes in the sky, while Harry, rifle slung over his shoulder, moved swiftly across the ground.

When Harry arrived at the rendezvous point, the Dursleys were miraculously there. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia waved at him, and his dear cousin Dudley was animatedly chatting with Aya.

"I'm back!"

Harry jogged over, giving Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia a quick hug. As he turned his head, he noticed Dudley grinning smugly at him, winking as if to say, “Look at me! I was just chatting with that tall, blonde bombshell. Jealous, little brother?”

“Pfft, look at you,” Harry rolled his eyes. From the way this idiot was acting, it was clear his future wife would have him wrapped around her little finger.

“Harry! Congratulations!”

Aya, beaming, stepped forward and hugged Harry.

“Congratulations?”

Harry gently patted her back and asked softly into her ear.

“You're currently ranked first on the hunting leaderboard!”

“How did you manage it? You caught seven bears—one per day! Even if my father participated, he couldn't have done better than that!”

“Did Lady Luck lift her skirt for you or something?”

“No, no, not Lady Luck lifting her skirt. Lady Luck has been right by my side all along!”

Harry let out a sharp whistle, and a small white dot descended from the sky, landing on his arm.

“It’s all thanks to Hedwig. Without her, I wouldn’t have found half as many bears, even if I’d run myself to death.”

For professional hunters, bear hunting isn’t particularly difficult. The challenge is that each brown bear has its own territory, with usually only one or two in any given area. Once you've hunted those, you have to move on, and that can be extremely time-consuming.

“I told you, Hedwig’s better than a hundred hunting dogs. See, I was right!”

Harry raised an eyebrow, hands on his hips, smug as ever.

“It’s just luck, nothing special.”

A sour voice cut in, and Aya, who had been smiling, suddenly frowned. Before she could say anything, Harry turned around.

“Oh? Jealous?”

Harry smirked, looking up mockingly at the tall man standing two steps behind him, towering nearly two heads over Harry.

The man’s hairy chest was bare, covered only by a thick fur cloak. Like the other hunters, he exuded a menacing, unapproachable air.

“You only got one, huh?” Harry glanced at the rope tied to the man’s waist, where a single bear nose hung. Clearly, this guy had been unlucky, encountering only one bear in seven days.

“Never mind, I won’t bother with unlucky guys. Just don’t stand too close to me—I might catch your bad luck.”

Harry waved dismissively, as if shooing away something unpleasant. Aya couldn’t help but burst out laughing, which only made the already irritable man glare even harder at Harry.

In an instant, the man lunged forward, shoving Harry in the chest—clearly the type to solve disagreements with his fists. Unfortunately for him, he had picked the wrong opponent.

“Heh! Ha! Hah!”

In one swift motion, Harry twisted the man's arm and slammed him into the ground with a perfect shoulder throw. Without any hesitation, he punched the man in the temple and twisted his arm behind his back. Harry’s knee pressed against his neck, holding the 200-pound man down as he struggled in vain to escape.

“Hmph, I thought you were just unlucky. Turns out you’re an unlucky weakling too.”

"You're so weak."

"Let me go! If you're so tough, don't ambush me! Let's have a proper fight!"

The man, his face flushed with anger, shouted at Harry, his neck stiff with indignation. Being humiliated in front of so many people was something he just couldn’t stomach.

"Alright, I'll give you another chance," Harry replied, releasing his hold and taking a small hop back. He waved casually to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, signaling that this wasn't anything serious.

Just as the man started cracking his knuckles, preparing for a rematch, a cold voice interrupted.

"An-dreiii!"

Aya's expression shifted into a smile, but it wasn’t the warm smile she had given Harry. This was a tight-lipped, teeth-gritted, icy smile that could chill the air.

"I told you not to pick up bad habits from Artyom! I told you not to stir up trouble! I’ll make you regret this! Today, I’m going to beat some sense into you, you idiot!"

Even though the man stood a head taller than Aya, he suddenly shrank down like a scolded child, crouching and covering his head as she began raining blows down on him. The sound of fists landing on his body echoed through the clearing, leaving Dudley wide-eyed in shock. He couldn't believe the sweet older sister he had been chatting with moments ago had such a fierce side!

Aya, clearly enjoying the momentum, tore off her coat, revealing that she was only wearing a sports bra underneath. Her pale arms, smooth as jade, gleamed in the light, but they couldn’t hide the defined, rounded muscles beneath her skin. Her exposed midriff showed off a set of six perfectly toned abs, firm yet not overly exaggerated.

A body like a goddess, a face like an angel, and a strength to match—Harry could only think of one phrase to describe her: “muscle-bound beauty.”

“Please, sis! Stop hitting me! I was wrong!” Andre whimpered, his voice pitiful. Judging by how quickly he crouched and covered his head, it seemed this was a routine occurrence for him.

“You were wrong? Tell me, what exactly were you wrong about?" Aya grabbed him by the ear, lifting him like a scolded chicken, her other hand on her hip, smiling coldly.

"I was wrong...,” Andre muttered, glancing at Harry with a look full of resentment.

"Is this your brother?" Harry asked Aya, realizing that Andre wasn’t just some random troublemaker but her younger brother. "I think you mentioned your brother was competing."

"Ah, just a little misunderstanding!" Harry chuckled, offering a hand to help Andre up, though Andre, still not completely over the scuffle, didn’t seem too eager to accept it.

"Yep, this is my foolish brother. He’s sixteen now, but I’m not sure he’s grown a brain yet," Aya said with a sigh.

"Sixteen?" Harry raised an eyebrow as he looked up at Andre, who, with his thick chest hair and beard, looked old enough to pass for twenty. If Aya hadn’t mentioned his age, Harry would have never guessed.

"Yep, and because he hasn’t used his brain, he’s turned into a caveman," Aya huffed, crossing her arms. Standing next to Andre, the two seemed like they came from entirely different worlds. At sixteen, Andre still had a few more years of growing to do, and if he kept at it, Harry thought he might one day look like someone pulled straight from a Warhammer world, ready to be suited up as an Astartes warrior. With his height easily reaching two meters, it would be a shame not to give him a power hammer and send him off to fight orcs and Chaos gods. After all, the Space Marines didn’t care if you were a wizard or not.

After the brief scuffle, the tension eased, and everyone settled down. Aya led Harry to the tournament committee to complete the final checks. The trophies, like the bear noses Harry had collected, had to be matched with the corpses recovered by the retrieval teams. They also had to compare the gunshot wounds on the bears to the bullets from Harry’s rifle. Although the Russians might seem rough around the edges, they took their record-keeping and rules very seriously.

Cheating was considered an extremely reprehensible act, especially in a competition that emphasized virtue and sportsmanship. The organizers were particularly strict about this, and two unfortunate participants from North America were caught conspiring with their teammates. As a result, both were disqualified and even banned from entering the country ever again.

The awards ceremony was fairly simple. A representative from Kalashnikov Weaponry presented Harry with a champion’s certificate and a limited-edition AK-47 hunting rifle, customized with a snow camouflage and electromagnetic modifications. Apart from disabling the fully automatic mode, the weapon’s firepower remained completely intact.

However, the firearm license provided only applied within the Soviet Union. If Harry wanted to take the rifle back through official channels, he’d have to go through special transport services, as gun laws varied by country. Even though the International Hunter Association had vouched for him, their influence only extended to allowing him to keep the rifle as a collectible at home.

But Harry wouldn’t be staying in the Muggle world for long. His true calling lay in the magical world, where the Ministry of Magic didn't bother with such restrictions. In England, the regulation of Muggle products by wizards was always a bit of a gray area.

"Modifying Muggle objects is strictly forbidden," Harry murmured, stroking the cold barrel of the AK-47 as if caressing a lover.

"But—thank you, oh dashing Mr. Weasley! Thank you for your kindness in leaving a loophole in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Act. As long as modifications are done in the name of research, it doesn't count as misuse!"

"Power armor fragment acquired. √"

"I'm definitely going to master Animagus transformation, and preparing that alchemy armor is a must-do as well."

"If only I could skip ahead a grade—it’d be great to take Alchemy as an elective in third year."

"I really want to see the world out there, to explore the new magical world Professor Grindelwald spoke about. A world, unlike England, that has moved past old traditions and into something entirely new under his guidance."

After putting away the AK-47, Harry lay down on his bed. Dudley’s snores from the next bed over slowly lulled him into sleep. The Christmas holiday was nearing its end, and soon it would be time to head back home.

(End of Chapter)