Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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So far, Harry felt that everything in the wizarding world was perfectly normal. The vision he'd had in his dream, where Voldemort wielded a Desert Eagle .50, was obviously impossible, right?

Thinking this, Harry stood nervously in front of the red brick wall, glancing at Hagrid. He remembered that Hagrid's pink umbrella concealed the broken wand that Dumbledore had repaired with the Elder Wand, allowing Hagrid to use it discreetly.

"You don't seem very happy, Harry. People are just glad you're back, that's all," Hagrid said kindly, despite his rough exterior.

"Yeah, I know. I shouldn't spoil the mood," Harry sighed, touching the Glock-shaped scar on his forehead. "But it was my parents who fought Voldemort. My mum protected me. What right do I have to enjoy the flowers and applause that belong to them—those brave people?"

"They gave their lives for this, Hagrid!" Harry's voice rose, echoing through the quiet Leaky Cauldron.

"I want people to remember their sacrifice, to honor the real heroes—not me, this so-called Boy Who Lived."

"The true heroes should be remembered! They don't even have a monument! People only remember the one who caused all the fear, but they forget those who drove away the darkness. Is that fair?"

"I was lucky, but I'm not great. I don't deserve the flowers and applause meant for them."

Harry's voice was tinged with sadness, but his words were resolute.

"Maybe you're right," Hagrid nodded solemnly. "People were so scared back then. I doubt many could name all those who died because of it."

Hagrid's face grew sadder; he, too, was thinking of those who had been lost.

Reaching deep into his endless pockets, Hagrid pulled out his beloved pink umbrella.

Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him. This world wasn't as absurd as the one from his dream after all.

"Desert Eagle .50 caliber? Ridiculous," Harry chuckled to himself.

"What's that?" Hagrid asked, puzzled, glancing at Harry.

"Nothing," Harry shook his head. "How do we get into Diagon Alley? There's no road here, right?"

Hagrid smiled at Harry's question. "Watch this."

He counted the bricks on the wall with his pink umbrella. "Now, watch closely. Three up... two across... Step back, Harry."

With a tap of the umbrella, the brick trembled, and the entire wall began to fold and shift. A small hole appeared, growing larger until it formed an archway big enough for Hagrid to pass through. Beyond the arch was a cobblestone street stretching into the distance.

"Welcome," Hagrid said, "Welcome to Diagon Alley."

A familiar BGM seemed to play in Harry's mind. The chatter of the crowd, the sound of footsteps, and the strange, unidentifiable noises filled his ears.

Harry took a few quick steps forward, his mouth slightly open, eyes wide with delight as he gazed upon the seemingly normal wizarding world before him.

Bright sunlight illuminated the cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Above them hung a sign that read:

*Copper—Brass—Pewter—Silver Cauldrons, All Sizes Available. Self-Stirring, Collapsible.*

Harry felt a sense of relief. Everything was just as normal as it should be—perfectly wonderful!

Unfortunately, Harry was too absorbed in the sights ahead to notice the fine print on the sign just behind the cauldrons:

*Funnel-Type—Hinged—Press-Action Reloaders. Semi-Automatic and Fully-Automatic Loading. Compatible with All Calibers (Excluding Smoothbore Ammunition).*

"Where to first, Hagrid?" Harry asked excitedly, tugging on Hagrid's sleeve.

"First stop, we get some money—just ahead," Hagrid replied, grinning at Harry's excitement. "Seems like you're eager to get started, eh? Let's go, then. Once we've got the money, we can go on a proper shopping spree."

"OK!" Harry responded without hesitation, quickening his pace.

Along the way, he passed by many shops, including one labeled "Quidditch Supplies," which was crowded with people. The display window was obscured by the crowd, so Harry couldn't see the items inside, but he could already imagine the sleek, graceful outline of a broomstick in his mind.

'After I get some money, I'll buy one!' he thought excitedly to himself. "But I should get a wand first. That's more important."

They soon arrived at the middle of Diagon Alley, where Gringotts, made of gleaming white marble, stood as the most imposing and eye-catching building. A figure dressed in scarlet uniform stood by the shiny bronze doors. The figure was barely over a meter tall, strikingly short.

"We're here at Gringotts," Hagrid said, noticing Harry's gaze. "Yup, that's a goblin."

The two climbed the marble steps. As they passed, Harry glanced at the goblin who bowed to them. The goblin had dark skin, a pointed beard, and extremely slender hands and feet. Harry reckoned that if they arm-wrestled, he could easily overpower the goblin, whose limbs were dwarfed by Harry's own muscular arms.

Beyond the bronze doors was another set of silver doors engraved with a few lines of text. Harry didn't pay much attention, merely glancing at them as he followed Hagrid into the grand hall.

Inside, about a hundred goblins sat behind long counters, busily working. Some were carefully weighing fist-sized rubies, inspecting them through magnifying lenses, while others were diligently recording entries in massive ledgers. The hall was lined with countless doors, and goblins guided witches and wizards through them to handle various transactions. Hagrid led Harry to one of the counters.

"Morning," Hagrid greeted the idle goblin behind the counter. "We need to withdraw some money from Mr. Harry Potter's vault."

"Do you have the key, sir?" the goblin asked.

"Got it right here," Hagrid replied, digging deep into his massive pockets. Several items spilled onto the counter, causing the goblin to wrinkle his nose, but soon enough, Hagrid triumphantly held up a small golden key. "Found it!"

The goblin inspected the key closely. "It seems in order."

"I also have a letter from Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid said solemnly, puffing out his chest. "It's about a certain... item in Vault 713."

The goblin examined the letter, glancing briefly at Hagrid.

"Very well," he said, handing the letter back to Hagrid. "I'll arrange for someone to take you to both vaults. Griphook!"

A goblin named Griphook quickly approached and led them out of the hall, through one of the many doors.

Beyond the door, there was no grand marble structure, but a stone corridor lit by flaming torches. At the end of the stone hallway, a rail track hovered over a bottomless abyss, with no visible supports.

A mine cart zoomed towards them, screeching to a halt right in front of them.

Once seated, the seemingly ordinary cart shot forward with tremendous speed, accelerating from 0 to 100 kilometers per hour in less than five seconds. By 1991 standards, this speed outclassed many sports cars.

The exhilarating rush filled Harry with excitement. Boxing, wrestling, mixed martial arts, rock climbing, hunting—these adrenaline-pumping activities were among Harry's favorite sports. Now, he had a new one to add to the list: Gringotts racing.

The winding track twisted with sharp 180-degree turns, plunging in steep 90-degree drops. Under the influence of magic, passengers were safely kept in place, but the roaring wind, combined with the sensations of weightlessness and intense acceleration, made for a heart-pounding thrill ride.

When the cart finally stopped, Harry hopped out, feeling invigorated, while Hagrid stumbled out looking green and ready to vomit.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Hagrid asked weakly.

"That was amazing!" Harry replied, grinning ear to ear.

Hearing this, Hagrid clutched the wall for support, dry heaving for a moment.

"Mr. Harry Potter's vault is here," Griphook announced.

The goblin gave Hagrid a sidelong glance, clearly grateful that Hagrid hadn't thrown up during the ride. The mere thought of what could have happened made Griphook shudder.

After unlocking the vault with the gold key, Griphook handed it back to Harry. A puff of green smoke hissed out from the crack in the vault door. As the smoke cleared, Harry peered inside and froze in astonishment at what he saw.

"Did we come to the wrong place?" Harry rubbed his eyes, convinced he must be dreaming.

"Scared, are ya?" Hagrid, looking slightly better, gave Harry's shoulder a reassuring pat as he stepped forward.

"Your mum and dad left you quite the inheritance. I heard the Potters were always pretty well-off. Your family owned the patents for some popular wizarding products like shampoo and Sleekeazy's Hair Potion that's been in fashion for decades. These gold coins should be more than enough to see you through Hogwarts and settle you into the wizarding world afterward."

"For one Galleon, you can access a detailed statement of the last ten years, including all deposits and withdrawals, Mr. Potter. Would you like this service?" Griphook asked, but Harry was still too stunned to respond.

It took him a few moments before he slapped his face lightly and pinched his arm.

"No! I mean, are you sure this is a vault and not an armory?"

What lay before him was not a pile of coins but what looked like mountains of gold, silver, and brass bullets. The shapes weren't the familiar coins Harry expected but rather 9mm handgun rounds—golden bullets, silver bullets, and brass bullets!

There were millions of them, easily enough to support a high-intensity local conflict if used properly.

"An armory?" Hagrid scratched his head, confused, and walked further into the vault.

"I don't see any swords in here."

He rummaged through a wooden crate and pulled out a few gem-encrusted decorative swords, all made of gold and silver, with the Potter family crest engraved on them.

"I mean these," Harry said, pointing at the mountains of gold.

"Those are Galleons, lad. The golden ones are Galleons," Hagrid explained as he scooped up a handful of the golden bullets. "The silver ones are Sickles, and the bronze ones are Knuts. One Galleon equals seventeen Sickles, and one Sickle equals twenty-nine Knuts. Simple enough, right?"

He pulled out a pouch that served as a wallet and filled it with a mix of the three currencies. "This should be enough to get you through two terms at Hogwarts."

Hagrid handed the now-heavy pouch to Harry, whose expression remained dazed. He patted Harry on the back and turned to Griphook. "Now take us to Vault 713. And maybe... can we slow down the cart a bit?"

"The cart speed is set at a sta—" Griphook started, then paused, giving Hagrid a once-over. "Feeling queasy?"

"Quite obviously, yes," Hagrid admitted, his face still tinged with green.

Sighing, Griphook pulled out a large wrench from behind him and tightened a bolt on the cart, increasing the speed. That way, if Hagrid got sick, at least it wouldn't be on Griphook.

"Mr. Potter, we're leaving now," Griphook said, tapping the cart with his wrench, signaling for Harry to hop in.

"Oh, right, okay..." Harry mumbled, clutching the pouch of Galleons—now a bag of bullets—and climbed into the cart, his mind elsewhere, barely noticing the rest of the ride.

By the time he snapped out of his daze, Hagrid had already led him back into the daylight. They stood outside Gringotts, with the bustling crowd flowing around them.

Everything looked familiar, yet there was an odd, unsettling sense of strangeness to it all.

"Am I really in the wizarding world, Hagrid?" Harry asked, looking up at Hagrid, whose face was still pale.

"I reckon so… but I think I need to go back and have a drink to settle my stomach… ugh," Hagrid groaned.

"I hate those bloody goblins!"

(End of Chapter)