Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

Support me and be 20 chapters ahead of webnovel:

patreon.com/Draco_

Single Chap cuz exam!
*****
Though he didn’t know who had said it, someone once claimed that 60 mph felt like a C-grade, 80 mph like a D. So what would 300 mph feel like?

Whether it was an older model rocket or the latest Nimbus 2000 broomstick, once they reached a certain speed, the Wind Protection Charm would create a small shield to block the oncoming air.

At lower speeds, it wasn’t needed, but once the speed increased, even wearing goggles was useless against the roaring wind. Breathing became incredibly difficult.

After pushing the Nimbus 2000 to its maximum speed, Harry extended his left hand.

“Hiss~”

His wrist nearly twisted, forcing him to stop his reckless experiment. Slowly, he began to reduce his speed, leveling himself out. The companion who had been flying beside him moments earlier, Chris, had become a tiny dot in the distance. Now, soaring high in the sky, Harry felt as if he could reach out and touch the clouds. The fierce wind whipped his robes, making him feel like the king of the skies—a sensation so exhilarating it left him almost intoxicated.

“Hey! Captain! You made it!”

Harry shouted and waved at Chris, though Chris was no longer as confident as he had been before. Being left behind by the Nimbus 2000 wasn’t something to be ashamed of; after all, the performance of the broom was clear. The Nimbus had a top speed nearly double that of the Cleansweep Nine, a gap that no amount of skill could bridge.

Besides, Harry's control of the rocket-powered broom was nothing short of masterful, even surpassing Chris’s abilities.

“You’re a madman! Absolutely insane, Harry!”

Chris, now hovering beside Harry, spoke in a shaky voice. His face was slightly pale—they were at least two kilometers above the ground. Honestly, this was the highest he'd ever flown in his sixteen years of life.

“Flying has always been a dream for humans. The early explorers of the skies tried countless ways, even if it meant risking their lives. And still, their successors pressed on.”

“Before coming to the wizarding world, I never dreamed I could soar through the skies like this. But now, I can. All I need to do is ride this broom, and I can fly with the eagles.”

“So what if you think I’m crazy!” Harry suddenly threw his arm around Chris’s shoulder. The unexpected gesture made Chris grip the rocket’s handle even tighter. “What could be more incredible or thrilling than conquering the sky?”

“Aren’t you afraid of falling?”

Chris gulped slightly. He wasn’t afraid of heights, but this was just too high.

“Fear can be overcome,” Harry said with a casual wave of his hand. “Have you ever heard of Muggle skydiving? They take a plane thousands of meters into the air, and then they jump out with parachutes that have a small chance of not opening. Even without magic, they still take the leap. So why would I be afraid of falling?”

“The Cushioning Charm is in the third-year textbooks, and it’s a spell every wizard needs to learn before flying a broom. Even if I fell—”

Harry pulled back his robes, revealing his wand. “I’m a wizard. I won’t die. At least, I won’t die from a fall.”

“Maybe it’s because I come from the Muggle world that I appreciate just how amazing magic truly is. Far more than many who’ve grown up with it!”

“Aren’t we still supposed to be testing?”

Harry let go of Chris's shoulder and raised an eyebrow at him. "I've read a lot of Quidditch books and tried some of the techniques they describe. I really like being a Chaser, and I’ve come up with a signature move—a 100% guaranteed goal."

"Really?" Chris, slightly surprised, raised an amused eyebrow. "I’m a Keeper, you know! Since Charlie left Gryffindor, I’m the best Keeper at Hogwarts."

He puffed out his chest proudly.

"After Charlie? You mean Weasley’s Charlie?"

"You know him?" Chris looked a little surprised and nodded. "Yeah, Charlie Weasley. He was Gryffindor’s former captain. In the final match, he blocked 27 shots from Slytherin. Those brute gorillas tried everything, but they couldn't knock him off his broom. After the game, we found out he’d broken two ribs, but he still guarded the goal until the end."

Chris’s face showed admiration as he spoke. "His unshakable will really won me over. Even though I don’t think I’m worse than him in terms of skill, I could never do what he did. That level of toughness—it’s brutal, to yourself and to everyone else."

"Too bad Gryffindor still didn’t win the championship."

Harry spread his hands helplessly.

"Yeah, those dirty apes—Slytherin, the disgrace of Quidditch!" Chris spat on the ground, not hiding his disdain for the Slytherin team.

"By the way, Harry, what’s this guaranteed move of yours? I’m curious about a 100% goal trick."

Though Chris had shifted the topic, he was clearly interested. Even if Hufflepuff was usually laid-back, that didn’t mean they didn’t care about the Quidditch Cup.

"My dynamic vision is really sharp. I can clearly see the spin of a tennis ball traveling at 200 kilometers per hour, and that ball’s only about half the size of my fist. Before coming to Hogwarts, I was an all-around athlete. Even if I hadn’t become a wizard, I’d have made something of myself."

"And this guaranteed goal move is..."

Harry paused for dramatic effect. "Is there a Quaffle on the field right now?"

"Yeah, I already set it up. Should we head down?"

"You go first, Captain. Keep your eyes locked on the left hoop—I’m going to throw the ball through the center ring."

"Summon the Quaffle!"

Pulling out his ebony wand, Harry pointed downward and cast the Summoning Charm, confident in his ability.

"Then I’ll be watching closely."

While Chris easily climbed higher in the air, he was much more cautious about descending. At this altitude, it was natural for him to be nervous. After all, the highest he'd ever flown before was maybe one or two thousand feet just to enjoy the view, but now they were at least eight or nine thousand feet high—around three kilometers. After staying at such a height for a while, he was beginning to feel short of breath.

Chris descended in wide spirals, taking his time, even slower than the rising Quaffle. Meanwhile, Harry waited a moment, stretching his limbs and putting away his wand. He tucked the ball under his arm and began adjusting his posture.

With a strong grip, Harry seized the Quaffle in his right hand, lowered his body, and prepared himself. Unlike Chris’s slow, spiraling descent, Harry didn’t know the meaning of braking or slowing down—he immediately dove straight into a plummet.

The Nimbus 2000’s top speed of 300 kilometers per hour was shattered by the time Harry had descended two-thirds of the way down. When Chris glanced up, the tiny black dot rapidly growing in size sent shockwaves of disbelief and awe through him.

"Are you insane?!"

Chris’s shouted curse was drowned out by the howling wind. Harry’s right hand clenched the Quaffle so tightly that veins bulged along his arm. His immense strength allowed him to hold firm against the near 400 kilometers per hour headwinds.

In a flash, Harry zoomed over the goalposts and hurled the Quaffle with a force akin to a missile. The sheer velocity of the wind knocked Chris sideways, while the Quaffle smashed straight through the hoop and embedded itself into the soft grass of the Quidditch pitch.

A moment later, Harry glided down in a smooth arc, landing lightly next to the dumbstruck Chris.

"Give them a hundred tries—no one’s stopping my shots."

His dazzling white teeth flashed in a grin, while the buried Quaffle seemed to groan in protest at the sheer violence of its throw.

"This will be a game-ender."

(End of Chapter)