Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

Support me and be 30 chapters ahead of webnovel:

patreon.com/Draco_

******

"What kind of monster are you?!" 

Amid the swirling dust of the ruins, a breathless Voldemort gazed at the 'youth' before him, who now resembled a berserk war beast. 

In all his decades of existence, he had never encountered such an unreasonable abomination. Yes, an abomination—not something human, but a being beyond comprehension. 

This "thing" charged straight through the green light of his Killing Curse like it was nothing, retaliating with an excruciating blow that left Voldemort stunned. That eerie, invisible weapon, resembling a massive door panel, nullified every spell he used to strengthen himself upon impact. What was even more horrifying was that this nullification was so imperceptible he couldn't even detect it. 

It was precisely this untraceable peculiarity that put him at a severe disadvantage against Harry. Even though his form had already devolved into a misty black vapor, he failed to recognize the abnormality. Instead, his reflexive attempts to dodge mid-air left him frozen in place, only to suffer yet another round of brutal punishment. 

The pain, so real and visceral, affected his current body entirely. Even without flesh and blood, each punch resonated clearly through his form. Worse, without a physical body to buffer the pain, every ounce of agony was transmitted unfiltered to every corner of his being. 

Perhaps only the cartoon character Tom the cat could comprehend the sensation of being repeatedly flattened by a steamroller. And now, Voldemort—the infamous Dark Lord Tom—was experiencing the same fate firsthand. 

"A monster? Why, thank you for the compliment, Tom!" 

The silhouette tore through the swirling dust once again, closing in without hesitation. Casual chatter? That could wait until the fight was over. Anyone who wasted time talking during a battle often didn't live long enough to regret it. 

Besides, Harry's buffs would only last five minutes. While his enhanced physique allowed him to ingest a larger dose of the strength-releasing potion, failing to end the fight before the effects wore off would leave his body drained and on the verge of collapse—a vulnerability that could be fatal. 

Even in the heat of battle, Harry kept a mental countdown. Out of the original 300 seconds, less than 120 remained. This final minute and a bit was all Voldemort had left to make his stand. 

The translucent, invisible tower shield obscured Harry's entire body below his eyes. Abandoning any attempts to disrupt Voldemort with magic, Harry's right hand was now empty. He desperately needed a strong weapon—be it a warhammer or a longsword. Without completing the second stage of Animagus transformation to integrate his wand into his body, casting spells in close combat only hindered him. 

A gray, imperceptible aura of magical energy coated Harry's right fist. After shattering a hastily summoned silver shield with his tower shield, Harry's prepared heavy punch slammed into Voldemort's chest. Although his chest didn't bleed upon being pierced, the relentless pummeling had rendered Voldemort's once-human-like body increasingly translucent. 

The combined toll of spellcasting and enduring Harry's punches and shield strikes caused Voldemort's magical reserves, which sustained his form, to deplete at an alarming rate. Once his reserves of magic and life force were exhausted, his soul alone wouldn't be enough to maintain his presence in the world of the living. 

As the 'victim,' Voldemort was all too aware of this reality. His attempts at conversation were merely a stalling tactic. If possible, he wanted to learn exactly how Harry had transformed into such a monstrous force. 

Unfortunately for him, the trope of the chatty villain meeting an untimely demise didn't apply to the boy standing before him. Harry, uninterested in exchanging words, continued to reply with his fists. 

Hatred and unwillingness flickered in Voldemort's eyes. Dragging things out would guarantee his death. Though he suspected Harry had consumed some kind of temporary enhancement potion, last year's lesson about the supposed "half-minute remaining" had left Voldemort wary. He refused to trust any countdowns; Harry defied logic so thoroughly that nothing about him followed conventional rules. If Voldemort delayed further, Harry would outlast him—or worse. 

When Harry withdrew his fist from Voldemort's chest, he tore apart half of it in the process. Perhaps due to the distraction caused by his earlier talking, Harry seized the opportunity to grip Voldemort's wand-wielding arm and violently ripped it off, shoulder and all. For Voldemort, losing his wand was a fatal blow! 

The unexpected surprise brought a shift in Harry's movements. He now held the wand—a yew, phoenix-feather-core wand tipped with basilisk venom—that was supposedly stored in the Ministry of Magic. A terrifying surge of strength erupted, and the sound of splintering wood reached Harry's ears as the wand shattered in his grasp. 

Without a wand, Voldemort was a shadow of his former self. For most wizards, 99% of their magical prowess was tied to their wand. Even those capable of wandless magic couldn't deny the amplification a wand provided. 

By destroying Voldemort's wand, Harry had effectively severed a limb. With his wand, Voldemort had managed to hold his ground in Harry's relentless close combat. But now, without it— 

Harry's black eyes gleamed with unrestrained killing intent. If not for this unexpected windfall, Harry doubted he could kill Voldemort's spiritual form within the five-minute window. At best, he could have delivered a sound beating. But now— 

"Trying to escape?!" 

The already crumbling mansion finally gave way with a heavy stomp, its cracks spreading to the partially collapsed walls. The once-glorious Malfoy manor, a testament to centuries of history and pride, now lay in ruins. And with it, its masters were destined to be buried among the rubble. 

A ferocious gust of wind roared through the air! 

The fleeing shadow bolted into the distance, but even at a speed that could rival shooting stars, it was no match for Harry's full-force sprint. In just the span of a single breath, Harry caught up to Voldemort's ragged form. With a wide sweep of his tower shield, he smashed the black mist into scattered fragments. However, this time, there was no semi-transparent figure of Voldemort crashing out of the mist. Instead, the magical barrier above his head erupted with blinding light. 

"Finite Incantatem Maxima!" 

The dome-shaped, eggshell-like magical barrier flared brilliantly when Voldemort pressed his palm against it. Pre-stored magical energy from an alchemical device surged outward, bolstered by the continuous efforts of the Umbrella Team's wizards to maintain the barrier's integrity. Yet, the sheer force of Voldemort's concentrated magic overwhelmed the barrier's capacity, momentarily exceeding the limits of what even ten skilled wizards could sustain. 

This fleeting instant was all Voldemort needed to escape. 

To ensure the bait below appeared convincing, Voldemort had once again severed a fragment of his own soul, creating a decoy indistinguishable from his true self. This decoy had successfully drawn Harry's full attention. The loss of his wand was not a moment of carelessness but a calculated sacrifice for this very moment! 

The process of severing his soul and setting the decoy required time, and the momentary distraction caused by losing his wand had bought Voldemort the critical seconds he needed. 

Swirling black mist appeared in the sky as a small rift forcefully opened. Though narrow, it was sufficient for Voldemort's vaporous form to pass through. On the ground, Harry, grinding his teeth in frustration, glared furiously at the arrogant silhouette about to make its escape. He shouted: 

"Fawkes!" 

In an instant, golden-red flames erupted. A phoenix emerged from the void, diving with flames cascading from its beak. The purifying Phoenix Fire, a nemesis to all things evil, engulfed the seething black mist, sealing off Voldemort's only escape route. 

"You!!!" 

Voldemort's venomous voice echoed through the night sky. 

"I will return—" 

"In your dreams!" 

Chunks of the manor's ruins were hurled into the air. Using these as footholds, Harry propelled himself upward with lightning speed. The gray magic of the Awakened formed into a massive hand, seizing Voldemort's fractured soul as it desperately sought refuge in the Phoenix Fire. 

"I'm not done playing yet!" 

A chilling, sinister laugh echoed, making one's blood run cold. 

(End of Chapter)