Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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Despite his initial plan to stay for only three days, Harry ended up extending his visit to Panda Village for several more. However, as the end of the month approached, he had no choice but to leave this charming village—one that still held many untapped experiences and adventures. 

Professor Flitwick's letter had arrived. The owl had somehow managed to navigate to the outskirts of the village, though it couldn't enter directly. The letter was delivered to Harry only after passing through a security check. According to the message, Flitwick was departing from England and was set to arrive at the border three days before the tournament. 

"How did time pass so quickly?" 

Fleur sighed in disappointment as she reluctantly bid farewell to the adorable panda cubs. The feeling of being surrounded by the fluffy creatures was something she could never tire of—whether it was watching them waddle around or simply observing them munch on bamboo, she could happily do it all day. 

"Time always flies when you're having fun," Harry replied with a smile. "But the world is full of interesting places. Once we're on break, let's travel more and explore together." 

"The world is so vast, though," Fleur murmured, leaning her head against Harry's arm. "I feel like I'll never see it all in just one lifetime." 

"Then we'll continue in the next one." 

"But what if I can't find you in the next life?" 

"Then I'll just board the train again and wait for you across the aisle." 

"But I was the one who got to that seat first." 

"Then next time, I'll make sure to get there before you." 

Exchanging these sweet nothings, they made their way to the Sky Gate Portal at the border town of Suyab. However, with Flitwick being so small, spotting him in a crowd was difficult. To solve this, Harry conjured a highly visible sign with magic—it had Professor Flitwick's name and a large Hogwarts crest emblazoned on it. 

"Ah-hem!" 

A soft cough caught Harry's attention. He felt a tug on his pant leg and looked down to find none other than Professor Flitwick himself. 

Today, the tiny professor was dressed in an elegant, form-fitting silver-blue robe that gave him an exceptionally dashing look. The robe, designed specifically for dueling tournaments, provided a sleek yet comfortable fit without any cumbersome layers. It was meant for both functionality and style, perfect for movement and agility in combat. The only downside? It was incredibly expensive—at least, if one was buying the real deal and not just a cheap imitation. 

And it was clear that Flitwick, who was far from strapped for cash, was wearing the authentic version. Even at Hogwarts, which paid the highest salaries in the English magical world, a professor relying solely on their wages would need to save up for two full years to afford such a robe. 

"Looks good, doesn't it?" Flitwick beamed, proudly showing off his attire. 

"It's custom-made for champions. They send a new one every year," he explained. "The alchemical matrix woven into the fabric meets the strict regulations of dueling competitions—providing comfort without offering any unfair magical advantages. That's why they issue a fresh one annually, just in case the rules change." 

"Maybe in a few years, I'll have one too," Harry mused. "Do they give these out for the Youth League?" 

"Only for the World Championship winners," Flitwick chuckled. "The Youth League champions get medals—solid gold ones, mind you." 

Flitwick would know—he had quite a collection of them at home, each awarded by different tournament organizers. They were hefty enough to feel the weight in your hands.

Professor Flitwick glanced at Harry and Fleur with a knowing smile before cheerfully patting Harry's arm. 

"Looks like you had a great vacation," he chuckled. "But the tournament is coming up soon. It's time to start warming up, Harry." 

"I'm always ready, Professor," Harry grinned. "And don't worry—I wasn't slacking off while I was having fun. In fact, I even apprenticed myself to a teacher and picked up a few new tricks. Want me to show you later?" 

"Oh?" 

Flitwick raised an intrigued eyebrow. He could fully understand Harry's curiosity about foreign magical techniques—after all, he had been the same in his youth, always eager to learn spells from other cultures. However, experience had taught him that the best magic wasn't necessarily the most exotic; it was the one that suited the individual best. Despite dabbling in various spellcasting styles from around the world, Flitwick had ultimately chosen to master wand-based spellwork, as it was the most effective combat style for him. 

"I'd be delighted to see it," he agreed. "Everyone's magical path is different. There are countless forms of magic in the world, but only by finding the one that suits you best can you truly reach the pinnacle of the magical stage." 

Harry pondered for a moment before asking, "And what if I never find it? Does that mean I won't make it?" 

Flitwick let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head. "Don't underestimate the world's wizards, Harry. When I was younger, I thought I was pretty incredible too. But once I left Europe, I realized how vast the world truly is." 

Then, his tone shifted slightly, taking on a playful edge. "But in the end, I still proved that I was really damn good—five consecutive world titles! I wanted to go for seven, but every year, new prodigies kept emerging. By my sixth attempt, there was one I simply couldn't surpass." 

Harry's curiosity was immediately piqued. He leaned in eagerly, his eyes gleaming with interest. "Who was it? Someone who could beat you must have been really special." 

Flitwick nodded. "Oh, very special indeed. A man from the Soviet Union—Ivan Ivanovich Ivanov. In just two years, he accomplished what most wizards couldn't achieve in a lifetime." 

Harry's eyes lit up in recognition. Even now, when he recalled witnessing that moment—the sight of Ivan piloting a Gundam while engaging in a bare-knuckle fight against the Frost Tyrant—he felt the same awe and reverence as before. That raw, absolute power… that overwhelming presence… it was impossible not to be inspired. 

"Professor McGonagall told me he recently achieved another Animagus Ascension," Harry mused. "He's actually five years younger than me, yet he's already reached a level I can only dream of." 

"Another ascension?" Flitwick's expression turned serious. 

"Yeah. Normally, after reaching Phase Two Animagus Transformation, there's a possible further advancement. But unlike the fundamental shift from Phase One to Phase Two, this next stage doesn't drastically alter one's form—it's more like forging a unique, personal evolution. Some call it Phase 2.5, but if what I've heard is correct, his breakthrough might actually be a true Phase Three—a full-fledged transformation akin to the leap from Phase One to Two." 

"Of course, this is mostly speculation," Harry admitted. "Even Professor McGonagall isn't entirely sure about the specifics, and I've never been particularly talented in Transfiguration." 

Flitwick waved a hand dismissively. "We'll find out soon enough. If such a thing does exist, it would be a monumental event for the magical world. This is about the evolution of wizarding combat power—every step beyond the peak is an excruciating challenge." 

Phase Three Animagus… 

Harry vaguely remembered Dumbledore mentioning something similar once. 

Wait a minute… could it be that after letting go of his obsession with the Deathly Hallows, Dumbledore had his own "Dragonfield Enlightenment" moment? A sudden flash of insight leading to a complete breakthrough? 

With his thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess, Harry followed Flitwick aboard a Didi Flying Boat, heading straight toward their reserved hotel. 

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(End of Chapter)