Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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In the final days leading up to the competition, Harry and Professor Flitwick practically lived in the official dueling grounds provided by the event organizers. It seemed Professor Flitwick believed Harry had been slacking off a bit too much before, so he was enforcing a strict recovery training regimen in these last crucial days. 

The result? In less than three days, Harry endured over three hundred brutal duels against Professor Flitwick, who knew exactly how durable Harry was. With his monstrous stamina and near-inhuman recovery rate, he needed only four hours of sleep each night to stay at peak energy levels—without any signs of fatigue. 

Those three hundred beatdowns completely extinguished the small spark of arrogance Harry had managed to develop. After all, he had been running around North America and Durmstrang under Voldemort's alias, stirring up chaos. But reality had a cruel way of reminding him: ordinary wizards—even those hardened by the ruthlessness of poachers—were nothing more than cannon fodder when faced with true elite sorcerers. 

White Ivory's barrage had always been Harry's go-to tool for crushing weaker opponents. With the Elder Wand's enhancements and the amplification of his awakened magic, his signature spellstorm had evolved into a deadly hail of fist-sized projectiles. For most wizards, it was an unstoppable force. Yet, against Professor Flitwick, even this overwhelming assault proved ineffective. 

 "I will only use the strength I had when I competed in professional dueling. Let me show you, Harry—let you experience firsthand what it's like to fight against the world's top-tier geniuses." 

Exchanging formal dueling salutes, Harry and Flitwick turned their backs to each other and took twenty paces forward within the standard fifty-meter dueling arena. As their steps fell in sync, they spun around simultaneously. 

Before Harry could even lift his wand and pull the trigger, Professor Flitwick's spell was already inches from his forehead. 

In those split seconds, a storm of spells erupted like torrential rain, emptying an entire magazine of enchantments in an instant— 

Battlefield destruction. 

Apparition interdiction. 

Defensive barriers. 

Hidden traps. 

Magic disruption. 

 "Finite Omnia!" (End All Curses!) 

A muffled gunshot echoed. In the split-second before impact, Harry squeezed the trigger on the ebony wand in his left hand. 

The spell-infused bullet struck the ground, sending out a rippling shockwave like a tidal wave crashing down. The cascading energy surged outward, obliterating every enchantment in its path. Spells unraveled into raw magical energy, their intricate structures forcibly dismantled at their core. The battlefield was momentarily wiped clean. 

But before Harry could even process the scene— 

A weight pressed against his shoulder. 

A razor-sharp blade, transfigured by a spell, was already at his throat. 

 "You lost." 

Flitwick's voice came from behind him. 

The "Flitwick" standing in front of Harry crumbled into a pile of rubble, dispelled the moment Finite Omnia's wave washed over it. It had only been an illusion. 

 "Too slow, Harry. You're too slow." 

Dismissing the conjured blade, Flitwick continued, "I am a speed-based duelist, so my reaction time and movement speed are naturally faster than the average wizard. But even if I slowed down by half, your response time still wouldn't have been enough to keep up." 

 "Finite Omnia was well executed, but you must remember—it's a wave, not a sustained effect. It works well as a defensive maneuver, but it has many weaknesses." 

 "You have two guns, Harry. Two. And your White Ivory has a unique property—rapid spell barrages. That's something no other wand can replicate. If I were you, I wouldn't use the ebony wand right away. Its sheer firepower is devastating, yes, and its ability to bypass magical defenses makes it a trump card." 

 "But that's exactly why you should conceal it. Before your opponent knows what it does, you can use it to land an unavoidable finishing blow. And once they do learn about it, that knowledge alone will keep them on edge—forcing them to focus entirely on avoiding its threat. That's when White Ivory's suppressive fire will truly shine." 

 "If you had used White Ivory first, its relentless Finite Omnia barrage would have created a zone where no spells could exist. In that case, I wouldn't have been able to slip through your defenses so easily." 

 "However, even a continuous Finite Omnia isn't foolproof. There are still plenty of ways to counter it." 

 "Finite Omnia works against spells—specifically projectile-based ones cast directly from a wand. But it struggles against magic that's applied through a medium. For example, body-altering Transfiguration. You've been to Africa, haven't you? Have you seen the magic of Uagadou? Every single one of their wizards is a master of Transfiguration, specializing in self-enhancements. Soviet wizards are the same—though they use different methods." 

 "And then there are the sword cultivators from the Heavenly Dynasty. Those bastards—" Flitwick gritted his teeth. "Their flying swords can pierce through anything. So far, no wizard has been able to block them with magic alone. Against them, casting an enhanced perception charm is mandatory—otherwise, you wouldn't even know how to dodge. Their swords are fast, guided, and ridiculously lethal." 

 "But the ones who counter spellcasters like us the hardest? Those would be the physical cultivators and the plant-based sorcerers of South America." 

 "Have you ever seen a lunatic who can create a sonic boom just by sprinting? Standard dueling arenas are only fifty meters long, but these monsters can accelerate to nearly 400 meters per second. That means they can cross the entire field in less than 0.2 seconds. Speed is power. Even a fully materialized Protego shield shatters instantly under their punch. Forty years ago, a champion earned the title 'One Punch Man'—he was one of them." 

 "And then there are the plant sorcerers of South America. Castrobruxa has the world's most advanced knowledge of magical botany. Your Herbology professor, Sprout, actually studied there for a while. In fact, it was only after her return that Hogwarts introduced Combat Herbology as an independent subject. Before that, Herbology at Hogwarts was purely about plant care." 

 "Compared to direct spellcasting, fighting with magical plants is far trickier. Magical plants have more unpredictable properties than magical creatures, and their hybridization is both easier and more effective. Before you came along, I brought Charlie to the world tournament—and he ended up getting knocked out in the first round by one of those plant sorcerers."

"Sigh..." Professor Flitwick sighed, recalling the numerous talented students he had encountered over the years. There were plenty of good ones, but only a few really exceptional ones. Charlie was one such example. Unfortunately, his luck was terrible—he had to face the champions from that year's competition right off the bat and was quickly knocked out after three consecutive defeats.

"Don't plants fear fire?" Harry scratched his head, an image of Plants vs. Zombies flashing in his mind. He knew magical plants could be quite powerful in combat but had never encountered one like that before.

"Magical plants can spit fire too. Fireballs as big as human heads, with temperatures reaching 1600°C—enough to melt iron. Who doesn't know that plants fear fire? The people who cultivate magical plants, are they unaware of this?"

"But plant users are limited in duels. After all, magical plants are considered 'external objects.' While they're part of a wizard's magical repertoire, a top-tier battle plant cultivated by an expert in Herbology might be more formidable than any other competitor. However, their use in duels is strictly regulated. I'm not exactly sure what the specifics are, but they are definitely one of the most troublesome opponents you can face in a duel."

It seemed a little late to start training for the dueling competition now, didn't it?

But Harry couldn't blame Professor Flitwick. After all, Flitwick had grown up in a system where his training had been just as free-form. He hadn't won the world championship because of his teachers' exceptional skills; it was purely due to his own raw talent and ability. 

For centuries, the European wizarding world had adhered to a philosophy of "happy education" and "free-range education." While Hogwarts may not have been founded with this principle in mind, after generations of effort from the headmasters, the school had turned out like it was today. Such changes don't happen overnight. Reforms and revolutions sound simple in theory, but the effort, time, and sacrifices behind them are anything but. 

Although this training had come a bit late, for Harry, even if he stepped onto the dueling stage blindfolded, it would only take him some time to familiarize himself with things. His physical toughness would allow him to take magical hits without faltering. Unless he was up against someone on a completely different level, he wouldn't be easily defeated.

As for his recent duel with Professor Flitwick, Harry didn't really lose. The Transfiguration spell that turned into a blade only grazed the future stubble on his face. His thick skin wouldn't be pierced by such a flimsy spell. 

In fact, if Professor Flitwick had been a little careless and gotten too close, Harry might have had a chance. He couldn't produce a sonic boom with his steps like a true powerhouse, but he had picked up a few things from Hagrid's "battle roar." 

One of the most practical techniques in a telekinetic master's fractal burst style was a form of control. When the telekinetic energy was fully activated around the body, a single loud shout would cause the energy to explode, creating a shocking wave of force that left opponents dazed, unable to function physically or mentally. The sound was deafening, and it could even rupture eardrums. It was a perfect counter against flashy opponents who relied on dodging and evasive maneuvers with enhanced perception charms. 

While Hagrid's war roar was stronger, such a powerful voice wasn't something you could easily achieve. If Harry could harness that power with the right focus, it could be devastating.

But Harry knew that his own technique still had its weaknesses. Despite the intense training under Professor Flitwick's meticulous guidance, these rough edges were slowly getting smoothed out. After all, nothing beats real combat as the best teacher. With each brutal session, Harry's progress was nothing short of rapid.

"Get some rest tonight, Harry. I'll come knock on your door in the morning."

"Alright, Professor." Harry nodded, still panting heavily as he wiped sweat from his forehead. "But where exactly is the South Gate Square?"

"Of course, it's..." Professor Flitwick raised a hand, pointing upward. "It's in the sky."

"You've been here in the Heavenly Dynasty for days now, and you still don't know? There's a celestial palace city floating above us, in the clouds."

(End of Chapter)