The magic passed down to the modern era has become increasingly 'gentle.' While this weakens the effects of the spells, it also significantly reduces their side effects, making them far more suitable for widespread use.
Ancient magic, however, was far less concerned with such things. The ancients were old, not stupid, and many of their approaches to spellcasting remain incredibly valuable.
"Ancient magic books, you say?" the prefect mused. "Makiya, you really are a quintessential Ravenclaw. I'll pass along your request. As for the specific quantity and quality, shall we discuss that later?"
"Sounds good."
The conversation ended on a pleasant note. The prefect breathed a silent sigh of relief as he watched Makiya walk away; he had been living in fear of being hit by a Dick-Knot Jinx for quite some time.
He hadn't expected Makiya to be so surprisingly easy to talk to.
The Ravenclaw dormitory was located at the top of a tower, offering a panoramic view of most of Hogwarts through its windows. Makiya didn't have much of an impression of his three roommates; none of them were famous figures from the original story.
The next day, Makiya's life at the wizarding academy officially began.
First-years were required to study eight core subjects: Charms, History of Magic, Herbology, Transfiguration, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, and Flying.
The schedule wasn't overly packed. Little wizards mostly studied foundational knowledge, as the colorful array of electives didn't begin until the second year.
A month passed in a flash, and Makiya's life was both peaceful and fulfilling.
He didn't spend much time in the dormitory. Aside from the library, his cabin near the Forbidden Forest was where he stayed the longest.
He had produced pile after pile of various alchemical firearms, but Makiya had yet to achieve his envisioned effect of firing ice and fire-explosion rounds. His research into alchemy had hit a bottleneck.
Looking at the room full of his handiwork, Makiya scratched his head in frustration.
Recycling processed materials was time-consuming and labor-intensive, and the results were always diminished. Scrapping them entirely felt like a waste, but leaving them to clutter his home seemed like a disservice to their creation.
Striking his palm with his fist, Makiya had a sudden flash of inspiration. He immediately began waving his wand to renovate the cabin.
In addition to his studies in magic and alchemy, he had turned the small cabin into a very cozy space. He had even installed the fireplace he'd been longing for, putting his proficiency in 'civil engineering' magic to good use.
While Makiya was busy with his construction, the friction between Harry and Malfoy was only intensifying.
Without Makiya's interference, the Golden Trio had still come together for various reasons, and they were now like fire and water with Malfoy.
Driven by a strange sense of wounded pride, Malfoy had completely fixated on the trio, monitoring their every move and taking every opportunity to tattle on them.
Unfortunately for him, he rarely came out on top, often being dropped by a single shot from Harry.
Malfoy learned from his mistakes. He decided to employ the traditional specialty of pure-blood families: ganging up to bully the weak. He approached the Slytherins who had been suppressed by Harry's dual pistols on the train and managed to sway some of them.
They couldn't beat Harry, but they could certainly take on Hermione and Ron. Consequently, the two friends were caught off guard by a sneak attack, suffering a humiliating defeat in front of their classmates.
Ron was thick-skinned; he was used to embarrassment, what with his hand-me-down clothes and old wand.
Girls, however, were more sensitive. Hermione took it hard and hid away to have a good cry before dinner; even when she showed up to eat, her eyes were still red.
Harry was furious, but Malfoy and his cronies had been discreet. Without evidence, there was no way to report them to the professors.
He remembered what Makiya had told him two weeks prior and said to his two friends, "Hermione, Ron, I'm taking you somewhere special this weekend."
Saturdays and Sundays were free time. First-year students had no classes and could arrange their time as they pleased.
On Sunday evening, Harry led the two of them away from prying eyes, slipping out of a side door of the castle and heading toward the Forbidden Forest.
Ron looked at the Forbidden Forest with a face full of terror, repeatedly trying to back out. However, unable to sway Harry and Hermione, he followed them, trembling with every step.
"Harry, where are we going?" Hermione asked softly, terrified that her voice might be caught by a professor. She didn't want to lose points for Gryffindor.
"A magical place. You'll see when we get there," Harry said with a mysterious smile, leading them to a prominent boulder and disappearing behind it.
Only then did Hermione and Ron discover a hidden entrance beneath the rock, completely obscured by the surrounding weeds.
If Harry hadn't gone through, they never would have noticed the opening.
The three of them followed the underground tunnel inward until, before long, a heavy wooden door appeared, featuring a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle's head.
"Harry, what is this place?" Ron couldn't help but ask.
"Just watch. Don't worry," Harry reassured him, reaching out to knock.
A deep male voice resonated from the eagle's head: "How many members are in the Four Heavenly Kings?"
Ron was utterly bewildered. "Four, obviously!" he blurted out.
"Incorrect!"
"Oh, Ron, don't just guess! That was a trick question—the answer is five!" Harry sighed, rubbing his hair. "The passwords are randomized, and that was one of the easiest ones."
Ron shrunk back and stopped talking.
"I've used up my knocking attempts for today. Hermione, you try," Harry said, looking at her. Hermione didn't hesitate, reaching for the ring and knocking on the door.
The deep voice spoke again: "What is the General's kindness?"
'Oh no, this is one of the hardest ones. The pronunciation is incredibly difficult!' Harry thought to himself.
But facing the expectant gazes of Hermione and Ron, Harry bit the bullet and stepped forward. He cleared his throat and said in a strange, phonetic cadence, "Your salt, my vinegar; Chaoshan people, watch the rice and the pot; sleep late!"
The bizarre phrase echoed through the tunnel. The bronze knocker remained silent for two seconds before its deep voice announced, "Correct. Please enter!"
The heavy wooden door slowly swung outward, and Harry signaled for his two companions to follow him inside.
The room beyond was brightly lit. On several simple wooden shelves, strange-looking alchemical objects were neatly arranged.
Guns! So many guns!
Hermione and Ron gasped. Having spent so much time with Harry, they had both handled his dual pistols and knew their power and effect.
But the scene before them was entirely different. Even the shapes were vastly different from the ones Harry carried—long ones, short ones, thick ones, thin ones... the variety left them dazzled.
Thud, thud, thud.
The sound of footsteps approached, and Makiya, sporting an afro and a soot-covered face, slowly descended from a spiral staircase in the corner.
He looked at Harry and smiled, a puff of white smoke escaping his mouth as he spoke. "Cough, cough... Harry, you're here. And Miss Granger, and you must be..."
"This is Ron, Ron Weasley," Harry introduced.
"Hello, Ron." Makiya walked calmly behind the counter, tapping his wand against his face. The soot and his hair instantly returned to normal.
"I take it you two are here to buy guns? This shop supports bartering and various flexible payment methods. Rare old books that have been sitting at home, strange spells, or alchemical items of unknown effect are all acceptable." He looked at Hermione and Ron, pulling several alchemical firearms from the counter and placing them before them. "Give them a try. There are targets over there."
Hermione stared blankly as she gripped the Uzi submachine gun in front of her.
She had a feeling that their future school life was about to undergo a world-shaking change.
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