Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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Dumbledore, as usual, left his words unfinished before rushing off with Hagrid. Harry, however, had grown accustomed to his headmaster's eccentric behavior. Though he wanted to shout, "Stop being a riddle-spinning cliffhanger and leave Hogwarts!" he could only roll his eyes as he cleaned up the tableware and prepared for class. After all, Dumbledore was the headmaster.

But Harry wasn't the only one feeling frustrated. When Hagrid arrived at the Welsh Green Dragon Breeding and Conservation Reserve to take his dragon tamer certification test, the wizards overseeing the evaluation were thrown into a chaotic frenzy of disbelief.

A written exam was out of the question—no one knew this better than Dumbledore. If Hagrid were to follow the standard certification route, he'd need to tackle a written test harder than the Advanced Wizarding Level exams. Even with ten years to prepare, Hagrid wouldn't stand a chance. As someone who had learned his trade in the wild, Hagrid was better suited for a hands-on, practical approach. After all, Hogwarts wasn't raising dragons for educational purposes—it was simply indulging Hagrid's interests while bringing in some extra income for the school.

Dragons, after all, are treasures from head to tail—even their dung makes excellent herbal compost. A single Soviet Ironbelly can consume as much as seventeen or eighteen Welsh Greens, making it a truly formidable "fertilizer machine." This one dragon alone supplies a majority of Hogwarts' imported dragon dung needs. Professor Sprout even applied for a new greenhouse this year, reasoning that there was surplus money left over from fertilizer costs, and it would be wasteful not to use it.

Upon arriving at the testing grounds, Hagrid wasted no time making an impression.

"Look!" He pointed to a group of solitary Welsh Green dragons—all female. These dragons were in the midst of their fiery mating season. Mating has always been a challenge for dragons; most male dragons raised in reserves are castrated at a young age to keep their naturally aggressive temperaments in check. Without exception, every one of them was essentially a eunuch.

What's more, captive-bred dragons are inherently weaker than their wild counterparts. For cost reasons, captive dragons are rarely fed magical creature meat, which wild dragons thrive on. To produce high-quality offspring, dragon reserves bring their female dragons into the wild during mating season to pair them with robust, wild male dragons.

Dragon tamers, essentially the caretakers of dragons, are tasked with an important yet daunting duty: ensuring that male dragons perform their natural reproductive roles. This task is far from simple. While female dragons are usually less aggressive than males, their tempers flare dangerously during mating season. To make matters worse, female dragons are typically larger than males, giving them the upper hand in both size and strength.

The males don't encounter gentle mates. Instead, they face tank-like juggernauts ready to pin them down by force. Given the limited number of wild male dragons, reserves often have no choice but to stretch their resources. When one male dragon faces multiple females—sometimes four, five, or even six in quick succession—it leads to one of two outcomes: either sheer bliss or utter exhaustion.

Part of the dragon tamer's job is to keep male dragons calm and cooperative while ensuring the females don't overexert them. Otherwise, the males might suffer from extreme fatigue—or worse, develop PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) from their traumatic mating encounters. What sounds simple is anything but. Imagine interrupting a furious female dragon—several hundred times more aggressive than a tigress—during her "moment of joy." The risk is immense.

Dragon tamers typically work in ten-person teams to manage the danger. A team of this size can temporarily subdue a dragon long enough to complete their tasks safely.

Back at the reserve, the female Welsh Greens were already agitated, pacing restlessly. Their sharp claws scraped against magically reinforced steel cages, producing a grating screech. The thick steel bars, as wide as a person's calf, were being shaved down layer by layer under their relentless attacks. The ground was littered with shards of steel. Meanwhile, the scent of male dragons in the air only heightened the females' already overflowing hormonal surge.

Then, Fawkes' fiery arrival appeared to irritate the restless dragons further. Though Welsh Greens are a medium-sized dragon species with a maximum length of 50 meters, their breath contains corrosive magical toxins.

At that moment, five Welsh Greens simultaneously opened their massive jaws, unleashing streams of orange-red, grayish-green fire. The combined torrent of dragon breath scorched the steel, melting it under its concentrated power.

"STOP! You will NOT harm Professor Dumbledore!"

Though the steel bars held firm against the fiery onslaught, the sight enraged Hagrid. In the Forbidden Forest, no creature dared act so brazenly in his presence—not even dragons. Without waiting for anyone to intervene or summon him back, Hagrid charged forward in just a few massive strides.

Gripping the thick steel bars with his giant hands, he let out a roar and pulled. The reinforced bars, unyielding even to dragon fire, crumpled like putty in his hands. With one fierce tug, the twisted bars broke apart. His bulging muscles surged, and his already impressive height increased by nearly half a meter. His arms, thicker than an average person's waist, stretched his coat sleeves to the brink of tearing.

"Good children should behave!"

With a heavy stomp, Hagrid launched himself over ten meters into the air like a springing jackrabbit. He landed squarely on the head of a Welsh Green dragon mid-fire-breath. Raising his massive hand—about the size of a trash can lid—he brought it down with a resounding smack on the dragon's head.

Scales shattered as a deep handprint embedded itself into the unfortunate dragon's skull.

The dull thud of the dragon's head hitting the ground echoed, akin to the ominous rumble of summer thunder—heralding the arrival of a storm.

Suddenly, a colossal shadow swept across the sky. After landing, Hagrid grabbed the tail of the nearest dragon, a recently matured female measuring 37 meters long and weighing 28 tons. With a firm step and an effortless swing, he began spinning the massive beast like a living flail.

The shadow cast over the ground grew as the dragon was flung high into the air, only to come crashing down moments later with a forceful boom.

The flames and fiery breath ceased, replaced by howls of pain and fear. Just seconds ago, the dragons had been roaring, "Bring me that boy, I can't take it anymore!" Now, they crouched low to the ground, heads bowed like chastened brides, trembling as they muttered, "No, no, it's too much! I can't take it anymore!"

Though Hagrid's height barely exceeded their lowered heads, his overwhelming presence made it feel as though he was standing atop a towering cliff, looking down at insignificant specks at its base.

"That's more like it," Hagrid said, his tone relaxed as he softened his stance. He reached out to gently stroke the head of the nearest subdued dragon, which now sat docilely in front of him.

"Injured, are you? Let me take a look to see how bad it is," he added with a kind smile.

The dragon he had slapped closed her eyes pitifully, desperately trying to hold back tears of humiliation that threatened to soak the ground beneath her.

Meanwhile, dozens of meters away, the examiners for the dragon-taming certification test stood frozen, their jaws practically scraping the ground.

"This... this is supposed to be a dragon-taming test!"

Their minds screamed in disbelief.

"But... does this count as taming?"

(End of Chapter)