"Today's actions were a bit risky, but now it seems everything was worth it."
After Scrimgeour, Tonks, and a few Aurors finished processing the scene and left, George sprawled across the Dark Wizard's comfortable, oversized bed, sighing with a mix of relief and satisfaction.
The old wizard's lifetime savings stored in Gringotts alone were a small fortune. Added to that, the potion shop and all the potions and herbs within it amounted to considerable wealth. Perhaps it wasn't much compared to the truly rich of the wizarding world, but for a young wizard just starting out, it was more than enough.
It was like an adult owning a million galleons—hardly impressive—but if a child in their first year at Hogwarts had a million in pocket money, they'd outshine nearly every student in Britain. With this much wealth at his disposal, George felt that many of his future plans had suddenly become easier to handle.
He had briefly considered selling the potion shop after formally inheriting it, planning to move into the Leaky Cauldron for safety. But upon reflection, he dismissed the idea.
He would eventually need a private space to research the kind of magic that couldn't be revealed to anyone—not even the Ministry. This shop, tucked away in Knockturn Alley, could serve as that sanctuary. Selling it might be simple, but buying it back later would be nearly impossible.
"This body's really thin," George muttered, standing up and stretching. "I'll have to eat more and build it up."
He wandered around the bedroom for a while before stopping in front of the mirror. For the first time since waking up in this world, he examined his reflection properly. Up until now, he had been too busy plotting the old wizard's death to truly look at himself.
The boy in the mirror had golden hair and blue eyes, with fine, well-shaped features. His nose was high, his expression calm—but his body looked frail, almost malnourished. Years of mistreatment had left him thin and underfed. Still, George wasn't worried. With proper meals and care, this body would recover quickly enough.
"Fortunately," he murmured, bending his knees slightly before jumping, "my inner self isn't weak."
With a light push, he launched himself into the air, easily touching the ceiling three meters above. It wasn't because of magic; most wizards didn't possess such physical power. While wizarding bodies were naturally more resistant to injury and healed faster than those of Muggles, their basic strength wasn't all that different—unless they had special bloodlines, like Hagrid's.
George's situation, however, was different.
This body not only carried the magical physique of Dora, the eleven-year-old wizard he now inhabited, but also the enhanced physical strength of his former body—Mutant 757—from the Marvel Universe. His current strength was the sum of both.
Mutant 757's abilities hadn't enhanced raw power like the Beast or Wolverine, but it was still an adult body—trained, hardened, and far stronger than any child's. Over the last three months, George had trained relentlessly—ability drills, physical conditioning, and close-combat practice. His physical fitness now far exceeded that of a normal eighteen-year-old.
If expressed in rough numbers, Dora's body could originally punch with a force of fifty jin, while 757's could strike with two hundred jin. Now, thanks to the merger, both sets of physical potential had increased—Dora's to 250 jin and 757's equivalently enhanced.
For 757, fifty extra jin didn't mean much. But for Dora, that increase was enormous. Considering this body weighed only about fifty jin, the jump in power was dramatic. The result was explosive agility; George could leap three meters effortlessly and land like a cat, silent and balanced.
"Among kids, I'm basically a superhuman," he chuckled.
After checking his physical condition, George began searching the bedroom. He wanted to see whether the old wizard had left behind any forbidden grimoires or research notes on the Dark Arts. If he could find even a few, he might learn some dangerous spells ahead of time.
Unfortunately, his search turned up nothing. There were no Dark Arts tomes hidden under the bed, no cursed diaries, no secret compartments—just ordinary spellbooks anyone could buy from a regular shop.
It made sense. Shops in Knockturn Alley were subject to monthly inspections. Even the boldest Dark Wizard wouldn't dare hide contraband materials openly at home.
"Forget it," he sighed. "I'll let this body rest. It's been a long day."
After washing up, George lay down on the luxurious bed and allowed Dora's body to fall asleep. His consciousness then drifted away, back to his main body—in the Marvel Universe.
There, it was already morning, and time for daily training again.
"It should be soon," he thought, stretching his arms. "That means I'll need to learn a few more useful spells quickly."
After completing his morning exercises, George ate lunch quietly, keeping a watchful eye on the mutant children around him. Earlier that day, he had overheard a nurse being harshly reprimanded by her supervisor. The reason? She had prepared a cake to celebrate the birthdays of several mutant children—kids who had never known such kindness before.
If George remembered correctly, that same nurse would soon have a change of heart and lead those children in a mass escape attempt. That event was close—very close.
The afternoon training session went by without incident. When his main body fell asleep later that night, George's consciousness once again shifted—back into the Harry Potter world.
Morning sunlight filtered through the windows of the old wizard's bedroom. George rose, tidied himself, and prepared a hearty breakfast. Afterward, he collected The Daily Prophet that an owl had just delivered to the door, then settled down to read while eating.
The food at the Marvel base was nutritious but bland, almost tasteless. Here, however, even a simple breakfast felt satisfying. When the Dark Wizard had been alive, Dora had barely eaten enough to survive, never mind enjoying her meals. Now, George intended to make up for that lost time.
He unfolded the newspaper.
"Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart, internationally renowned personality and author, recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class, honorary member of the Anti-Dark Arts League, and five-time winner of The Daily Prophet's Most Charming Smile Award,
will be signing copies of his autobiography Magical Me at Flourish and Blotts on August 21st, from 12:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m."
George stared at the photo of the smug, smiling wizard dressed in forget-me-not blue robes and couldn't help but chuckle.
"If only I'd arrived a year earlier," he mused aloud. "At least I could've been in the same year as the Golden Trio—maybe even in the same house and dormitory."
Indeed, it was not 1991 anymore. It was now the second year of Harry Potter's time at Hogwarts. George would be enrolling one year later than Harry and his friends.
Emotionally, he felt a kind of affection for the trio—Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Back in his previous life, they had been beloved characters from the stories he adored. The thought of studying magic alongside them stirred a warm curiosity within him.
Rationally, however, he didn't think staying close to them would be dangerous. The trio had a knack for attracting trouble, yes—but as long as Dumbledore remained headmaster, Hogwarts would remain one of the safest places in the world. Most of those "dangerous" adventures had been carefully managed under Dumbledore's watchful eye.
If anything, George could even use his proximity to the trio to lower Dumbledore's suspicions. Befriending Harry might grant him easier access to the Restricted Section of the library—where the truly advanced magic was kept.
He folded the newspaper, deep in thought.
"Soon," he whispered. "Things are about to change."
He had plans—many of them.
In this world, he possessed both magical potential and the strength of a mutant. With enough preparation, he could walk a path that belonged to neither world completely, one that blended the logic of science with the wonder of magic. But to do that, he needed knowledge—spells, potions, and perhaps even a bit of forbidden research.
And for that, Hogwarts would be the perfect cover.
As he finished breakfast, George looked around the quiet shop. The sunlight filtering through the windows lit up the rows of potion bottles, the faint aroma of herbs still lingering in the air. For now, this would be his secret base—a place to grow stronger in silence.
Soon enough, both worlds—the magical and the mutant—would feel his presence.
But first, he needed to prepare for the signs of a coming prison break.