The shared abilities meant that any magic his Harry Potter world counterpart mastered could also be wielded by his Marvel-world self.
True, he lacked a wand in the Marvel Universe—but that wasn't necessarily a dealbreaker.
From what he knew, not all wizards in the Harry Potter world relied on wands. Advanced practitioners could cast wandlessly, and African wizards traditionally used hand gestures for spellwork. Wands were simply faster and more precise, hence their widespread adoption.
Alternatively, he could craft his own wand later. The Marvel Universe had no shortage of mystical materials—something suitable was bound to exist.
While Harry Potter magic lacked raw destructive power, its utility was unparalleled. Some spells even brushed against fundamental cosmic laws.
Take Apparition, for instance. Master that, and he could escape almost any foe in the Marvel world.
"But first… how to cleanly eliminate that dark wizard."
Killing someone—pre-transmigration George would've balked at the idea. Back then, he'd been an ordinary office drone who'd never so much as slaughtered a chicken, let alone a person.
But three months in this world had hardened him.
Twelve lives. That was his count.
The lab bred killers, and survival demanded it. In live combat drills, hesitation meant death. He'd adapted—not out of bloodlust, but necessity.
Yet this was different. The dark wizard wasn't some faceless enemy.
He could report the man to the Ministry. Given their location in Knockturn Alley, Aurors were within reach. The original Dora hadn't dared, too broken by years of abuse—but George had no such trauma.
Yet that carried risks. If the Aurors delayed, the wizard might flee… or retaliate.
A quiet kill solved everything. No loose ends. No witnesses. Just an unfortunate "accident," leaving him as sole heir to the man's assets.
The dark wizard had no living relatives. His vaults and property would default to his "son."
And the odds favored George.
First, the wizard viewed Dora as a wandless, magic-ignorant weakling—utterly beneath suspicion.
Second, George had experience assassinating armed mercenaries using only a razor blade and magnetism. An unguarded wizard's reflexes weren't superhuman—just tougher to finish off.
Third, without wand traces or magical signatures, Aurors would struggle to pin anything on him.
Of course, failure remained possible. But high risk meant high reward. Succeed, and he'd gain both resources and freedom to study magic uninterrupted.
From Dora's memories, the dark wizard had amassed considerable wealth peddling illegal potions.
"You woke thirty minutes late. Should I transfigure you into a rat again? Roast you over a candle?"
The raspy voice snapped George from his thoughts. The door creaked open, revealing a秃顶 (balding) wizard in frayed black robes, his serpentine eyes glinting.
"S-sorry, Mr. Mulpepper! I'm coming now!" George stammered, perfectly mimicking Dora's cowed demeanor as he scrambled up.
The wizard—Mulpepper—leered. "Don't fret, boy. I'll teach you magic myself. Better than that fool school."
"'Magic' like scouring charms and cooking spells, no doubt," George thought sourly but kept his face blank.
Stepping outside, dawn's light filtered through Knockturn Alley's grime.
"Marvel-world's night, here's day. Convenient timing."
Managing two bodies simultaneously felt surreal, but the opposing schedules helped ease the transition.
Following Dora's routines, George prepared breakfast, scrubbed floors, and manned the shop's entrance.
Knockturn Alley attracted few honest customers. Most patrons were dark wizards or those skirting Ministry law—a fact the authorities tacitly tolerated.
In George's view, this made sense. Concentrating illicit trade in one area simplified surveillance. Even Lucius Malfoy discreetly sold contraband here.
The opportunity came at 4 PM.
"I'm brewing Draught of Madness. Seal the shop. Disturb me, and you'll beg for death."
Mulpepper withdrew rare ingredients from locked cabinets, his glare promising agony.
"Y-yes, sir! No interruptions!" George quivered.
The threat wasn't empty. Once, Dora had accidentally disrupted a brew, earning a night of Cruciatus-like curses that nearly killed him.
But this isolation was perfect.
Draught of Madness—a high-risk, high-reward potion inducing permanent insanity. Its volatility made accidents… plausible.
Through the workshop's grimy window, George watched Mulpepper add aconite, venomous tentacula, and snake bile to his cauldron, chanting under his breath.
"Now."
After an hour, at the critical stabilization phase, George focused his magnetic power—
The iron candleholder toppled.
Molten potion splashed across unfinished ingredients.
"NO—!"
Mulpepper's shield charm came too late. The mixture detonated.
Magic-laced shrapnel hurled the wizard into the wall. Blood sprayed from his lips as he crumpled.
"Wizard durability is no joke," George mused. A normal human would've died instantly.
Time for the coup de grâce.
Straining his enhanced power (now lifting ~50 lbs post-magic awakening), George ripped the ceiling chandelier loose—
"AAAGH—!"
The iron spikes impaled Mulpepper's eye, piercing his brain.
Even wizard healing couldn't fix that.