When night fell, George's consciousness returned to his Marvel body.
Another day of grueling training passed without incident, but a restless feeling lingered in his chest. His instincts whispered that the jailbreak was close.
That hunch deepened when he noticed the group of mutant children reading a new comic book—Uncanny X-Men.
It confused him.
This universe clearly had X-Men, yet there were also super-soldier programs and a Captain America. Why? If mutants already existed and were known to the public, what purpose did the Super-Soldier project serve?
He could only shelve the question for now. Once he escaped the experimental base, he would study this world's history and piece the truth together.
In the Harry Potter world, dawn had just broken.
George fetched The Daily Prophet from the mailbox at the front of his potion shop, only to find another letter tucked inside.
"It's finally here," he murmured.
The pale-yellow envelope was addressed in emerald-green ink:
Mr. George, Merton Potion Shop, Knockturn Alley.
It was the reissued Hogwarts admission letter.
Though Scrimgeour and Tonks had already confirmed it, holding the real thing in his hands still sent a thrill down his spine. Hogwarts—a real school of magic. Soon, he would walk its halls and study spells that defied logic and reason.
Magic. Who could resist real magic?
"Let's go shopping!"
He wolfed down breakfast, snatched up the list of books and equipment enclosed in the letter, and stepped out of Merton Potion Shop in high spirits.
Unfortunately, his mood soured the instant he left the door.
"Isn't this little Dora?"
A thin, greasy-haired old wizard stood outside the shop opposite his, smiling slyly. "I heard you've been readmitted to Hogwarts. Off to buy school supplies, are you?"
George's smile froze for a moment. The old man was Mr. Borgin, one of Knockturn Alley's most infamous dark wizards.
"Good morning, Mr. Borgin. Yes, I'm going to buy some books," George said politely. "And my name is George now."
Outwardly courteous, he inwardly bristled. Borgin's shop—Borgin and Burkes—was the largest and most notorious establishment in Knockturn Alley. It dealt in cursed artifacts, dark relics, and dangerous magical curiosities. Its owner had ties to nearly every dark wizard in the region.
Even the young Tom Riddle had once worked there, and through its network of shady connections, he'd found and created two Horcruxes.
Borgin was precisely the kind of man George wanted to avoid. If Borgin stopped coveting his potion shop, no other dark wizard would dare make a move against him.
"What a good boy," Borgin said, voice oozing false warmth. "I saw that Auror lady at your place yesterday—having lunch, was she?"
George smiled even more brightly. "Yes. Sister Tonks loves my cooking. She said next time she'll bring her colleagues—and Uncle Scrimgeour too—for a free meal."
Borgin's eyes narrowed. "That will be quite some work for you."
"Oh, not at all," George replied cheerfully. "I love cooking. Perhaps next time, I'll make extra. Would you like to try some, Mr. Borgin?"
"Ah—no, no, that's not necessary."
The old wizard's expression stiffened. Without another word, he turned and slipped back into his dimly lit shop.
Watching him leave, George muttered under his breath, "Scheming old vulture. One day I'll take that shop of yours—and end you, too."
Shaking off the irritation, he headed toward Diagon Alley.
Compared to Knockturn Alley's narrow, shadowed lanes, Diagon Alley was full of light and laughter. Wizards and witches bustled about with their children, and the air buzzed with calls from shopkeepers.
"Dragon liver! Sixteen Sickles an ounce!"
"Cauldrons of every kind—copper, brass, pewter, silver! Self-stirring and collapsible!"
"Tawny owls, barn owls, snowy owls—any pet you want!"
"Nimbus 2001—the fastest broom in the world! You deserve to fly it!"
George wandered through the crowd, unbothered by the noise. He didn't hesitate to spend money, always choosing the finest versions of everything.
Some said poor students hid behind fancy tools, but George believed the right tools made work more efficient. If you had money, why be stingy?
By midday, his cart was piled high with purchases: uniforms, cauldron, telescope, potion bottles, scales, and—of course—a wand.
The wand had taken surprisingly little time. After trying a few, he found one that resonated perfectly with him and bought it immediately.
The only real delay came at Madam Malkin's, where his school robes required precise measurements.
"A complete set of uniforms, check. Cauldron, telescope, potion bottles, scales, wand—check. Just books and a pet left," he murmured, scanning his list.
As he turned a corner, a familiar storefront caught his eye.
Eeylops Owl Emporium.
"Perfect. I'll buy an owl."
Inside, the air was filled with rustling feathers and the faint hoots of dozens of owls perched in neat rows.
In the wizarding world, students could choose various pets, but George had already decided—an owl was the most practical choice.
Magic owls were far superior to ordinary ones. They were intelligent, capable of tracking recipients anywhere in the world unless blocked by specific enchantments. They could carry not just letters, but also small parcels—up to ten or twenty pounds with ease.
George was a pragmatist. Pets should serve a purpose; otherwise, they were just one more thing to care for. An owl, though—an owl was useful.
"Welcome to Eeylops Owl Emporium, sir," a cheerful shop assistant greeted him. "What kind of owl are you looking for?"
"That one," George said instantly, pointing toward the far corner.
The assistant followed his gaze and froze. "Are you… sure about that one?"
"Yes." George nodded firmly.
The assistant hesitated before replying. "I should warn you—it's ten times more expensive than an ordinary owl. One hundred Galleons."
George's eyes gleamed. "That's fine."
The owl he'd chosen was enormous—an eagle owl nearly a meter tall. Its amber eyes burned with intelligence, and its feathers glistened like polished bronze under the lamplight.
Ordinary customers rarely bought such creatures. They were too expensive, too powerful, and frankly too intimidating for young wizards. Even wealthy parents avoided them, fearing their children might get injured.
But George saw exactly what he wanted: strength, intelligence, and a certain dangerous majesty.
He approached the cage, meeting the bird's unblinking gaze. For a long moment, neither moved. Then the eagle owl let out a deep, resonant hoot, spreading its wings slightly—as if acknowledging him.
"I'll take it," George said quietly.
The assistant stared at him for a second longer, then sighed and began preparing the paperwork. "As you wish, sir."
By the time George left the shop, the sun was dipping toward the horizon. His new owl perched proudly on his arm, heavy but steady, its keen eyes scanning everything that moved.
"Looks like we're ready," George said with a grin. "You'll need a name… but I'll think about that later."
He glanced around Diagon Alley one last time. The crowd had thinned, and the golden light of evening bathed the cobblestones in a warm glow.
His cart brimmed with supplies, his wand felt alive in his hand, and in his pocket lay the Hogwarts letter that promised an entirely new life.
Magic, power, freedom—everything was within reach.
But beneath his calm smile, another thought pulsed quietly: the Marvel world still awaited. The escape plan, the mutants, the super-soldier project—none of that was over.
He would master magic in this world and power in the other.
Only then would he truly be free.
As he headed back toward Knockturn Alley, the eagle owl let out a low, echoing call that followed him through the fading light—like an omen of the storm to come.