Chapter 4: Strength in Two Worlds
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"Risky as it was… today's move was worth it."
After Scrimgeour, Tonks, and the other Aurors wrapped up their investigation and left, George finally allowed himself to relax. He lay back on the dark wizard's surprisingly comfortable bed, his mind racing but his body finally at rest.
Merton's vault at Gringotts, the fully stocked potion shop, shelves full of rare herbs and ingredients—this inheritance was no small sum. Maybe it wouldn't impress the truly wealthy in the wizarding world, but to someone like George, it was more than enough.
It was like an adult receiving a million Galleons—it wouldn't make them the richest person around, but they'd certainly live comfortably. But for a child who had just entered school to suddenly possess that kind of wealth? That was a game-changer.
With this fortune at his disposal, many things would become easier.
He had briefly considered selling the shop and moving into the Leaky Cauldron for safety—after all, Knockturn Alley wasn't exactly known for its hospitality—but he quickly dismissed the idea. This place might be dangerous, but it was also useful. Having a private, discreet space to experiment with magic could become crucial in the future.
Besides, selling was easy. Buying it back? Nearly impossible.
"This body is way too thin. I need to eat properly and bulk up."
George sat up, stretched, and walked over to the mirror hanging in the bedroom. For the first time, he got a good look at his reflection.
Blond hair, blue eyes, a straight nose—his features weren't bad at all. But his body was far too skinny, the result of chronic malnutrition and years of abuse.
Still, that was fixable. With time, rest, and proper food, the body could recover.
"Luckily, I'm not weak on the inside."
He bent his knees and jumped—just a casual test.
To his surprise, he soared nearly three meters into the air, fingertips brushing the ceiling.
It wasn't magic. Wizards weren't known for their physical prowess—unless they had special bloodlines like Hagrid's, they were about as strong as ordinary Muggles. George's jump had nothing to do with being a wizard.
This was because of him—because of what his body had brought over from the Marvel world.
In truth, his current body was a fusion: the physical strength of this eleven-year-old boy named Dora, and the enhanced physique of Artificial Mutant No. 757—George's original identity in the Marvel world.
No. 757 hadn't had physical enhancements on the level of someone like Beast or Wolverine, but he was still a genetically engineered adult male who had undergone intense physical training.
For the last three months, George had been forced to undergo constant training at the mutant facility—improving not just his powers but also his combat ability, reflexes, and physical resilience.
If he had to break it down into numbers: if Dora's punch strength was 50 kg, and No. 757's was 200 kg, then the fusion had resulted in a new strength level around 250 kg. It wasn't a perfect calculation, but it captured the point.
For No. 757, a 50 kg increase wouldn't be that noticeable. But for Dora, that 200 kg boost had transformed him entirely.
Especially considering his body only weighed about 50 kg. Suddenly gaining such explosive power meant his agility and strength were at a level that would put Olympic athletes to shame. That one leap, clearing three meters with ease, proved it.
"I'm basically a superkid now."
After finishing his self-check, George began rummaging through the bedroom. He hoped the old wizard might have hidden some black magic books or secret research notes—anything that could give him a head start on powerful spells.
Unfortunately, he found nothing of value. Just some standard magic books you could buy in Flourish and Blotts. Nothing dark. Nothing forbidden.
He supposed it made sense. Shops in Knockturn Alley were subject to regular inspections by the Ministry. Even a dark wizard like Merton wouldn't risk keeping contraband magic lying around openly.
George sighed and gave up the search. "Forget it. I'll rest this body first. It's been a long day."
He quickly washed up, changed into clean clothes, and lay down again—this time with no tension, no fear of sudden danger. He let the body drift into sleep.
And in that moment, his consciousness shifted.
He returned to the Marvel world—to his true body, still held inside the secret experimental facility.
It was daytime here. Time for training.
He didn't waste a second.
Later, after finishing his grueling morning session, George sat at the edge of the training yard, chewing through a bland but nutrient-packed lunch. His expression was neutral, but his eyes darted over to a group of younger mutant children huddled in the distance.
Earlier in the corridor, he'd overheard a nurse being scolded by a supervisor. Apparently, she had tried to bake a cake and celebrate a birthday for some of the imprisoned children—most of whom had never had a birthday in their lives.
George remembered this moment.
Soon after this small act of kindness, the nurse would have a change of heart. She'd end up escaping the facility with the children.
He made a mental note. That event might offer him a chance in the future.
He returned to his training that afternoon. When night came and his Marvel-world body was finally allowed to rest, his mind once again crossed over—to the wizarding world.
Morning had come in London.
George awoke in the potion shop's bedroom, feeling refreshed and focused. He washed up, prepared a proper breakfast—something hearty this time—and sat down at the table.
A rustle outside signaled the arrival of the day's Daily Prophet, delivered by owl.
He took the newspaper, unfolded it, and read as he ate.
Compared to the Marvel facility's sterile, tasteless food, this was paradise.
Merton hadn't fed him well while alive—just enough to keep him breathing—but now George could cook for himself. He savored every bite.
One article in the paper caught his attention:
"Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart, internationally acclaimed writer and personality, recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class, honorary member of the League Against the Dark Arts, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award, will be signing copies of his new autobiography Magical Me at Flourish and Blotts on August 21, from 12:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m."
George stared at the ridiculous image of Lockhart in his forget-me-not-blue robes, flashing his signature grin.
He couldn't help but laugh softly. "Would've been nice to get here a year earlier. Maybe I could've been in the same class as the Golden Trio."
Yes—this was 1992. George was starting Hogwarts one year after Harry Potter, Ron, and Hermione.
Being in the same year as them would've had its pros and cons. On the one hand, they had a habit of running into dangerous, chaotic events that disrupted normal school life.
But on the other hand, George knew about all those events in advance.
As long as he kept his distance when necessary—and got involved at the right moments—he might be able to benefit without taking too many risks.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
A new world, a new body, and now, new power.
Things were finally beginning to take shape.
(End of Chapter 4)