Chapter 5:
"It doesn't matter if I'm placed in a smaller house. What matters most is that I get to learn magic."
George put down the Daily Prophet and resumed eating, deep in thought.
He had been wondering which house the Sorting Hat might place him in at Hogwarts. If he had to guess, he thought Gryffindor was the most likely.
Gryffindor valued courage, and he considered himself fairly brave—after all, he had only just taken over this clone's body yesterday, yet had managed to devise and execute a plan to eliminate a dark wizard. Not exactly cowardly behavior.
Just as he was finishing up his breakfast, the door to the shop swung open with a jingle.
"Good morning, Dora—oh wait, that's not your name anymore, is it? George now!"
The cheerful voice belonged to none other than Tonks, the young female Auror from the day before. She strode in with the same energy as always, flashing him a warm grin.
"Good morning, Miss Tonks," George replied, setting down his omelet and smiling politely.
Tonks plopped down across from him without ceremony and ruffled his hair playfully.
"No need to be so formal! Just treat me like your older sister from now on."
George gave a small, helpless smile and began straightening his now-messy hair. He didn't mind Tonks's casual approach—in fact, he found it oddly comforting. Without a word, he brought out the second breakfast he'd prepared earlier and set it on the table.
"I made an extra portion this morning. Let's eat together."
"Oh? How did you know I skipped breakfast?" Tonks grinned, intrigued. She picked up her fork and took a bite of the rolled omelet. "Mmm—what is this? It's delicious!"
The soft pancake was wrapped around sautéed vegetables and sausages, bursting with flavor. Her eyes lit up.
Tonks was notoriously hopeless in the kitchen. Most mornings she either grabbed something on the go or skipped breakfast altogether. Magical cooking was a thing, sure—but it only worked well if you already knew how to cook. Otherwise, all the floating utensils and sizzling pans in the world wouldn't save the meal from disaster.
It was the same principle behind housekeeping spells: you could only use them effectively if you actually understood the tasks they were meant to automate.
"This is called an omelet," George explained calmly. "It's made with eggs and flour. The vegetables inside are shredded green peppers and carrots."
Tonks didn't really follow the details, but she still gave him a thumbs up between bites. "Didn't expect you to be so good at cooking. At this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if you ended up in Hufflepuff!"
George froze for a second.
"…Hufflepuff?"
Then he shook his head, laughing under his breath. It wasn't like he had anything against Hufflepuff. While he preferred Gryffindor, he recognized that every house had its strengths and weaknesses.
Still, he didn't think Hufflepuff suited him very well. The house prized loyalty, honesty, hard work, and dedication—not exactly traits he identified with. Sure, he could cook, but that was more due to necessity than any inherent diligence or kindness.
The reason many Hufflepuff graduates ended up in food-related jobs probably had more to do with their dormitory's proximity to the kitchen than any natural affinity.
After breakfast, Tonks guided George through the estate inheritance process, starting with the biggest step: a visit to the Ministry of Magic.
"Hold on to my arm, and brace yourself. Side-Along Apparition isn't the most comfortable way to travel, but it'll be over quickly," Tonks instructed, offering him her arm.
George gripped it firmly. She gave a quick nod, then raised her wand.
"Apparition!"
Pop!
The world disappeared into darkness.
George felt as if he were being sucked through a narrow rubber tube—his lungs compressed, his eyes pushed back into their sockets, his ears ringing from the pressure. Every inch of his body felt squashed.
Then, just as suddenly, it ended.
He gasped and blinked in the sudden burst of light.
"Ugh… no wonder not all wizards like traveling this way…" George muttered, staggering slightly.
"You'll get used to it!" Tonks laughed and patted his back. "Come on, let's get you registered."
They walked into the Ministry's atrium, and George couldn't help but look around in awe.
"So this is the Ministry of Magic…"
The floor beneath them was polished dark wood that gleamed like glass. The peacock-blue ceiling shimmered with golden magical symbols, shifting and rearranging like a living bulletin board. Fireplaces lined the walls on both sides—enchanted gilded hearths from which witches and wizards appeared and vanished in bursts of green flame.
In the center stood a massive fountain adorned with five statues: a proud wizard with a wand, a graceful witch, and three magical creatures—a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf—all gazing up at the central figures with expressions of reverence.
The statues were twice the size of real people—and made entirely of solid gold.
George narrowed his eyes slightly. That imagery wasn't accidental.
Near the fountain, a wizard from the Daily Prophet stood selling newspapers to passersby. "Daily Prophet, ladies and gentlemen! Get your Daily Prophet!"
Four hours later, at precisely noon, George finally completed the long and tedious inheritance process.
With another uncomfortable pop, he and Tonks Apparated back to the potion shop.
George sat down and rubbed his temples.
"Looks fancy on the outside, but it's hollow inside… No wonder Voldemort crushed them so easily."
His words were sharp, but not inaccurate.
The Ministry of Magic, for all its grandeur and golden decor, was a mess behind the scenes. Bureaucracy, inefficiency, corruption—every system there creaked under the weight of its own incompetence.
If Tonks hadn't been there to guide him through the process, he doubted he could've inherited the estate at all.
Still, the trip hadn't been a complete waste. He'd seen plenty of fascinating magical artifacts, clever tools enchanted by alchemy, and office-use spells designed for everyday convenience.
He had learned something important today.
Magic in the Harry Potter world wasn't about overwhelming power. It rarely produced the large-scale destruction seen in Marvel's world. But that didn't make it weak.
In many ways, it was even more dangerous—precisely because it was so subtle.
It was idealistic, abstract, and unpredictable. You couldn't always judge a spell's power by its appearance. A simple charm could be more terrifying than a fireball if used the right way.
He was starting to understand the unique logic of this world.
And the more he understood it, the more prepared he would be for what came next.
(End of Chapter 5)