Chapter 7: Admission Letters and Owls
That night, George's consciousness returned once again to his main body in the Marvel world. It was another day of sweat-drenched training—intense, exhausting, but otherwise uneventful.
Still, his instincts told him that the prison break was near.
He noticed something odd: the group of mutant children now had a new comic book in their hands, and the title was Uncanny X-Men.
That was a problem. He still hadn't figured out the timeline or history of this universe. If X-Men existed as both real people and as a comic book franchise, then mutants must have been famous at some point. So why was there still a Super Soldier program? Why did Captain America exist? The inconsistencies were piling up.
He'd have to escape the facility first. Then he could dig through history to understand what was really going on.
Back in the Harry Potter World – Early Morning
When George retrieved the Daily Prophet from the mailbox outside the shop, he noticed an extra envelope tucked underneath.
"It's finally here."
The envelope was pale yellow, the address written in emerald green ink: Knockturn Alley, Mr. George, Merton's Potion Shop.
It was the reissued Hogwarts acceptance letter.
Even though Scrimgeour and Tonks had both assured him it would arrive, holding the letter in his hands still made George's heart race.
Hogwarts. A real school of magic. He'd be learning spells soon. Real spells.
Who could possibly resist the allure of magic?
"Time to Go Shopping."
He wolfed down breakfast, then stepped out of Merton's Potion Shop in high spirits, the admissions letter and required school supplies list in hand.
Unfortunately, his good mood didn't last long.
"Well, if it isn't little Dora. Heard you're headed back to Hogwarts. Out shopping for supplies, are we?"
An old wizard with greasy hair and a hunched back was leaning in the doorway of the shop opposite. His eyes glinted with something between amusement and malice.
"Good morning, Mr. Borgin," George said politely, though inwardly tense. "Yes, I'm just buying some textbooks. Also, my name is George now."
Borgin. The oldest and most dangerous dark wizard in all of Knockturn Alley. His store, Borgin and Burkes, was infamous. It dealt in cursed objects, banned artifacts, and provided "confidential" appraisals of rare magical items.
Voldemort himself had once worked there as a young man. It was through connections at this very shop that he had acquired and crafted two Horcruxes.
Borgin was the one person George was most worried about. If this old vulture decided George wasn't worth the trouble, then none of the other dark wizards in Knockturn Alley would dare to target him.
"Well, well. Such a polite young man," Borgin said, his smile sharp. "I saw that lovely Auror lady had lunch at your place yesterday."
George's smile didn't falter. In fact, it only grew sunnier. "Yes, Sister Tonks enjoyed the meal quite a bit. She said she'll be back—with her colleagues and even Uncle Scrimgeour next time."
Borgin's eyes narrowed slightly. "Sounds like quite a gathering."
George tilted his head innocently. "Not at all. I enjoy cooking. Maybe next time I'll make more—Mr. Borgin, would you like to join us and try my food?"
There was a flicker of something—surprise? Disgust? Wariness?—in Borgin's expression before he quickly withdrew.
"No need for that," he said curtly, disappearing into the shadows of his shop.
George watched him go and muttered under his breath, "If you so much as look at me the wrong way, old man, I'll take your shop and bury you with it."
Diagon Alley
After composing himself, George left Knockturn Alley and stepped into the bright, bustling streets of Diagon Alley. The narrow darkness of his usual surroundings was replaced by open avenues full of sunlight and cheer. Children tugged at parents' robes, shopkeepers shouted out deals, and owls hooted lazily in cages.
"Dragon liver! Sixteen Sickles an ounce!"
"Copper, brass, pewter—foldable cauldrons with auto-stirring charms, all models in stock!"
"Gray owls, screech owls, grass owls, brown owls, snowy owls—we've got all the pets you'll ever need!"
"Nimbus 2001—the fastest broomstick on the market! You know you want it!"
George didn't hold back. He was determined to buy only the best supplies. Poor students often carried more odds and ends, but quality gear made a big difference in magic. He had the money—why skimp?
Two hours later, George was pushing a cart overflowing with goods.
"Uniforms, check. Cauldron, check. Telescope, potion bottles, scales… all that's left is books—and a pet."
He had even managed to buy his wand quickly, after testing just a few. It was a good fit—responsive, balanced, and compatible with his magic.
The only time-consuming part had been the uniform fitting, which involved precise magical measurements.
"Ah, the Owl Shop."
He finally stopped in front of Eeylops Owl Emporium.
"Let's get an owl," he muttered.
Of all the Hogwarts-allowed pets, he believed owls were the most useful. Magical owls were not only intelligent, but came with a natural sense of direction—an innate magical positioning ability. Unless the recipient was using a shielding charm, the owl would always find them.
More than that, magical owls were strong. A good one could deliver packages weighing up to twenty kilograms.
He didn't want a cute pet. He wanted something functional.
"Welcome to Eeylops Owl Emporium, sir," a clerk greeted him warmly. "What kind of owl are you looking for?"
"That one," George said immediately, pointing.
The clerk's expression shifted to surprise.
"Are you sure about that?"
"Positive," George said.
The clerk hesitated, then leaned in slightly. "Just so you know… that owl costs ten times the usual amount. One hundred Galleons."
George had chosen a Eurasian eagle-owl—nearly a meter tall when standing. Most buyers were adult wizards with specific uses for such creatures. The idea of a Hogwarts student buying one? Practically unheard of.
Besides the price, most parents didn't feel comfortable letting their kids handle such a powerful, potentially dangerous animal.
But George didn't flinch. "Wrap it up."
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