The concept of shared abilities meant that as long as his clone could master various kinds of magic in the Harry Potter world, his original self in the Marvel world could use those spells as well. Even though he didn't possess a wand in the Marvel universe, it didn't matter much.
From what he knew, not all magic in the Harry Potter world required a wand. High-level wizards could cast spells without one, and in Africa, wizards traditionally used hand gestures rather than wands.
Wands were simply faster and more effective, so most wizards opted to use them. Eventually, he might even learn to make a wand himself; the Marvel world had plenty of unique materials imbued with special energies, so finding suitable components wasn't out of the question.
Magic in the Harry Potter world wasn't particularly destructive, but it was highly versatile. Some spells seemed to touch upon profoundly advanced rules and principles.
Not to mention, if he could master Apparition, he would be able to escape from most foes in the Marvel universe if a fight turned south.
"But before that, I need to figure out a way to deal with this dark wizard without raising suspicion!"
Killing—if it were George's past self, he wouldn't have dared to contemplate it. In his previous life, he'd been just a regular salaryman. Killing? He'd never even slaughtered a chicken. When he went to the grocery store, he only ever bought pre-processed chicken.
But in this life, over just three months, he'd grown accustomed to it.
In those three months of hands-on training, he'd killed twelve people.
The lab didn't waste resources on failures; as a mutant in training to become an assassin, he practiced not only his abilities but also the skill of taking lives. And the quickest way to learn was through actual combat.
He had no choice—if he didn't kill, he would be killed. It was one of the reasons he was so desperate to escape the lab.
While he wasn't a saint, he did have a bottom line and didn't enjoy indiscriminate killing.
In theory, he could choose to report the dark wizard. At this point in time, if he informed the Ministry of Magic, they would likely handle it.
He also happened to live with the dark wizard in Knockturn Alley, so contacting Aurors would be easy.
Doran wouldn't dare do such a thing—having grown up under the torment of this dark wizard, his fear was deeply ingrained; she would rather die than rebel.
But this approach could come with risks.
If the Aurors failed to act quickly, the dark wizard might escape and take revenge on him.
If he could kill the dark wizard without leaving a trace, he could eliminate future troubles and inherit everything the dark wizard owned.
From Doran's memories, he knew that the dark wizard no longer had any living relatives. If the dark wizard died, he, as an adopted child, would be the sole inheritor.
Besides, he felt he had a solid plan.
First, the dark wizard had no guard up against him. In the dark wizard's eyes, Doran was a timid, powerless child, lacking even a wand.
Secondly, he had the experience of single-handedly using his powers to take down a trained mercenary.
Wizards, if caught off guard, wouldn't react any faster than an average person. Their only advantage was a tougher constitution, making them harder to kill outright.
Finally, since he wasn't using magic or a wand, there was a low chance of drawing the Aurors' attention afterward.
Of course, there was no guarantee this plan would succeed.
But fortune favors the bold. If he succeeded, he would secure a house in this world and gain enough wealth to focus on studying magic in the early stages.
According to his knowledge, the dark wizard had earned a lot of money over the years selling illegal potions.
"You overslept by half an hour today. Do you want me to use a Transfiguration spell to turn you into a rat and roast you over a candle again?"
As George was deep in thought, the door suddenly swung open. A bald, elderly man in a black wizard's robe fixed him with a gaze as cold as a snake's.
"Sorry, Mr. Merton, I'll get right to it."
George imitated Doran's usual frightened demeanor, quickly getting dressed.
The old wizard squinted and said, "Little Doran, don't worry. Although I turned down your Hogwarts acceptance letter, as long as you serve me well like before, I'll teach you some powerful magic that won't be any worse than what they offer at Hogwarts."
"Powerful magic? It's probably just cleaning and cooking spells."
George sneered internally but kept his obedient facade.
When he emerged from the cramped room, the sun was just rising. It was around 6:30 a.m.
"It's night in Marvel and day here. That actually works out well."
Controlling two bodies simultaneously still felt strange, but with one sleeping at night and the other active during the day, he figured he'd have time to adapt.
Leaving the small room, he followed Doran's memories and began his daily chores: preparing the old wizard's breakfast, cleaning the shop, and standing at the door to attract customers.
The potions shop in Knockturn Alley didn't have many regular customers; ordinary wizards wouldn't come here for potions. Diagon Alley had reputable shops.
Most customers in Knockturn Alley were dark wizards or those who didn't strictly follow the Ministry of Magic's rules.
The Ministry usually turned a blind eye to these activities.
Nearly every wizard knew what kind of people resided in Knockturn Alley; the Ministry undoubtedly knew as well. George saw this as a sensible compromise.
Better to let the dark wizards operate openly in Knockturn Alley than scatter across the country unchecked.
Besides, many high-ranking members of the wizarding world required a place like Knockturn Alley.
Even Lucius Malfoy, a prominent figure, occasionally sold his contraband potions and enchanted items here for profit.
Around 4 p.m., George finally saw an opportunity.
"I need to brew a Draught of Madness. Close the shop and guard the entrance. If anyone interrupts me, I'll make you wish for death!"
The old wizard carefully took out a few precious magical herbs and shot a vicious glare at George.
George immediately lowered his head, feigning a trembling voice. "Yes, yes, I won't let anyone disturb you."
The old wizard's threats weren't empty.
Doran had once let a customer interrupt his potion brewing, resulting in a failed batch. In punishment, he'd tortured him with dark magic all night, nearly killing him.
But for George, this was the perfect opportunity to kill the old wizard.
From Doran's memories, he knew that the Draught of Madness was an advanced potion that, once ingested, could drive a person insane.
It was incredibly valuable but also difficult to brew, with a high risk of failure.
Brewing potions, especially advanced ones, was inherently dangerous; every year, wizards died from potion-making mishaps.
As he watched the old wizard retreat to his potion room, George closed the shop doors and crept to the window to spy.
The wizard began processing herbs like Alihoty, Venomous Tentacula, lacewing flies, and the gallbladder of a double-headed serpent, carefully adding them to the cauldron.
Though the old wizard hadn't taught Doran any spells, he'd taught him enough herbology and potions to assist with customers.
Based on Doran's memories, George knew that potion-making at this stage was fraught with danger. The wizard would be deeply focused, casting spells and continuously channeling magic into the concoction.
"Let's make it explode!"
After an hour of watching the old wizard reach the critical stage of brewing, George focused his power, causing a candle stand on the table to tip over and spill into the cauldron.
The half-prepared potion splashed across the table, merging with unused ingredients.
"Damn it!"
The old wizard stopped, a cold sweat instantly breaking out on his forehead.
He tried to cast a defensive spell, but before he could lift his wand, the potion erupted.
The explosion flung him against the wall, where he slumped down, coughing up blood.
"Wizard bodies are definitely tougher than average," George thought, amazed that the seventy or eighty-year-old wizard had survived.
This wasn't just any explosion; the failed potion had unleashed magical backlash and uncontrolled energy, far from a simple blast.
"Let's finish this."
George focused all his power on a chandelier above, straining every ounce of control.
His mutant ability had strengthened since gaining wizard blood. Where before he could control ten kilograms, now he could move at least fifty. Fully developed, he might even surpass the original hundred-kilograms limit.
The explosion had already weakened the chandelier's hold, and with George's full exertion, it snapped and plunged toward the wizard.
"Ah!"
The wizard's scream was cut short as the chandelier pierced his face, impaling his brain.
For most wizards, even severe injuries could be healed with magic, but with a mortal wound like this, survival was unlikely—unless one were a dark lord like Voldemort.