"It seems he's really dead."
After waiting for about five minutes and seeing no movement from the Old Wizard, George cautiously pushed open the door and stepped inside. He checked for breathing, and only after confirming the man was truly dead did he exhale in relief.
A seventy- or eighty-year-old Dark Wizard was not someone he could have beaten in a fair fight. The old man could have simply thrown up a Shield Charm and knocked him unconscious with the simplest Stupefy. To live to such an age as a Dark Wizard meant he had plenty of tricks up his sleeve—and probably a few hidden trump cards. George had only succeeded with a sneak attack because the old man hadn't been on guard at all.
Once he was certain of the death, George composed himself, put on an expression of panic, pushed open the shop door, and ran out toward Diagon Alley. Shouting in Knockturn Alley was a terrible idea—it wouldn't draw Aurors, but rather, Dark Wizards with far worse intentions.
"Oh no, oh no! Mr. Merton was injured while brewing a potion! Someone please help him!"
Reaching Diagon Alley, he began yelling frantically, his face a mask of panic and fear, as though his own father had just died. His acting worked; two Aurors on patrol quickly hurried toward him.
"Take us there, now!"
Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley were patrolled around the clock by Aurors to keep incidents quiet and the Ministry's reputation untarnished—especially that of the Minister for Magic. It was the start of the school year, and many young witches and wizards were shopping with their parents, so the Ministry couldn't afford any trouble.
Inside Merton's Potion Shop, a young witch with short pink hair and a heart-shaped face was reporting to a middle-aged wizard who stood across from George.
"Director Scrimgeour, after examining the scene, we found no traces of a second wand's magic and no missing property. We can rule out murder. It appears to be an accidental death caused by potion brewing."
The man nodded, satisfied. "A thorough analysis, Tonks. Seems Mad-Eye's been teaching you well. Keep studying under him, and you'll make a fine Auror in two years."
"Professor Moody may have a bad temper," Tonks replied with a proud smile, "but it's an honor to learn from him."
Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody had long since retired, but he was still a legend among Aurors; more than half of the Dark Wizards in Azkaban were captured by him. Getting trained by such a man was something most apprentice Aurors could only dream of.
George, listening quietly, frowned slightly as memories from his previous life surfaced. Scrimgeour… the head of the Auror Office—Rufus Scrimgeour, who later becomes Minister for Magic. He remembered the man's fate: after replacing Cornelius Fudge, Scrimgeour took a firm stand against Voldemort and the Death Eaters… and was brutally killed for it.
And Tonks—Nymphadora Tonks, a Metamorphmagus who could change her appearance at will. If memory served, she would later marry Professor Lupin. So this was her before becoming a full Auror—fresh, bright, and full of potential. From this angle, Professor Lupin really did rob the cradle, he thought wryly.
Still, the important thing was that both Scrimgeour and Tonks were good people—upright Aurors. That was a blessing. Not every Auror could be trusted. The Ministry was riddled with corruption, and plenty of Aurors had their hands in the muck. If he'd drawn the attention of a greedy one, who knew how much of this "inheritance" would actually end up his.
"What a poor child," Tonks murmured softly, glancing at George with sympathy. "Finally adopted, and now an orphan again."
Scrimgeour shook his head. "That's not necessarily a bad thing for him."
Years of experience had taught him exactly what kind of people lived in Knockturn Alley. The boy's thin frame and scarred skin told their own story. To him, this was probably a mercy—an escape. "At least now," Scrimgeour said quietly, "he can inherit some fortune and attend Hogwarts."
He turned to George. "Child, your name is Dora, right? Since Mr. Merton has passed, and you're his only relative, you'll inherit his property and funds stored in Gringotts. However, without someone to teach you magic, you'll need to attend Hogwarts for your education."
Both points were exactly what George expected. He nodded readily, showing neither joy nor grief—he knew better than to overact in front of Scrimgeour, a seasoned Auror who could spot deception with ease. Still, he made one simple request.
"Sir, may I change my name? I… don't want to use the name Dora anymore."
It wasn't a name he felt any connection to. "George" sounded far more like himself.
"Of course," Scrimgeour said easily. "Tomorrow, Miss Tonks will accompany you to complete the inheritance procedures. If you wish, she can also help you change your name."
"Don't worry, I'll handle it," Tonks added warmly. She reached out and gently ruffled George's hair, her tone soft and kind. She wasn't naïve—she could guess what kind of life the boy had endured here.
"Thank you, Auror Tonks," George said politely. Having an Auror on his side could be very useful. Knockturn Alley was no place for a child—especially one who'd just inherited a Dark Wizard's wealth. It was like a child walking down the street carrying gold; someone was bound to try and take it. Maybe not openly, but certainly in the shadows.
"What a sensible boy," Tonks said softly. For adults, it wasn't children they disliked—it was misbehaved ones and the indulgent parents who let them run wild. When faced with a polite, well-mannered child, even a tough Auror like her couldn't help but feel protective.
The next morning, Tonks arrived early to take George to the Ministry for paperwork. The inheritance process was surprisingly efficient. The potion shop, its contents, and several vaults in Gringotts were all legally transferred to him. The sum wasn't astronomical, but for an eleven-year-old about to attend Hogwarts, it was more than enough.
Tonks, being a half-Metamorphmagus herself, took care of the bureaucratic details with ease. She even helped George register his new name—"George Merton"—officially recognized by the Ministry. The name "Dora" was erased from all records, and with it, the last tie to his old life.
"Everything's done," Tonks said with a cheerful smile as they left Gringotts. "Now you're officially George Merton, heir to a potion shop and a vault full of Galleons. Not bad for a kid, huh?"
George smiled faintly. "Thank you, Miss Tonks."
"Call me Tonks," she said, waving a hand. "Everyone does—except my mum. And she's the only one who calls me Nymphadora."
George almost laughed. He remembered that line—she'd say it even years later.
They walked through Diagon Alley together, the air filled with chatter and the scent of new books and sweets from Honeydukes. For the first time since waking up in this world, George allowed himself to relax. Things had gone smoothly—almost too smoothly—but he wasn't foolish enough to lower his guard entirely.
Now that the shop and vault were his, others would notice soon enough. And in a place like Knockturn Alley, wealth was an open invitation to trouble.
As they reached the corner, Tonks crouched slightly, meeting his eyes. "George, I'll report everything to Director Scrimgeour. But if you ever feel unsafe, just owl the Auror Office, alright? I'll come if I can."
George nodded seriously. "I will."
She smiled, her hair shifting colors from pink to sky-blue. "Good lad. Study hard at Hogwarts. Maybe one day you'll be the one saving people like me."
When she finally left, George returned alone to the potion shop. The silence pressed in around him, heavy and strange. The shelves were still lined with jars of ingredients, most labeled in the old man's shaky handwriting. The cauldron, blackened and cracked, sat where it had exploded the night before.
He stood there for a long time.
The old wizard was dead—by his own hand—but George couldn't deny that the man had been a source of knowledge and survival. Cruel as he'd been, he had still taught him a few things about potions, curses, and survival in the underbelly of the wizarding world.
Inheritance, he thought, looking around. What I've inherited isn't just money. It's a chance.
A chance to change his fate.
In this world of wands and spells, where power decided everything, being weak meant being trampled. He had no intention of staying weak. He would go to Hogwarts, learn magic properly, and grow strong enough to protect himself—and maybe even more.
He walked over to the shop's front window. Through the glass, the sunlight spilled across Diagon Alley, golden and bright. Somewhere in that crowd of shoppers were young wizards who would one day become heroes—or villains.
"George Merton," he murmured, tasting the name. "From today, that's who I am."
He locked the door, pocketed the key, and glanced once more at the cauldron where it had all begun.
The path ahead was uncertain—but for the first time, it was his to walk.