"Is this enough?"
George didn't blink. He slapped a heavy sack of gold onto the counter. The coins clinked with the dull, reassuring sound of wealth.
He had chosen the Eurasian Eagle-Owl for two pragmatic reasons.
First, combat potential. A bird of this size wasn't a pet; it was air support. If he got into a scrap, a raptor with a six-foot wingspan and talons that could crush a fox's skull was a serious asset.
Second, heavy lifting. A standard post owl could carry parcels. This titan could carry him. If things went south, he could potentially use the bird as an emergency extraction mount. It was a pet, a weapon, and a vehicle rolled into one.
"More than enough, sir," the clerk stammered, eyeing the bag which clearly held at least four hundred Galleons. He quickly wrestled the giant bird's cage onto George's trolley before the boy could change his mind. "He eats a lot. Rabbits, mostly. Best of luck!"
With his aerial asset secured, George headed to his final and most critical destination: Flourish and Blotts.
The bookstore was relatively quiet. It was August 3rd. Gilderoy Lockhart's chaotic book signing event was still eighteen days away.
George wasn't here just for the standard Grade 1 curriculum. He needed something specific. Something ancient.
"Wandless magic?" The bookseller looked at him like he had asked for a guide on how to ride a tricycle to the moon. "Nobody sells books on that anymore, lad. It's archaic. Unstable. We use wands for a reason. Precision. Power."
"I'm a history buff," George lied smoothly. "I have a fascination with old-school African and Native American casting methods. Surely there's something in the back? A dusty old tome nobody wants?"
He slid twenty Galleons across the counter.
The bookseller's eyes flicked to the gold. He hesitated, then held up four fingers.
"Special order. Rare import fees. Forty Galleons."
"Done," George said instantly, doubling the stack of gold.
He knew he was being fleeced. The book probably cost five Galleons. But the markup didn't matter. In the Marvel Universe, where he had no wand, learning the somatic components of magic—hand gestures and will—was the only way to access his power. Without it, he was just a guy with a headache.
"Three days," the bookseller grinned, sweeping the gold into his pocket. "I'll have it for you."
"I'll be back in three."
George pushed his overloaded trolley back toward Knockturn Alley, humming a tune. The giant owl hooted ominously at passersby, clearing a path through the crowd.
Back in the safety of the apothecary, George released the Eagle-Owl into the bedroom. He tossed it a dead rabbit from the pet store.
"Eat up. Stay quiet. And don't bite the guests."
The giant bird looked at him, tilted its head, and gave a surprisingly gentle nod.
For a normal eleven-year-old, this bird would be a nightmare to handle. But George had two advantages.
One, his physical strength was augmented by his Marvel body. He could handle the bird's weight easily.
Two, his telepathy. Subject 757's psychic powers were weak against complex human minds, but against the simple, instinct-driven mind of an animal? He was Dr. Dolittle. He could push suggestions, calm aggression, and form a bond far deeper than mere training.
"Maybe I should look into Magizoology," George mused. "With my telepathy, I could give Newt Scamander a run for his money."
He sat down at his desk and pulled out two books from his stack: The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 and Magical Theory.
"Herbology, History of Magic, Potions... those can wait," he muttered, pushing the other books aside. "I need combat-ready spells. Now."
He cracked open the books and began to read.
Hours passed. The sun set over London.
"Damn," George rubbed his eyes, tossing a half-eaten loaf of bread onto the table. "Movies make this look way too easy."
In the films, you waved a stick and things happened. In reality? It was like learning a programming language while conducting an orchestra.
According to Magical Theory, successful casting required a triad of components:
The Core: Magical blood. Without mana, you were just waving a stick. He had that covered.The Incantation: Precise pronunciation, pitch, and intent. A slip of the tongue could cause a backfire or a dud.The Somatic: The wand movement. It wasn't random flailing; it was geometry. The angle, the wrist flick, the speed—it all channeled the energy.
And that was for beginners. High-level wizards could bypass the vocal and somatic components through sheer mental discipline, but that required mastery of the underlying laws of magic.
"Softening Charm... Severing Charm... Alohomora... Wingardium Leviosa..."
George scanned the index of Grade 1 Spells.
Most of them were utility. The Severing Charm at this level was meant for cutting cloth, not enemies. He wasn't going to be slicing off heads anytime soon.
"Alohomora," he circled the Unlocking Charm.
That was the priority.
In the Marvel lab, he wore a Mutant Inhibitor Collar. It was electronic, but it had a physical lock mechanism. If he could use Alohomora wandlessly to bypass the lock, his powers would return.
And the facility doors. If he could unlock the secure zones, his escape route would open up.
"Transfiguration would be better," he sighed, looking at his Guide to Transfiguration. "Turning a sentry gun into a turtle? Useful."
But Transfiguration was notoriously difficult. It was exact science. If he messed up the formula, he might half-transfigure a gun and make it explode in his face. Even Hermione Granger struggled with it early on. Without a teacher, trying to learn it in a few days was suicide.
"Keep it simple," George decided. "Unlock the door. Unleash the mutant."
He raised his wand.
"Alohomora."
Nothing happened.
"Again."