"A year behind. It doesn't matter," George thought, chewing on his bacon. "The magic is the same."
He had been contemplating the Sorting Ceremony. He figured he was a shoe-in for Gryffindor. Bravery was his defining trait right now—he had just transmigrated into a hostile world, formulated an assassination plan within hours, and executed a dark wizard. If that wasn't bold, nothing was.
"Morning, Dorian—oh, sorry. George!"
The shop bell jingled, and a wave of vibrant energy swept into the room. It was Tonks, her hair a cheerful shade of bubblegum pink today.
"Morning, Tonks," George smiled, setting down his fork.
Tonks flopped into the chair opposite him and ruffled his hair. "Don't be so formal. Think of me as your big sister."
George fixed his hair with a practiced sigh of resignation, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he slid a second plate across the table.
"I made extra. Join me."
"How did you know I skipped breakfast?" Tonks' eyes lit up as she snagged a piece of the rolled egg crepe. "Mmm! This is amazing. What's in it?"
Tonks was a disaster in the kitchen. She usually skipped breakfast or grabbed something stale on the run. Magic could speed up cooking, but it couldn't fix a lack of skill. If you couldn't cook manually, magical cooking just resulted in burnt food faster.
"It's a Jianbing," George explained smoothly, adapting the name. "Egg, flour, scallions, sweet bean sauce, and a little sausage."
He didn't know if she had eaten, but being prepared was a low-cost way to buy loyalty.
"You're a wizard in the kitchen," Tonks mumbled through a mouthful. "I bet you anything you'll be a Hufflepuff. They love their food."
George paused. Hufflepuff?
He shook his head slightly. He preferred Gryffindor, but Hufflepuff had its merits. The badger's den was close to the kitchens, sure, but the House wasn't about gluttony. It was about loyalty, patience, and hard work.
Hard work, I have. Loyalty? He glanced at Tonks. Only to those who earn it.
"Ready?" Tonks wiped her mouth and stood up. "We've got a lot of red tape to cut through. First stop: The Ministry of Magic."
"Grab my arm," she instructed, offering her elbow. "This is going to feel... tight. Just breathe."
"Apparition," George nodded, gripping her sleeve.
"Hold on!"
CRACK.
The world vanished.
It felt like being squeezed through a rubber tube. Iron bands tightened around his chest, his eyeballs were pressed back into his skull, and his eardrums screamed. It was suffocating, disorienting, and distinctly unpleasant.
Two seconds later, they popped back into existence. George gasped, steadying himself.
"First time's always the worst," Tonks giggled, steadying him. "Come on. Let's get you registered."
They were standing in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.
George looked around, his eyes widening despite himself.
"Opulent," he murmured.
The floor was dark, polished wood that shone like glass. The ceiling was a peacock blue expanse inlaid with shifting golden symbols, acting as a massive, magical bulletin board.
On both sides of the hall, gilded fireplaces roared with green flames, spitting out witches and wizards every few seconds.
But the centerpiece was the Fountain of Magical Brethren.
Golden statues, larger than life, stood in the middle of a pool. A noble wizard and a beautiful witch were surrounded by a centaur, a goblin, and a house-elf. The non-human beings looked up at the wizarding couple with expressions of adoring subservience.
Pure propaganda, George noted cynically. Gold statues of slaves worshipping their masters.
"Daily Prophet! Get your Daily Prophet!" a vendor shouted near the fountain.
It took four hours.
By noon, after an endless parade of goblin liaisons, inheritance clerks, and name-change officiants, George was finally the legal owner of Merton's Apothecary and its assets.
CRACK.
They reappeared in the shop.
"Rotten to the core," George muttered as he sat down, rubbing his temples.
"What was that?" Tonks asked.
"Nothing. Just tired."
Internally, his assessment of the Ministry was scathing. It was a gilded cage. Beautiful on the outside, but the bureaucracy was bloated, inefficient, and corrupt. If he hadn't had an Auror with him, the clerks would have likely "lost" his paperwork or demanded bribes. It was no wonder Voldemort would eventually take over this place with barely a fight. It was already hollow.
But the trip wasn't a waste.
He had seen the magic of the bureaucracy. Inter-departmental memos that flew like paper airplanes. Enchanted lifts. Quills that took dictation.
Harry Potter magic wasn't about nuking cities. It was about bending the rules of reality. It was conceptual. Functional. And in the right hands?
Terrifying.