The strength coiling through his muscles told Theodore everything he needed to know.
Copper Skin & Iron Bones wasn't just "blades don't pierce, fire and water don't harm, banes don't bite, lifespan extended." Yuan Hong—before attaining the Way—had been a white-ape born wrong and right, the sort who could pull tigers apart for sport. You didn't get that kind of durability without the power to carry it.
He drove a testing punch through the air.
The room cracked.
A hard pop of compressed air, then his fist met the wall—spiderweb fissures burst outward, and a neat fist-sized dent cupped his knuckles. No flare of pain. No sting. His skin felt… unruffled. Breeze on stone.
Attack and defense in one blow.
"Not bad for someone who could go even with Erlang," he murmured, pleased. "Beats Parseltongue, mind-reading tricks, or a well-phrased speech, doesn't it?"
"Oh, right—and the century-plus on the back end."
He couldn't help the grin. "Voldemort murdered and mutilated himself for longevity and still lived miserably. If he knew I got lifespan for making friends with Hagrid, he'd—well. He'd cry."
And if he could pry Staff Mastery out of this relationship next? Yes, please.
He flexed his hand once, giddy, and stepped out of the washroom.
Hagrid eyed him, uneasy. "Did yeh hear somethin' a moment ago, Theodore? Thought I heard a thud. And—" He rubbed his arms. "Got a prickle down the spine. Felt like a very dangerous creature was in the room. Conservatively a 5X."
Theodore paused. Had some of the Primordial aura leaked when he claimed the talent? Reasonable. Even a thread of white-ape pressure would spook anyone who loved dangerous beasts for a living.
"Thud was the loo seat," Theodore said mildly. "As for the creature—this is the Muggle world. I didn't even know magical creatures were real before you. Maybe the fossils got to you?"
Hagrid scratched his beard, still frowning, then let it go. "Suppose so. Anyway—time's runnin'. Best get yeh to the wizardin' world. Plenty to buy."
His gaze slid back to the skeletons—the Triceratops, impressive as it was, lost ground to fanged silhouettes. He dithered between velociraptor and pterosaur.
Theodore spared him. "Take both. Pterosaur and raptor. If you call me a friend, don't argue—show me more magical creatures later, and we're even."
"Merlin's—thank yeh!" Hagrid flushed, huge and delighted. He thumped his chest and promised, loudly, to escort Theodore into the Forbidden Forest to see "proper lovely things."
Theodore's smile tilted. The bond had warmed. Good. A Christmas delivery of a T. rex rib might push Hagrid across the line to Close Friend—and from there, Life-and-Death wouldn't be far for a man with a heart that size.
Staff Mastery. Eight-Nine Arcana. The future waved.
They left the house together.
No Apparition; either Hagrid wasn't fond of it or didn't trust it with passengers. Theodore didn't mind. The books described Apparition like being rammed down a flushing pipe. He wasn't desperate to try that sensation.
And mis-splinching with Hagrid as your pilot? Pass.
The flying motorbike, on the other hand, was a dream.
He slid into the sidecar. The engine howled. They punched up through cloud. With Windriding whispering at his skin, Theodore felt no fear at all; he opened his arms to the wind.
"Woo-hoo!" he whooped, laughing. "Again!"
"Got broom in your blood, you have," Hagrid called, grinning. "This bike's a beast, mind—bit much for a first go. Join the Quidditch team and we'll talk."
They dipped. Below, an old brick pub showed its crooked grin.
"The Leaky Cauldron," Hagrid said, bringing them down to the back yard.
Reluctantly, Theodore climbed out of the sidecar. He was getting himself something that flew. In the Muggle world, he wasn't old enough for licences. In the wizarding world, a broom didn't require one.
This year: Nimbus 2000. Two years on: Firebolt.
He was making a list.
Hagrid tapped bricks in a precise rhythm. With a grind and shuffle, the wall folded itself away into an arch, and Diagon Alley spilled into view—bottles and owls and robes and steam, and magic like sunlight through a prism.
Even after books and films, the real thing dazzled. Theodore drank it in, eyes bright.
"Welcome to the wizardin' world," Hagrid said, pleased. "You'll be seeing a lot of it."
He jerked a thumb down the street. "First stop—Gringotts. We'll change your money."
Theodore nodded—and the System hummed somewhere just beneath the sound of the crowd.
Voldemort, he thought, would weep if he knew what friendship could buy.
And then he followed Hagrid into the press, toward goblin-run vaults and a different kind of danger.