High above the clouds, Theodore guided his Owlblade down through the vapour and let it settle. Cool currents threaded his body; a faint gold-bronze sheen rippled over his skin.
Compared to a month ago, the difference was obvious. Under the steady intake of Dining on Wind & Drinking Dew, his Copper Skin & Iron Bones had toughened. Muscle and sinew felt denser; raw strength surged—at least twenty per cent up by his own reckoning. Tearing a tiger or a panther? No longer a boast. Even several dangerous magical creatures that gave adult wizards trouble—he was confident he could handle bare-handed.
And that wasn't the only gain. Bathed in that airy trickle, his magical power had climbed a tier as well: from "just enough to pass Hogwarts' gate" to comfortably above average. He couldn't match an outlier like Harry, whose core was swollen by a shard of Voldemort's soul, but when he compared himself to Hermione, they were nearly neck-and-neck in raw magic. Layer on Seven-Apertures Heart—his control and learning speed—and "magical prodigy" wasn't bragging. Better yet, Dining on Wind & Drinking Dew would keep nudging his core upward, and when he eventually paired it with Sun & Moon Essence, the curve would steepen again. Given time, surpassing Harry—perhaps even Dumbledore or Voldemort—in reserve wasn't impossible.
In the meantime, he'd burned through every text he had, and "borrowed" his way through half the used shelf at Flourish and Blotts. Everything through third-year theory sat neatly filed in his head. Most common charms were now second nature—even with a staff that wasn't ideal for modern gesturework. As for the staff-fighting itself, with Seven-Apertures Heart smoothing every hitch, his form felt purified—stripped to essentials.
Theodore smiled.
"At this level, nothing in first year counts as dangerous anymore."
The three-headed dog wouldn't bite through him. With staff in hand, he could give it a masterclass in Dog-Beating Stick Technique.
Devil's Snare? It wasn't strangling Copper Skin & Iron Bones.
Key swarms and enchanted chess? Child's play.
Only the man with two faces posed a sliver of risk—but even there, Quirrell's clumsy reflexes had dragged Voldemort down so far that first-year Harry managed. Not exactly terrifying.
"As for second year—if I met that thousand-year basilisk right now…" He ran the maths. Sneak attacks were off the table; with Windriding, shifts in air and the metallic tang of reptile breath would give the serpent away long before it struck. Fighting eyes shut was fine—his staffwork was more than up to it. Unless a venomous fang landed cleanly, stray blows wouldn't trouble his hide. And even if a fang connected, he doubted it would punch through in one go; the venom's onset would slow drastically.
"In short: if we met today, the basilisk gets rag-dolled."
"Hogwarts… safe."
Confidence settled warm in his chest. He flicked his gaze to the pane:
[Connections: King's Uncle Bi Gan (Life-and-Death); Spirit Crane (Close Friend); young Deng Chanyu (Close Friend); Yuan Hong (Acquaintance); Forge Sect Master (Acquaintance); Beast-Taming Master (Acquaintance).]
At a glance, not much had changed—but the Close Friend tag beside Hermione was fading toward Life-and-Death, the letters thickening day by day. One more catalyst, and he'd claim the Five-Coloured Stones—the same stones Deng Chanyu used to blacken the eyes of immortals. Meanwhile, his ties with Ollivander and Warwick had ripened to the brink of Close Friend. Fire-at-Will and Beast Rearing felt imminent—a day or two at most. With the right push… sooner.
Theodore narrowed his eyes, drew a steady breath, and strode into Diagon Alley.
"Term's almost here. Time to move first and pocket both gifts today."
Hermione was already seated at their now-traditional table, a smile tugging her lips—half excited, half tense.
"Theodore, the day after tomorrow we head to King's Cross. We're so close to Hogwarts." She exhaled. "I'm getting nervous. Hogwarts: A History says the Sorting includes a mysterious trial. I've checked books and asked around—everyone says it's very, very difficult. Is it an exam? Practical magic? Which subject should I revise most?"
Theodore couldn't help a laugh. Wizarding Britain took its freshman hazing seriously—from textbooks to grown wizards, everyone kept the joke alive. Even the Malfoys, with all that aristocratic polish, had spooked Draco with ominous hints. If you'd been caught in the rain, why wouldn't you yank umbrellas from the next lot?
"Relax," he said. "If you couldn't pass, Hogwarts would have to send all its first-years home."
It wasn't flattery. With his tutoring, Hermione had essentially finished year one already—several topics into year two, if he was honest. Compared with the original timeline's self-study climb, this Hermione was leagues stronger.
A thought flitted by: when he drew in "spirit-breath," if Hermione happened to be nearby, did some of that gently bleed into her? Would it raise her magical ceiling over time? If so… her future might be frightening.
For now, though, he kept that to himself. Until they officially crossed into Life-and-Death bond territory, he wasn't advertising a talent that passively grew magic. Voldemort had butchered his body and soul to inch stronger; if word got out that Theodore grew his core by breathing above the clouds, trouble would follow.
"Since term's so close," he said instead, "let's take today off. No studying. I'll pop round to say my goodbyes to Mr Ollivander and Mr Warwick."
Hermione nodded, then brightened. "Oh! On my way in I saw a sweets shop doing a special. Their honey-lemon is supposed to be brilliant—the queue was massive. You go ahead; I'll grab two and meet you back here." She slipped away.
Theodore drew a steadying breath, heat kindling in his eyes, and pushed into Warwick's Magical Menagerie.
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