"Honestly, what surprises me more is that so few people have actually noticed it," Julian admitted, speaking plainly.
The twins traded a look across the table.
"Do not take this the wrong way, mate," Fred said in an unusually serious tone, "but it is hard to pay attention to anything except your face."
Julian blinked, baffled. "Why?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"It is that wicked scar on your forehead, and those eyes of yours," George replied, just as straightforward. "They are impossible to ignore."
"I get the scar," Julian said, frowning slightly, "but what is so strange about my eyes?"
Again, the twins shared a glance, clearly thinking the answer was obvious.
"We figured you would explain it to us, mate," they said together. "They are golden. Like a hawk's."
Julian's frown deepened. He had quietly assumed the difference he had noticed in the mirror earlier was tied to his wand and the castle itself. Wands were not just tools, after all. They grew and changed with their wielders, evolving along with the wizard bonded to them. Very occasionally, that growth manifested as a physical trait, particularly in the eyes.
Dumbledore was a good example. The tiniest flecks in the headmaster's eyes hinted at phoenix fire, so subtle that most never noticed.
Julian suspected that because his own wand was so unusual, and because Hogwarts was practically overflowing with raw magical energy, his eyes had reacted much more dramatically. Instead of a slow, gradual shift, the color seemed to have flipped almost instantly the moment he arrived on the grounds.
The worst part was the certainty settling in his gut that the change was permanent. A consequence of the deep connection between wand and wizard, not some superficial glamour that would fade with time.
He could not exactly explain all of that without raising questions he was not ready to answer. So he took the safest route he had.
"I have no clue," he said with a shrug that was a touch too casual. Then, before they could press the subject, he smoothly changed course. "But if you are more interested in my ring than my face, I might be able to help with that. I could get you a pair of similar ones, if you are up for a bit of experimenting."
The twins were not stupid. They caught the hint of reluctance when the topic of his eyes lingered and recognized the dangling offer for what it was: a distraction. A very enticing distraction.
They let the eye question drop without argument.
"We can definitely talk rings later," George said cheerfully.
"Hash out the details in private," Fred agreed, grinning.
...
Their conversation ended there, cut short as Professor McGonagall continued down the list of names. Julian did not mind. He watched with interest as the next few students stepped nervously forward, putting on the Sorting Hat one after another.
Just as Julian expected, Harry was eventually called and placed in Gryffindor, sending a wave of excited noise down the red and gold table. It was as if the house had just won a prize. The Boy Who Lived was theirs, and they were thrilled to claim wizarding Jesus for their banner.
Ron was sorted into Gryffindor as well, to the obvious delight of his older brothers. Truthfully, Julian would not have been shocked if the hat had decided to be contrary and dropped Ron into Hufflepuff instead. If any house embodied loyalty, it was that one, and even in the books Ron never truly abandoned his friends, no matter how badly he argued with them. He always came back. That kind of stubborn loyalty would not have been out of place in yellow and black.
When the last student finally left the stool and the Sorting Hat was removed, Dumbledore rose once more and moved to the podium. The hall quieted almost at once.
"I have a few start of term notices to share," he announced pleasantly. "First, please remember that the Forbidden Forest is strictly off limits to all students."
A murmur rippled through the room, a mix of curiosity and disappointment.
"Additionally, our caretaker, Mr Filch, has asked me to remind you that the third floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to anyone who does not wish to die a very painful death," Dumbledore added, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.
That earned him several nervous laughs and a few pale faces, especially among the first years.
"With that said, I believe I have spoken more than enough. I leave you now with four words." His eyes twinkled. "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
As he sat down, the empty plates and serving dishes on the tables suddenly filled from edge to edge, groaning under the weight of food. Roasts, potatoes, vegetables, sauces, and more desserts than any child should reasonably be trusted with appeared in an instant.
Julian reached for the goblet in front of him, eyeing the orange liquid inside, and took a testing sip. He grimaced immediately.
"Pure pumpkin juice tastes a bit odd," he muttered under his breath. "Needs vanilla, honey, and cinnamon."
To his surprise, the juice in his goblet vanished right after he said it. For a brief instant the cup looked empty, then the liquid flowed back into existence, this time a shade darker. Curious, Julian tried another sip.
Now it tasted exactly like pumpkin pie in drinkable form. Warm, sweet, gently spiced. Perfectly acceptable, in his opinion.
"Thanks," he murmured, directing the word toward the air, assuming quite correctly that one or more house elves were listening in and tweaking meals as they heard complaints or comments.
He turned his attention to the food laid out in front of him. It was excellent, no doubt about that, and plentiful. The dishes were mostly British in origin though, rich with roasts, puddings, and vegetables done every which way. It was comforting, but after a while, Julian's cravings wandered elsewhere.
"You know, some tacos would be amazing right about now," he said aloud, half joking and half hopeful.
He grinned when, a few heartbeats later, six supreme tacos materialized on the table right in front of him, complete with all the trimmings. If he had been looking toward the staff table, he would have noticed the same thing appear in front of Dumbledore as well.
The headmaster had been observing Julian since his arrival, his attention sharpened by every oddity. He had taken note of the new ring that shifted shapes, watched how it behaved, and witnessed how Julian interacted with others.
After their previous encounter, Dumbledore had quietly looked into Julian's history. What he found had not soothed his curiosity. The boy might as well have stepped out of thin air a few months prior. There was no long trail of records, no tidy paper trail to follow.
The headmaster had even gone so far as to visit Ollivander and ask which wand had chosen the boy. The answer he received had only raised more questions.
Hagrid, however, had vouched wholeheartedly for Julian's character, which counted for quite a lot. Between that and his own instincts, Dumbledore chose to hold back. He refused to let his unease push him into reckless or heavy-handed action.
When the Sorting Hat finally shouted "Gryffindor," Dumbledore felt a quiet breath of relief leave him. The moment Julian joined the red and gold table, the headmaster relaxed his guard a fraction. Gryffindor, in his experience, was rarely the house chosen by those who embraced true darkness.
So when he noticed Julian experimenting with the house elves, requesting adjustments and new dishes like tacos, Dumbledore's curiosity overtook his caution again.
A soft word later, his own plate bore the same tacos Julian had just received. He picked one up, took a thoughtful bite, and his expression brightened.
Delicious, he decided, and not only in taste. Every little thing Julian did was a new piece on the board, and Dumbledore was determined to understand how they all fit together.