Class began right at one, with not a single person late, though Neville managed to arrive with only a few seconds to spare.
"Welcome back to Herbology, children, where I will introduce you to the marvelous world of magical plants!" Professor Sprout said brightly, her smile never faltering. "Be warned though, magical plants are very different from ordinary ones, and they will punish carelessness."
She flicked her wand toward a vine-like plant in a pot tucked beneath a curtain of shadow.
"Today, we will start gently, with something simple, like Devil's Snare," she continued.
"Lumos," she cast, and a bright light flared at the tip of her wand, spilling across the plant.
The shadowy mass of vines recoiled almost instantly, writhing away from the glow as if it were in pain.
"You see, Devil's Snare is a relatively simple plant, but it loathes light and fire," Sprout said. "It is well known for strangling anything that falls into its grasp."
She ended the spell and let the plant settle down again, its tendrils slowly relaxing as the shadows returned.
The rest of the lesson was spent learning about Devil's Snare and other similar plants, most of them either temperamental, dangerous, or both. Julian and Harry spent most of the time hunched over their notes, trying to keep up with the steady flow of information. Daphne and Tracey, on the other hand, were completely in their element, moving through the greenhouse like they had grown up in one. Which, given their backgrounds, was not all that surprising.
...
Lunch came and went afterward, but Harry was not in the best state of mind, still chewing on the earlier conversation about Ron. Daphne and Tracey gave him space, not pressing, quietly choosing not to pry.
The second Herbology session ran much like the first, packed full of explanations and plant properties, enough that it hardly needed much extra description. By the end of it, most of the class felt as if their brains had been turned into overworked compost.
Julian and Harry said goodbye to Daphne and Tracey when the lesson was over. Harry headed back to the common room, while Julian turned his steps toward the library.
Let us see what I can pull out of these, he thought, drawing the two fundamental magic books out of Greed once he found a quiet spot.
The books were dry in the extreme, dense with definitions and structured explanations. They read exactly like heavy academic textbooks, more concerned with clarity than entertainment. Julian had expected that, though, and kept going regardless. He needed as solid a foundation as he could get.
He had chosen to read in the library partly because few of his fellow first year Gryffindors would willingly venture in there unless forced. A certain bushy haired girl was drifting through the aisles, intent on hunting down her own targets, but Julian ignored her. She was an exception, not the rule.
Three hours later, he finally closed the first book and rubbed his forehead, stretching his back until it popped.
I would much rather be forging right now, but I really do need this theory, he thought, wincing a little at the lingering ache from trying to cram so many new concepts into his head at once.
Magic was staggeringly complicated, regardless of how simple it sometimes looked from the outside. It demanded a deep understanding of concepts that did not seem important at first glance.
The Law of Depletion, for example, stated that when a spell was cast, the energy was not destroyed, but dispersed into the ambient environment. In most situations, that did not matter. It was a bit of trivia, something that might earn you points on an exam and not much else.
But in the few specific cases where a spell, enchantment, or potion required a location free of foreign magic, it became critically important. In those spaces, any spellcasting at all, even a light charm, was forbidden, or the conditions would be ruined.
As it happened, there were a handful of potions that demanded exactly that: a preparation area with no lingering magic. As a result, they were considered incredibly difficult to brew.
Not for me, Julian thought with a small smirk as he slid the finished book back onto a nearby shelf.
He checked the clock.
I have an hour until dinner. Not enough time to properly get through the other one, he decided, eyeing the second book.
He slipped the remaining volume back into Greed, stood up, and left the library behind.
...
Julian made his way to one of the disused classrooms on the third floor and began evaluating them with a critical eye, searching for one that might serve as a proper workshop.
There were several reasons for choosing a normal classroom over the Room of Requirement, even though the latter would have made an excellent workshop on a practical level.
The first reason was proximity. Professor Flitwick's office was nearby, which meant the area would naturally deter troublemakers. Despite his height, the Charms professor was both highly respected and an accomplished duelist. Very few students would risk mischief close to his door.
More importantly, Flitwick had goblin blood. Goblins revered skilled craftsmen, and Julian was counting on that particular cultural trait running strong enough in the professor that, once he realized what Julian was doing, he would zealously protect the workshop as a place of craft.
The second reason was about suspicion, or rather, avoiding it. If Julian simply vanished into the castle every day with no one able to say where he went, people would start asking questions he would rather not answer.
Having a publicly known workshop solved that neatly. If everyone knew that he could usually be found in a certain disused classroom, tinkering with rings and enchantments, then his absence from the common room or library would not feel strange. Students would know where to look for him, which turned his "disappearances" into something perfectly mundane.
That tied into his final reason: business.
Julian intended to set up a small shop of sorts in that room, a place where anyone could come and commission enchanted rings from him. Building a reputation as a skilled enchanter would not only bring in materials and favors, it would also be essential to one of his long term plans.
He would need that public image one day, to explain away the fact that he did not seem to age. If people already believed that he was wearing one of his own creations to slow or halt his aging, much like Flamel had used the Philosopher's Stone, then his agelessness could be dismissed as a quirk of craft, instead of something far stranger.