Julian packed up his books and headed down to dinner. No matter how busy he was, he had no intention of missing Hogwarts food if he could help it.
For him, it was just another evening meal. For the teachers, though, it was something else entirely.
Dumbledore made a point of asking the staff who had taught Julian that day how he had done in their classes. Madam Hooch and Professor Sinistra both gave their reports, with Hooch in particular emphasizing the boy's extraordinary talent for flying.
She detailed each odd incident with the broom, including the way it had "malfunctioned" straight into Malfoy's face and broken his nose.
Dumbledore was surprised by that part. It made him think again of Julian's unusual wand, its rare core, and the strange interactions he had already witnessed. He wondered whether the wand and its peculiar nature might be linked to these anomalies.
He had no doubts about Julian's talent. The boy had demonstrated that repeatedly. What he struggled to pin down was the boy's true nature.
From what he had seen through the memories of others, Julian was cunning and loyal, but capable of a vicious temper and sharp mockery. He had already shown a willingness to twist rules to his advantage and push against boundaries without technically breaking them.
The headmaster had always watched events from a distance, through the minds of those directly involved, but he was deeply reluctant to attempt probing Julian's mind again after the last time.
Dumbledore had struggled to sleep for weeks afterward, haunted by the scenes he glimpsed during that failed Legilimency attempt.
On the other side of the staff table, one presence was silently cursing every mention of Julian's name. Voldemort.
At first, he had assumed Dumbledore's interest was purely about controlling the boy, guiding him away from a path similar to Voldemort's own. Now he realized that was only half the truth.
The old wizard was genuinely intrigued by Julian. He actively collected information about him, listening carefully to every observation.
For Voldemort, that was a problem.
It meant the boy was, at the moment, outside his reach. Any sudden "accident" would attract far too much attention from Dumbledore and the rest of the staff.
He found this infuriating, but he was forced to shelve any plans involving Julian for now. He would wait until summer, when he intended to have a new body, courtesy of the Philosopher's Stone. Then he could revisit the issue with far fewer constraints.
Julian, oblivious to the silent war at the staff table, was calmly demolishing his plate, piling on neatly eaten portions of protein heavy food.
Ron, by comparison, looked like a walking disaster. His face and hands were smeared with grease and crumbs from his messy eating habits.
I wonder if the elves can make ramen, Julian thought suddenly, the craving hitting from nowhere. I should test that this weekend if I have time.
There was no seafood on the table that night, which was a shame. Julian had always loved seafood. The lack of it only made the ramen idea more appealing.
Once he finished eating and had quietly topped up his dessert stash in Greed, he headed straight to bed. Tomorrow's schedule promised to be interesting, with Transfiguration coming after DADA and the usual slog of History of Magic.
Unlike with most other subjects, Julian knew for a fact he was gifted at Transfiguration. His wand description literally contained the phrase "Supreme Transfiguration."
His dilemma was not whether he could perform the spells, but how far he dared to push it without provoking McGonagall.
Do I just turn the match into a simple silver needle, like the book says? Or do I transform it into actual Damascus steel? Is that going too far? Should I add patterns on top of that? he wondered as he drifted off.
...
"I see you are acclimating yourself to your surroundings before returning to forging. Good."
The elf appeared in his dreams again, voice calm and faintly approving.
"Perhaps if I had done the same, instead of falling prey to my own pride, things would not have ended for me as they did," he added with a melancholy sigh.
The dream shattered, and Julian woke at dawn once more.
Did he show up just because he felt like it, or was there a real reason? Julian wondered, unsettled. Two sentences and gone.
He pushed the thought aside for now and cracked open the ancient book again, careful to keep the text angled away from the rest of the room. If anyone else woke up early, he did not want them getting a look at it.
Sure enough, someone did.
A bushy haired brunette emerged from the dorm, looking very much like she had bitten into something sour the moment she spotted him reading.
She could not leave yet, since curfew would not end until seven when breakfast began, so she was stuck in the common room, simmering in silent annoyance.
Hermione tried to edge close enough to see what he was reading, but Julian was having none of it.
She was far too competitive, and if she got a glimpse of the script, there was a real chance she would obsessively try to identify the language.
That would be very bad for him.
So he subtly shifted the book, blocked her angle, and resolutely refused to let her see a single line.
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