"I already know exactly which classroom I would like to use, assuming you are not too busy to come see it," Julian said, unable to keep the eager note out of his voice. A second later, he remembered that she might very well have other obligations.
"You are in luck today, Mr. Iron," McGonagall replied with a small, approving smile. "I had just finished my work for the day when you arrived."
"It is not far from here, near the Charms classroom, actually," Julian said as he stood up, excitement returning in full.
He led the way through the corridors at a brisk pace, McGonagall following behind him with quiet, measured steps. They soon reached the classroom he had been caught reorganizing by Professor Flitwick earlier in the week.
...
When they arrived, Julian pushed open the door, only to stop short in surprise. The room was nothing like how he had left it.
All of the old, mismatched furniture and dusty junk piled up in the corners had vanished. The floors were swept clean, the surfaces wiped, and the whole space had an orderly, open feel to it now. The only thing in the entire room, besides the bare essentials, was a small note pinned neatly to the wall.
Julian stepped closer and read it aloud. "I hope you do not mind, but I took the liberty of removing the unnecessary items and cleansing the room for you. Sincerely, Prof. Flitwick."
McGonagall's lips curved upward as she listened. Julian could not help but chuckle as well. Of all the surprises he had imagined, walking into a fully cleared and cleaned workspace was one of the nicest.
"Room 3-06 is your final choice then, I take it?" McGonagall said, jotting down the room's designation in her notes.
Julian nodded at once. "Yes, this is the one."
"Very well," she said. "From this moment, this classroom is officially your domain to use as you see fit, until such time as you graduate, or are found to be misusing it." Her voice hardened just a fraction on the last part, making it very clear what she expected.
Then she reached into her pocket and withdrew a plain iron key.
"That being said, since Filius showed me this room earlier, I took the liberty of requesting a copy of the key from Argus, who keeps the only other one," she added, tone turning almost playful as she held it out.
Julian accepted the key with a broad grin. "Just you wait, Professor. Greatness is going to be made in this room," he said with utter confidence.
Her smile widened a little at his enthusiasm.
"Then I shall look forward to seeing the results with my own eyes," she replied with a nod.
A moment later, she turned and left him alone in his newly claimed workshop.
...
Julian wasted no time. As soon as the door closed behind her, he got to work.
He took out the rough tools he had used at the orphanage and arranged them carefully in a straight line along one of the walls: hammer, pliers, file, and the rest, all set down with practiced precision. Then he carried the small anvil and the stump it was nailed into, placing the pair right in the center of the room like the heart of a forge.
Without a proper source of flame, I cannot do any serious metalwork, he thought with a faint sigh. I suppose this is as good a chance as any to branch into unfamiliar territory.
...
From Greed, he pulled out a small block of wood. Time and pressure had left it with a few visible cracks, and there was a hole pierced through the top where a rusty blue metal spike had been driven into it.
Julian grabbed a pair of rough pliers, clamped them tightly around the metal spike, and braced the wood with his other hand. Then he used his hammer, still in its original form, to strike downward and knock the block of wood free of the embedded metal.
After a few firm blows, the block came loose from the spike at last.
Setting the metal aside, Julian drew his wand and pointed it at his hammer. The tool rippled and reshaped itself under his will until it became a sharp wood-carving knife.
He picked up the block and began to work. Carefully but firmly, he slid the blade along the grain, shaving thin curls of wood away with each stroke.
He fell into a steady rhythm. Slice, turn, slice again. Bit by bit, the solid block was reduced.
By the time he stopped, all that remained of it were six rough wooden discs, each about an inch across and roughly a centimeter thick, surrounded by a small mountain of shavings scattered across the floor.
Julian changed the knife back into a hammer, then immediately transfigured it once more, this time into a small hand-powered drill. With deliberate, methodical movements, he punched a neat hole through the center of each disc, transforming them into simple wooden rings. They were ugly things, thick and uneven, but they were enough for practice.
He took the knife form again and trimmed each ring, whittling away the worst of the rough edges until they looked at least somewhat presentable, if still far from pretty.
Now for the truly hard part, he thought as he picked up one of the wooden rings and carried it over to the anvil.
...
He set the ring down directly in the center of the anvil, then reversed the transfiguration on his hammer so it returned to its original shape. After that, he walked over to the door and turned the lock with a soft click.
Nervous energy fluttered in his chest as he stepped back to the anvil.
Julian drew a slow breath and began to channel his spirit. At once, a bright aura flared to life around him, the familiar pressure of his inner power filling the room like a tangible presence.
He guided that energy down his arms and into his hands, focusing his mind on his understanding of life itself. In response, the bright glow around him shifted, its color draining into the muted, silvery grey of the ghosts that drifted through Hogwarts corridors.
Gently, almost delicately, he raised his hammer and tapped it against the wooden ring.
A low hum thrummed through the air for a brief instant.
Then:
"BOOM!"
The ring exploded into fine dust, the sound echoing off the stone walls.
A cloud of wood particles billowed up and straight into his face.
"Cough, cough!" Julian hacked as the dust filled his mouth and nose. He turned his head aside and waved a hand, trying to clear the air.
Once he could breathe properly again, he pulled out his notepad and wrote, in quick, neat script: {First attempt at smithing organic material. Result: failure caused by structural destabilization.}
He underlined "failure" once, then set the pad aside and picked up the second wooden ring.
He placed it in the same spot on the anvil where the first had rested and repeated the procedure exactly: channel spirit, brighten aura, focus on life, let the energy turn ghost-grey, lift the hammer, prepare to strike.
The only change he made was in the intensity of the power he was feeding into the ring. This time he held back, not by much, but noticeably.
He brought the hammer down in another careful tap.
Again, the ring vibrated with that strange hum.
This time, two full seconds passed before it exploded.
He coughed through another shower of dust, then grabbed his notepad and added a second line beneath the first: {Second attempt, lower energy output. Ring lasted approximately two seconds longer before failure.}
Wiping his nose and eyes clean, he reached for the third wooden ring, determined to try yet again.
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