Julian suddenly had an idea.
It started as a small stray thought, but the longer he turned it over, the wider his grin became.
A private garden of extinct resources, mine alone to use, he thought, eyes gleaming.
The method to obtain those resources was, in principle, very simple, and the best part was that he already knew exactly how to do it without interfering with history in any meaningful way.
After all, this world possessed one of the most absurdly broken branches of magic he had ever heard of, and somehow wizards still managed to underuse it: time magic.
More specifically, traveling backwards in time with a time turner.
...
Any attempt to go back more than five hours destroyed the device entirely, and since the technique to create time turners had been lost, no one alive, except perhaps a certain alchemist, knew how to make more.
On top of that, the Ministry harshly punished any efforts to reconstruct the method, out of fear of paradoxes.
History wants to happen, the theory went. If someone from the future traveled backwards and tried to change events in a serious way, time would twist itself into knots to compensate, rearranging things in strange, often dangerous ways in order to enforce the original outcome.
In short, changing history was technically impossible. You could try, but what you created would be a paradox that snapped back with unpleasant consequences for everyone involved.
Julian was not foolish enough to try something on that level.
His plan was much smaller and much more careful.
He had no intention of going far enough back to prevent the extinction of any magical species. Instead, he would travel to a carefully chosen point and quietly take a tiny, insignificant sample, the sort no one would ever miss and that would not alter any recorded event.
Then he would bring it forward into the present.
History would remain untouched, the great events of the world would proceed as they were meant to, and he would gain the seeds and cuttings needed to "revive" an entire garden of long vanished resources, cultivated exclusively for his own use.
The best part was that, unless he explained it, no one would have any idea how he had obtained such things.
The Ministry might very well try to get greedy and confiscate them, but by the time he reached the point where this plan was feasible, he fully intended to be beyond their reach.
Untouchable.
Julian did not write any of this down, of course. He filed the idea away in his mind, marked it clearly for later consideration, and then turned his attention back to the heavy book spread open in front of him.
...
Elsewhere in the castle, Voldemort was mildly irritated that his earlier sabotage had failed, although not particularly surprised.
If the boy is even half as competent as the old fool believes, it is not strange that he checks his tools, the wraith thought with cold disdain. I made sure it resembled a prank that went a step too far.
He consoled himself with that. The failure was annoying, but not critical.
I will wait until the old man relaxes his guard before I move on the Stone. Halloween should serve perfectly, he decided, amusement curling through his thoughts.
The dark thing gave a soundless, mirthless laugh and returned to grading upper year homework in Quirrell's body, biding his time.
...
In his office, Dumbledore was preoccupied with a very different problem.
He sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, contemplating how he might obtain a single drop of Julian's blood without startling or frightening the boy.
"What do you think, old friend, would that work?" he asked.
He was not addressing any human. The only other living being in the office was a large bird with scarlet and gold feathers, perched on a golden stand: Fawkes the phoenix.
The phoenix fixed him with a sharp golden eye, radiating wordless disapproval, then deliberately turned his head away from Dumbledore.
The old wizard sighed.
The Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock, and all the other titles he carried had become accustomed to confiding everything in the phoenix over the years. Lately, however, he had been living with the experience of his long time companion sulking and turning away whenever the topic of Nicholas Iron came up in a harmful context, even slightly.
If he even sounded as though he intended the smallest amount of harm toward Julian, Fawkes shunned him outright.
Dumbledore could only smile wryly at that, despite the inconvenience. He was fairly sure he understood why.
Phoenixes are fiercely loyal and protective of their own kind, he reflected, even though they prefer a solitary life. Fawkes likely sees the boy as kin through the wand and refuses to aid me in anything that might hurt him.
The only reason I have not been scorched is because my old friend knows that, in my heart, I mean the child well.
He let out another weary breath and returned to his quiet plotting, mind still searching for a path that would not drive the phoenix into open rebellion.
...
Julian, for his part, had no idea that he was occupying the thoughts of two magical titans at the same time: one dark and bodiless, the other ancient and burdened.
He hunched over the table in the ancient section, eagerly devouring each new piece of knowledge in the tome before him.
Even if he had been aware of those distant gazes, it would not have changed much. At his current strength, he had no ability to resist either of them.
Eventually, the hands of the nearby clock crept toward six.
Julian closed the book with care, having made only a little progress, and tucked it away. Then he left the library and headed for the Great Hall.
He did not immediately sit down when he arrived.
Instead, he stepped away from the student tables and walked toward the staff dais, coming to a stop a polite distance from the professors.
"Good evening, Professors," he said respectfully. "Please pardon my interruption. I wished to show my latest work to Professor Flitwick before I deliver it to Hagrid, who commissioned it."
He tried not to flinch under the combined weight of their gazes, especially Dumbledore's calm, searching eyes.
"You may proceed," the old wizard said softly.
Even with that gentle tone, the sound of his voice drew a faint, involuntary twitch from Julian that he forced himself to smooth away.