The book also mentioned that certain languages naturally made spellwork smoother or stronger. Latin, for instance, was described as particularly well suited to spell construction, which was why it had remained the preferred standard.
Well, aside from Elvish it seems, but I will keep that little fact to myself, Julian thought after reading that passage.
He managed to dig up a few other interesting scraps of information in the hour he had before breakfast. One section explained that most transfigurations were not truly permanent because every object retained a sort of "memory" of what it had originally been. That underlying identity slowly wore down the magic, eventually snapping back once the enchantment weakened enough.
Permanent transfiguration, on the other hand, only occurred when that internal memory was rewritten entirely into the new form, essentially erasing what the object had been before. This level of transfiguration had only ever been confirmed in the case of the Sorcerer's Stone, which could genuinely transform anything into something else, such as ordinary stone into gold. Because of that, there was ongoing debate over whether the Stone's magic should even be considered transfiguration at all.
Julian pulled a face at that part. He found himself wondering how in the world the golden trio had taken so long to track down information on Nicolas Flamel when the man's work showed up in something as basic as a fundamentals of magic text.
I suppose if you go hunting for just his name to figure out what is hidden in the third floor corridor, you might run into problems, he decided.
In a strange way, the alchemist's name almost never appeared in print. Authors preferred to reference his Stone, his theories, or his achievements instead, leaving his actual name oddly rare in the literature.
Harry got up around seven, along with Hermione and a decent number of other students heading down for breakfast.
"How long have you been awake?" Hermione asked, her tone already edging toward competitive.
"Do not start," Julian said, not even looking up from his book. "You will only make yourself depressed."
"What is that supposed to mean?" she snapped, frowning.
Julian sighed and slipped a bit of paper between the pages to mark his place before closing the book. He turned to face her fully.
"Do not compare yourself to me," he said quietly. "Do not try to match my pace or my habits. I am not you, and you are not me. If you pretend otherwise, you will just end up miserable, asking why you are not enough. It is not worth it."
He held her gaze as he spoke, expression open and sincere.
He knew how fiercely competitive Hermione could be from the books, and he also knew a hard truth she did not want to hear. His own combination of drive and talent was simply higher than hers. Even if she pushed herself to the limit, she would never quite catch up to him if he continued at full speed.
Hermione was taken aback. She was clever enough to realize that he had seen straight through her intentions, and for once, words did not immediately rush to her tongue.
"You should learn to be more humble," she said at last, unwilling to leave without trying to secure the last word.
Julian only smiled, a little sad. "Time will prove me right. You will see," he replied.
He headed out of the common room, leaving her there with her thoughts churning.
...
It was not the best way to start the morning, perhaps, but she had gone for the challenge first. Julian had no doubt she would eventually figure out his usual wake up time and try to mirror it. That would just be the beginning of her problem.
Even if she copied his entire routine, step for step, his natural aptitude meant the work cost him less than it would cost her. The only way she could truly catch up would be if he slowed down on purpose, and he had no intention of doing that.
Breakfast was simple for him. A bowl of oats with sliced bananas and a glass of orange juice on the side, enough to fuel the day without feeling heavy.
Their first class was History of Magic, and Julian loathed it almost instantly.
Professor Binns being a ghost was the only remotely interesting thing about the lesson, and that novelty wore off in minutes. He spoke in the exact tone one might expect a textbook to have if it somehow learned how to drone out its own pages. Listening to him seriously felt like trying to stay awake during a lullaby made of dust.
Julian found himself wondering if the class had been scheduled early in the morning on purpose, as some sort of twisted endurance test to see who could stay conscious.
What made it worse, at least in Julian's opinion, was that they did not even seem to be learning anything truly useful. Binns rambled on about goblin wars that had taken place nearly five hundred years ago, listing names and dates with numbing precision.
Right now he was describing some first major Grimclaw who had captured one castle, and that apparently was the only thing the goblin had ever done that anyone cared to remember.
If the books are anything to go by, this will not improve in later years either, Julian thought, feeling a wave of dread as the ghost continued to mumble uninterrupted.
He mentally wrote the class off then and there. Instead of forcing himself to pay attention to details that would be better studied from an actual book, he decided that in the future, he would use the time more productively.
Binns did not ask questions. He did not even seem fully aware of his students as individuals. Julian doubted the ghost would notice in the slightest if he spent every lesson quietly reading or working through other, more worthwhile material.