Quirrell's eyes lingered a heartbeat longer on Julian and Harry when they walked in and found their seats, as if weighing them, then moved on.
"W welcome t to Defense A Against the D Dark Arts," he stammered, shuffling toward the front. "I I am Q Quirinus Q Quirrell. P please t turn t to p page t twelve of y your t textbook."
He stuttered every second word.
I do not think he realizes he is overplaying it, Julian thought dryly. Natural stutters only trip at the start of sentences.
He picked apart the act easily. The stumbling voice did not match the steady, measuring eyes.
Which meant Dumbledore had almost certainly noticed the same thing, and if the headmaster had caught that, he was probably also aware of the more horrifying detail hidden under that purple turban.
Damn that old man. I cannot tell if the third floor corridor is meant as a trap for Voldemort, a trial for Harry, or both at once, Julian thought with a flicker of irritation.
Despite the constant, obviously fake stuttering, Quirrell still managed to convey the material reasonably well. Once you got past the verbal tick, the content of the lesson itself was decent enough.
Julian was acutely aware of the man's gaze drifting back to him and Harry at intervals throughout the class. He ignored it completely. Reacting would do nothing but paint a brighter target on his back.
He also made a point of never meeting Quirrell's eyes. He kept his focus on his parchment, his book, or the blackboard, occasionally glancing at his classmates but never directly into the man's gaze.
Letting Sanar be discovered was not an option.
Voldemort was a skilled Legilimens, and unlike Dumbledore or Snape, he had no qualms about ramming his way through a mind. The Dark Lord could not tolerate not being in total control. If he tried to slip into Julian's thoughts and found himself blocked, he would not react calmly.
The lesson ended without any fireworks, and Julian was out of his seat the moment they were dismissed. He slipped out the door quickly, not giving Quirrell even a chance to say his name, let alone catch him alone.
It might annoy the man, but there was not much he could do about it. If Julian wanted to, he could be practically invisible in the school, always moving, always slipping through side passages and shortcuts before anyone could pin him down.
Thanks to his magical sensitivity, planting a tracking charm on him secretly was nearly impossible. He checked for them religiously before going anywhere by himself.
"Oi, Julian, you have any plans today?" Tracey called, catching up with him in the hallway.
"I was going to do some info surfing in the library. Why?" Julian asked, curious.
"Well," she said, suddenly bashful, "I was wondering if you already had a fun version of the new spell we just learned about."
Julian gave her a deadpan look.
"No," he said flatly. "Nor do I plan to make one for such a pointless spell when Ignis is vastly better."
His tone carried obvious dissatisfaction.
Do they think I just sit around all day modifying random spells for fun? he thought, feeling a little insulted.
"Can I have your version of that spell then?" she asked quickly, instantly brightening at the mention of Ignis.
"Nope," Julian said with a teasing smirk. "I have not made it yet, so you are out of luck."
Tracey wilted, looking genuinely heartbroken.
"Now, unless you actually want to join me in the library and study, I am heading there," Julian said with a chuckle, starting toward the Grand Staircase.
There was a useful secret path on that floor near the big stairs, leading straight down to the first floor. It saved him a decent amount of time, and he took it without hesitation.
The library was fairly busy when he arrived, as usual. Most of the students were from Ravenclaw, unsurprisingly.
Madam Pince narrowed her eyes and fixed him with her usual flinty glare when he stepped through the doors. Julian shrugged it off and headed deeper inside.
He quickly made his way to the far end of the "ancient" section and found a long disused table half hidden in shadow. It was perfect, tucked away from the main aisles, with tall shelves acting like walls.
He pulled down a dusty old tome labeled "Magical Theory, by Heramus Roy." From the look and feel of the parchment and ink, it was very old. The name meant nothing to him. Considering he had not seen a single language guide for whatever the book was written in, he suspected the author was from far beyond recorded history or simply so obscure no one cared anymore.
Julian opened his newer fundamentals book to his marked page and dove back into the dense information, eyes flicking between that and the ancient text he was cross referencing for flavor.
...
What Julian did not know was that he had also been thoroughly noticed during Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Voldemort, riding behind Quirrell's nervous façade, was not stupid. He was intimately familiar with how people behaved in different kinds of situations.
Julian's attempt at acting intimidated and avoidant might have worked on most adults, but not on him.
The boy was too controlled. He very deliberately avoided eye contact. His posture was carefully neutral, not the jittery kind of fear Quirrell was used to inspiring in weaker students. He deflected and slipped away from the classroom as fast as possible, which told Voldemort something very important.
The boy was avoiding him on purpose.
He was certain the brat had not uncovered the possession. That would have caused a very different reaction. Still, the awareness that Julian was intentionally keeping distance made the idea of reeling him in much more difficult.
Julian Iron had shown far too much talent already to be left alone to grow unchecked. Voldemort would not allow someone with that much potential to mature into a rival if there was anything he could do about it.
He would either collar the boy, make him useful and loyal, or remove him from the board entirely if that proved impossible.