Being blocked from finding out what Julian was reading only made Hermione even more irritated, but she was far too proper to break rules to get her way.
Julian, on the other hand, was starting to get genuinely worried her head might explode. The veins on her forehead were throbbing under her skin, her jaw was clenched, and her anger was radiating so strongly that her wand, lying nearby, kept giving off little pops of stray magic as if to vent the excess energy.
The moment the clock hit seven, Julian slipped the ancient book into Greed and stood up. He headed for breakfast, partially because he was hungry, and partially for Hermione's safety.
Having one third of the future golden trio keel over from an aneurysm triggered by pure rage at him would be a very bad look, and he wanted no part of that.
Can wizards even get aneurysms? he wondered, pausing mid stride in the corridor.
They can just magic away the cause, right? So maybe not?
It was a bizarre topic to be mulling over on the way to breakfast, but Julian was used to his mind wandering into strange territory.
Eventually he made it into the Great Hall and helped himself to honied toast and sliced bananas.
Harry wandered in at around 7:25, Ron and Hermione in tow, with Hermione clearly in the middle of scolding them for sleeping in.
She spotted Julian at the table, her expression tightening, but chose to ignore him pointedly. The anger from earlier had not faded in the slightest.
...
As the time for Defense Against the Dark Arts drew near, Julian left the Hall with Tracey and Daphne, making sure to arrive early enough to secure the seat he wanted.
He slipped into a desk at the very back of the classroom, right beside the door.
He had no intention of giving Voldemort even a sliver of opportunity to corner him.
No one paid much attention to where he chose to sit, which suited him just fine. The rest of the class filed in and took their own seats without comment.
Today's lesson was as uninspiring as it sounded. Quirrell only had them learn a second, slightly altered version of the same minor spell from yesterday, this time changing the flame from red to blue.
Julian tolerated the garlic stench and the droning instruction just long enough for class to end.
The instant they were dismissed, he was on his feet and out the door, moving so quickly it looked like he was trying to escape the smell, which, conveniently, was also true.
He played the departure off as him being unable to stand the stench of the room. His friends agreed easily, since the overwhelming mixture of garlic and whatever else Quirrell had burning in there was enough to murder anyone's sense of smell.
Astrology afterward was no improvement. Professor Sinistra once again forced them through another dense block of material, trying to get them past the rote fundamentals so they could actually look at the stars one day.
The whole class understood why she was doing it, but that did not mean they enjoyed copying so much information in a single sitting. Pens scratched, heads ached, and more than one student groaned softly into their parchment.
When lunch finally rolled around, Julian ate until he was fully satisfied, then made his way to the Transfiguration classroom.
McGonagall was already there, though not in her usual form. She sat neatly on the desk in her tabby cat Animagus shape, tail wrapped around her paws, watching the room with bright eyes.
"Good morning, Professor," Julian said to the cat, wearing a knowing grin.
She blinked at him, clearly taken aback for a split second, then gave a small, dignified nod.
He took a seat near the front, angling himself to get the best view of her eventual transformation. If she noticed what he was doing, she made no move to discourage him, so he assumed she was confident he would not be able to glean anything useful from simply watching.
"Was worth a try," he muttered with a small shrug.
Students began filing in steadily, taking their seats and murmuring to each other. Julian, however, focused on the blackboard. It already had a spell and several rules written on it.
Not the usual classroom rules about behavior, but transfiguration principles. The basic formula for most transfigurations, conditions, and constraints.
He copied it all down quickly, quill moving smoothly.
Once everyone had found a seat, McGonagall leapt gracefully off the table.
Mid air, her body twisted, elongated, and shifted, fur becoming robes, paws reshaping into hands. She landed in her human form with barely a rustle of fabric.
The room erupted into gasps and excited whispers. A few students even applauded.
Julian only smirked at her, and in response, the elderly witch allowed the faintest hint of amusement to tug at the corner of her mouth.
"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said, voice crisp and serious. "Anyone who attempts to fool around in my class will leave and not return. You have been warned."
She then raised her wand and, without saying a single word, transformed her desk into a living, snorting pig, complete with bristly hair and twitching ears.
A moment later, another silent wave turned it back into a plain wooden desk.
The demonstration lit a fire under everyone's enthusiasm.
Of course, that enthusiasm dipped a bit when they realized they would not be turning anything into animals for quite some time.
The first part of the class was entirely devoted to notes.
Complicated, dense, relentless notes.
Julian was already ahead of the curve. He had started copying earlier than anyone else and finished before the rest of the class.
Tracey shot him a glare from her seat while she continued scribbling, clearly irritated at his relaxed posture and smug expression.
McGonagall wandered past his desk, likely intending to make sure he was not slacking off. She glanced over his parchment, scanned the contents, and then gave a small nod of approval before moving on without a word.
That was all the confirmation Julian needed that he had gotten everything down correctly.