Technically, McGonagall did assign homework, but since it was literally just to play the new game Julian had invented to familiarize themselves with transfiguration, nobody really saw it as actual homework.
Most of the class had already decided they wanted to try it on their own anyway. It felt more like a magical version of wizard chess than an exercise, which made it far more appealing.
"Mr Iron, if you would please stay after class, I have something to discuss with you," McGonagall said as everyone began packing up.
Julian's friends immediately tensed, worried he had finally pushed things too far and gotten himself in trouble.
"I assure you he is not in any trouble," McGonagall added quickly, noticing the way Tracy, Daphne, Ron, and Harry all instinctively shifted as if ready to argue on his behalf. "In fact, this is likely a very good thing for Mr Iron."
They relaxed at that, and Julian gave them a quick nod.
"Go on ahead. I will catch up with you later," he said.
Reluctantly, they filtered out, leaving him alone in the classroom with McGonagall.
...
"I will be forthright with you, Mr Iron," she began, exhaling in a tired sigh. "I do not believe my normal lessons will be of any real benefit to you."
She folded her hands in front of her and looked at him with a measuring gaze.
"Transfiguration is a complex and demanding art, even in its simplest forms," she continued. "Yet for you, it seems to be almost like breathing. You do it instinctively."
She paused, considering her next words.
"Normally, I would suspect a student with your aptitude might be a Metamorphmagus, much like a previous pupil of mine who possessed similar talents in this field," she admitted.
"However, beyond your undeniable skill, you show none of the outward signs of the gift. Not even one. That leaves me at a loss as to how to handle you in a regular class setting."
Julian already knew he was not a Metamorphmagus. He had tested that thoroughly back at the orphanage once he learned he had bloodline abilities. Still, it surprised him slightly to hear that the "Supreme Transfiguration" aspect of his wand apparently put him in a similar territory skill wise.
It does make sense, if you think about what we know of Metamorphmagi, he mused. Nymphadora Tonks never seemed to put effort into changing. She just did it.
"I am afraid this is a matter I will need to discuss with Albus in order to determine how best to proceed," McGonagall said, her tone turning very serious.
Julian snapped out of his thoughts at the mention of Dumbledore, focus sharpening instantly. The intensity of his reaction startled her a little, though she hid it well.
"I am afraid I do not understand why this requires his attention," Julian said, trying not to sound anxious and failing miserably. "Could you please clarify?"
McGonagall narrowed her eyes slightly.
"Is there a reason you seem so averse to Albus?" she asked, voice stern.
Julian shifted under her gaze, feeling uncomfortably exposed.
"You have probably never really had to think about it," he began, words tumbling out faster now, "but if he ever decided to do something, who could actually stop him? No one. Not you, not anyone."
He clenched his hands tightly at his sides.
"Can you even imagine what it feels like, for someone like me, to be put in front of a person like that?" he continued. "To know that one single individual could look at me, judge me, and decide my entire fate in an instant, and there would not be a bloody thing I could do about it?"
His voice had risen slightly, frustration finally venting through the cracks.
Dumbledore had been like a boot hovering above his head ever since he woke up in this world. Even if it did not show, the knowledge terrified him.
McGonagall was taken aback by his words, but she truly thought about them.
In the face of someone like Albus, a child like Julian must feel like he was standing before a deity, waiting to be judged. Whether that deity was kind or cruel did not change the power imbalance.
She had once felt something similar, staring down Voldemort at the height of his power. That memory alone was enough for her to understand how paralysing that sense of helplessness could be.
She let out a slow sigh.
"While I could attempt to reassure you of Albus's fundamentally kind nature," she said gently, "you are not wrong to feel as you do."
Her expression softened.
"So, here is what I will do. You will not need to be present when I speak to him about your education, if that is your preference," she offered, her tone warm.
Julian's shoulders visibly relaxed, tension draining out of him. He let out a quiet breath of relief.
"That would be for the best, I suppose," he admitted honestly.
With that, their meeting came to a close. McGonagall watched him leave the room with a conflicted expression, clearly torn between duty, concern, and understanding.
...
Julian sighed as he made his way down the corridor.
There is no way the old man will not hear about all this, he thought. But it was going to happen eventually anyway.
He understood that Dumbledore probably did have the best intentions. That did not change the reality of the situation.
To someone at Julian's current level, he was less than an insect compared to the headmaster, something that could be crushed with the slightest whim.
Until he had some kind of protection or leverage of his own, he wanted to keep as much distance as possible between himself and that kind of power.
He forced himself to shake off the mood, mentally slapping his own thoughts back into line.
His friends did not need to know about any of that.
By the time he caught up with them, his easy grin was back in place, his earlier concerns tucked neatly away where no one could see them.