Voldemort was decidedly displeased to see Julian fully recovered from whatever had been afflicting him. A healthy, stable Julian meant the boy remained a possible obstacle to his return.
Worse still, his own behavior toward the child while using Quirrell's body had effectively sabotaged any chance of luring him to his side. The boy had already proven himself vindictive in his dealings with Draco Malfoy, both in public and in the shadows.
Many at Hogwarts thought the broom incident in flying lessons had been an unfortunate accident. Voldemort knew better. He had seen the memory from more than one mind.
Julian's animosity toward Draco during that moment had been obvious. While he had clearly been startled by the broom's reaction, he had also been the cause of it.
Voldemort was one of the few wizards who had worked out the fundamentals of wandless magic at a young age, a skill born from his harsh youth and constant need for power. Emotion was a potent driver in magic, and Julian's magic clearly had plenty of strength behind it. It was hardly surprising that his anger had resulted in that sort of accidental effect.
His interest in the boy did not stop there. Julian's ability to create magical artifacts despite never studying Ancient Runes intrigued him deeply.
Modern enchanting relied on carving runes into an object and feeding them precise patterns of spells. Julian's work showed no such markings. Anyone familiar with enchanted items could tell he was not following the standard approach at all.
Julian claimed to be self taught. Voldemort preferred a different explanation. It was far easier to believe that the boy had stumbled upon the inheritance of some long dead master than to accept the alternative: that he was, in raw talent, surpassing Lord Voldemort himself. That notion was simply unacceptable.
Dumbledore, on the other hand, did believe Julian's story.
As a master alchemist, he had the experience to recognize certain traces in the boy's pieces. They were crude in places, unpolished and incomplete, but the potential they radiated was alarming, even by his standards.
He could see that Julian was pouring his own knowledge and will directly into the objects and drawing power from the ambient magic around him to fuel the enchantment. What he could not see was how the boy was doing it.
At first glance, the process looked like it must be incredibly advanced. The more he examined it, however, the more its underlying simplicity showed itself, and that contradiction baffled him.
It thrilled him as well. The idea that there existed an entirely different approach to enchanting, one no one else in the modern world seemed to know, tugged at his curiosity in a way few things could.
Perhaps, if my plan works, I may even persuade the boy to share his knowledge, he thought, the old excitement flaring in his eyes.
...
Julian, completely unaware of being dissected in the thoughts of two of the most dangerous minds alive, was busy demolishing breakfast.
After three days of nearly flavorless lembas sustaining him, real food tasted divine. He tore through plate after plate with impressive speed, yet somehow managed not to spill a thing or leave a mess the way Ron did when he got going.
More than one person watched him eat and wondered how he managed it.
Once breakfast finished, he regrouped with his friends, and it was his turn to explain himself to Tracy and Daphne.
They demanded to know why he had been acting so strangely and avoiding them.
Julian answered as vaguely as he could get away with, then sweetened the peace offering by teaching them a modified version of the Verdimmilious charm that created a small, green marble of fire rather than a spray of sparks.
The base spell was simple to the point of insult. It did not even strictly require a precise pronunciation or wand motion to function.
All Julian had to do was pick an appropriate arm movement, then adjust the wording to form a viable variant. He settled on a circular twirl of the wand and the additional word "globus" after "verdimillious."
The result was far superior to the original in terms of offense. Instead of scattered sparks, it produced a concentrated little sphere of emerald flame that flew exactly where you pointed it and hurt quite a bit when it hit.
It still was not lethal unless you did something truly deranged, like jam your wand directly down someone's throat while casting it, but then, that flaw applied to a great many "harmless" spells as well.
The girls, suitably impressed and mollified, let the matter of his odd behavior drop.
...
Astronomy continued to be mostly a matter of memorization, but the professor finally slowed the pace now that they had absorbed most of the key star charts and planetary information.
Charms class returned once more to their focus on Lumos, and Professor Flitwick promptly drafted Julian to help instruct the others again.
One particularly interesting change was Neville.
By this point, he had a new wand, proof that he had taken Julian's earlier advice to heart. He had managed to acquire it over the weekend and had spent days quietly worrying that nothing would change, that he would continue to struggle just as badly.
Instead, his spells came more easily. His movements were still hesitant, his voice still soft, but his success rate had skyrocketed.
In only a short time, he had improved by leaps and bounds, and though he remained shy, there was a new spark of confidence in the way he held himself, his fingers wrapped around a wand that finally felt like it belonged to him.