Julian was out of it for the next three days, and it showed.
He would drift off mid-conversation, stare at nothing for long stretches, and only come back when Harry shook his shoulder and dragged him back to the present. It was not that he wanted to worry anyone, he simply could not stop his thoughts spiraling into the kind of heavy questions that only philosophy liked to ask.
There was no clear "right" answer, that was the problem. Whatever path he chose, there would be regret on the other side. The only difference was whether he would be alive long enough to watch the world move on without him.
If he chose immortality, truly chose it, there was no real way to stay hidden forever unless he cut himself off from the world entirely. That was one option, become a ghost that never left his workshop. Another was the approach the Flamels had taken, to reveal themselves once, weather the storm of attention and panic, let it burn itself out, then slip into legend while they quietly continued on.
If he followed a route like that, the occasional would-be thief or fanatic might try to hunt him down for his "secret," but by the time that happened in earnest, he would likely be untouchable. He would never leave his prime. His skills and knowledge would only climb, always up, because he would have more time than anyone else to learn, experiment, and refine.
The elf had said he would be alone as the only one of his kind. That was not entirely accurate.
Immortality already had cracks and shadows in this world. The Flamels had their stone. Vampires existed and people conveniently forgot that meant an immortal, parasitic race was out there. And then there were the countless magical methods someone could invent if they were desperate enough. Voldemort himself had chosen one, ugly as it was, carving his soul into horcruxes.
Of course, his version came with a brutal price. Every horcrux was a permanent wound to the soul, magically crippling. Voldemort had done that six times. Whatever he gained in endurance, he had effectively destroyed his own potential to grow beyond a certain point.
On the other side of the scale sat humanity. Remaining human meant a long, full life that actually ended. He could grow up, fall in love, marry, have children, maybe even grandchildren. When his time came, he could greet death as an old friend instead of an enemy. He would never reach the point where he had done everything there was to do, and grown bored enough to look for meaning in cruelty.
That last thought frightened him more than he wanted to admit.
With too much time and not enough purpose, would he one day start something like a dark lord's career purely out of boredom? Raise a hidden super-civilization in secret, then later go to war against his own creation just to feel something again?
It was not an impossible outcome. That was the worst part.
The three days slipped by, each one heavier than the last, until at last he had to choose.
In the end, he chose to embrace the change.
He knew that somewhere far in the future, it was possible he might harden, grow distant, maybe even become something twisted. But turning away from an opportunity like this felt like spitting in fate's eye, and he had never liked the idea of growing old and fragile.
That night, sleep came with the now-familiar image of the brown haired elf waiting for him. Julian told him his choice, and the elven smith simply smiled and nodded, understanding in his eyes.
Then everything went black.
...
When Julian woke, he expected to feel different, to find some glaring change when he looked in the mirror.
Nothing.
Nothing feels different, he thought, frowning. Then he remembered, it was never supposed to be instant. The process was gradual, not a transformation done in a single night.
How long until I go fully elven, then? he wondered.
The system answered immediately.
[ESTIMATED COMPLETION: THREE YEARS FROM TODAY.]
He blinked, then did the math. Right before the events of the Triwizard Tournament then. I can work with that, he decided calmly.
"Until then, business as usual, I guess," he muttered, yawning as he rolled out of bed to start the day.
...
He only needed a handful of points to finally buy the storage enchantment from the shop, and that thought alone was enough to push him back toward the forge.
So Julian threw himself into the familiar comfort of work. He planned to craft several of his best quality rings, both to earn more points and to prepare for the chaos he knew Hogwarts would bring him.
One of these pieces he made from the gold of a single Galleon. He designed the band to look like a length of woven rope, interlaced strands looping around the finger. It was a nightmare to shape correctly. He had to push his precision harder than usual, working the gold into fine strands, then braiding and fusing them without ruining the pattern.
In the end, he swallowed his reluctance and spent points on polishing paste, because the ring deserved to gleam. When he was finished, the gold rope ring caught the light beautifully, every twist and weave clear.
This one was meant for Miss Smith.
Magical orphans like him and Harry had two standard choices for their summer holidays once they started at Hogwarts.
The first was simple. They could stay with the family of another student, so long as that student was not muggle born. It was the more popular option, since it kept friends together.
The second was rarer, and the one Julian intended to take.
He could apprentice under a successful witch or wizard.
Most students never even considered it. The idea of spending summer under a master's strict eye instead of playing with friends put them off immediately. Julian saw something very different.
Choose the right mentor, and he could learn far more than any standard curriculum offered. Garrick Ollivander, for example, would make a terrifyingly good teacher.
And Julian had never been afraid of a little extra work.