Julian did not need the copper blazing hot the way he would if he were going to forge it properly, just warm enough that it would not crack when he cut into it with the chisel. Once it reached that point, he took the bar from the fire with his tongs, picked up the rough iron chisel, and carefully lined the edge up to slice off a strip around seven millimeters wide.
He brought his hammer down on the blunt end of the chisel, and a neat strip sheared away from the main bar.
He repeated the process, methodical and unhurried, until the once-solid billet of copper had been turned into twenty-four strips, each roughly seven millimeters wide, two and a half inches long, and about two and a half millimeters thick.
...
The shaping after that was the easy part.
Julian heated each strip just enough to be pliable, then rested one end on the anvil and began gently tapping the opposite end with the hammer. With each tap, the far end spread slightly, creating a little mushroom-shaped flare.
Once the "cap" was wide enough, he changed the angle of his blows, flattening and squaring the edges until the mushroom head turned into a small rectangle, like the face of a smith's hammer.
From there it was just repetition. Strip by strip, he hammered one end into a miniature hammer head, then curved the remaining length into a band, shaping it around a rod until it formed a smooth ring. Each one was carefully sized according to the measurements he had written down for the men at the refinery.
By the time he was done, he had two dozen copper rings shaped like tiny hammers gripping their wearers' fingers.
That was when the problem hit.
Julian paused, a finished ring still in his hand, and felt the tug-of-war inside himself.
On one side, his instincts as a magical craftsman screamed that these rings were incomplete. His soul, newly trained in Celebrimbor's methods, wanted to engrave a concept into each one, to breathe magic into the metal and make the gifts truly special.
On the other side, his rational mind calmly informed him that deliberately enchanting jewelry and handing it out to unsuspecting muggles was an excellent way to find himself on the wrong side of wizarding law. The Ministry did not look kindly on that sort of thing.
He stood there for a long moment, caught between the satisfaction of doing the work "properly" and the very real fear of an Azkaban sentence.
As much as it kills me to admit it, the risk is too high, he thought grimly. I cannot gamble my future on self-indulgence, not over a handful of thank-you gifts.
With a heavy heart, Julian pushed the urge to enchant aside and instead grabbed a cloth and some sandpaper. He began polishing each ring, smoothing rough edges, knocking off any stray burrs, and giving the copper a modest but respectable finish.
They would not pass for high-end shop stock, but they looked solid, clean, and intentional, and that was enough.
The system clearly agreed that he had finished.
A cascade of translucent notifications flashed into his vision.
He had received a small amount of ring points for each piece. Three points apiece, multiplied by twenty-four rings, gave him seventy-two points from this session. Added to the twenty-eight he still had left from forging Sanar, he now sat at an even one hundred ring points.
That total opened several options. He could buy a single mystery ticket and test his luck, or he could invest in two pieces of basic equipment, like a better hammer and a proper pair of tongs.
Julian would have liked to say he was completely immune to the temptation of gambling, but that would have been a lie. The idea of a mystery ticket tugged at him.
In the end, he forced himself to be cautious and left the points untouched. For now.
...
As promised, once the rings were done, Julian wrapped them in a scrap of cloth, snuffed out the fireplace, and headed back toward the main building.
Harry was stretched out on his bed in their shared room, nose buried in one of Julian's books. He had assumed it was just a normal fantasy story, when in truth it was a school text for their future. Specifically, he was reading A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot, which Julian found amusing, considering how much most Hogwarts students seemed to loathe that class.
"You look very comfortable," Julian commented, closing the door behind him and immediately peeling his sweat-soaked shirt off to toss into the laundry hamper.
"Did you finish?" Harry blurted, snapping upright. He folded the top corner of the page he was on and slammed the book shut, which nearly made Julian choke.
"Do not bend the page like that, you will ruin the book," Julian snapped, genuine horror in his voice.
Harry held his hands up. "Alright, alright, relax! No need to get so worked up," he said defensively, quickly unfolding the corner and slipping a torn bit of paper in as a makeshift bookmark instead.
"To answer your question, yes, I finished the rings," Julian said after a moment, his irritation fading. "Here."
He tossed the cloth bundle to Harry, who caught it easily and eagerly unfolded it.
Harry's excitement wavered as he stared at the contents. The rings were clearly shaped, well-made, and recognizable as little hammers, but they were not gleaming the way jewelry did in shop windows.
"Isn't jewelry supposed to be shiny?" he asked, puzzled.
Julian chuckled. "That depends on a few things," he said. "First, who it is meant for. Second, what it is made of. Third, whether the person making it has the setup to polish it properly."
He nodded toward the bundle. "In this case, the answers are metalworkers, copper, and no. Not with what I am working with right now."
Harry looked down at the rings again, then smiled slowly, running a thumb over one of the tiny hammer heads. They might not sparkle, but they were solid, meaningful, and made by hand.
And for their first real step into Julian's new craft, that was more than enough.