On the morning of his fifth birthday, Raphael woke up before the sun had even risen. Sitting on his bed, he observed the faint light that began to infiltrate through his bedroom window. It wasn't an extravagant room – it had light blue walls, a bookshelf filled with children's and Muggle books, some toys organized in colorful boxes, and hanging from the ceiling, an enchanted mobile with small dragons that occasionally released harmless tiny flames.
"Five years," thought Raphael, a smile forming on his lips. "Today it begins."
Eleanor and Edward had promised that, after his fifth birthday, they would begin to formally educate him about the magical world. Not with a wand, of course – there were still six years to go for that – but with basic theory and the fundamentals of magical control. For an adult consciousness trapped in a child's body, this was an opportunity he had been eagerly awaiting.
Raphael jumped out of bed and went to the window. Cambridge was slowly awakening under a sky that was changing from gray to blue. In the distance, the towers of the university where many Muggles studied stood out in the landscape. He smiled, thinking about how the two worlds coexisted so close to each other and yet separated by a veil of secrecy.
Raphael's mind often drifted to his fragmented memories. He knew he had lived before, that he had come from another world, that he partially knew the history of this magical universe. But the specific memories were like sand slipping through his fingers – the more he tried to grasp them, the more they escaped.
"Raphael? Already awake, my little early riser?" His mother's voice interrupted his thoughts.
Eleanor Elliott entered the room wearing a navy-blue robe over her pajamas. Her brown hair was tied in a loose braid, and she carried a small package in her hands.
"Happy birthday, dear," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Raphael ran to hug her. "Thank you, mom! Can we start today? You promised!"
Eleanor laughed. "So eager! But yes, we'll start today. After breakfast and opening your presents, of course." She extended the small package she was carrying. "This is a special gift, just for you. The others are downstairs."
Carefully, Raphael unwrapped the package. It was a small notebook bound in dark blue leather with his initials engraved in silver: R.E.E.
"It's a magical diary," explained Eleanor. "Your father and I enchanted it especially for you. It only opens to your touch, and the pages never run out."
Raphael touched the cover with reverence. "For me to write down what I learn about magic?"
"Exactly," she smiled. "And to record your thoughts, your ideas, your dreams. Sometimes, a wizard's mind is his most valuable resource."
The first lesson in magical control happened that same afternoon, in the backyard of the house. Edward had set up a small practice space, with a circle drawn on the lawn using special chalk that glowed slightly.
"Magic isn't just inside you, Raphael," Edward began, as the three of them sat in the circle. "It's everywhere – in the air we breathe, in the earth beneath our feet, in plants, in animals. Wizards and witches are simply those who were born with the ability to sense it and channel it."
Raphael observed attentively, fascinated. This was a perspective that his fragmented memories had not preserved.
"The first step to magical control," his mother continued, "is learning to feel your own magic. Close your eyes, Rapha."
He obeyed.
"Breathe deeply. Imagine that each breath brings light into you. And each exhalation takes darkness out."
For several minutes, they just breathed together. Raphael tried to concentrate, but his five-year-old mind – even with the adult consciousness behind it – had difficulty staying focused.
"Don't worry if you can't feel anything today," Edward said gently. "It takes time."
But then, for a brief moment, Raphael felt something. A subtle vibration in the center of his chest, like a second heart beating slightly out of sync with the first. He opened his eyes, surprised.
"I felt it! Like a... like a buzzing inside me!"
His parents exchanged looks of surprise.
"On the first attempt?" Eleanor seemed impressed. "It normally takes weeks for children to perceive their magical signature."
"Try again," Edward encouraged. "But this time, when you feel the buzzing, try to visualize it as a light or a color."
Raphael closed his eyes again. This time, he found the sensation more quickly – the subtle pulsing in his chest. He tried to visualize it as his father had suggested and, to his surprise, saw a bright golden light in his mind, pulsing to the rhythm of the vibration he felt.
"It's golden," he murmured, still with his eyes closed. "And it shines very brightly."
When he opened his eyes, he saw his parents looking at each other with an expression that mixed pride and something that seemed almost like... concern?
"That's very impressive, Rapha," said Eleanor, her voice soft. "Most adult wizards describe their magical essence as a faint light or a colored mist. A bright golden light is... unusual."
"Is it good or bad?" asked Raphael, suddenly anxious.
Edward ruffled his hair affectionately. "It's good, son. Very good. It just means you have great magical potential. But it also means we need to be more careful with your training."
"Why?"
"Because the more power you have, the more important it is to learn to control it," explained Eleanor. "It's like driving a very powerful car – you need more practice before accelerating."
In the following days, Raphael practiced the exercise that his parents called "Finding the Center" – the meditation technique to locate and connect with his magical essence. To his surprise and delight, he progressed rapidly, managing to find his "golden light" in a matter of seconds after just a week of practice.
"I've never seen anything like this," Eleanor commented to Edward one night, when they thought Raphael was already asleep. "Not even Dumbledore demonstrated such affinity so early, according to Hogwarts records."
Raphael, listening through the half-open door, smiled. The name "Dumbledore" awakened a hazy image in his mind – an elderly man with half-moon glasses and a long beard. That memory gave him comfort – if he was progressing faster than a figure he remembered to be powerful, perhaps his mission in this world had a chance of success.
At six years old, Raphael had already mastered the basic exercises of magical concentration. His parents then decided to introduce the concept of "channeling" – directing magical energy for a specific purpose, without using a wand.
"The first form of channeling we're going to practice is sensory," explained Edward on a Saturday morning, as he placed a feather, a small stone, and a cup with water on the kitchen table. "You're going to use your magic to feel things more deeply."
"How so?"
"Close your eyes and find your center," instructed Eleanor.
Raphael obeyed, instantly finding the familiar pulsing golden light within.
"Now, without opening your eyes, extend your consciousness to the table. Try to feel the objects that are on it."
At first, Raphael felt nothing beyond the air around him. But after several attempts, he began to perceive something – as if fine filaments of energy were extending from him toward the table. And then, to his complete surprise, he managed to "see" the outlines of the objects, even with his eyes closed.
"A feather... a stone... and water! There's water in a cup!"
When he opened his eyes, his parents were watching him with amazed expressions.
"On the first attempt," murmured Edward, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."
"You didn't just identify the objects, Rapha," said Eleanor, her voice filled with admiration. "You also distinguished the water inside the cup. That's advanced magical sensoriality."
Raphael felt a wave of pride, but also a twinge of worry. Was he learning too quickly? Would he be noticed? The hazy memories of his former life suggested that drawing too much attention could be dangerous.
"Should I slow down?" he asked his parents.
Eleanor sat down beside him. "Why do you think that?"
"I don't know... I have the feeling that it's not good to be too different."
His parents exchanged glances.
"Raphael," Edward began seriously. "Never suppress your talent for fear of standing out. But it's wise to be discreet about exceptional abilities. Not everyone understands or accepts well what is different."
"Even in the wizarding world?"
"Especially in the wizarding world," confirmed Eleanor. "Where there is power, there is politics. And where there is politics, there is envy and ambition."
These words awakened another fragment of memory in Raphael – shadowy figures with masks, serving a dark master. The image was vague, but enough to reinforce his determination.
At seven years old, Raphael was already voraciously reading about basic magical theory. His parents had set up a small library at home with introductory books on History of Magic, Herbology, Potions, and other subjects. The collection even included some basic books on Transfiguration and Charms, although only for theoretical reading.
"But how will I know if I'm understanding correctly without practicing?" Raphael asked one day, closing in frustration a book titled "Small Spells for Small Wizards."
"That's precisely the reason the law restricts magic for minors," replied Edward. "It's dangerous to try spells without proper training and without a wand adapted to your characteristics."
Raphael sighed. "But it's still four years until I go to Hogwarts!"
Eleanor, who was silently sewing in the corner of the room, looked up. "Perhaps we can show him the Path of Intention, Edward. He has demonstrated sufficient control."
The Path of Intention proved to be a fascinating technique. It involved channeling magical energy not to perform a complete spell, but to create the basic effect of the intention behind the spell.
"The wand movement and the words are like... bridges," explained Edward as he demonstrated. He placed a feather on the table. "When a wizard points his wand and says 'Wingardium Leviosa' with the correct movement, he's building a precise bridge between his intention and reality. But the true essence of the spell is the intention to make something levitate."
"So if I concentrate hard on the intention, even without a wand or words..."
"Exactly," confirmed Eleanor. "It's more difficult, requires much more concentration and energy, and the result is usually cruder. But it's possible. That's how accidental magic happens in children – pure intention without control."
In the following months, Raphael religiously practiced the Path of Intention. He started with simple objectives: making a feather move, slightly altering the temperature of water in a glass, changing the color of a flower. At first, the results were inconsistent and left him exhausted. But with time, his ability improved.
On his eighth birthday, he achieved a feat that left his parents gaping: he altered the color of all the flowers in the garden simultaneously, transforming them from various colors to a deep blue, and maintained the change for almost five minutes before fainting from exhaustion.
"This isn't normal, Eleanor," Raphael heard his father say while pretending to sleep on the couch after the incident. "No child can channel so much magic without a wand. It's as if he was born with the magical core of a fully developed adult wizard."
"I know," replied his mother, her voice worried. "I thought about writing to Dumbledore. He's always interested in talented youngsters and could offer additional guidance."
Raphael felt a mix of curiosity and expectation. Something within told him that perhaps it wasn't yet the ideal moment to draw the attention of the great wizard. Without knowing exactly why, he had the feeling that he needed to learn and grow more on his own before meeting Dumbledore in person.
The next day, he purposely failed in several exercises and showed signs of magical fatigue after simple attempts. His parents seemed simultaneously concerned and relieved, concluding that the garden event had been a particularly powerful burst of accidental magic, not a demonstration of conscious control.
Between nine and ten years old, Raphael divided his time between magical learning with his parents and formal Muggle education. Eleanor and Edward insisted that he attend a local primary school, firmly believing that Muggle knowledge was as valuable as magical knowledge. Surprisingly, Raphael enthusiastically agreed – his adult mind valued the mathematics, sciences, and languages that the non-magical world had to offer.
"Wizards underestimate Muggle knowledge," he commented one day during dinner. "They don't realize how things like physics and chemistry could improve the understanding of magic."
Edward smiled. "That's exactly why your magical diary has graph paper in some sections. I thought you'd like to make notes and calculations."
Indeed, the diary had become Raphael's most precious treasure. In it, he systematically organized his observations about magic, personal theories, and connections between magical concepts and Muggle science. In a specific section, which he kept carefully coded (a precaution that his parents found adorable but unnecessary), he recorded the fragments of memories from his previous life that occasionally emerged.
The most important page in this section contained an approximate chronology based on his dreams and intuitions:
1970s: First Wizarding War begins
1981: Attack on the Potter family
1991-98: The Potter boy at Hogwarts, Second Wizarding War
The details were vague and possibly imprecise, but they gave Raphael a framework to understand his mission. There was still a long way to go before the main events, but he knew he would have to be prepared well in advance.
In the last summer before Hogwarts, when Raphael was ten and a half years old, Eleanor and Edward intensified his magical control training.
"At Hogwarts, you'll have access to a wand and learn formal spells," explained Eleanor. "But we want you to maintain the practice of essential control. It's a skill that few wizards develop adequately."
"Why?" asked Raphael, genuinely curious.
"Because it's difficult and requires discipline," replied Edward. "Most wizards prefer the easier path – relying totally on the wand instead of developing their connection with their own magic."
"And that's bad?"
"It's not bad, but it limits potential," said Eleanor. "A wizard who depends entirely on his wand becomes vulnerable if he loses it. Besides, true magical mastery comes from internal understanding, not from external instruments."
That summer, Raphael practiced increasingly complex exercises – keeping multiple objects floating in specific patterns, altering physical properties such as temperature and texture, and even small elemental transmutations, such as transforming water into ice and vice versa.
On a particularly memorable afternoon, while practicing alone in the garden, Raphael attempted an exercise he had read about in one of the more advanced books in his parents' small library – creating a small controlled flame in the palm of his hand, without burning himself.
Closing his eyes, he found his magical center – the familiar pulsing golden light – and directed the energy to his right hand, visualizing heat, combustion, but also control and protection. For several minutes, nothing happened beyond a slight tingling. Then, suddenly, he felt an intense heat forming in his palm.
When he opened his eyes, he almost cried out in surprise. A small golden flame, the size of a marble, was dancing a few centimeters above his palm. The most extraordinary thing was that he didn't feel excessive heat – just a pleasant tingling, as if the flame were an extension of his own body.
"I did it," he murmured, fascinated by the way the flame seemed to respond to his thoughts, growing or diminishing according to his concentration.
"Raphael!" The alarmed voice of his mother made him lose concentration. The flame instantly disappeared. "What were you doing?"
"Practicing the controlled fire exercise," he replied, unable to hide his pride. "It worked!"
Instead of the reprimand he expected, Eleanor simply sat down beside him on the lawn, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"Do you know how many adult wizards can create and maintain controlled elemental fire without a wand?" she asked softly.
Raphael shook his head.
"Very few," she continued. "It's considered a master-level skill in Charms. And you just performed it at ten years old."
A silence fell between them as Raphael absorbed this information.
"Mom," he finally said, his voice revealing the maturity that often surprised his parents, "I know I'm different. I've felt it for as long as I can remember. It's as if..." he hesitated, careful not to reveal too much about his previous memories, "as if I was born with a specific purpose."
Eleanor stared at him for a long moment before nodding slowly. "We are all born with purposes, Rapha. Some more evident than others. Whatever yours is, promise me that you'll use this extraordinary gift for good."
"I promise," he replied, and although it was a child's voice, the weight behind that promise was that of an adult who had already seen an entire life and chosen to sacrifice it for another.
On the morning of his eleventh birthday, Raphael woke up to the sound of an owl tapping on his window. His heart raced – although he had been expecting it, the sight of the Hogwarts letter, with its red wax seal, still provoked a wave of emotion.
"It's here!" he shouted, running downstairs still in his pajamas, the letter firmly held in his hand.
Eleanor and Edward were already waiting for him in the kitchen, wide smiles on their faces.
"Happy birthday and congratulations, Rapha," said his father, hugging him. "We never had any doubts that you would be accepted."
"We are so proud," added Eleanor, tears in her eyes. "This is just the beginning of your journey."
Raphael smiled, feeling a mixture of emotions – genuine childish excitement and the sober determination of the adult consciousness he carried. In just over a month, he would be on his way to Hogwarts, the place where he could finally begin the real preparation for the mission that had brought him to this world.
As he solemnly opened the letter with his name carefully written in green ink, Raphael Elliott, formerly Ricardo Almeida, made a silent promise to himself: the knowledge and power he would gain would be used to change the fate of this magical world. He didn't know exactly how yet, but he was determined to find a way.
Raphael's journey at Hogwarts was about to begin, and with it, the true test of his extraordinary gift.