11 years old

Time flew by in the blink of an eye, and before I knew it, I was eleven years old. My days were a relentless cycle of studying, practicing magic, meditating, and honing my battle sense. If I were to achieve the lofty ambitions I set for myself, there could be no time wasted.

My magic had grown considerably over the months. While I had a flawless theoretical understanding of every first-year spell at Hogwarts, my attempts at recreating them wandlessly were limited. Spells like Lumos and Aguamenti eluded me, but I had achieved some success with levitating objects. I had developed my own rudimentary versions of Wingardium Leviosa, Accio, and Depulso. These makeshift spells weren't as effective as their wand-cast counterparts. They couldn't, for instance, affect living targets, at least for now, but they were a promising start.

The turning point came when I began incorporating my eye ability, Raven Sense, into my learning. It allowed me to observe the flow of magic within my body and how it interacted with objects I manipulated. At first, it was a strain to sustain, especially when analyzing advanced enchantments like those guarding the entrance to our Ravenclaw secret library. But with time, it became second nature when working with simpler spells.

To refine my agility and battle sense, I enlisted Witty, our house-elf, in what could only be described as magical sparring sessions. Witty would cast harmless spells, like tickling charms, at me while I trained myself to dodge. Initially, my focus was purely on improving my reaction times, reading his body movements, predicting where his spells would land, and moving out of harm's way.

Over time, my Raven Sense began to play a transformative role. By observing Witty's subtle expressions and minute gestures, I found myself predicting his actions before they were fully executed. It felt as though I was peering into the very intentions behind his movements.

That didn't mean I was flawless in my dodging. Far from it. My small frame often betrayed me, leaving me scrambling to keep up. I'd sometimes curse my lack of physical explosiveness, but even so, I was beginning to develop a systematic approach to handling magical assaults, a burgeoning sixth sense, if you will.

Then came the breakthrough. During one particularly intense session, as I darted away from Witty's spells, I noticed faint trails of color emanating from him. These trails flowed toward his hand just before he cast a spell. Intrigued, I began to study these phenomena. By analyzing the color, density, and speed of formation, I realized I could anticipate not only where a spell was heading but also what type of spell it would be.

The potential of this discovery left me both thrilled and determined. If I could fully master this ability, I'd gain an incredible advantage in duels, being able to predict an opponent's moves and counter them with precision before they even finished casting. The thought alone brought a triumphant smile to my face.

This revelation also opened the door to deeper questions about the nature of magic itself. Witty's magic, for instance, seemed to draw from the environment around him rather than from within. Was this a unique trait of house-elves, or did it reveal something more universal about magic? What about wizards like me? Did our magic originate from within ourselves, or was my training simply turning me into a larger vessel capable of channeling external magical forces? Perhaps the distinction lay in the difference between wandless magic and magic performed with a wand, each possibly tapping into different sources or utilizing magic in entirely distinct ways.

These questions ignited a burning curiosity within me, and I couldn't wait to delve deeper into these mysteries at Hogwarts.

As for myself, I had grown slightly taller than most boys my age, with dark brown, slightly wavy hair that always seems to fall neatly, no matter how much I ignore it. My face, as I see it in the mirror, is angular but not harsh, with cheekbones that seem higher than most of the boys my age and a nose that I think is a little too straight to look friendly.

My eyes are what people seem to notice first though. I had sharp eyes that seemed to peer deep beyond people's facade, an inquisitive expression, and features that seem to naturally reflect intelligence. They're this odd shade of blue, like frost under moonlight. They don't quite match anyone else's in my family, but grandma has never mentioned it as strange. Still, whenever I catch my reflection, I can't help but feel like they belong to someone older, someone who's seen far more than I have.

Looks like this lifetime too, I have won the lottery of genetics. I remember Aberforth Dumbledore, grumbling something similar the last time he visited me. 

His gruff but kind nature has grown on me, though he always insists I enjoy my childhood and stay away from practicing magic until I'm officially enrolled at a school. I tried to use a reincarnator's second best weapon, the "Shamelessness" to coax some spells or a wand out of him, but it never worked. Still, calling him "Grandpa" the first time had earned me a rare, genuine smile, though it quickly turned into a wary look when I asked for a present.

I recall the specific day it happened.

"You know Nero, hum… as I was very close to your Melina, you can, if you want, call me Grandpa instead of Aberforth."

He turned his head slightly while telling me this, however, I had never seen someone's ears turn red so fast.

With a smile I replied: "Thank you grandpa, I'd be so happy to call you that"

Aberforth looked at me with watery eyes, and a genuine smile.

Yet for a reason he could not explain, he started feeling a cold sweat.

"Grandpa, you know, Grandma always said grandparents love to spoil their grandchildren. Do you have any presents for me?" I'd asked with my most innocent voice, hiding my amusement.

"Hrm," he grumbled, scratching his beard, "What would the Ravenclaw heir even need?"

"Well," I replied with the cutest smile I could muster, "how about lending me your wand? Pretty please?"

That earned a series of violent coughs from him, followed by a firm refusal and a somber expression. "Nero, children should enjoy their childhood. You'll have plenty of time for wands and spells when you're at school."

I guess I made him remember some unpleasant memories...

Though slightly disappointed, I didn't expect him to actually share it with me. My real goal wasn't the wand, anyway, it was progress, and to do that, I had plenty of books to devour. My dream is to one day own a copy of every magical text in existence, all stored in an extension-charmed library. Yes, perhaps ravens are meant to be greedy.

Grandpa Aberforth had promised to bring me more unique books during his next visit, but for now, my thoughts were interrupted by the ruckus of multiple owls fighting near the window. I turned to the sound with a smile, already knowing what it meant.

"It looks like that time of year has finally come."

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