Penwick

Appearance: Rafael retains some of his youthfulness, though it has been pressed to the edges. His once easy, boyish handsomeness has matured into far more refined features, weathered by travel and experience. He is tall and lean with olive skin that has seen the sun rise on every continent. His dark hair is slicked back and almost brushes his shoulders and a trimmed beard frames his jawline, lending him a roguish air.

He dresses in a rather eclectic style, a mixture of North-African robes and middle-eastern silks that flow and rustle with his every movement. A turquoise ring glimmers on his right hand, a token of gratitude from a desert mystic, or so Rafael claims.

For those that knew Rafael in his youth the biggest change however is in his eyes. Once they were quick to flash with arrogance, but now they've steadied, and there is a depth and wisdom to his gaze that previously wasn't there.
Personality: Rafael thinks the early morning is the best part of the day. He makes tea for himself before the castle is properly awake and carries the cup down to the end of the south-facing corridor. The sunlight slides through stained glass, and looks out over the grounds, just looks. He drinks standing up, one hand in the pocket of his colourful robe and enjoys the peace and quiet.

He didn't always enjoy the peace and quiet. His mornings weren't quiet, his afternoons weren't quiet, and his nights certainly weren't quiet. They were heavy with mischief at first, then recklessness, then vanity. The coin his parents sent him slipped through his fingers like sand. He always had an expensive taste and liked to spend his money the second it hit his palms. He splurged it on gifts, candy, drinks, bets, more drinks, more clothes, always more things until he had so much that he decided to give it all away with grand, laughing gestures. Fistfuls of galleons pressed into friends' pockets, whole hampers of enchanted sweets sent to strangers. Then he did it all again the week after.

The money kept coming, sometimes with letters containing a whiff of parental disapproval, but it kept coming. He was his parents’ golden boy, blessed with not just wealth but charm, looks, and talent too. It was easy to be jealous of Rafael in those days. He could flirt all through Applied Magic, not open a single textbook in Transfiguration, and still hand in excellent work right before the deadline passed. If a professor tried to catch him out, he had a witty answer ready before the question finished leaving their lips.

That was how his sickness began. Natural confidence became pride, pride became vanity, mischief became recklessness, and his romantic adventurism became compulsive. He started building a shelf in his mind, each stunt, every party, every won duel a little trophy, until the shelf was groaning under the weight of his accomplishments, yet he felt anything but fulfilled. Life came so easy to Rafael that nothing was ever earned.

History: The Corvessos built their fortune on racing brooms, and Rafael was meant to be the crown jewel of its legacy. From the moment he arrived at Penwick (and immediately got sorted into Dranaga) he was a fixture of every room he entered. Professors alternated between irritation and reluctant admiration, while classmates flocked to him just so they could be in his orbit. He possessed a rare and undeniably magnetic charm and was a bright student to boot. No wonder that Griffit Virell insisted the strapping young lad be in his house...

But as the years rolled by, his reputation began to lose some of its luster. His academic record looked strong from a distance but became increasingly patchy beneath the surface. He scraped through his final year more by instinct and talent than by hard work, and left school without a plan.

The next years were consumed by travel and indulgence. Rafael lived in the great cities of Europe, often in excess, always surrounded by strangers who became companions for a week or a month. He was generous with his family's money but reckless with his own reputation. The letters to his parents dwindled. Eventually, they stopped altogether.

There was no warning when he disappeared. Owls were left unanswered and no trace could be found of the promising youth. His family's attempts at scrying failed, while wild speculation grew roots and took hold in the press. Rafael Corvesso had fled debts some sources claimed while others insisted he had been cursed, and yet another was sure that he had tragically died. For Santiago, Rafael's absence was the start of a burden, as their grieving parents turned the immense weight of their attention and expectation towards him.

Years later, Rafael resurfaced and the change was stark. The restless energy had gone, replaced with composure, as though he had burned through his excess and come out the other side. He has not offered much explanation, except to his parents, of where he went or what he endured, but it is certain that he had returned with no intention of resuming the life he had left behind.

Understandably, his parents were skeptical of this new Rafael. His chance at becoming the inheritor of a thriving broom business had long since passed, that honor was now going to be Santi's, but Penwick gave him a place to belong again. 2025 will be his first year as Professor of Applied Magic, a role his worldly experiences have more than prepared him for.