Chapter Text
Friday, July twenty-eighth began with the subtle disappointment of a postponed promise.
In the quiet of the living room, the only sound was the rhythmic and tender snoring of Lami, who was napping sprawled out on the armchair with her favorite doll squeezed against her belly. A thread of drool trickled from the corner of her mouth while she mumbled disconnected stories about cupcakes and pink rainbows between dreams.
Law watched her from across the room, convincing himself that he was already too mature for those childish fantasies; after all, his own dreams from the night before, where he flew as Superman’s sidekick to save the day, were serious adult matters that no one else could see.
At eleven years old, he already had his life perfectly planned out: he would become a doctor as brilliant as his parents and make them deeply proud.
And, along the way, he would find a logical way to shut the mouth of that idiot Tacher.
School had transformed into a hostile place, a labyrinth where Marcus and Lorenzo enjoyed throwing his lunch in the trash and where Tacher, who was four years ahead of him and twice his size, cornered him in the bathrooms to take the money his mother left him. Law still remembered the humiliation of crying alone in the cubicle, with the toilet's cold water soaking his hair and trickling down his uniform, while missing the stuffed rice balls whose name he always forgot, the orange juice, and the cookies that Marcus had snatched from him.
But what frustrated Law the most was not the blows he managed to avoid so he wouldn't get suspended, but the absurd bad luck that seemed to chase his aggressors every time they tried to hurt him. At school they treated him like a weirdo, blaming him for impossible incidents.
It wasn't his fault that, last month, Marcus’s milk carton exploded like a firecracker right when he was about to take his cookies, splashing rancid liquid into his eyes. Nor was it his fault that Lorenzo mysteriously went flying into a thorn bush when he tried to push him down the stairs, or that the laces of Tacher’s boots tied themselves into a perfect knot, making him fall face-first against the floor before he could dunk Law’s head into the toilet bowl. Strange things happened, bursts of an energy that Law could not understand, and even though he was the true victim, the teachers always ended up looking at him with suspicion.
It made no scientific sense; he didn’t touch anyone, how on earth could he be responsible for things coming to life around him?
A deep sigh escaped his chest.
Law closed his eyes for a moment, letting the murmur of the television drown out the echo of those thoughts. Upstairs, the muffled typing of his father in the office could be heard, while downstairs, the delicious aroma of the meat his mother was cooking began to permeate every corner of the house. The half-ready suitcases rested in the hallways, waiting for Sunday’s trip.
"Law, darling," his mother’s voice arrived from the kitchen doorway, bringing with it a breath of warm air. "Wake up your sister and tell her to wash her hands. It’s your turn to set the table, sweetheart, please. I’m going to see your father."
Law protested with a muffled little noise, dragging his bare feet across the cold floor that made him shiver. He approached the armchair, where Lami was now muttering something confused about Barbie and a chocolate factory with her neck completely twisted.
"Wake up, frog face," he whispered to her, giving her a gentle little poke on the cheek.
Lami let out a sleepy groan and threw a clumsy swat that ended up hitting Law right on the forehead.
"Lami," he complained, rubbing himself. "It’s your turn for the table, toad face. Get up."
His sister half-opened her eyes, wiping a hand across her face and only succeeding in spreading the drool all over her cheek. Law wrinkled his nose with a face of absolute disgust.
"It’s your turn to set the table, runt."
"Can’t you do it?" she begged, her voice raspy from sleep, slurring her words.
"No."
Defeated, Lami slid off the sofa, dragging her feet and carrying her doll like a shield. Law watched her walk away toward the dining room.
"When you’re done, wash your hands, Lami."
Taking advantage of his sister placing the placemats, Law walked toward the pantry to take care of the glasses. He dragged the white wooden stool, climbed up carefully, and stretched his arms to reach the highest shelf. Barely had his fingers touched the glass, when a colossal crash shook the entrance of the house.
It wasn't the sound of someone knocking on the door; it was a dull, loud thud, a chaotic explosion that sounded as if a huge wooden wardrobe had rolled down the porch steps, accompanied by the crunch of decorative plants and a muffled snort that betrayed tremendous pain.
"Mom!" Law shouted, his eyes wide open, while a very strange smell of singed feathers and sweet tobacco began to seep under the front door.
Hearing his parents' hurried footsteps coming down the stairs at the obvious emergency, Law jumped down from the stool. He ran to the dining room, took the cutlery from Lami to keep her behind him, and pretended to finish setting the table, keeping his eyes fixed on the door his father was about to open to discover what kind of phenomenon had just landed on their doorstep.
"What a hit!" his mother exclaimed, quickening her pace down the stairs. "Someone must have fallen at the entrance."
His father was already opening the front door with a worried expression, ready to apply first aid. Law peeked around the side, expecting to see an injured neighbor. Lami was beside him with a glass in her hand, covering her chin with it.
What they found defied any medical manual.
Sprawled out full length on the welcome mat, with endless legs blocking the entire path, was a gigantic man. He wore an extravagant black feather coat from which a suspicious thread of smoke emerged, and a wool hat that, after the fall, completely covered his eyes.
"Good heavens!" Law’s father knelt down immediately. "Sir, are you alright? Don’t try to move, you might have cervical trauma..."
The giant, far from complaining about the blow, gave a start of pure embarrassment. He tried to sit up in a hurry, but his limbs seemed not to respond to logic: his feet got tangled in his coat, his elbow clumsily struck the entrance flowerpot causing the water from the saucer to splash, and he ended up sitting down abruptly on the floor, letting out a dull groan. With a trembling finger, he adjusted his hat backward, revealing a face painted like a clown and huge, round eyes bright with panic.
He looked at the two adults and then fixed his gaze on Law and the girl beside him.
Despite his intimidating appearance and his bear-like size, his expression was of such absolute and disarming tenderness that Law’s alert instinct vanished in a second. This man was not dangerous; he was, quite simply, a walking disaster.
"I... I’m so sorry!" the giant’s voice was deep but came out with a hilarious crack due to nerves. "I’m perfectly fine, really. Wizards' bones are... I mean, I’m very flexible. Hello!"
With a huge, clumsy smile that lit up his entire face, the man searched frantically among his black feathers. He pulled out a thick parchment envelope, closed with a striking green wax seal, and held it out to Law with an almost comical gentleness, as if he feared breaking it with his hands.
"Trafalgar Law, right?" he asked, completely ignoring the fact that his coat still smelled of singeing. "My name is Rocinante. I come from a school called Hogwarts... and well, this is going to sound a bit strange, but you’re a wizard, little guy."
Law’s father blinked, looking alternately at the parchment envelope and at the clown-painted giant who was still sitting on his porch.
"Look, Mr... Rocinante," his mother said, crossing her arms with the firmness of a chief of surgery. "We don’t know if this is a bad joke or a publicity stunt, but magic does not exist. We are scientists. I suggest you leave our property or we will call the police."
"The police?!" Rocinante jumped to his feet, enthusiastic. As he did, he miscalculated the height of the porch and his head gently struck the ceiling lantern, making it rock. "Oh! Those are the muggles who enforce the law here, right? They wear blue and have colored lights on their cars! How fascinating. I’ve always wanted to meet one. But don’t trouble yourselves, there’s no need to invite them to dinner on my account."
While he spoke, and taking advantage of the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Trafalgar had frozen solid at such a response, Rocinante took a long step forward. With a shocking and completely involuntary naturalness, he bypassed Law’s parents and slipped straight into the hallway of the house, politely taking off his wool hat.
Law stepped back, gently bumping into Lami, who had kept hidden behind him the whole time. Lami looked at the giant with eyes like saucers, but instead of getting scared, she covered her mouth to stifle a giggle upon seeing a loose feather fall from the man’s coat straight to the floor.
"Sir, this is trespassing!" Law’s father exclaimed, turning around, red with clinical indignation. "Magic is a popular myth. The human brain tends to look for mystical patterns where there are only cognitive biases or sleight of hand tricks. My son is not going to any school of tricks!"
"They are not tricks, Doctor Trafalgar," Rocinante said. His tone changed abruptly. He still looked like a walking disaster, but when he extended the envelope toward Law’s parents, his eyes shone with a seriousness so gentle, so genuine, and loaded with a fatherly warmth, that both doctors stopped. "I know it sounds impossible to people who heal with science. But Law has done things, right? Things that medicine cannot explain. Pains that disappear on their own, objects that change place when he gets angry... His blood has a different chemistry. One that belongs to our world. He is a wizard, and he must attend Hogwarts to learn to control it. If he doesn’t, that energy will become dangerous for him."
The silence that followed was dense. Law’s parents looked at each other. As doctors, they hated not having a diagnosis; as parents, they knew perfectly well that Rocinante was right about Law’s strange episodes.
"Please, sit down," Rocinante requested with a kind smile, pointing to the dining room. "I assure you that a small medical... I mean, magical demonstration will resolve your doubts."
Still skeptical, but strangely disarmed by the kindness emanating from this giant, Mr. and Mrs. Trafalgar sat at the table, which was already perfectly set for dinner. Law and Lami settled on the sides, expectant.
Rocinante smiled from ear to ear, puffed out his chest with pride, and pulled his wooden wand from his sleeve with a movement intended to be elegant.
"Behold," he announced in a theatrical voice. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
As he pointed to the table, a bluish glow enveloped the wood. To the absolute scientific horror of Law’s parents, the heavy oak table, with the plates, the cutlery, and the bread, began to float gently half a meter off the floor. Lami let out a cry of excitement and Law, for the first time, opened his eyes in astonishment.
Physics didn't work like that!
The problem was that Rocinante got overly excited. In trying to bow while the table floated, his left elbow passed dangerously close to the decorative candle in the center of the table. The edge of his black feather coat caught the flame instantly.
"F-fire! Not again!" Rocinante shrieked, completely losing his concentration.
The magic cut off abruptly. The table fell to the floor with a frightful crash; the porcelain plates rattled wildly and a bowl went flying, landing exactly on Rocinante’s hat, while he hopped on one foot trying to swat out the feathers on his arm.
"I’m sorry! A thousand apologies! I’m a professional, I swear!" the giant shouted, slapping his own coat until the fire went out, leaving a cloud of smoke smelling of burnt chicken in the middle of the dining room.
Law could not help it anymore. Seeing that imposing and mysterious three-meter wizard with soup dripping from his hat and the face of a scolded child broke all his seriousness. A clean, loud burst of laughter escaped his lips. Lami followed him immediately, laughing out loud while pointing at Rocinante’s singed feathers. The children's laughter filled the room, transforming the disaster into something strangely happy and cozy.
Rocinante, seeing them laugh, scratched the back of his neck and let out a silly, embarrassed chuckle, caught up in the children's joy.
"Well..." Rocinante smiled, with a noodle hanging from his ear. "The tableware survived."
Law looked at his mother to see her reaction, but the woman’s silhouette was no longer in the chair. Law’s mother, unable to process the levitation, the fire, the flying soup, and the existence of magic in less than two minutes, had simply slid from the chair, cleanly fainted onto the rug.
"Don’t move, Mr. Rocinante!" Law’s father ordered, fanning his wife with a napkin while taking her pulse. "You’ve already done enough damage with your... your cheap carnival tricks!"
"They are not cheap tricks!" Rocinante made a dramatic pout, looking like a giant child who had just been scolded. Then, seeing the doctor’s genuine concern, his gaze softened. "Really, I’m sorry. Please, let me make one last attempt. I can help her."
Law’s father opened his mouth to refuse flatly, ready to call an ambulance, but a small hand touched his shoulder.
"Dad, let him," Law said. His eleven-year-old tone was unusually calm and analytical. There was something in that giant's eyes that told him there was no malice in him. "Let him try."
"Yes, Dad, let him use the little stick again!" Lami supported, jumping up and down with excitement beside her brother, completely fascinated by the chaos.
Doctor Trafalgar looked at his two children and then at the lingering giant. He let out a sigh of clinical resignation and nodded just once.
Rocinante smiled in relief. He knelt beside Mrs. Trafalgar with extreme care, as if he feared breaking the floor. He pulled out his wand and, this time concentrating to the utmost so as not to catch fire, pointed gently at the woman’s forehead.
"Ennervate," he whispered. A flash of green light, soft and warm like spring, sprouted from the tip of the wood.
Almost instantly, Law’s mother let out a groan and opened her eyes, blinking in confusion.
"Oh... my head... I feel as if a truck had..." she began to say.
Rocinante had already stood up with surprising agility for his size. He pointed to an empty cup that had survived on the table.
"Aguamenti!"
A stream of crystal-clear and pure water sprouted from nowhere, magically filling the cup. Rocinante handed it to Law’s father with a gentle smile.
"Drink this, Mrs. Trafalgar. It will take away the headache from fainting immediately," he said in a soft voice.
The woman drank a sip, still dizzy, but as soon as the water passed down her throat, her eyes went wide. She touched her forehead, stupefied. The pain and dizziness had completely disappeared, replaced by a wave of comforting energy. It was not a placebo effect; it was an instant biological fact.
"This... this is medically impossible," Law’s father murmured, helping his wife to her feet.
"I’m terribly sorry about the mess," Rocinante said, looking at the spilled soup and moved plates with true shame. "Let me fix this."
With a fluid movement of his wand, he exclaimed.
"Reparo!"
Before the family's astonished eyes, time seemed to run backward. The soup bowl flew back to the table, the spilled liquid was magically absorbed returning to the plate, the napkins folded themselves, and the chairs returned to their exact positions. In five seconds, the dining room was impeccable again, and the only trace of the chaos was the slight smell of singed feathers that still floated in the air.
The silence that followed was no longer of fear or indignation, but of a deep and absolute wonder. Law’s parents shared a look, finally shedding their armor of clinical skepticism.
They had seen enough.
"Well..." Law’s mother said, smoothing her dress and sitting down again, looking at the giant with a completely different, much more receptive posture. "Mr. Rocinante... I think it is time for you to explain to us what is going on here."
Rocinante lit up completely. He sat in one of the free chairs, which creaked a little under his weight, and rested his elbows on the table, radiating a contagious spark and enthusiasm.
"Of course!" he exclaimed. "You see, Law has been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is a boarding school where children with magical abilities learn to control and channel their power. It’s a wonderful place! The current headmaster is Professor Gol D. Roger, an absolutely legendary wizard, a man of great free spirit. And the deputy headmaster is Shanks, whom everyone calls 'The Red-Haired', an excellent and very approachable wizard."
Law listened intently, processing the strange names. Lami leaned on her brother’s arm, marveled.
"Hogwarts has the best teachers in the world," Rocinante continued, gesturing with his hands in an exaggerated manner, almost knocking over a glass, but managing to catch it in time with a chuckle. "Law will have to study there for seven years. He will learn potions, defense against the dark arts, transfiguration... everything necessary to be a fully-fledged wizard. I know that for you, being doctors, it is hard to let go of the logic of the muggle world. But I promise you that he will be safe there and will discover who he truly is."
The warmth and honesty in Rocinante’s words were so genuine that it was impossible not to trust him.
With trembling hands, but now with no trace of anger, Law’s father stretched out his arm and took the parchment envelope resting on the table. He broke the olive-green wax seal with medical care and unfolded the letter. Law’s mother leaned toward him, and together they began to read the lines written in emerald-green ink.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Gol D. Roger
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)Dear Mr Trafalgar,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Shanks, the Red-Haired
Deputy DirectorUNIFORM
First-year students will require:
- Three sets of plain work robes (black)
- One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
- One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
- One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.
COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
- The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Kozuki Oden
- A History of Magic by Clover
- Magical Theory by Dr. Vegapunk
- A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Kin'emon
- One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Dr. Hiriluk
- Magical Drafts and Potions by Caesar Clown and Vinsmoke Judge
- Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Fisher Tiger
- The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Dracule Mihawk
OTHER EQUIPMENT
- 1 wand
- 1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
- 1 set glass or crystal phials
- 1 telescope
- 1 set brass scales
Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS
ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK
Doctor Trafalgar finished reading the letter aloud, repeating twice the list of materials that included things as absurd as a pewter cauldron and work robes before lowering the parchment. He exchanged a look loaded with bewilderment with his wife, who had already recovered from her faint but kept touching her forehead, as if expecting quantum physics to make sense in her living room again.
"I don’t understand it," Law’s father admitted, adjusting his glasses. "We have reviewed medical and geographical maps, and hospitals all over the United Kingdom and Ireland. There is no record of a boarding school named Hogwarts. Where is a school like that supposed to be? In the middle of nowhere?"
Rocinante let out a gentle chuckle and, attempting to cross his legs to look more intellectual, miscalculated the space and his knee struck the bottom edge of the table hard, making all the silverware jump a centimeter. Law’s parents startled, but the giant only smiled as if nothing had happened.
"Well, technically it’s in Scotland, but you won’t find it on any map of... of people like you, Doctor. It is protected by Muggle-Repelling Charms; if a non-wizard approaches, they will only see a ruined castle with a Danger, dangerous ruins sign."
Law, who had been processing every word in silence with his usual analytical mind, frowned. He remembered how the giant had referred to his parents earlier.
"A moment ago you said a strange word," Law intervened, trying to remember it. "You said... mu-mules? Muggles? I don’t know how it’s pronounced. What does that mean?"
Rocinante froze. He looked at Law with absolute fascination, his eyes so wide and bright that he looked like a young child seeing a Christmas tree for the first time. He leaned so far forward that he almost crushed the bread plate.
"Oh, by Merlin! It’s adorable!" Rocinante exclaimed, clasping his hands together, moved. "Your first magical word! Well, not magical, it’s a word for the non-magical. It’s pronounced Muggles, little Law. A Muggle is an ordinary, everyday person, someone who doesn’t have magic in their blood, like your wonderful doctor parents. It’s a very important technical term!"
Law’s mother arched an eyebrow, visibly offended by the social diagnosis.
"Did you just diagnose us as Muggles, Mr. Rocinante?" she asked, crossing her arms. "I assure you that we hold university degrees endorsed by the international scientific community. We are not ordinary and everyday."
"Oh, no, no, no! Of course not!" Rocinante entered instant panic. He waved his hands so violently that he accidentally let go of his wand, which went flying through the air, hit the ceiling, bounced off the lamp, and landed exactly inside the pitcher of water. The giant turned as red as a tomato. "I’m sorry! Being a Muggle is a great honor. You have incredible things... like stethoscopes, and... escalators! My goodness, escalators are pure witchcraft, I almost killed myself on one last month."
Law’s father looked at the pitcher of water, where the wand floated sadly, and then looked at the giant. He rubbed his temples, feeling a migraine coming on.
"Mr. Rocinante, leaving aside your... shopping mall phobias, we still don’t understand how Law will get to that place," Doctor Trafalgar said, trying to regain control of the conversation. "We do not plan to send our eleven-year-old son on a ghost train to Scotland."
"Of course not! I’ll take care of everything." Rocinante stuck his whole hand into the pitcher of water, splashing the newly repaired tablecloth, pulled the wand out, and shook it hard, sending drops of water straight into Law’s father’s face. The giant didn’t notice. "I will come to fetch you myself a week before September. I will personally accompany you to Diagon Alley, in London, to buy the books, the robes, and, of course, Law’s wand. It’s a fascinating place, you’re going to love it."
Law’s parents remained silent. Their scientific training, their years of clinical study, and their strict logic screamed at them that all of this was a collective madness. However, looking at the table that had floated, the cup that had filled itself, and the instant relief Law’s mother had felt in her head, they knew there was no medical diagnosis or rational explanation for what they had just witnessed.
It was not a faculty prank, nor a street magic trick.
It was real.
Real magic.
"All right," Law’s mother finally conceded, sighing with a mixture of resignation and a strange warmth in her chest upon seeing the overflowing honesty in the giant’s eyes. "If this is what is best for Law to understand what is happening to him... we accept. We will see you in August, Mr. Rocinante."
"Excellent!" Rocinante stood up with so much joy that he miscalculated the height of the room again, and his head gently struck the ceiling lamp, making it rock once more. He rubbed the crown of his head with an embarrassed, hurried smile. "I promise not to set anything on fire in Diagon Alley. Oh, by the way, I almost forgot... A vital detail! Of utmost medical and magical importance!"
The giant leaned forward again, covering his mouth with a giant hand and lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper that nonetheless rumbled through the entire living room.
"Nobody outside these four walls can know that Law is a wizard. Absolutely nobody. Not the nosy neighbors, nor his schoolmates, nor your family. For the rest of the Muggle world, Law will be going to a very exclusive, very strict, and very... normal private boarding school. If the Ministry of Magic finds out we are spreading the secret around, I will get into serious trouble. And believe me, you don’t want to see my record of fines."
Law’s father raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms with his usual professional severity.
"Don't worry, Mr. Rocinante. As doctors, professional secrecy and patient confidentiality are our day-to-day rule. We will know how to invent a believable school diagnosis for the family."
"Perfect, perfect..." Rocinante breathed a sigh of relief, straightening up only to brush against the lamp again. "Then, see you soon, Trafalgar family!"
With one last, clumsy bow that almost made him trip over his own feet on the rug, the giant walked toward the entrance. Before crossing the threshold and closing the door, he paused for a second. Law looked at Rocinante, and the giant winked a clown-painted eye at him with a knowing smile.
For the first time in his eleven years, Law felt that his orderly world was about to become deliciously chaotic.
Suck on that, Tacher.