𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘔𝘌𝘚𝘚𝘐𝘈𝘏 ━ 𝙃𝙥

CHAPTER ONE

━  SOMETHING ADULTS WILL never tell you, is just how easy it is for you to take advantage of them. 

They see you, a child, and assume you're the niave one. They assume that whatever they've been through in life will far more then just prepare them for whatever it is you're about to do, they think they can outsmart you with their eyes closed.

This was something Thomas was counting on.

He did not use the name Thomas, but there were times when the need for a name adults would like and respect arose, and adults really seemed to like the name Thomas. It wasn't old enough to draw attention, but also not new enough for them to raise a brow. It was used enough that if people asked about it they could be pointed to five different boys in his school alone. Thomas was a safe name.

But Thomas was not a safe boy. Thankfully, this was something the man behind the counter at the pet emporium (Fresco) had yet to realise. He wore the same look on his face that most men wore in a place like Knockturn Alley, already Thomas knew three things about the man without even saying a word to him.

Number 1, he was cheap.

The shirt he was wearing had the same criss-cross pattern as the one purebloods tended to wear, but lacked the unmistakable shine of elven silk, meaning this was a rather shoddy knock off. This also brought Thomas to his second conclusion.

He was a blood supremacist, ( or a weak, snivelling coward. But Thomas was going to give him the benefit of doubt ) only those two kind of people would want to be known wearing that style of shirt, especially since the war. It was also safe to assume, given this, that Fresco was a misoginyst.

Number 3, and this was the important one, Thomas did not like him. 

Now you may be thinking to yourself, what does an eleven year olds opinion have to do with any of this? Also, isnt it a bit premature to judge? The answer is no, it was not. Thomas had been browsing the aisles of the emporium for about five minutes at that point, and already the smell of ligamen powder was clogging up his nose. The stuff had been brushed onto every cage in the store, binding all of them together. Ligamen powder was not toxic, but the manor in which it was being used was. It kept the animal cages glued shut, a good indicator that not only were the cages never cleaned out (like Thomas couldn't already smell that), but the animals were probaly never given a full meal, just scraps poked through the bars.

He stopped by the cage of a black snake. There was no sign that could indicate the age or breed of the snake, besides the fact that the only thing holding that cage together was tape, so he'd probaly been there a while.

At a young age Thomas discovered he could speak to snakes, the ability was called pareseltongue and was honestly rarely ever associated with anything good. Then again, neither was Thomas.

"Hey,"

The snake raised its head.

"You ever seen Hawshank?"

Naturally the snake was a little too confused to respond (you try being held captive for years only for a weird pink thing to come up to you and ask if you'd seen a movie about prison break. Which obviously you hadn't, you were a snake). Thomas didn't expect a response anyway, his hand had already looped its way around the handle on top of the snakes cage. He carried it all the way to the counter at the front of the store to the incrediculous worker, Fresco.

"How much?"

The man stared at him, "More then you can afford, twerp. Piss off and stop wasting my time." Thomas ignored him and reached in his pocket, "How much?"

"Ten galleons," Thomas knew for a fact that that was not its original price, Fresco had probaly just raised it to prove a point. Unfortunately for both of them, Thomas had an ego even bigger then his. Internally wincing, he pulled out the ten galleons and made a show of carefully counting the shiny gold coins onto the grimy counter. The man snatched them up before he could finish. "Spoilt brat," Grumbled the man.