"Alright, kid, you can leave now. Don't bother me when I'm trying to sleep."
Aberforth yawned, rubbing his eyes. The Hog's Head only really came alive at night—closing around four or five in the morning—so he hadn't gotten much sleep at all.
"Don't be in such a rush," Tom blocked his way. "I've finished Newt's errand, but I've got my own matter I need your help with."
Aberforth gave him a sidelong glance. "And what trouble could you possibly be in? Need someone to write your homework?"
"Already taken care of." Tom thought of Hermione and couldn't help but grin—she was probably writing one of his assignments right now.
"I want a batch of Runesnakes. Both male and female. Price is negotiable."
If there was one material most vital for the WhatsApp notebooks, it was the skin of a Runesnake.
Runesnakes were three-headed serpents, not particularly large, but beloved by Dark wizards. Their scales bore natural rune-like patterns, making them superior conduits for carrying magical inscriptions.
The heart of the chatbook worked much like programming: Runes served as the low-level code. Linked by magic, they resonated across distance, translating rune records into readable text on the other person's notebook.
A fully grown Runesnake averaged just over a meter in length, and a complete shed could fetch a hundred Galleons—enough for five notebooks. That meant the raw materials for each notebook cost around twenty Galleons.
But Runesnakes were a monopoly—cultivated only in a government-controlled preserve spanning several countries. Anyone outside that had to turn to the black market.
Tom had already calculated. Breeding them himself would cost less than a third of buying. Monopoly profits were always the fattest, and Tom refused to be gouged. If the Ministry thought it could dictate terms, he'd simply raise his own.
"Runesnakes, eh? Not easy to get your hands on. If you wanted eggs, maybe I could—"
"Who are you trying to fool?" Tom rolled his eyes. "Any eggs smuggled here would be dead long before arrival. Useless for anything but potions."
"You mean to breed them yourself?" Aberforth narrowed his eyes. "Boy, do you honestly think Dumbledore will let you do something like that?"
"This world isn't ruled by Dumbledore alone."
Tom slid over a pristine chatbook. "Everyone has their own life, their own pursuits. Runesnakes are critical to mine. For the sake of greater goals, school rules can bend."
Aberforth's face flushed red, as though struck by memory.
"Who taught you that line?" His eyes locked fiercely on Tom.
"Which one?" The boy tilted his head, feigning innocence.
'For the greater good.'
"Oh, that? Slytherin's motto." Tom answered matter-of-factly. "Ambition, cunning, putting interests first—sounds like Slytherin to me."
Aberforth bowed his head, muttering under his breath.
Tom ignored him and began demonstrating how WhatsApp worked, adding layers of concealment. Slowly, Aberforth's attention was pulled in.
"This… this thing's really your invention?" He scribbled a test line into the notebook, half-disbelieving that such a miraculous communication tool could come from a second-year.
Tom only gave him one reason—enough to settle the matter.
"My master is Nicolas Flamel."
Aberforth shot him another look. A boy trusted by Albus, favored by Newt Scamander, and a student of Nicolas Flamel.
What in Merlin's name made this kid so special?
"So, this notebook—its core material really is Runesnake skin?"
"Exactly. And I need a lot of it. To promote these widely, costs have to come down. Buying from the outside forever is a fool's game. With a small world of my own—like Newt's—I could raise hundreds. Naturally, Runesnakes shed once or twice a year, but if I maintain humidity above eighty percent and temperatures over twenty-eight degrees, the cycle shortens."
Aberforth leaned back, studying him. "And what do I get out of helping you?"
With a flourish, Tom pulled out a dragonhide wallet. A cascade of gleaming gold spilled across the table, piling into a glittering mound under Aberforth's stunned gaze.
"Three hundred Galleons for every adult Runesnake. I'll take as many as you can get."
Aberforth whistled low. "What did you do—rob a pure-blood family vault?"
"Of course not. Some of it's allowance from my future mother-in-law, and the rest is my own savings."
"…Your mother-in-law?"
"The Greengrasses."
Aberforth bared his teeth in a grin. Trust this brat to stumble into every advantage.
"Fine. As it happens, I've been thinking of leasing a pasture to raise goats. I'll take the deal." He waved at the gold. "Now get this heap out of my sight before I decide to rob you after all."
Inside the study space, Ariana covered her mouth with a laugh. "Aberforth still loves goats just as much. Even his Patronus takes their shape."
Tom waved it off. "Treat this as an advance payment."
Aberforth chuckled. "You're not worried I'll take the money and never deliver?"
Tom smiled back. "Honestly? I'd prefer that. If you stiff me, Dumbledore will feel guilty and pay me back double. Either way, I win."
Aberforth flicked his wand, sending the mountain of Galleons upstairs. "You're a real piece of work, kid. Bold, gutsy. I'll get you your snakes. Expect word through this… WhatApp thing of yours."
Tom rose to leave. "Then I'll await good news. Next time, I'll sample your cooking. Newt told me your fried silverfish and tripe stew is excellent."
Aberforth chuckled. "He remembers that, does he? Well, come by next time in the evening, not at bloody breakfast time."
Tom signaled his understanding and stepped toward the door. It was only their first meeting, and it wasn't yet the time to linger over small talk. Ariana, watching, understood too—there would be plenty more chances.
"Thank you, Tom."
As they walked out of the Hog's Head, Ariana's voice rang warmly in the study space.
[Ariana's approval of the host exceeds 50%. Random talent extraction in progress… Success.]
[Congratulations, host. You have acquired the talent: Obscurial.]