This is a work of fan fiction, I own none of it. All claim belongs to J. K. Rowling
As time when on, as it does, I got into school. It was an interesting experience starting right from second stage, or around fourth grade across the pond after some tests that I deliberately did not ace too much. The only bane of my existence as in my previous life was grammar, I hated those illogical little rules and as an almost semi native at this point the stupid and or archaic French and German originated differences brethren vocal and written English. Plus I never really lost my sight Eastern European accent, which Mr. Peterson our teacher did not like, he thought I was fooling around. My year mates were all at least 4 years older than me, which made my social life much better, after trey moved over of the novelty of a 6 years old attending the same classes as them. I even played into it, with pale chubby cheeks, longish wavy black hair and big grayish blue puppy eyes, earning the adoration and doting of the girls. After 6 years in the institution, I all enjoyed the attention I can get.
The other training was progressing with a slow but steady pace. After the initial effort, toil sweat and blood I had to put in, it this was a walk in the park. I suspect the elasticity of my pre six years old brain helped greatly, as this period in life is critical in learning skills of any kind, if you hope to achieve any sort of real excellence. So, I practiced at least two hours a day, every day.
This is how I sent the next four years of my existence, doing skin changing, growing my hair out or shortening it, changing color in on my skin hair eyes, changing my voice sight or hearing. What made it possible is that I reached out for my warmth and directed it into my body I felt and seen every minute detail, down to bundles of muscle fibers or nerve lines. Morphing my facial features to resemble others in full or in parts, which for some reason was much easier than it should have any right to be, it's probably part of the whole point of my ability. Changed gender at great reluctance and trepidation at first, but I had to know my limitations. I even tried extreme modifications as feathers, scales tails and extra limbs or joints. The extensive research as to how the body worked in the school and public libraries was essential. Without it, I would be able to do half of the things, plus I would be dead by now from some sort of screw up. There were drawbacks, I could not maintain extreme changes for too long, like being a dog looking thing, the farthest to ever dared to change, it exhausted me within an hour or less, but being in human shape did not present such a problem. I even cut down parts of myself, only grown parts never originals, the results, I can't heal wounds automatically or with any speed, although I heal faster than normal, and I can't control the separated part, it became dead meat the moment I detached it. So I roamed the street of 80s London looking young child to old woman, as my mood dictated, I even had a collection of different clothes hidden away in the institution attic.
How an orphan kid did finance all of this, it's easy, shoplifting pickpocketing at first. My perception of right and wrong probably warped a little by my capability to be anyone at will. I wasn't some crook, I only operated in big supermarkets, never expensive things, mostly booze or smoke. Only stole well of looking businessman wallets, and put the wallets into police mailboxes after. Oh, and the wending machines that popped up in the late 80s. How could I do it and not get caught, first profiling, old well off looking peoples are the least suspicion, never go to the same place twice looking the same, or ever if you can help it. People usually don't look up, so I just levitated out the stash, and the overworked night shift staff wasn't the wiser.
Pickpocketing was more risky, I only did it a few times, never taking more than a dozen quid per victim. I typically find my targets in busy places, older, 40s, custom fitted suits, pull on one of the legs a bit when they get to a sidewalk or a curb, from around a few meters away, and levitate out the wallet frequently on the left side inner pocket of the suit or trousers, while I help them up. It's always risky complicated and difficult, and a big adrenalin kick too, I might be hooked on it. With the wending machines was the easiest, just find the right pin height wile applying constant rotational force to the lock, I could do it standing on the other side of the road. Plus, I had no traceable face or fingerprint.
I have only been chased by the Bizzies once, I'm helping up some unfortunate pedestrian, an honest business you see, but the bloke reached into his pocket for his wallet to relay the kindness of youth, for the same one that was in my pocket from a second ago. I panicked from the socked and confused face he was donning and bolted before he catches on to the trick. Unfortunately I was careless and a pair of Bobbie was at the scene seeing my face and all, running and screaming after me to stop, as I ever would. Fortunately for me, I made a scouting run in the neighborhood before, planning out escape routes and all. So I run into a backstreet with a lot of turns and after one, I tore down my hobby and backpack to reveal an old sweater under it, tossed the incriminating garment over a fence into a back garden, the turned into an old people while tackled the nearest trashcan, then did the same with the other nearest to the next corner with my mind. All of it only taken ten second, and the Bizz only came around just now, with my hearth in my throat I mustered the most posh accent I could do and shrieked to the direction of the next corner the foulest profanities I ever heard. Trey didn't even slow down. Thanks, FBI Cold War disguises YouTube video, you saved my life during the actual Cold War. After that, I only did it with mean looking businessman a few times before leaving this gig for good. My ill-gotten wealth grown enough, around two hundred sterling, to buy things legally as was my goal, well kind of legally seeing that with all of my years I definitely was above eighteen, so my prison shop business was booming after a few hiccups.
"So, you are the one that wanted the beer, right" I asked for a rowdy looking teenager who seemed to be the pack leader among a small group.
Trey all seemed normal, around 16 bit older, definitely under the line. In deliberately looked the same, a bit smaller, younger looking skinny teenager with dirty blond hair cricked teeth and faded green-blue striped sweater.
„Yeah, yeah mate, just show me what you got" he said a bit impatiently, looking around nervous.
It was unnecessary, I always chose a scarcely visited location for business. In backstreet's, parks or parking lots.
" I only have Caring now, four quid for a six-pack and if you want anything stronger it costs extra, and I need a few days to get it" I said it with a firm business voice trying not to look too green. I was in a bad mood today.
„Four for six, are you mental, I give one and a half for the pack" he said with an offended and belittling tone. Like he's making me a service waiting to buy under shop price.
"That's the price, I can't give it any lower, take it or leave it" I said, but I didn't like the glint in his eyes, as he looked around again, trey changed and my mood reading that I developed paying Jedi with others sitting face to face, guessing the others thoughts while I used the warmth wanted me of it, it felt hungry.
"Then we will take it, what do you say guys" he smiled and the others too after a moment and I know I screwed up.
„One fifty is too low but for two it's all yours" I tried to savage this, but it was far too late, the idea was in trey head now, the genie was out of the bottle.
"Give it all you got and your wallet, and we might not break your leg!" He said with a Low, cutting voice that promised trouble, stepping closer and grabbing my collar, his goons behind him.
"I don't think mate, back off!" filled up my muscles slightly, strengthening them as I threw off the guy's hand off from me.
He stepped back once, then right fist first pounced on me, with my faster reflexes and almost forgotten college kung-Fu class knowledge I stepped out of the way, blocked his hit with my left forearm and with a beautifully executed full body right hook to the jaw I knocked him out. He went all rigid for a moment like in the movies and fallen down like a sack of potatoes. It was beautiful. Then his gang jumper on me and beaten me half dead. Sure I loosened a few more teeth, cracked a rib or two with my enhanced strength agility but in the end of the day I was in the hospital for a month, and they were not. I was lucky enough to have enough presence to change back to normal after the gang left and before I fell unconscious.
The Police tried to question me, but I could not tell that I was selling booze to highs schoolers after I skin changed into another one, so I lied that I'm coming back from school, which was technically true, and someone jumped on me from behind and with my clothes too torn and filthy to be identified as 4 sizes big for me, I got away with it. Miss Amy was livid, blaming everybody that one of her boy was so brutally been beaten. This was her last interaction with me as she already announced his end of job due to her oncoming wedding and rapidly progressing pregnancy, the sources of my previous bad mood. All of it was a shitshow, the police were on a manhunt after the media was involved. I never saw them around after that, probably because they realized that trey beaten up a really overgrown nine years old. Which technically was true. So there I was sitting with a cast on my leg and arm like a potato, wasting there instead of sending the last days with the closest person to me in this life. She said to us, she will sometimes visit, and we can write to her, but I know it was mostly a peasantry and an end to an era for me.
In hindsight, I realized where I screwed up, I was too greedy selling in twice the price, no bargaining, being an all-around ass, customer service is important after all. Plus projected my image was wrong, it had to be more confident, not a skinny kid in a sweater, no matter how approachable that looks. More drug dealer, less ice cream seller. Should have had backup, a muscle to my brains, because with all of my powers which none of the were really suited for fight, I cannot defeat everybody at once.
So after recovering in record time from my injuries, saying my goodbyes to my second mother, I developed a new plan with a new face. Tomas Shelby, tall, lean but athletic build and toned muscle. Short thin black hair with a side cut, strong yaw line, high cheekbones, wide lips and piercing, cold blueish gray eyes. I even wore a dark gray flat cap, no razor blade, sue me. Tom was around 17, and went to a worn down old boxing club three days a week, an hour before closing.
That's where I met Bobby or Robert Birmingham around 16, a round faced brown eyed tall strongly built bloke with a witty charm under the brutish mask he had to wear. He is from around the club, poorer part of the city, with a difficult family background. So I helped him out, mostly with school, tutoring him here and there while I bought him a diner. I genuinely enjoyed his company, it was great to talk about teenager things like cars, girls and football, and he is a huge Chelsea fan even though he is from Barnet. After a while I proposed him to join my little business for half of the profit, fair deal and all. All he had to do is stand by me while I'm doing business, and protect my back if things get out of hand. We had a great business, slowly growing in clientele, selling booze, smoke, condom and other special items to late teens, there were only two rules, no drugs, and no below sixteen. The first because I did not feel comfortable selling that shit to anybody and even if I would be okay with weed which I was iffy, I did not want to end up in the River. We had a decent profit, around four hundred quid a month each. We tried to be as ethical as we can, never selling a bottle of strong one to a lone skinny guy for example, only groups that wanted a bit of buzz and party, and with my Jedi tricks we avoided the Bizzies, one look in the eyes and I could tell, after a few close calls. Life was good.
One of those days, I was heading back to the institute, backpack empty and pocket full of cash, all in all a nice weekend night, when I felt something strange while walking past a busy looking bloke. At first, I could not place it, but then it hit me, it was like the warmth I felt with in me. In one moment I was at full awareness looking back at the guy, as he waked down the street with a quick pace. After a bit of a hesitation, I started to follow him far enough that it's not too obvious. While in the inside my mind is racing like rarely before, who is this guy?, why does he emits the warmth?, is he like me?, so I wasn't the only one?, are we like a different species?, are we aliens or superheroes?, where does he go?, why is he in such h a hurry?, is he in danger?, is he dangerous?, should I really follow him? I decide that I should, so I did trough half of the City of London. I started to lose my patience, taking to consideration to just walking to the guy, and confront him about my many questions, but I decide against it, I still have time. So I go after him until after a corner I lose sight of him.
"No, it cannot be, where does he have gone" I whisper to myself as I ran to the middle of the street looking around frantically, searching for the mysterious figure, but he is nowhere to be seen. I even look under the cars but nothing, I fucked up, I missed my only chance, what if I never meet him or any others, what if I blew my only chance ever knowing what really I'm, how could I screw up so..., the feeling of warmth, it's behind me!
I flung myself around arms up shielding my face, body tense as a piano string, waiting for the moment to snap and strike out at the start of violence, but the anticipated blow never came. There is no one behind me. With conclusion, I look around I see none but I feel the power right in front of me, I look up and froze.
Above the worn down looking place, is two worlds in archaic bold fonts. Leaky Cauldron.
How could I have been so blind.