H/G Drabble From Trevor the Toad's Point of View
This is an H/G drabble set during the time line of my current WIP, Ron the Builder. For the fluff thread this week we’re writing fluff from Trevor the Toad’s point of view. Here you go. It’s a little naughty for a Monday. ;)
Luckily, he was a patient toad, Trevor thought loftily to himself. He had been in worst jams - he had suffered terribly because of his rakish sense of adventure - and yet his courageous heart and keen intelligence had always seen him through.
Escaping a box of Chocolate Frogs should be a cinch compared to talking his way out of the Giant Squid’s lair or scurrying away from the one they called ‘Umbridge.’ Trevor shuddered. He still had nightmares about that Umbridge person and the cats with huge eyes who lived on her wall.
It was his sentimental heart and not his sense of adventure that was getting him in trouble these days, he realized. When the large wizard with red fur on his head and the witch with the loud voice and the gentle hands had visited his master, Trevor had been delighted. It was just like old times.
The witch and wizard had brought his master gifts (something that happened to his master every year in mid-summer), so he had logically concluded the frog box was for him, Trevor the Toad. However, from what he could tell from the muffled voices, these frogs were meant for ‘Harry’ in a place called ‘New Zea Land.’
Trevor remembered the wizard called Harry with the black fur on his head. Harry was forever getting his master into scrapes. This place with ‘Zeas’ was probably full of Dark Magic and danger as well. He croaked out a sigh and then comforted himself with the knowledge that Harry would recognize him and send him back to his master - in considerably more comfort and style than this dark box.
Trevor hoped that the cranky owl, Hedwig, would not be in charge of his passage home. He doubted she had mellowed over the years. Although, he thought with a jealous pang - she wouldn’t be showing her age, having been all white from the beginning. For once he was glad he was in complete darkness and didn’t have to see the age spots on his broad, muscular chest. Oh, he could try to explain them away as scars from a life well-lived, but when a toad was in complete darkness for three days, with nothing but his own thoughts to keep him company, the old fictions were hard to maintain.
He dozed off only to be awakened by the absence of motion and the sound human females liked to make. What did they call it? he wondered as he heard it again. Right - ‘giggle.’ He knew that giggle - it belonged to the short witch with the long red fur. Ginny was her name. She was another one who got his master into trouble.
Trevor croaked out a groan. A land full of “Zeas” and Harry and Ginny. Would his old heart be able to take it?
He soon found out when he saw light and felt fresh cold air for the first time in three days. Cold air? It was mid-summer when he left his master. Time went by faster as one grew older, but surely is wasn’t winter yet?
“Ron and Hermione sent you Chocolate Frogs, Harry!”
“So they did.” A laugh. “And they sent me Trevor.”
“What!” A spotted face, framed by dangling red fur stared at him. “Oh how funny. Just like old times. Neville must be wild trying to find him.”
His master would be worried, Trevor thought with a pang. When he was younger he hadn’t thought much of his master’s feelings, but now he had the wisdom of age . . . He croaked out a sigh.
“Poor Trevor,” Ginny cooed, picking him up in her small hands. “He must be hungry.”
“I doubt it,” Harry said. He rummaged through the papers in the box. “It looks like he’s eaten at least three frogs.”
“Well he’s certainly plump enough,” she agreed.
Plump? How untrue.
“But oh, Harry, look at all the spots. Trevor’s getting old.”
Spots? The witch should really look in the mirror.
“Let’s see, Neville got him right before we started at Hogwarts, which would have been nine years ago. That’s pretty ancient for a Muggle toad.”
Ancient? He wasn’t ancient. He was . . . middle-aged and in the prime of life.
“Poor old dear,” Ginny said brushing her mouth on the top of his head. Why were witches always doing that? Trevor wondered. It did feel sort of nice whatever it was . . .
“No kissing the frog to turn into a prince,” Harry said, laughing.
Ginny did that giggle thing again and placed him carefully on the floor. “It would be awfully crowded if we had to entertain a prince.”
“Booting the prince out the door into the snow would be entertaining.”
Snow? Trevor thought, alarmed. His life really was whizzing past. He clumsily leaped onto a chair to look out the window. Then he decided he would rest before making the next jump to the sill.
“I can think of other ways to entertain you,” Ginny said in a tone of voice he rarely heard in a human. It was sort of husky - like when his master had a sore throat.
Trevor looked over at the witch - who was now peeling off her dressing gown. The first time he had seen a human do that he thought they were peeling off their outer skin. He soon found out that the outer layers were called robes and that all wizards had smooth skin with bits of fur here and there. Witches were a little different. This one had spots all over and two pink-tipped bumps on her front that Harry was examining intently. First with his finger tips and then his mouth.
Trevor hoped she was okay. That moan, along with the sore-throat voice, usually meant a human was taking ill. Harry seemed concerned too, because he was examining her entire body with his mouth in a rather systematic way pausing at the dimple in the middle of her curved belly and then moving further down.
“We have a bed,” she gasped.
She should go to bed, Trevor thought with alarm, since she was trembling all over. He was no Healer, but he knew a feverish fit when he saw one. The poor witch was turning red all over.
He was taking good care of her, Trevor realized in relief. Harry tenderly laid her on the bed and shucked off his own dressing gown. The poor wizard didn’t have the same attractive spots as the witch did. Maybe Ginny was trying to give Harry some of her spots, Trevor hypothesized. Why else would she roll on to her side and enthusiastically rub against him? Trevor didn’t think that would work, and he was concerned that she would pull all the fur out Harry's head if she didn’t stop tugging at it.
In the middle of all of this tugging and rubbing they were touching their tongues together. Trevor had seen his master and the witch with the soft name - Hannah - doing that. Trevor thought that it was some sort of mating ritual, not a sickroom remedy. Then he croaked in astonishment. This was a mating ritual.
How odd.
Harry took his mouth away from Ginny’s and looked at him from over her bare shoulder. “I forgot we had an audience.”
“It’s just Trevor, he won’t tell.”
No he wouldn’t. He was the soul of discretion unlike Toro the Bullfrog who belonged to that McClaggen fellow. Toro never stopped talking about mating.
“I’m losing the moment here.”
Ginny’s elbow moved. It looked like she was touching something between them. “I don’t think you’ve lost anything.” That giggle again.
“Er - no.” There was a laugh and more of that mouth motion.
“I suppose we have to get used to having someone else in the house all the time,” Harry said, breaking away from her mouth. This was another tone of voice Trevor didn’t hear very often - one of wonder and barely concealed . . .
“That someone will be just as adorable as Trevor.”
Adorable. He did like this witch.
Harry snorted. “And just as much trouble.”
Trevor thought that was calling the kettle black.
“Not for many months,” Ginny said, linking her hand with Harry’s. They were still on their sides, facing each other. She sighed. “By then we’ll have a house of our own. I can’t wait.”
“We’ll be back in England in September - just in time for two winters in a row.”
“We had two summers in a row when we came out here,” Ginny pointed out.
Trevor wondered how they managed such a thing - two summers in a row. Their magic was powerful all right.
Harry shook his head. “Hard to believe it’s only been a year. It seems longer.”
“We’ve been busy.” Ginny giggled - again.
Trevor wondered if Harry ever got tired of hearing that sound. Judging by the way he rolled her on top of him in one quick movement and then gave her a gentle slap on one of the round lumps on her back, he thought he probably did get tired of the giggling. “Not busy enough.”
They resumed their mating. Trevor lost interest and decided to rest his eyes for a bit. The dark box had been lovely for naps.
“I love you.” It was a whisper.
“Love you, too.” Then silence.
Joy. That was it, Trevor thought drowsily. It was barely concealed joy when Harry had mentioned someone else in the house. Harry must have been talking about spawn, but then Trevor could be mistaken since there really wasn’t a need for these two to mate again . . .
Spawn, he thought dreamily. He had only mated once. Her name was Lily. No, that wasn’t right. It had been on a lily pad. And her name was . . . He thought hard, trying to conjure a picture of pretty wet brown toad - the same brown as this witch’s eyes. Tessa. That’s it. She was an outdoor toad - unsophisticated of course, but very sweet. All those little Trevors must be formidable hunters. He croaked softly, wishing he had bothered to seek them out when they were tadpoles. One got sentimental in one’s old age.
When he opened his eyes they were starting their ritual again. Goodness, how much more of this were they going to indulge in ? A toad gets hungry, he thought indignantly. They should be thinking about him - the toad who had traveled so far under arduous circumstances.
Trevor croaked out another sigh. He felt sorry for their spawn. If Harry and Ginny liked mating this much, then their offspring were going to have to learn to fend for themselves.
He jumped off the chair, wondering if this land of Zea contained any flies.
Luckily, he was a patient toad, Trevor thought loftily to himself. He had been in worst jams - he had suffered terribly because of his rakish sense of adventure - and yet his courageous heart and keen intelligence had always seen him through.
Escaping a box of Chocolate Frogs should be a cinch compared to talking his way out of the Giant Squid’s lair or scurrying away from the one they called ‘Umbridge.’ Trevor shuddered. He still had nightmares about that Umbridge person and the cats with huge eyes who lived on her wall.
It was his sentimental heart and not his sense of adventure that was getting him in trouble these days, he realized. When the large wizard with red fur on his head and the witch with the loud voice and the gentle hands had visited his master, Trevor had been delighted. It was just like old times.
The witch and wizard had brought his master gifts (something that happened to his master every year in mid-summer), so he had logically concluded the frog box was for him, Trevor the Toad. However, from what he could tell from the muffled voices, these frogs were meant for ‘Harry’ in a place called ‘New Zea Land.’
Trevor remembered the wizard called Harry with the black fur on his head. Harry was forever getting his master into scrapes. This place with ‘Zeas’ was probably full of Dark Magic and danger as well. He croaked out a sigh and then comforted himself with the knowledge that Harry would recognize him and send him back to his master - in considerably more comfort and style than this dark box.
Trevor hoped that the cranky owl, Hedwig, would not be in charge of his passage home. He doubted she had mellowed over the years. Although, he thought with a jealous pang - she wouldn’t be showing her age, having been all white from the beginning. For once he was glad he was in complete darkness and didn’t have to see the age spots on his broad, muscular chest. Oh, he could try to explain them away as scars from a life well-lived, but when a toad was in complete darkness for three days, with nothing but his own thoughts to keep him company, the old fictions were hard to maintain.
He dozed off only to be awakened by the absence of motion and the sound human females liked to make. What did they call it? he wondered as he heard it again. Right - ‘giggle.’ He knew that giggle - it belonged to the short witch with the long red fur. Ginny was her name. She was another one who got his master into trouble.
Trevor croaked out a groan. A land full of “Zeas” and Harry and Ginny. Would his old heart be able to take it?
He soon found out when he saw light and felt fresh cold air for the first time in three days. Cold air? It was mid-summer when he left his master. Time went by faster as one grew older, but surely is wasn’t winter yet?
“Ron and Hermione sent you Chocolate Frogs, Harry!”
“So they did.” A laugh. “And they sent me Trevor.”
“What!” A spotted face, framed by dangling red fur stared at him. “Oh how funny. Just like old times. Neville must be wild trying to find him.”
His master would be worried, Trevor thought with a pang. When he was younger he hadn’t thought much of his master’s feelings, but now he had the wisdom of age . . . He croaked out a sigh.
“Poor Trevor,” Ginny cooed, picking him up in her small hands. “He must be hungry.”
“I doubt it,” Harry said. He rummaged through the papers in the box. “It looks like he’s eaten at least three frogs.”
“Well he’s certainly plump enough,” she agreed.
Plump? How untrue.
“But oh, Harry, look at all the spots. Trevor’s getting old.”
Spots? The witch should really look in the mirror.
“Let’s see, Neville got him right before we started at Hogwarts, which would have been nine years ago. That’s pretty ancient for a Muggle toad.”
Ancient? He wasn’t ancient. He was . . . middle-aged and in the prime of life.
“Poor old dear,” Ginny said brushing her mouth on the top of his head. Why were witches always doing that? Trevor wondered. It did feel sort of nice whatever it was . . .
“No kissing the frog to turn into a prince,” Harry said, laughing.
Ginny did that giggle thing again and placed him carefully on the floor. “It would be awfully crowded if we had to entertain a prince.”
“Booting the prince out the door into the snow would be entertaining.”
Snow? Trevor thought, alarmed. His life really was whizzing past. He clumsily leaped onto a chair to look out the window. Then he decided he would rest before making the next jump to the sill.
“I can think of other ways to entertain you,” Ginny said in a tone of voice he rarely heard in a human. It was sort of husky - like when his master had a sore throat.
Trevor looked over at the witch - who was now peeling off her dressing gown. The first time he had seen a human do that he thought they were peeling off their outer skin. He soon found out that the outer layers were called robes and that all wizards had smooth skin with bits of fur here and there. Witches were a little different. This one had spots all over and two pink-tipped bumps on her front that Harry was examining intently. First with his finger tips and then his mouth.
Trevor hoped she was okay. That moan, along with the sore-throat voice, usually meant a human was taking ill. Harry seemed concerned too, because he was examining her entire body with his mouth in a rather systematic way pausing at the dimple in the middle of her curved belly and then moving further down.
“We have a bed,” she gasped.
She should go to bed, Trevor thought with alarm, since she was trembling all over. He was no Healer, but he knew a feverish fit when he saw one. The poor witch was turning red all over.
He was taking good care of her, Trevor realized in relief. Harry tenderly laid her on the bed and shucked off his own dressing gown. The poor wizard didn’t have the same attractive spots as the witch did. Maybe Ginny was trying to give Harry some of her spots, Trevor hypothesized. Why else would she roll on to her side and enthusiastically rub against him? Trevor didn’t think that would work, and he was concerned that she would pull all the fur out Harry's head if she didn’t stop tugging at it.
In the middle of all of this tugging and rubbing they were touching their tongues together. Trevor had seen his master and the witch with the soft name - Hannah - doing that. Trevor thought that it was some sort of mating ritual, not a sickroom remedy. Then he croaked in astonishment. This was a mating ritual.
How odd.
Harry took his mouth away from Ginny’s and looked at him from over her bare shoulder. “I forgot we had an audience.”
“It’s just Trevor, he won’t tell.”
No he wouldn’t. He was the soul of discretion unlike Toro the Bullfrog who belonged to that McClaggen fellow. Toro never stopped talking about mating.
“I’m losing the moment here.”
Ginny’s elbow moved. It looked like she was touching something between them. “I don’t think you’ve lost anything.” That giggle again.
“Er - no.” There was a laugh and more of that mouth motion.
“I suppose we have to get used to having someone else in the house all the time,” Harry said, breaking away from her mouth. This was another tone of voice Trevor didn’t hear very often - one of wonder and barely concealed . . .
“That someone will be just as adorable as Trevor.”
Adorable. He did like this witch.
Harry snorted. “And just as much trouble.”
Trevor thought that was calling the kettle black.
“Not for many months,” Ginny said, linking her hand with Harry’s. They were still on their sides, facing each other. She sighed. “By then we’ll have a house of our own. I can’t wait.”
“We’ll be back in England in September - just in time for two winters in a row.”
“We had two summers in a row when we came out here,” Ginny pointed out.
Trevor wondered how they managed such a thing - two summers in a row. Their magic was powerful all right.
Harry shook his head. “Hard to believe it’s only been a year. It seems longer.”
“We’ve been busy.” Ginny giggled - again.
Trevor wondered if Harry ever got tired of hearing that sound. Judging by the way he rolled her on top of him in one quick movement and then gave her a gentle slap on one of the round lumps on her back, he thought he probably did get tired of the giggling. “Not busy enough.”
They resumed their mating. Trevor lost interest and decided to rest his eyes for a bit. The dark box had been lovely for naps.
“I love you.” It was a whisper.
“Love you, too.” Then silence.
Joy. That was it, Trevor thought drowsily. It was barely concealed joy when Harry had mentioned someone else in the house. Harry must have been talking about spawn, but then Trevor could be mistaken since there really wasn’t a need for these two to mate again . . .
Spawn, he thought dreamily. He had only mated once. Her name was Lily. No, that wasn’t right. It had been on a lily pad. And her name was . . . He thought hard, trying to conjure a picture of pretty wet brown toad - the same brown as this witch’s eyes. Tessa. That’s it. She was an outdoor toad - unsophisticated of course, but very sweet. All those little Trevors must be formidable hunters. He croaked softly, wishing he had bothered to seek them out when they were tadpoles. One got sentimental in one’s old age.
When he opened his eyes they were starting their ritual again. Goodness, how much more of this were they going to indulge in ? A toad gets hungry, he thought indignantly. They should be thinking about him - the toad who had traveled so far under arduous circumstances.
Trevor croaked out another sigh. He felt sorry for their spawn. If Harry and Ginny liked mating this much, then their offspring were going to have to learn to fend for themselves.
He jumped off the chair, wondering if this land of Zea contained any flies.