A/N: This is yet another "old" story from my live journal that I'm archiving here at
SIYE. It was for a writing exercise using an unusual point of view. I wrote this before I
ever began The New Zealand Chronicles, so the timeline isn't quite right. But I think
you'll see some similarities between the two stories. It's a little naughty, but I don't think it's quite an "R" rating. Let me know if you think differently.
Trevor the Toad Visits the Land of Zeas
He had been in worst jams, Trevor reassured himself. Escaping a box of Chocolate
Frogs should be a cinch compared to croaking 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.
Of course, he should have known that the frog pictured on the side of the box wasn't a
real frog. He had seen these sweets enough at his master's school. Odd, how the humans
prized the cards with the pictures more than the frogs. Trevor shifted his stiff hind legs
and contemplated eating another one just to pass the time. While these frogs weren't as
juicy as a nice plump fly, they weren't bad — especially after three days shut up in the
dark.
Yes, he had suffered terribly because of his rakish sense of adventure - and yet his
courageous heart and keen intelligence had always seen him through.
Trevor absently nibbled on a chocolate leg. It was his sentimental heart and not his
sense of adventure that was getting him in trouble these days, he realized. While he
would always be dashing and decisive, there was a softer, more tender side that was
showing itself as the years went by. 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 Neville
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
fingertips 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 since she was trembling all over. Trevor was no Healer, but he
knew a feverish fit when he saw one. The poor witch was turning red all over.
Harry was taking good care of her, Trevor thought approving. He 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 some of her spots to
Harry as she rolled on to her side and enthusiastically rubbed against him. Trevor didn't
think that would work, although she probably would pull all the fur out his head if she
didn't stop tugging at it.
Trevor had seen the tongue ritual before. His master and the witch with the soft name —
Hannah — did that a lot. 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 — I'm not looking forward to 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. "It's only been a year — but 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."
"Love you, too." A whisper and then silence.
Joy.
That was it, Trevor thought drowsily. That was barely concealed joy when Harry had
mentioned someone else in the house. He 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.