Ode to a Toad

Ode to a Toad

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Trevor was a very long-lived toad. Neville wasn't sure how long toads were supposed to live, but he was pretty sure it wasn't longer than a couple of years. Trevor made it to ten.

"He had a good life," he said to Luna said, who sat next to him on the front stoop. He looked down at the transfigured shoebox in his hands; he'd done a good job with the spell for once. It was a nice wooden box. Polished, no splinters. No hint of label, even. "Didn't he?"

"I think he was happy," Luna said, nodding.

"He tried to get away so often, though." Neville stroked a thumb over the grain of the wood. "Do you think I should have let him go? Maybe he'd have been happier out - out on the lake, croaking with the other frogs. Maybe I trapped him."

She slipped his arm around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder. "You didn't trap him. He wanted to be found."

"Did he?"

She nodded. "We all want to be found, every one of us. Like you found me."

He turned to smile at her wryly. "I didn't find you. You were there all along."

She shook her head. "You found me," she said. "And I found you. That's how it works."

He nodded slowly. "I suppose so."

"It's one of life's small miracles." She stood and held her hand out to him. "Ready?"

"No."

She smiled sadly. "I know. But -"

"Yeah." He took her hand and let her haul him off the stoop. He kept it as they walked down the garden path, at the end of which he ducked into the shed to retrieve a shovel. Then they continued through the gate and out into the patch of woods beyond with its little brook and weeping willows. He'd chosen a spot beneath one of them for Trevor, where it was cool and a bit damp and where the other frogs and toads probably gathered nightly. Trevor hadn't had many amphibious friends in life, so Neville thought - ridiculously, yes, he was aware he was being ridiculous about all of this - that perhaps he would appreciate this little gesture, if he could.

No matter what Luna said, he couldn't help feeling guilty. He'd worried so much about Trevor getting lost that he'd never stopped to wonder if maybe what Trevor wanted was to be free.

The soil was so soft and the box was so small, it didn't take long to dig the hole for it. Neville knelt, getting the knees of his jeans dirty, and fitted it in. Then he stood and swallowed against the ache in his throat, the shovel heavy in his hands. "Stupid," he muttered, embarrassed. He couldn't even wipe the tears away, his hands were too dirty.

He should have been even more embarrassed that Luna did it for him, with her thumbs. He wasn't. She was very serious when she did it, and then she kissed him. Neville cleared his throat and turned away. "He was a good toad," he said, pouring the first shovelful of dirty onto the box. "He never kept us up at night croaking. He used to keep me company while I studied."

"He was always very kind to me," Luna said. "And he was an excellent jumper. He could jump from the floor to the windowsill, even in his old age."

"Yes," Neville said. The little box was nearly covered now. "He loved to jump more than anything."

It occurred to him then that Luna was right; Trevor could jump almost anywhere he wanted. It would not have been so terribly difficult for him to escape, really escape, out onto the Hogwarts grounds where Neville would have never found him, not in a hundred years. He never had, though. Maybe he'd not realized he could. Or maybe she was right and he'd escaped because he wanted to be found.

Neville paused before pouring on the last shovelful of dirt. Ten years was a long time for a toad, he thought again. It was a long time, period, even for a wizard. In ten years he'd grown up, gone to school, nearly been killed more times than was quite normal, unless you happened to be friends with Harry Potter. Trevor had been there for all of that, more than anyone else, even his gran, even more than Luna or Harry or Ron or Hermione. And when Neville had fallen in love with Luna and they'd moved here, to this little house outside Hogsmeade, Trevor had been there for that, too. For a little while, at least.

He patted the dirt down with the shovel. Luna held something out to him - she'd transfigured a rock, it seemed, into a little gravestone. It read TREVOR, with his dates down below: 1990-2000. Neville ran his fingers over them and smiled at her. He set it into the dirt, pushing it down a few inches so it would stay, and then he sat looking at it. Luna stroked his hair silently, until at last he looked up at her. "I feel like I should do something more to - to remember him by."

"When my grandmother died, we had a big family dinner with all her favorite foods. But I'm not overly fond of flies."

Neville laughed and stood. "Me neither."

"Curry takeaway, though," she said, looping her arm through his, "that, I'm quite fond of. Perhaps with Harry and Ginny."

He nodded. "Yeah, that sounds - that sounds good."

"I'll go floo them."

She kissed him and went on ahead up the path back to the house, leaving Neville standing beneath the weeping willow in the deepening twilight. He didn't stay very long, though. He and Trevor hadn't spoken much when he was alive, and Neville didn't think there was much point in starting now, not even to say good-bye. He sighed, though, as he turned away, ducking through the hanging leaves and into relative brightness. Perhaps Luna would like to get a cat. Or another owl, to keep Archimedes company. He didn't think he'd ever want another toad.

Fin.