Of the Unlikely Sort

You discovered that your mother was not crazy, that when she said motherhood changed you, she was right.

It took you a whole year to lose that pregnancy weight.

Not that your grandmother-in-law noticed, the old bat: "Perhaps it's high time someone lost that the post-pregnancy weight?" she cooed to your daughter every time you, your beloved and your baby Floo'd to his childhood home.

Not that Neville minded: "There's just more of you to love," he said reassuringly, holding you in his pudgy arms while the extra heaviness made you feel like the world's only wizarding Mooncalf.

"Over the river, and through the woods, to Grandmother's house we go..." you heard Neville sing softly to a tired Frankie as you walked up the walkway to - well, his grandmother's house.

Sometimes, you wished the three of you could just run off into the woods - anything to prevent a visit with the dreaded in-laws. Better yet, you pondered slyly, as your husband peered down at Frankie lovingly, perhaps you could push the hag into a river.

*****

It paid to have connections.

No, it paid well to have connections.

Despite the fact that Lucius Malfoy thought you disturbed for marrying "the nutty Auror's son" when you should have married Draco, he knew you were the consummate professional. And because of this, he recommended you for the Charity Coordinator position at St. Mungo's.

Domesticity was never your cup of tea - not that you drank tea.

Your husband, though, seemed to have developed a taste for it, and the arrangement worked swimmingly for you two, as you Apparated to St. Mungo's each day, bright and early, while your husband prepared Frankie's early morning meal.

"Off to work, my Puffskein?" he asked, waving his wand as the dish washed itself with one hand, feeding Frankie some green, lumpy concoction that smelled like the old gamekeeper's feet at Hogwarts, when he decided it was time air out the "li'l laddies" during Care of Magical Creatures. "Open up, please, Frankie. Come now."

"Tickle her chin," you instructed gently, "she'll open her mouth."

He looked at you, disappointed. "I don't know why she's being so difficult. Gran said I loved smashed asparagus and liver when I was a child. Said I should give it to her every morning."

You decided that your child's great-grandmother was trying to murder her only great-granddaughter; it was the only logical explanation for her instructing Neville to feed that to your daughter.

"Puddlebum, why not try the strained apricots?" you offered as your husband sat back in his chair, frustrated. "She may not like your grandmother's recipe."

You kissed your husband's forehead and your daughter's roly-poly cheek, as you prepared to Apparate out.

And he shook his head, not understanding how anyone couldn't enjoy the taste of smashed asparagus and liver.

*****

Frankie's many attempts at fitting Trevor the Toad into her mouth whole only whet her appetite for amphibian slime. And while she only managed a gangly leg most tries, the experience had traumatized poor Trevor so much so that he refused to go anywhere near your child.

There was many a night when you Apparated home to find your home in shambles as Neville, hunched over, pink apron tied around his waist, with a drooling child on the floor, called, "Trevor? Trevor? Where'd you go this time?" as he sought out his pet.

And you'd put your briefcase down, sigh, straighten your robes, kiss your child, bend over, and settle in for an evening of toad hunting.

It never lasted long, though.

You often found Trevor in the same exact place, time after time - being clutched by an infant's hand, doing his damnedest to escape, as she attempted to make a meal of him.

*****

You amassed guilt as you amassed your Victorius Ogdenblath shoe collection: often and due to various sources.

You were dedicated to your career, and corporate donations to St. Mungo's went up 37% in your first six months, but when Frankie's first word was "Tweva" instead of "Mama," your heart ached because you felt you didn't deserve the honor of being the first word.

And when her second word was, "Daddy," you felt discouraged, but when "Wibbit" showed up in her vocabulary before "Mama," you were just plain annoyed.

When Neville, though, began trading stain-removal tips for black robes with Lavender Finnigan instead of you, you got possessive, and decided to infiltrate their housespouses' circle of Gryffindor-ial helpful household hints.

After you'd left their little chat session, you returned to work, befuddled, the next morning, clutching a copy of "Your Robes Are Your Friend: Laundering for the Non-House Elf," by Theodosia Malkin, contemplating the news that there were no such things as Laundry Fairies, as your mum had told you.

*****

It was a Friday, in the middle of June when you arrived home to find Neville lying on the couch, puffy eyed, as your daughter lay on his chest, a fist shoved up to her mouth.

"T-trevor - h-he d-d-died today," he stated simply.

You asked no questions as you gently picked your daughter up and put her in her bassinet.

And you still asked no questions as you returned to your husband in the front room as he sobbed into your shoulder.

*****

"Trevor was an amazing toad," Neville started, somewhat nervously (he was never good at speaking in front of crowds, even small ones), as the lot of you stood around a tiny bejeweled box containing the amphibian on the weekend following the death. "He was loved by everyone who knew him, and, maybe I'm a little biased, but I think he's the smartest toad who ever lived. I remember when Uncle Algie got him for me-" Neville's high pitched voice broke as you hugged him - "well, from the first moment I saw Trevor, I knew he was the toad for me. So sweet, so likeable. He had the toughest, warty green skin, always lubricated, such a beautiful toad. . ."

Trevor was quite possibly the ugliest thing you had ever laid eyes on - except for Crabbe and Goyle, of course.

Neville continued as you squeezed his hand. "He was a trooper, despite the fact that Professor Snape forever wanted to test my potions on him. Trevor'd eat anything, you know. Always so trusting. A special thanks to Professor Dumbledore, who allowed me to bury my precious toad here at Hogwarts. Trevor spent many of his happiest years here, and thanks to Hagrid, who will bury my sweet toadie for me."

Dumbledore nodded as Neville looked up to the mourners. Potter, Weasley, Granger stood towards the back of the group. Your grandmother-in-law stood next to you as you held Frankie, the Gamekeeper to the left of your grandmother-in-law.

"If all you - my closest friends, my family - if all of you could do me a favor, perhaps? Maybe you'll each share some words about my sweet toad?" He sounded hopeful. You made eye contact with Weasley across the way, and the same look of terror crossed his eyes - he didn't know what to say either. "Hermione, if you could start?"

That Mudblood Granger opened her mouth and said, "Trevor. . . was a good toad. I remember that I met Ron and Harry because I was l-looking for Trevor. I hope he's happy in the amphibian hereafter."

Scarboy's eyes darted around as if he wanted to escape. "Great swimmer, that Trevor. I. . . ummm. . . he was very friendly, never tried to bite me. I even practiced a Summoning Charm on him a few times. He was a good toad."

Ron anxiously stared at his large, gangly hands before starting: "I got to know Trevor well, Neville, having lived with him for seven years. Smart toad. For what its worth, I'm really sorry Trevor. . . ummm. . .croaked."

You tried to stifle a giggle, burying your face in Frankie's neck, hoping your husband didn't notice as Weasley reddened.

Across the way, you heard Dumbledore chuckle. "As I've told Mr. Potter before, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next adventure. There is no doubt to me that Trevor was incredibly bright - and I believe that Trevor is having a great time in exploring the ponds of whatever may come."

You saw that large oaf of a gamekeeper, Hagrid, blubber, " 'S'always 'ard when a boy loses 'is pet. I remember when I los' me l'il Norbert. . ." but couldn't speak as he blew his nose in violent fashion, emitting a noise that might waken the very dead Trevor, too distraught to speak.

Your grandmother-in-law was too busy sobbing to say anything, so she just waved her handkerchief, passing the speaking opportunity on to you: "Trevor the Toad got fresh with me months before Neville ever did - when he jumped down my dress at the Yule Ball one year." Everyone laughed softly, as you continued. "I'll miss him, he was apart of Neville, and therefore apart of me. An integral part of our courtship involved Trevor, and for those moments we spent together, I'll never forget him."

Neville stopped for a moment and looked at you. "That was beautiful, my Puffskein. Thank you for that. Thank you all for your kind words."

You saw the Golden Trio start to walk away, as you slowly pulled away from Neville now that the ceremony was over.

"Wait!" Neville yelled, as all of you stopped to look back at him. "Frankie never spoke."

"Darling," you interceded, patting his hand, "Frankie can barely talk as it is."

"Please, Frankie," Neville prodded. "Please say something about Trevor."

Your toddler stopped for a moment, pulled her thumb out of her mouth as she contemplated Neville's request:

"Tweva yummy!"