Trevor’s favourite place in the Gryffindor Common Room was under one of the armchairs that stood around the fireplace. It was on the soft red rug, where there would often be some bits of sweets that the humans had let fall; it was dark, so he wasn’t often spotted; and it was warm, but not scorching, so he didn’t dry out. If he was careful, he could often spend a few hours there before Neville finally found him and plonked him back in his box (which, although spacious, damp and dark, was also extremely boring).
This also meant he overheard quite a lot of what was going on with Neville’s classmates. He knew when Lavender and Ron got together and he’d heard about the break up (literally heard it) long before Neville, who’d been in the glasshouses with some Hufflepuffs. The status quo had been restored and now Trevor could vegetate in peace without worrying about Ron-Lavender landing on his particular chair and hurting his delicate ears with grunts and gasps.
A pair of grubby trainers plopped into the chair in front of his. “I thought Snape would be a bit nicer now he’s got the Defence Against the Dark Arts job, but no,” grumbled an unmistakable Irish accent, “he’s as much of a git as ever.”
Two patent leather shoes settled in front of Trevor. He knew those shoes. “Seamus, honestly, how could you have ever thought Snape would be nice about anything?” This was followed by an equally familiar giggle, rising up and then down. Trevor didn’t mind that too much. At least it was better than gasping.
“That’s me, the eternal optimist,” Seamus sighed, his trainers stretching out further. “Something that’s needed in these dark times.”
“Oh Seamus, don’t.” Lavender’s voice had suddenly dropped from its usual happy chime to a low scrape. “I don’t want to think about it.”
That wasn’t surprising. Trevor hadn’t seen Lavender do much thinking in all the time he’d been around her.
“Sooner or later, you’ll have to,” Seamus said, his own voice dropping. “Burying your head in the sand won’t do much good, Lavvie.”
Trevor wondered if Seamus had looked around lately. Not much sand to be found here. Oh, if only there were sand… a nice little burrow where he could happily spend his days…
“Don’t call me that!” Lavender hissed.
“Sorry, would you prefer Lav-Lav?” Seamus asked, his voice turning hard as he bent down to check that his laces were still nicely tucked inside his trainers. Trevor heard Lavender suck in a breath but Seamus didn’t. Human hearing was peculiarly limited. That was what had saved him a number of times. However, there was nothing wrong with Seamus’s eyesight.
“Blimey! Lift up your feet, Lavender.”
Before Trevor could move, large hands were scooping him out of his nice little place and bringing him into the light. “There you are. I bet poor Neville’s looking for you again. Sometimes I think you like hiding from him.”
Trevor thought silence was the better part of discretion here.
“Eurgh, Seamus, how can you stand to touch him?” Lavender’s pink-and-white face loomed over him, its features oddly twisted. “He looks so slimy.”
“Don’t be ridiculous; he’s an amphibian. There are plenty of frogs back home, I’ve had to pick them up out of the sink sometimes. They’re not slimy, just moist. They have to be that way to survive. Look, just touch him,” and Seamus’s hands pushed out towards Lavender. Trevor held on for dear life. Fortunately, his alarm was misplaced.
“No way am I touching that thing, Seamus Finnigan, don’t even try it!” Lavender warned, backing away
“Ah, come on,” Seamus coaxed. “Live a little; it can’t be any worse than rounding up those Blast-Ended Skrewts, can it?”
Trevor sensed a change in the air and heard it in Lavender’s voice. “Oh, well… that wasn’t much.” The shrill tone had gone. She sounded warm, shy… almost pleased. He turned around in Seamus’s hands, trying to get a good look at her. Even her face had changed, flushing from pink to red, producing a nice mottled effect.
“Sure, it was.” Seamus’s voice had warmed, too, and deepened. He was almost croaking. Trevor approved of this tactic. There was nothing like croaking to get a female interested in you. He had yet to make his human understand this tactic – Neville still tended to squeak – but it seemed that Seamus needed no lessons. “If you could handle a Blast-Ended Skrewt, you can handle a toad, Lavender. Come on…”
“All right, but just one finger.” Lavender lifted said digit and it slowly descended towards Trevor. He was tempted to hop down to the floor and make her squeal, but his eardrums probably wouldn’t take it, so he held skin. The finger had barely touched him before she drew back. “There. I did it.”
“See? It wasn’t so bad.” Seamus’s own fingers were running along the ridges of Trevor’s back. He let out a long croak of pleasure. “He’s really not so bad once you get to know him,” Seamus added. Trevor was rather flattered. He could say the same for Seamus.
“Mm… I s’pose not,” Lavender agreed, her voice dropping even lower. “Why don’t you put him down?”
“I should put him back in the dormitory.” Seamus’s voice was slow and hesitant. Trevor kept his eyes closed, willing Lavender on.
“You don’t need to do that. Look, if Neville comes and asks us where he is, you can tell him. He’ll probably look under the chair anyway.” Lavender’s hand came over and gently touched Seamus’s wrist. Trevor willed him to give in. There was nothing he’d like more than to be back under his chair. And it looked like Seamus and Lavender would be sharing, so he would be nice and alone.
“Me father always warned me to beware of feminine wiles; guess I’ll have to listen to him from now on,” Seamus said hoarsely, and put Trevor down.
Trevor hopped back under the chair and croaked happily to himself as Seamus and Lavender’s shoes met toe to toe. He might have to revise his opinion on Lavender. That girl wasn’t half so bad after all…