Chapter Text
Dennis Creevey wants a toad. Not your typical garden-smelling idle-sitting toad-sounding toad, not a toad that would eat and poop and exist all in the same spot, only to repeat it again until there are no more next days. No , Dennis Creevey wants a toad that can –
“Sing?!” Dennis nods at his brother, leaking excitement from his ears. “You want a toad that can sing?!” Colin stares incredulously.
Dennis nods again, as if his head is on a spring.
Colin sighs, ruffling the mousy brown mop on Dennis’ head. “Toads in the wizarding world do not differ from our ones, little brother.”
“They don’t?”
“Sorry, Den,”
The two boys walk through the back-to-school hustle of Diagon Alley, the smaller one pouting and scuffing and dragging behind like a sad pup. By the time Ollivander's comes into view, only one boy, predictably, remains. “Dennis? Dennis, where the hell did you sneak off to?”
The sad pup in question patters deeper into the hidden alleyway. Because if Dennis Creevey wants a singing toad, Dennis Creevey shall get his singing toad.
“Dennis! You little-!”
Dennis starts running, giggling track on repeat as he manages to fish out the Magical Menagerie sign. He glances behind him to confirm the lack of brother sightings, and waltzes into the shop like he owns the place.
“Can I help you, Mr…?”
“Creevey, sir. Got any singing toads?”
“-Singing …?” The salesman smirks. “Not in here lad. Not anywhere, for that matter,”
Dennis huffs. All this magic is so great you won’t believe it lark from his brother’s mouth is turning out to be a load of pish posh so far. He strides over to browse the fish tanks in the corner, walking close enough that the bubbling tunes out the salesman’s snickers. He flits unimpressed irises over goldfish, turtles, more goldfish. Then – toads! Dennis doesn’t remember running over to them; he stares at them in unbridled hope, reaching his arm over the pen’s barrier and prodding one lightly. He waits. Prods again. Waits. Deflates. Fails to hold in a disappointed sigh. They were much too toad-like and much too silent.
“I would save the sighs for something more tragic.”
Dennis jumps out of his skin.
There’s a warm chuckle. “Chillax, kid. Didn’t mean to scare ya,”
Dennis looks to his right, where a man with big ears and a navy cloak is stood. The man is not looking at him, instead is swishing his fingers around on the water surface of one of the tanks. “You know what double-ended newts are?” He speaks again.
“No.”
The man smiles. Swishes his fingers around some more. Dunks his whole arm and subsequent sleeve into the tank.
Curiosity moves Dennis’ feet closer to the man, who has pulled out an axolotl-looking creature from the bottom of the tank. Only, it has two heads.
“Whoah,”
“Cool, isn’t it?”
The creature starts spinning around like a caffeinated merry-go-round in the man's palm. The man whispers a word, and the two heads slowly split apart.
Dennis stares in awe at the two now separate bodied newts.
“We have to do that sometimes,” The man says, releasing the newts back in the tank. “If the heads do not get along, they have a propensity to spin around until they forget what being still was like.”
Dennis does not know the appropriate response to such a matter, so he does what most 11 year olds would do; he flashes an awkward tooth-gapped smile and skips away.
“Doo-bee-doo-dah-dah-doo-bee-doo-dah-dah-dah-dah,”
Dennis freezes. Looks down to the source of the scat-singing, heart in his throat.
For there, plonked on the very floor in front of his shoes, is a singing toad. He squeals in disbelief and delight and scoops it up.
The big-eared man behind him chuckles, and vanishes.
“My old man told me about you, Emrys.”
“Here we go.”
“Said I should never sell my wands to you. Said there’s never been one who disrespects our craft as much as yourself,”
“I dont-“
“Said you’d buy one of his bests, only to splinter and gut it’s insides the next week,”
“I hardly-“
“Said you’d be infuriating and insolent about it, as well.”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit-“
“Our wands are sculpted from the earth, its creatures and its fruits. It takes months for the wood to even be-“
“Look, Garrick, I apologise if my past-doings have-“
“If?!”
“-not been received well, but I really do need this wand. I won’t even use it, if it makes you feel better,”
“Won’t even-?!” Garrick lets out a strangled sound. “Wands are meant to be used, Emrys. Not left to pose and look pretty until they become a piece of the furniture.”
“You know full well your wands cannot sustain my magic,”
“Only precisely the reason you should not buy off us in the first place!”
Merlin groans unrestrainedly. Not having a genuine wand in Hogwarts is the equivalent of being a haystack in a pile of needles. One more glance at Garrick's face confirms this is the fate that awaits him.
“Alright.”
“Alright?”
“I’ll try my hand at the next Ollivander generation. Seems this one is as unyielding as the last.” He opens the door and the bell rings. “Good-day,” Merlin says to Garrick’s smug look. He strolls in the direction of The Three Broomsticks, the desire for butterbeer becoming increasingly more dominant over all other thoughts.
Harry bangs the back of his head on the train compartment wall.
“Harry - it’ll be fine.”
“ Harry, it’ll be fine,” Harry mocks in a high pitched voice. He’s more than aware of his ridiculous childishness right now, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s so sleep deprived he can’t tell if the real Hermione is the figure in front of him or to his left, he can’t look at pruned bushes without seeing murdered gardeners and green flashes, he can’t close his eyes without seeing the death mark that’s been seared into his eyelids, and he’s seriously considering getting a full-ass forehead transplant at this point.
“I just don’t understand why mass panic isn’t a more accepted phenomenon around here!”
“…What?”
“A dark mark was cast, Hermione. I saw the bloody guy who did it! It’s plaguing my brain and my head can’t seem to shut up about Voldemort coming back and I don’t understand how you two are treating it like someone served you acorns on toast instead of peanut butter!”
“Acorns?” Ron shakes his head, “Mate, it’s not like we’re not taking this seriously, of course we are, we’re as scared as you.”
“Then why do I feel like the world is just…carrying on?”
“Because it has to.”
Harry heaves a sigh at that, one that deflates all the air out of him in one big swoop and makes him slouch like some pathetic airless balloon. “M’ sorry.”
“All good, Harry. You’re tired and worried, not a good combo in your books.”
Harry nods miserably, energy drained.
“Anything from the trolley, dears?”
“Packet of droobles and… a chocolate frog,” Ron says, getting up to hand the coins to the trolley-lady.
He sits back down and tosses the chocolate frog to Harry. Harry feels himself smile in a way he hasn’t been able to these past few days.
“Go on, open it! Wanna see if you get Agrippa or Ptolemy,”
“You’ve been saying that for years, Ronald.” Hermione says, rolling her eyes, “I’m beginning to doubt they exist at this point.”
“Oh, they exist alright,” Ron scoffs, “George is sticking a growing collection of Ptolemys on his door-frame, just to get a kick out of me,”
Harry opens the lid just wide enough to slide out the card without unleashing the frog. He snorts immediately at the picture.
“Tough luck, Ron,” He says, showing the card to him.
“Merlin? Again?!” Ron stuffs a drooble angrily into his mouth. “Bloody wizard. If I see anymore of him I’m not taking accountability for my actions.”
They keep the chatter idle and surface level for the rest of the train ride, and Ron and Hermione let Harry slowly retreat into silence as they bicker over the validity of the latest Quibbler articles. Harry stares out the window at the blur of greens and blues until he spots the turrets of the place he calls home.
The journey feels shorter than what he remembers. He’d planned to wallow in the injustices of Voldemort's potential return, yet Sirius takes up a larger portion of his thoughts than intended.
“You think Sirius is okay?” Harry ends up saying quietly after some time, just before the train stops.
“He’s ok, Harry,” Hermione says, opening the doors and smiling knowingly. “He’s got Buckbeak. He’s got Professor Lupin. He’s got you.”
Harry mirrors her smile and follows his two friends out, finally munching on his chocolate frog.
Behind him, a dragonfly flies out of the compartment, unseen.