All the help he can get
The talk on the Hogwarts Express had all been about the Quidditch World Cup, or more precisely about what had happened following the final between Ireland and Bulgaria.
Neville and his gran had not been at the Quidditch World Cup, but even Trevor was aware of what had happened in the aftermath of this prestigious event. The Daily Prophet had been full of pictures of the Dark Mark and witness statements from those who had seen the mark being cast. Neville’s gran, not a fan of this aptly named news bulletin because of its many inaccuracies, had to admit that while the so-called witness statements had to be taken with a healthy amount of salt, even the Prophet could not make up something as significant as the casting of the Dark Mark.
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Back at Hogwarts all talk of the Quidditch World Cup was soon forgotten in the excitement of the Triwizard Tournament.
On hearing the boys openly admiring the girls from Beauxbatons Academy, Trevor had hopped onto the table to get a closer look, only to nearly jump back down at the sight of some of them. Unfortunately Veela magic does not work on animals and where the Gryffindor boys apparently saw beautiful young women, Trevor saw some scary looking harpy-like creatures in pale blue robes.
He made a note to stay well clear of these so-called students for fear of what they would do to him. He did not relish being turned into fried toad any time soon.
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Trevor had to admit that this was probably the most interesting year in Hogwarts, yet. The grounds were full of magical beasts not ordinarily frequenting the school, not least the half-giantess Madame Maxime and her gigantic winged stallions that had pulled the Beauxbatons carriage.
There were also four full size dragons. Trevor, who’s wish to not end up cooked to a crisp extended to his respect for these dragons, vowed to stay well clear of the forest where these majestic creatures could be heard and seen spewing fire well into the night.
Trevor was happy to see some fire of a different kind having gotten into his little human. Ever since the first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson by that new teacher, Neville had been having nightmares.
Trevor had heard him scream in the middle of the night: ‘No, stop, don’t do that to my mother. Please stop! Stop using that curse, it is unforgivable.’
The screams seemed to have eased somewhat since the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher gave him some herbology book about water plants in the British Isles. Why anyone would want to read about plants, when there were plenty of interesting books on amphibians, Trevor did not understand, but if it made Neville happy and forget about his nightmares, that was good enough for him.
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Trevor generally took little notice of anything that went on in the life of the students, other than when it affected his own little human, but even he could not remain oblivious to the scandal surrounding the fourth Triwizard Champion. He normally would take little notice of the Boy Who Lived, but trouble really seemed to follow that boy around.
Thank Merlin that boy could fly like the wind, otherwise Neville’s class mate would have been crispier than a Crispy Duck, courtesy of an uncharacteristically bad tempered Hungarian Horntail. Trevor had watched the whole ‘game’ from the upper stands, peeking out from Neville’s pocket. Not that the other candidates had been having an easy task, but Harry’s dragon had been in a class of its own.
The upside had been that no-one questioned any longer whether Harry had put his name in the cup himself. The boy might be famous, but from what Trevor had seen, he had no death wish, despite regularly finding himself in mortal danger.
If the first Tri Wizard Game was anything to go by, Harry could use all the help he could get.
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Now would you credit that. The one book that the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had given Neville turned out to contain just the information that Harry needed to hold his breath under water for an hour.
Trevor wondered what Neville’s Gran would think about such an extraordinary coincidence. He had heard her tell Neville time and time again that there was no such thing as a coincidence and to always question any gift horses, regardless of what that Muggle saying said about not looking a gift horse in the mouth.
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The Boy Who Lived might have been good at wrestling a dragon, but even without his arm being in a sling, he could not hold a candle to his human when it came to dancing.
The Dance Lesson in preparation for the Yule Ball had been the best day of Neville’s life at Hogwarts to date. It had given him a huge boost of confidence that he was the twinkle toes of the Gryffindor tower and he had even been confident enough to ask one of the Gryffindor girls to the Ball.
Trevor had overheard the twins laughing about the tongue twister McGonagall had proclaimed during the lesson, that she did not wish for a band of babbling, bumbling baboons to disgrace the name of Godric at the Ball. By the looks of it there was only one lordly lion ready to prance right now and that was his young human. Trevor watched Neville fondly, as he practiced his dance steps in the boys’ dorm, while humming a waltz. Trevor fell asleep, dreaming of his human having a wonderful time at the Yule Ball.