A/N: Written for The House Competition, Round 1.
House: Gryffindor
Class: Herbology
Category: "Drabble"
Prompt: [Animal] Toad
Word Count: 751
A/N 2: I realize that this is a ficlet and not a true drabble, as a drabble is traditionally 100 words. However, for the purposes of this event, the category this is for is called 'Drabbles'. Enjoy!
The boy had brought the toad to class. Again.
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply, and directed his glare down at the papers in front of him. Slashing red across yet another absurd assertion,he contemplated his next move.
Toads had numerous uses in the field of Potionry. Each individual organ could be utilized, which was uncommon in animals, as one typically encountered some issue with some organ or another that interacted poorly with most, if not all, bases. Frogs, too, could be used thus, and so were generally considered useful.
Toads, however, were even more valuable. This was because, while the secretions of a toad could certainly be detrimental to many potions, those same secretions granted their skin unique absorption properties. Particularly the two known magical breeds.
Potioneers had sought them out for centuries. There had even been a point in the late Fifteenth century when one of the known magical breeds was brought near to extinction in the wild. Then regulations had been established, and the population had been given time to regrow. Severus had vivid recollection of his own apprenticeship, and the lamentations of his Potions Master of the days when a potion could simply be dropped on the back of such a toad to determine its efficacy.
The toads may have suffered a fraction of the intended effects, but the inherent filtration systems in their anatomy provided the rare ability to resist every known potion that had been tested on them. Until the Ministry's regulations were put in place, toads were the primary method by which quality was assured in potion making. However, repeated testing of flawed potions seemed to build up in the toad and cause its premature demise, the Ministry had seen no alternative but to step in to prevent the use of toad testing by students.
This meant that any potioneer in possession of a large, fully matured magical toad was respected—sometimes even hailed in the potion-making community as accomplished. Only the best, most reputable Masters frequently had the oldest and largest testing toads. Nowadays, the breeds once used for testing were rare at all to see in captivity.
Longbottom probably had no idea what he had for his familiar. Instead of a run-of-the-mill cat or owl, Severus quite regularly struggled with the fact that, of all students, his very worst pupil had shown up to Hogwarts with one the highest status symbols the field of Potionry had ever had to offer.
And he was clueless. Longbottom's toad was large. Mature; old, even. It must have been a hand-me-down. It kept disappearing on the boy—or so Severus had heard muttered amongst the staff—and when it did turn up, it tended to be in the oddest of places. Normally in the dungeons. Once, his personal lab, which was entirely unacceptable.
The whole situation was, really; not only were toads no longer permitted for official standardized testing, it had become quite a faux pas—in the social circles that were aware of the overall history, impact and implications—to even have one in a lab. The truth was, if the toad was not well trained and was mishandled or startled, it could very well leap into an unsuspecting student's cauldron and cause considerable damage.
'Not in my lab,' Severus thought fiercely to himself, snapping a quill in his hand as he mulled over the karmic insult that was Neville Longbottom carrying a prized testing toad named Trevor, of all things, with him everyday. In all likelihood, the boy had been handed the toad and told, "this is a T.R.E.V.O.R."—an acronym for 'Testing Repository for Elixir Verification, Observation, and Research' of course, the standard term for such toads within the field—and took that to be the thing's name. Severus had to act. He'd have to embarrass the boy; use the toad itself to convince him that bringing Trevor to class was not a good idea. That should do the trick. The next time Longbottom royally botched a potion, he'd simply offer to test it on the toad. Surely the mental image of all the colors the toad would turn—and whatever other temporary alterations may take place—would have some effect.
Tucking the graded paper away, he stood. He would do it the next time the toad showed up in his class. For now, it was time for some much needed sleep.