Fiain Fancies was just off the main street, not because it was low-brow or cheap but because it didn't cater to the common masses as part of its clientele. A large bronze filigree feline stalked across the wide glass windows of the storefront, stopping to sit and curl its tail around itself as Neville approached. Despite its faceless countenance, he fancied it was watching him judgementally.

Pushing open one of the double doors, Neville peered inside. The smell of lavender and jasmine didn't quite manage to disguise the underlying odour of living, breathing creatures. Fur, fuzz and the faint whiff of manure combined with the floral overlay to deliver a sucker punch to the senses that made Neville's eyes water, or at least that was what he intended to claim if questioned. Head barely inside, his eyes flickered around the room, not settling on any one object for more than a second. Serried rows of cages containing sharp-eyed kneazels in various colours lined half a wall, separated by a thin, but clearly magical, translucent aquamarine silk veil from the complex wall-mounted maze housing young nifflers. Overhead, runespoors slithered through crystal tunnels or curled in alcoves lined with plush velvet cushions, and a solitary, furious crup made frantic leaps for freedom from its silver and glass enclosure as it struggled to reach a large, ebony-feathered vulture perched atop – Neville's hands slipped on the doorhandle as his grip relaxed, the sight of his gran's hat a relief which ballooned up in his chest and made him lightheaded and giddy.

The door crashed open as he pushed and Neville winced and froze guiltily, cringing in the doorway as every kneazel turned to stare at him. In the terrarium next to the door, two fat streelers – one burgundy, the other a prismatic purple-white – dropped loudly to the floor of their enclosure from the underside of the obsidian sylvatica branch they were slowly dissolving.

Pale-faced, he cringed and hurried further into the shop, making a beeline for his gran's hat.

His gran was staring down her nose at a litter of swamp cats, one of which was purring contentedly in his mum's arms as she scratched the large, grey-green scales that lined its snout.

"…not having a filthy little cat in my—"

Alice winced as the kitten startled in her arms, needle-like claws pricking straight through her robes and into her arm as Neville's shoulder caught the edge of a display of enchanted griffin treats and sent them crashing to the floor with a thunderous noise. His gran, still smouldering with indignation and disgust, whirled on him like an eagle dropping from a dizzying height onto a mouse in the field, noticed it was Neville rather than some hapless shop assistant and gave a long-suffering sigh.

"At least you found your way here." She sniffed, and clearly regretted it as her nose wrinkled further than usual. "Eventually."

"Ah, Nevvy, love. Right on – ah! – time, dear." Alice winced as the swamp kitten – back nearly a perfect parabolic curve, claws still extended and the purple flowers sprouting in its fur emitting a faintly acrid warning stench – clung even tighter to her arm as she extended a comforting hand towards Neville. It hissed loudly at him, but he stepped forwards and firmly grabbed it by the scruff of its neck. It hung limply and surprisingly heavy in his hand, and Neville gently unhooked its claws from his mum's robes before settling it in the crook of his free arm. Its flowers had stopped producing any smell at all, which Neville was grateful for, and he began humming low and deep in his chest before releasing his hold on the kitten.

Tiny pinprick claws kneaded his arm for a moment, catching in the fabric of his robes, and then the swamp kitten settled and curled up against his chest in a cloud of crinum lily perfume.

"We are not keeping it."

"I don't think it would like Hogwarts much anyway," Neville said, absentmindedly stroking the bony ridge along the kitten's spine. "Too cold for it."

Its littermates mewed as he carefully lowered their sibling back in amongst them, scrabbling over the heated citrine that kept their enclosure moist and warm.

"Mm. Yes. Well. Have a look around, find… whatever you want and then we'll get going. Be quick about it." The comment on the frivolity of the exercise was, thankfully, unspoken, but echoed loudly in Neville's head all the same. His gran was standing ramrod straight, her elbows tucked tight against her body. Her handbag, large and as dark as the vulture perched atop her head, swung silently at her side. "I shall be outside. Do try and get something useful, don't squander your uncle's gift."

A gentle, warm hand touched his elbow, just enough to let him know it was there. Neville glanced up from where he had been staring unseeingly at the swamp kittens – better than looking at his gran – and his mum's gentle smile helped to unravel just a little of the tension that had knotted itself in his chest. He let out a small sigh, lungs suddenly able to expand normally, and unclenched a hand from the side of the enclosure.

"Do you want to look around on your own, dear? Or would you like me to come with?"

He desperately wanted to open his mouth and ask her to come with. With her beside him, the shop seemed smaller, cozy, comforting. The prospect of walking alone through the towering stacks of shelving and animals, of having to talk to the shop assistant who was watching him with narrowed eyes as he buffed the golden doorhandle until it gleamed, made his heart feel several sizes too large for his chest and crushed him down so small he could have been stepped on by an ant.

Neville's voice caught in his throat and he coughed, spluttered. He turned away and covered his mouth with his hand, trying valiantly to get his breathing back under his control. His eyes flickered up to his mum, who was still watching him with a small smile playing about her lips.

"Hankie, Nev?"

"N-no thanks, mum. I'll—" He took a deep breath, feeling the nerves buzzing at the back of his skull and turning his tummy. "I'll j-just go and—and have a look around."

Her smile was blinding, leaving Neville dizzy and disoriented, his heart trying to send him two conflicting emotions at the same time. Alice's kiss on his forehead was nearly burning. It buzzed and sank into his skin and settled behind his eyes like a migraine, drawing a wand and doing its best to cut down the monsters of his worry that crept up on it.

It was a lost cause.

By the time his mum, and her burgeoning pride at his independence, had rounded the corner, Neville's eyes were fixed on the swamp kittens once more, and he fought the urge to dash after her. How he wanted to feel her hand in his, the solid reassurance of her presence. If his mum was there, everything would be alright. It had to be. Even his gran would have been a welcome harbour in the tumultuous tempest of his emotions.

Feeling like he was going to be sick, Neville released his death grip on the enclosure's side and shoved his fists into his pockets, hoping the shiver didn't show. He forced his head up, tried to walk how Draco walked and felt like an erumphant clomping around in oversized clogs. It wasn't right. But he had to try to look the part. He had to try.

He ran his hands through silvery strands of demiguise hair, twisted into long skeins that hung from a rack alongside unicorn, pixie, chrysomallous and siren hair. Some of the unicorn foal hair tugged back at his touch, and Neville looked up and met the silvery gaze of a surprised baby niffler. It wriggled its long snout at him and scurried away along the top of the rack, only to slip and land on a pile of litter for the indoor pets, disappearing in a cloud of powder and pellets. A moment later, its small auburn head popped out from the pile, and in a blur of legs and litter it scampered under a shelving unit, spraying pellets everywhere. A small giggle escaped between Neville's lips, and his next step felt like the clogs were fitting a little better all of a sudden.

A coruscating gleam against a cabinet inlaid with occamy shell and mother of pearl drew his attention, and Neville stepped around the mahogany cabinet to be met with an astounding sight. Several rows of shelves, lined with crushed red velvet displayed over thirty golden eggs that shone with their own inner light. Silver writing etched on the pale timber of the shelves curled and twisted through a number of unfamiliar languages before the script shifted into a more familiar alphabet.

Infans expositus phoenicis.

Orphans of the phoenix. Neville hardly dared breathe as he leaned forward, a shaking hand reaching out to brush against an egg nearly the size of a honeydew melon. He wondered how on earth the owners had gotten so many.

There was no price tag, and Neville didn't dare ask for one. It would be too much, and besides, there was no point spending money on something that would never hatch for him. They might not even be for sale, given how phoenix foundlings worked. Each egg had, faintly etched into its surface in ruby writing, a name. Atsuko. Llewelyn. Citlali. Mortimer. Iolana. The one Neville touched was Gywn and was warm beneath his fingertips. He wondered what sort of creature might be inside it, and who it would hatch for. It was huge, so probably someone big and strong, someone with confidence and self-assurance. For a moment, Neville imagined what it would be like to see that. To have the egg shake beneath his hand, crack and splinter and reveal the creature inside, have it stand strong and steadfast beside him.

But it was only a dream, he knew.

He pulled away with a small sigh, and sloped back among the shelves and terrariums. Overhead, two runespoors hissed menacingly at each other, each set of three heads arched back and baring wickedly sharp fangs. Their bodies made a rough shshing sound as they slithered through the crystal tunnels.

A dappled terrarium with a small brook flowing through it caught Neville's eye, and he watched the tiny blink frogs with interest as they leaped. Mid-leap, they would vanish, a sudden loss of vibrant colour, only to reappear a foot or so away, still mid-jump, barrelling towards one of their brethren. One of them misjudged a leap and thudded into the glass, its electric blue body startlingly bright against the smoked glass as it sat and blinked dozily, recovering from the impact before leaping back into the game.

Another case contained two fat ashwinders, napping fitfully on a heated slab of obsidian. Their golden veins pulsed lazily with light as they snoozed, curled up into a single mass. Nearby, a sharp-eyed snowy owl eyed the fire-lizards hungrily, its head twisted all the way round on its neck. There were other owls in there, mostly sleeping, although a few eyed Neville curiously as he passed with amber and blue eyes. He knew his gran approved of owls. Very useful, she would say with a knowing nod, but all Neville could think of was those cruel beaks tearing into a tiny mouse, or sharp talons clamping down on an unsuspecting rabbit crouched in the meadow grass. He kept his distance and edged past the aviary.

The burble of flowing water once again drew his attention, and he saw a sleek, dark shape dive from a rock and vanish beneath the surface of the water. On the glass, glowing silver letters informed him that – among other things in the enclosure – there were dhobar-chú, or water dogs, and he saw inky, soft eyes watching him from the shadows of the waterweeds. Resting one palm flat on the cool glass, he watched those gentle eyes blink, and the dhobar-chú emerged from the plants and swam up. It rested both delicate, clawed paws against his, separated only by the thin barrier of magicked glass, its pointed, dog-like snout wriggling curiously. Its body was long and sinuous, and combined with its webbed feet gave it the look of an otter, at least at first glance. But its snout was too long, the eyes too intelligent, and the ears and tail were long and heavily furred.

It pressed its bright pink nose against the glass, and then with barely any apparent effort, performed a twisting back-flip and dove towards the stone and silt covering the bottom of the faux riverbed. Digging intently, it vanished briefly in a cloud of muddy grey detritus, only to reappear clutching something close to its chest. It appeared to be a shell of some kind, ridged and with a small green stone embedded in its rounded side. The dhobar-chú rocketed up towards the surface, exploding in a spray of water, and cheekily lobbed the shell at Neville's head.

As the sleek, dark-furred body arced back towards the water and Neville's brain tried to piece together what exactly was going on right now what his body reacted with a speed that would have surprised him upon reflection, and Neville found himself staring wide-eyed at a dripping wet shell, clutched mere inches from his nose in both hands. The drip formed a small damp patch on his robes as his brain attempted to catch up with reality.

"Tch, what is going—boy! Drop that at once!"

Neville's whole body stiffened as if he'd been hit with the full body bind, and the shell dropped from his nerveless fingers. It caught in his robes, surprisingly heavy, and rolled from his lap and onto the floor. He bit back tears, tried to quell the prickling sensation in his eyes. He hadn't meant to! He hadn't!

A thin, bony hand marked with myriad tiny nicks and scars grabbed his wrist, and he felt himself pulled to his feet – when had he sat down? – and found himself face-to-face with the shop assistant. The man's robes were fine, with gilt edges and beaded hems, but there were tiny holes and burnmarks in the cloth that were only visible up close.

"Patchmoths?" The question just fell out of Neville's mouth unprompted and unlooked for. He might have slapped the man for the effect it had – the stubbled jaw snapped shut, and he pulled his head back ever so slightly in a flinch.

"I – er – what? Are you okay, boy? The chukwa didn't bite you?"

"Your robes…" Neville's train of thought, fixated on the one tiny detail it was relatively sure of, derailed in a sudden burst of sparks and steam as it hit the roadblock of conversation. "The what?"

"The chukwa. Little turtle critter you was holding."

"Oh." Neville stared bemusedly at his still-damp hands for a long moment. "No. It didn't."

The assistant's face relaxed into a relieved smile, and Neville squinted as he found his hair ruffled in an overly-familiar manner. He tensed, waiting for his gran's disproval.

"Good, good. Little blighter's one heck of an escape artist, let me tell you, and he don't be liking people much at all. Glad you're not hurt. Lost the tip of me finger the other week, and it's all fine and dandy to be going to the hospital as an employee but if a customer had to go, oh I wouldn't like to be involved in that at all."

The man had bent down to peer under the dhobar-chú enclosure, his nattering uninterrupted by solemn, stern admonishment. Neville found it almost soothing, in a way. He wasn't having to say anything. He could just be quiet, and it felt like the shop assistant would just keep talking forever regardless.

"Ah. Well, look at that. He likes you, alright."

Neville followed the man's gaze, which was somewhat difficult given the assistant was still kneeling on the floor and seemed to be looking intently at the back of Neville's shoes. His robes were in the way. Neville tugged the back of his robes to one side, twisting his body so he could see, and spotted the shell he had caught sitting by his left heel. Although, not quite the shell he had caught. This one had legs, a stubby paddle-like tail and a tiny head all sticking out from it. Liquid amber eyes looked up at him as the chukwa lipped the back of his leather shoe and began sucking at it. Or biting it? Neville couldn't tell.

"That's a chukwa?"

"Yup." The shop assistant reached tentatively through Neville's legs and received a sharp nip for his trouble. "Tsh. Usually pretty placid lil' critters though. This one's got a right attitude on 'em."

Neville bent down and carefully picked up the chukwa. It was heavy and cool in his hands, smooth like a river stone. He could just hold in it both hands, and the chukwa gave a chirp and began mouthing Neville's finger, making him giggle. "I like him."

The shop assistant sounded distressingly hopeful, a man who has just seen the light at the end of a long, dark and bitey tunnel. "Don't suppose you'd be interested in buying him?"

Neville stared at the chukwa in his hands. It was intent on tasting his finger, and seemed totally absorbed in its self-appointed task. He wondered when he had last washed his hands, and hoped he wasn't going to get the little creature sick.

"Um… m-maybe?" Did he want to buy the chukwa? The threat of making a decision was rearing up unexpectedly, even though he knew it had been coming at some point, but it was too soon and maybe he shouldn't get it there were things he hadn't seen yet and it was very comforting to hold and it did like him did he like it—

"I can add in a book on his care, too, and a terrarium, some food. Get you all set up. Call it three galleons and nine sickles?"

Neville nodded, his tongue stoppered up and dried to the top of his mouth. The shop assistant didn't wait for any further confirmation, bustling off to grab the items he'd promised. The book was larger than Neville had expected, heavy and bound in nice leather with a bronze-embossed edge, and the shop assistant leaned close across the counter and whispered "Got you the premium edition. Nicer pics, and more info. Spelled to be waterproof, too."

Another nod, and Neville put the chukwa down onto the countertop. It seemed content to sit quietly near his hand, and he reached out to stroke its shell. The green stone in its back had a pearly sheen to it, and felt almost velvety when he ran a finger over it. The rest of its shell had the texture of stone, worn smooth by hundred of years of river current washing away any imperfection.

"Pretty, innit? And useful, too."

Neville's ears pricked, though his tongue remained stubbornly stuck to the roof of his mouth and he had to work to dislodge it. "U-Useful?"

"Chukwa pearls. Good in, uh, potion making I think? Or holding enchantments?" The shop assistant had flushed a pale pink that Neville was very familiar with. "It's all here in the book."

Probably. Neville could hear the unspoken word, tinged with fervent hope that what had been said wasn't wrong. It was a word he'd left unspoken any number of times, and he felt a strange kinship with the man. Was it friendship, or something similar?

Neville nodded, the gesture as uncertain as the shop assistant's voice.

By the time everything was wrapped and packaged, the newly christened Trevor staring reproachfully out of his new terrarium with a look of abject betrayal, Neville found himself wearing a small smile that didn't seem inclined to fade. He dug through the coin pouch his mum had given him, counting out coins from his birthday money and from the vault.

Metal clinked coolly against his fingertips, and then met something warm and soft. Something not the side of his pouch.

His small squeak of surprise was not unnoticed, the shop assistant's brow creasing in quiet concern, as Neville's hand pulled out from his pouch, sending several bronze knuts and a silver sickle spinning across the floor. It was followed closely by a pitch-black head, marked only by a single silvery blotch right on the top between two tiny ears. The niffler's head swivelled and stopped dead in what Neville could only see as guilty surprise as its large brown eyes met the gaze of the shop assistant.

Time seemed frozen for a single, eternal second, and then everything exploded into movement around Neville who stood rooted to the spot in fright. The niffler began wriggling furiously, tiny long-clawed paws emerging from Neville's as it struggled to extricate itself from the compromising position. The assistant swore, loudly, and Neville hoped his gran hadn't heard it. The counter-top squeaked loudly as a thick rubber-soled shoe connected with it, patchmoth-chewed robes flapping wildly as the shop assistant vaulted the counter and sent a rack of stardew treats clattering to the floor in a rush of colour. Neville found himself once again sitting on the ground, his tailbone aching, the pink face of the harried shop assistant mere centimetres from his own, the weight and warmth of him pressing Neville into the ground.

"Ah-ha, got yo—"

"What is going on here?"

The poor assistant's face went a horrible, mottled mix of panicked pink and terrified white at the sound of Neville's gran's voice, a low growl of displeasure that made Neville himself want to curl up into a ball and pretend he didn't exist.

"I-uh-t-th—uh—"

"Remove yourself from my grandson at once."

"Oh Nevvy, are you okay? Did you fall?"

His mum pulled him to his feet carefully, the shop assistant scuttling backwards until their back hit the counter under the force of his gran's glare. Neville couldn't see it, but he could very nearly feel it crisping the hairs on the back of his neck.

"I'm sure the poor boy meant nothing by it, Augusta."

"Hmpf." A dragon couldn't have produced a more terrifying snort.

"T-the niffler…" Neville managed to whisper, and luckily his mum caught the sound and amplified it like his own personal sonorous into frequencies his gran could hear and understand. It was the understanding that Neville found the hardest.

"There was a niffler. You know how pesky those things can be."

"Ah. Yes."

Neville could have sworn there was a faint quiver in his gran's voice. In another person – himself – he might have called it fear or worry. In his gran, it was an enigma that would never be solved. The store-person, still huddled against the counter, brandished the baby niffler like a sword. This sudden movement elicited a squeak of delight from the creature and its tiny legs wiggled happily.

"Well then. We shan't mention this little incident to anyone, shall we then? A misunderstanding that we are willing to overlook. This time."

Neville glanced up at his gran, noticed her eyes flickering from side-to-side rather than fixed in her customary glare.

The change in demeanour seemed to embolden the assistant, who pushed himself to his feet and inched closer. In his hands, the niffler squeaked indignantly.

"I-I'll just return what it grabbed from your pouch then, young sir?"

"It stole—"

Glancing back as his gran cut off her exclamation, he saw his mum had rested her hand on his gran's upper arm and was leaning close to her ear. Gran looked like she was barely containing herself, her face flushed pink. Then she took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and when her eyes opened again her face settled back into its usual impassivity.

"Very well. Alice will take care of this. I shall be outside. Do not dawdle."

Both Neville and the shop assistant nodded fervently. No dawdling.

In short order, the niffler was upended and shaken over Neville's coin pouch – a veritable flood of gold poured out of it, the coins larger than the creature that had secreted them inside its pouch – and despite Neville's protests that he still hadn't paid the full amount, he found himself clutching Trevor's tank, his new book, and his coin pouch in too-full hands as he was ushered outside. The door swung shut with a melodious tinkle and Neville was once more swallowed up by the clamour and colour of Diagon Alley.

Author's Notes:

First off, yes, Trevor is a turtle - or more accurately, a chukwa. This is based off of two things - one, in the Spanish translations Trevor is a turtle and not a toad. And I liked that more, so here we have a canonically turtle-rific Trevor.

Secondly, I sort of wanted Trevor to have a magical background. I couldn't find anything specific in-canon, but Chukwa is the name of the world turtle in Hindu mythology. So I figured a turtle which grows pearls on its shell, commonly green or blue pearls, would fit quite nicely and could provide some interesting future plot points.

I also would like to note that the Orphans of the Phoenix are not my original idea. I've borrowed/stolen it from JunjouSlashGirl's fic 'A Different Kind of Hero' (verrrrry mature content, beware) and will hopefully be giving it my own unique spin. I just really liked the idea, and if you haven't guessed yet, I'm a sucker for shiny things.

If anyone's got any suggestions for potential uses for chukwa pearls, fee free to comment them below! I don't have any firm plans for them yet. :)