Predictably, Neville was left partnerless.

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Hullo, this is Neville Longbottom, I think I've done this right.
Erm, you can leave me a voiceletter. If you'd like.

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[palebee]

[ He's waiting back along the treeline, hands folded and smiling genially at nothing in particular. His eyes track a bit into the distance, watching more carefully from the corners of their vision. For once, the absurdly-coloured robes have been shifted in favour of plain garb, a tight bandage wrapped around both bracelet and wrist, and a large covered bucket hanging at his side.

He waves to Neville when he spots him, gesturing him over. ]

Ah, there you are! Thank you very much for coming, I really do appreciate it -- here, just back this way.

[ He gestures along the path, setting off at a brisk pace. The ground grows wetter as they walk, and filtering through the greenery is the faint, unmistakable smell of marsh. ]

Tell me, Mr. Longbottom, you've experience with toadflowers, what of the earnest, hopping thing?

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Sure, Professor.

[Neville gives a small smile, which feels worn and stretched across his tired face. It lasts only a little while, but he doesn't go back to looking completely miserable when it's gone.] I've got one, yeah, he's why I got a toadflower in the first place. Keep him company, and all. His his name is Trevor - he's actually here with me.

[Neville quite enjoys the rhythmic squelch that their shoes make in the mud the farther they get, finds it relaxing. It feels rather nice to get out of the room he'd been wallowing in, take his mind off the things that were said.]

Not... here, with us, I mean. Just around. He's got a habit of hopping off, really. Bit of an adventurous spirit, you know.

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[palebee]

Excellent! You'll be an old hand at this, then.

[ As they round the corner, a small pond comes into view, surrounded by a tangle of muck and weeds. Long cat-tails poke from its center, the faint remnants of lingering snow melting down beside the rocks. A chorus of croaks sounds at their approach, followed by the distinct, throaty sound of a loud motherfucker. ]

Trevor, [ Albus considers, unperturbed. ] A good, strong name for a toad -- Welsh, but I suppose that would fit with the green.

[ He grins, uncovering the bucket, and pulling out two pairs of thick gloves. One set he passes to Neville. ]

Afraid Fawkes has taken to wandering lately as well, though with so much to see here, I suppose he might harly be blamed. No doubt they'll both keep an eye to each other.

[ A fat mottled toad creeps in a bit closer, Merlin's slimy tits! -- pronounced suddenly from its wide, froggish mouth. ]

Now, [ His arms sweep out, theatric, to clap one to Neville's shoulder. ] These are swear toads; I don't believe any explanations necessary on that count. Not native to this plane, by all accounts, but they've been flourishing here since arrival.

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[Another smile appears and disappears, though he does cast around for the source of the expletive at first.]

I just saw it on a chocolate frog card and quite liked it. [He gives half a shrug, feeling a bit silly. But it's nice, considering no one else had ever been impressed by the name (he'd had to fight an uphill battle against it being renamed a good number of bolder and more wizardly things.) Or the toad, for that matter.] Fawkes is here? That's your phoenix, right? Trevor would like that, I think. He could always use some company.

[And now that they're closer, Neville tugs on the proffered gloves automatically, wearing the distinct look of someone thoroughly harassed by the circumstances. He trails off to stare a bit, agape, at the rather rude toad inching its way closer.]

I- yes, of course. Has someone enchanted them? I thought we couldn't do that sort of thing here.

[It seems quite a Weasley Twins thing to do, now that he thinks about it.]

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[palebee]

Ah, so there's history to it, too! I daresay that even the amphibians among us can benefit from a bit of cultural legacy, though perhaps the sweets themselves are better reserved for human mouths.

[ Albus stoops to scoop out a bucketful of thick greenish water, heaving it onto the grass with a small huff of effort. Straightening up, he stares down to the toad, which has stopped dead-still in the slick grass. It keeps up a constant low, peeping stream of tot-hunting tallywags (what?) -- cut off abruptly as Albus dives down, snatching it up in tight grip.

He looks exceptionally pleased with himself for a man with pond scum in his beard. ]

There we are! The bucket, please, Mr. Longbottom -- then the lid -- aha, right. Now, I'm very glad that you asked that question, because it's precisely the one that interests me in our friends.

There seem to have always been toads in Asgard, and many continue not to speak. But these toads specifically appeared some months ago, and took up residence among the others. Either they are enchanted native toads, then, or foreign; I'll place my galleons squarely upon the latter. Constructs can be fashioned by those who draw life, but it takes a great deal of energy for a small, amusing prank. And I doubt it could be accomplished solely through runework.

Given the vast traffic of beings in and out of this world, it does not seem unlikely that a few wartier residents might have tagged along. If we accept them for strangers to Asgard, the question becomes whether their speech is an inborn form of mimicry -- or whether they were augmented magically before arrival. While their vocabularies are prodigious, they remain topically limited to the invective...suggesting a degree of linguistic discernment beyond the reasoning capability of your standard toad. The strict confines of a spell, however -- now! That is a different story, indeed.

So, if we carry our assumptions through: We have before us a veritable battalion of batrachians, who have managed to hold on to a probable enchantment, although the gods actively removed our magic upon arriving here.

A curious set of circumstance. What might we extrapolate from it?

[ A leading nudge of a question, the pause in a lecture to check whether everyone's keeping up. The smile that he grants is kindly, but expectant. ]

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[Neville's brows furrow at the question, thoughtful. It's decidedly lesson-like, sure, but there's something about Dumbledore's manner that makes Neville more at ease here than he'd ever been in any class but Professor Sprout's.

Though, the lack of classmates might be helping there. He's friends with everyone in his house in his year, sure, but he also knows how he comes off and thinks they weren't wrong to think he was a bit of an idiot and quite a useless wizard for the majority of his school career.]

That it's rubbish, isn't it? That they've not go a real reason to take away our magic and replace it with theirs if the toads have got some kind of traveler's enchantment on them. [His lips twist slightly, and he leans over to grab at a second, slippery toad with a bit of highly practiced ease that makes it clear he's got a long and storied history of snatching Trevor off the floor as he tries to make a bid for freedom.] But I bet we'd be able to scarper if we still had it, and they'd have to fight their own war.

[He looks up, suddenly, toad in one hand bucket in the other. Like he thinks saying that will have made him sound like a coward.]

I wouldn't, I mean. I've not got a problem with helping them, really, they do seem to need it. I just think I'd be more use if they had regular- I mean, magical plants here. [Uh maybe and your own magic, Neville.]

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[palebee]

It is more than a touch frustrating to face such dire circumstance while bereft of familiar tools. [ He agrees, dumping a second toad into his bucket. ] And as worthy as our cause here is, none of us might be properly called volunteers. Can't say that I wouldn't nip home myself now and again if we had the option, I do miss our lovely Scottish weather.

[ Albus grins to Neville, shoving the lid back on. ]

The system as a whole is rather unusual; isn't it? The gods hold power enough to bring us here, but not to raise their own, native armies. It all comes back to the grey plague -- a sort of corruption, or withering of Asgard's natural forces.

Of course, few enough natives remain grey. The number was once far greater. Travelers must have acted as a sort of battery to its reversal, an initial spark of energy to set it all back on course. Our continued presence here means an easy, emergency buffer of energy...and if there is a war to be fought, well, we are a convenient source of troops.

[ One toad interjects its opinion with an outraged chorus of Deine Mutter geht in der Stadt huren! ]

They state to remove our magic for matters of safety, and I am inclined to believe them on that count. There have been incidents which support the claim. But there remain flaws in the system. Travelers come and go at seemingly random intervals, and the gods' own powers have more than once corrupted within Asgard's walls.

All those beings brought here deliberately exhibit the same lack of any innate powers -- Fawkes was affected by his journey, and others discussing companions upon the network report similar effects. Foreign magic is rendered inert, wherever it is purposefully introduced.

Which gives us three traits to bear in mind: origin, capability, and intent. If the three cannot exist together, as we have posited, then that which is both foreign and magical must be accidental.

I do not believe these toads entered Asgard under watch.