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]

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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[adjunct]

[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.