I'm losing my toad.
The wizards are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my toad.
I'm losing my toad to the wizards from London and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1991.
I was there at the first Herbology show in Puddlemere.
I'm losing my toad.
I'm losing my toad to the wizards whose swishes I hear when they get on the Comets.
I'm losing my toad to the Death-eaters who can tell me every member of every good group from 1970 to 2000.
I'm losing my toad.
To all the wizards in Paris and Sofia.
I'm losing my toad to the dark-school Durmstrangites in black jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the remembered eighties.
But I'm losing my toad.
I'm losing my toad, but I was there.
I was there.
But I was there.
I'm losing my toad.
I'm losing my toad.
I can hear the swishes every night on the Comets.
But I was there.
I was there in 1991 at the first Crash practices in a ground in the Quidditch stadium.
I was working on the 'Up' sounds with much patience.
I was there when Madam Hooch started up her first failure.
I told her, "Don't try me that way. You'll never make a sickle."
I was there.
I was the first guy teaching Herbology to the smart wizards.
I taught it at greehouses.
Everybody thought I was nutters.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been right.
I used to shiver in the Potion dungeon.
I had nothing before anyone.
I was there in the Gryffindor Common Room with Harry Potter.
I was there in Hogwarts during the Second Wizarding War.
I woke up killing Nagini on the grounds in Hogwarts in 1998.
But I'm losing my toad to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice. Mostly.
I'm losing my toad.