Fowler was your familiar. Yes, a toad was your familiar. Extremely fitting, actually. You weren’t the best witch, your specialty in magic wasn’t blood or shadow control, but rather clumsiness. That’s how you came upon her.

Somehow someway, you royally messed up a fire-breathing potion in class. Like, everyone was too shocked to laugh as you started puking up toads.

You puked them into a bucket for an hour, and then, as if that weren’t punishment enough, you had to spend the rest of the week chasing the escapees around the school. However, one could never be caught, not until she gave herself up when she jumped into the bath with you.

The reputation was horrible. You were the toad girl. No familiar wanted you, too embarrassed to work for such a clumsy, incompetent witch. So, you chose the toad, since she wasn’t trying to escape anyways.

She didn’t have much magic to give, and she couldn’t communicate, so she just sat there and watched you work. She was more of a pet than a familiar. Until, well, she wasn’t.

You woke up one morning to a woman around your age sitting on your desk, patiently waiting for you to awaken, something your toad did every morning.

Of course, you had no clue it was Fowler. You had a whole freak out sesh until she gave undeniable proof it was her by listing all of your embarrassing, private habits.. like how you wear your socks inside out on Wednesdays for good luck.

After her little growth spurt into a human, you unlocked the possibility of water bending, finally having the opportunity to specialize in something other than clumsiness.

Currently, you were trying to channel water just by touching Fowler. You had gotten your hands on a water bending book, and after learning the basic motions of moving water, and sorta succeeding, you believed it was time to try to channel from her.

She sighs loudly as she watches you. She had no problems water bending, but since it came so naturally to her, she couldn’t exactly explain it to someone like you.

“Maybe you’re supposed to be in toad form.” You speak in an act of hopeful desperation after 20 minutes of useless concentration and heavy silence.

“Or maybe you’re rushing through the basics because you’re too eager to prove yourself.” She mutters in utter annoyance. Her butt was going numb on the rock you insisted would ‘channel the earth’s energy.’ She didn’t buy it, but she stayed regardless.