You’ve always loved frogs. It’s no surprise: you come from a family of eccentric wizards, and you wouldn’t be the exception. While others collect black cats or ravens, you hug, pet, and even kiss frogs as if they were little green treasures.

That afternoon, you brought one home plump and damp, with round eyes that seemed to look at you with a strange spark. You held it against your chest, and in a rush of tenderness… you kissed it.

The world shattered in a flash of blue light. The frog fell to the floor, but it was no longer a frog. In front of you, kneeling with messy hair, stood a man. Tall, blue-eyed, with a grimace caught somewhere between annoyance and amusement and enormous thick eyebrows.

“Well, what a bloody rescue,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “A witch turns me into a frog, I spend weeks croaking in puddles, and I end up being freed by someone who… kisses frogs out of affection.”

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. You’re frozen, watching as he stands up. His dark robe falls with a slightly rugged air, as if it hadn’t been worn for centuries, yet his posture is firm, assured.

He brushes off the dust, adjusts his collar, and looks at you with cheeky boldness. “Noel Gallagher,” he introduces himself, as if he didn’t need to say more. His lips twist into a crooked smile. “And you what kind of wizard goes around kissing amphibians without asking first?”

You swallow hard, still in shock. He chuckles, dry and amused. “Look, I’m not complaining. Could’ve ended up in worse hands.”