The Greedy Frog
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HP: DnD Chapter 5
🕑 Added 2024-11-27 19:12:24 +0000 UTCChapter 5: I Am… Strong?
[Potion’s Class, Hogwarts]
“I expect each of you to be capable of successfully brewing a potion this simple.” Professor Severus Snape’s voice echoed around the noisy room.
He looked around, pleased to see that most cauldrons were bubbling well, the sound of bursting bubbles indicating that the ingredients were mixing correctly.
“Remember to wait at least five minutes before adding the blackthorn branch, or—”
He didn’t get to finish as an explosion erupted, followed by a horrendous stench filling the room.
“Or else, you’ll ruin everyone’s sense of smell, Mr. Longbottom,” he said with great annoyance. “It’s not as though you’ve excelled in previous potions classes, but please, try to limit the damage to yourself.”
Many chuckled, while others scrunched their noses and moved away from Neville Longbottom and his stinking robes.
“Aeris Purificus,” Snape intoned, purifying the air around them before replacing the foul odor with a sweet, calming aroma. “Floralis Serenum.”
Without another glance at Neville, Snape continued to pace through the room, ensuring no one else was causing such accidents.
“Mr. Malfoy, it would be wise to refrain from using magic to heat your cauldron,” Snape warned. “Unless, of course, you want it to explode in your face.”
Draco paled and quickly stopped channeling his magic towards the pot.
As Snape inspected the class, he frowned at a certain boy.
“With those glasses, I’d expect pinpoint precision, Potter,” he said, visibly displeased. “Not the haphazard sprinkles you’re making.”
Harry felt immediate embarrassment as his incorrect measurements turned his potion black.
“Perhaps learn something from your friend over there,” Snape said, nodding toward a certain bushy-haired girl. “Good job, Miss Granger.”
Even Hermione was surprised; it was rare for Snape to praise a Gryffindor.
“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione said gleefully, while others looked at her enviously.
Well, except for one.
“And good job to you as well, Mr. Butler.”
Damien nodded, adding the final ingredient—three rosemary leaves—and watched his potion turn a perfect shade of light green.
Potions class was one of his natural strengths; it didn’t require great magical prowess, and his bookish knowledge often allowed him to breeze through it.
Even Hermione, who usually paid him little attention, would give him a nod in class, which he returned.
“For those of you who couldn’t complete the potion, you’ll have another chance in the next class, or else you’ll receive a failing grade,” Snape warned. “So I suggest you take this more seriously.”
Most students sat up straight, realizing the gravity of the situation. A failing grade looked bad for anyone, pure-blood or Muggle-born alike.
Displeased with most results—save for two—Snape walked out, having already graded their efforts. He wouldn’t actually fail them but hoped to drive home the importance of focus.
After all, he might be a villain to the students, but he wasn’t a monster.
Most students packed up, intent on practicing for next time. Meanwhile, Harry and his friends headed to the cafeteria, taking a break before the next class. Two of them walked dejectedly, while one wore a proud smile.
Damien smiled to himself. ‘At least they’re entertaining.’
He knew Harry and his friends often found trouble, but to those observing from afar, they were nothing short of an amusing spectacle.
“Something funny, Butler?”
However, as with any source of entertainment, those who watch should never forget that they, too, can become the watched.
And Damien had forgotten that.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Damien asked, not bothering to look at the blonde as he packed his things.
While the school provided supplies, students had to pay for anything they damaged, so he packed carefully to avoid costs he didn’t want to incur.
“Oh, not much, Butler.” Draco scoffed, stepping closer. “But…”
Just as Damien reached for his ceramic bowl, he felt himself pulled back by the collar.
“When I speak, you listen.”
Turning his head, Damien found himself face-to-face with a scowling boy—a loyal follower of Draco’s.
“Answer him, Butler,” Crabbe growled.
“Yes, Butler,” echoed the other, Goyle, who Damien privately dubbed ‘The Instigator’ for always riling things up.
‘It’s fine,’ Damien told himself. ‘This isn’t the first time.’
He knew he’d walk out of this with a few bruises but intact. He always did.
“What’s this about, Draco?” Damien asked. “I don’t recall doing anything to offend you.”
Of course, he knew Draco didn’t need a reason, but causing a scene in a public space suggested there might be something specific.
“Oh, you always manage to displease me, Butler,” Draco sneered. “But humiliating me by outperforming me in Professor Snape’s class? That’s insulting.”
‘Ah, so it’s his ego,’ Damien thought, but kept his face neutral.
“Sometimes I think you deliberately make me look bad,” Draco continued, frowning. “You just don’t learn, do you, Butler?”
“Answer him, Butler,” Goyle chimed in as Crabbe tightened his grip on Damien’s robe.
“No, it’s fine,” Draco shook his head. “His kind learns best through experience.” He smirked. “Teach him a lesson, Crabbe. But don’t hurt him too badly. We wouldn’t want Professor Flitwick’s favorite student to show up with visible injuries.”
Damien understood the situation at once. It wasn’t just Snape—Draco knew that in Flitwick’s class, both he and Hermione would excel academically, while Harry would likely surpass him in practical skill. He was venting his frustrations in advance.
Closing his eyes, Damien braced himself for the hit, expecting a punch to the gut or perhaps his face, given their desire for any injuries to be inconspicuous.
After a few tense seconds, he felt a light tap on his stomach—more playful than painful, leaving him puzzled.
“Hmm?” Even Crabbe seemed confused. “You took that well.”
Damien slowly opened his eyes and saw an amused Crabbe still holding onto him.
“Well, you won't be standing after the next one.” Saying this, Crabbe brought his fist toward Damien’s gut again. This time, with his eyes open, Damien was shocked to see how slow and weak the punch looked.
As before, it did hit him, but it didn’t hurt. It stung a little, but it was in no way painful.
“What are you doing, Crabbe?” Draco asked in annoyance. “I told you to hit him lightly, not to act like you’re hitting him.”
However, Crabbe wasn’t acting.
“But I—”
“Just punch him in the face,” Goyle clicked his tongue, and Crabbe tightened his fists.
Damien, however, didn’t want to end up with a scar on his cheek.
So the moment Crabbe threw a punch, Damien moved his hands quickly to block it. If he had been unable to do this before, he found he could do so with ease this time.
“A-Ah!” Crabbe yelled as Damien pushed away the fist, amused and amazed at how effortlessly he had managed it.
“What?” Goyle’s eyes widened in shock; even Draco seemed surprised.
“S-Stop!” the fat boy shouted. “I-It hurts!”
“Do not lie, Crabbe!” Draco yelled. “Goyle, teach this filthy Mudblood a lesson!”
Goyle nodded and immediately rushed at Damien, throwing a punch.
However, without letting go of Crabbe, Damien grabbed Goyle’s fist with his other hand and brought him down to his knees, just like Crabbe.
“W-What?” Draco was horrified at the sight, too stunned to understand what was happening. “Don’t play the fool, you tw—”
“It hurts!” Goyle cried, unable to bear the pain of having his arm twisted in an unnatural way.
“Ugh!” Crabbe groaned. “S-Stop it!”
Damien, on the other hand, stood there, their hands in his grasp, appearing just as confused as everyone else.
‘How…?’ He was stunned. ‘Just a few points of strength are producing this output?’
The strength he was displaying was that of an average adult, and he knew there was no way two twelve-year-olds could handle a grown man’s strength.
For the first time, he felt good about standing up to Draco’s goons. It was a breath of fresh air not to be the one begging for mercy.
“L-Let them go!” Draco yelled, but Damien had no intention of complying.
He looked at Draco and turned his head in confusion.
“I don’t recall you letting go of me when I begged, Draco,” he said, pushing his limits. Physical strength didn’t matter against people of blood and power, but at this moment, after months of suffering, he wanted to share at least a bit of his pain.
“You won’t like the result of this, Butler,” Draco gritted his teeth.
“Oh, I think I can handle it, Draco.” He was lying; he was afraid too. “I always have.”
But for the first time, he had the upper hand against Draco, and he didn’t want to appear weak.
“It isn’t pretty to be powerless and at the mercy of another, is it?” he asked. “That’s how I always felt when you and your bunch beat me up for nothing, when I was bullied, and when I was locked behind doors that no one visited.”
“P-Please let go!” Goyle cried as Damien began to twist his arm further.
“I have felt worse pain than this, Draco,” Damien scowled. “And I can make you and your two friends feel the same.”
“P-Please stop!” Crabbe yelled, unable to handle the pain any longer.
“What do you want?” Draco asked, gritting his teeth.
“Not to bother me again,” Damien said. “Do not come to me because you weren’t good enough or you were outperformed. If you’re truly proud of your name and blood, then try to win against me fair and square instead of venting your anger like a sore loser.”
“Ugh!”
Damien kicked Crabbe in the gut, making him cry out louder.
“Promise it, Draco!” Damien said, “or I will make your friends feel the same pain.”
He was pushing himself to the edge, knowing it was dangerous. But this was the only way to save himself from more bullying.
Maybe it would come back to haunt him, but being weak all his life would do the same.
“This isn’t over, Butler…” Draco said, his teeth nearly grinding to powder.
“M-Make the promise, Draco!” Goyle yelled.
“H-He will break our arms!” Crabbe added, tears rolling down his cheeks.
Draco saw the crazed look on Damien’s face—afraid for sure, but crazy enough to consider breaking their arms.
“I-I promise…” he finally said.
“Promise what, Draco?” Damien yelled.
“Ahhh!”
“Stop!” Draco gasped. “I-I promise not to bully you like I did in the past!”
Damien’s heart raced faster than ever.
“Can I believe you?” Damien asked.
“A pureblood does not go against his word, Butler,” Draco said with a massive scowl. “I promise not to repeat the past bullying.”
For the first time in a while, Damien felt he wouldn’t have to worry about being thrown or dunked into a toilet on a random night. He wouldn’t have to worry about being punched and hurt for nothing.
“You better keep that promise, Draco,” he said, loosening his grip on the boys’ hands—immediately causing them to crawl away and dash from him.
Draco maintained his scowl, embarrassed and furious at the display.
“Go back, you two,” he said, taking slow steps back. “And Damien Butler…” he gritted his teeth audibly. “My father will hear of this.”
Damien understood it was bad, but at that moment, the adrenaline and thrill made him feel alive.
He had managed to win against his bullies and make them promise not to bully him again.
For once, he had triumphed over Draco in terms of power.
And it felt… good.
“I will not forget this, Butler,” Draco said again, dragging his two minions away from Damien.
As for Damien, he stood there, amazed and puzzled.
“Am I…” He looked at his hands. “Strong?”
