The Greedy Frog
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HP: DnD Chapter 1
🕑 Added 2024-11-27 19:08:48 +0000 UTCChapter 1: A Bullied Boy
[September 1st of the Year 1992, Gregorian Calendar — Great Hall, Hogwarts]
The evening of September 1st held significant importance in the annals of Hogwarts. Known as the time of new beginnings—new students and new advancements—September 1st was a day of celebration.
And the festivities were lively: food, decorations, magic, and most importantly—crowds.
It wasn’t noisy—Hogwarts was never loud—but it was busy, filled with whispers and gossip. The topics of such whispers varied greatly.
Quidditch, new students, house points, and new spells.
But over the past few months, or even the past year, the hottest topic had consistently revolved around a certain boy—a second-year student who was no longer a fresher.
Despite his short time at Hogwarts, he had already achieved more and amassed more stories than many students who had spent seven years there in previous decades.
“Potter!” a boy sitting at the Gryffindor table called out, “I heard you spent your vacation at your uncle’s?”
Most students knew that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived—the hero of the wizarding world—had spent his life among Muggles. Many disliked the fact that such a renowned name in the magical world was connected to Muggles.
Yet, that same group dared not voice their disdain openly.
“I—I did.”
Harry, the boy with glasses, stammered, though no one seemed to pay attention to it.
They were too preoccupied with the enigma of why the boy of wonders associated with beings they considered inferior.
However, a boy seated toward the far end of the Ravenclaw table did notice Harry’s small hesitation.
He glanced toward the scarred boy before returning to the contents of the book he was holding.
‘Best not to get involved with the star kids,’ he thought, flipping the pages of `Divergence of Summoning` and deciding not to pay any more attention to the Gryffindor group.
In his first year, it had been thrilling to listen to them and try to befriend them.
What a mistake.
After a few days of talking, he had realized how different his life was from that of the purebloods and even the wealthy, influential Muggle-borns.
He didn’t like the term ‘Mudblood,’ but he knew one person refusing to use it wouldn’t change anything.
In fact, it might only make his situation worse with the popular and powerful students.
“Move aside, dork!”
Just then, the round-faced, chubby follower of the Malfoy heir shoved him on his way to the Slytherin table.
He didn't need to push, there was plenty of space, but he did it anyway.
All because the Ravenclaw boy had once thought it wise to extend a hand of friendship to the pureblood extremists—all while being Muggle-born.
Needless to say, this outlook and his belief in equality had only resulted in relentless bullying.
While a few had offered help initially, like the professors he spoke to or Potter and his friends who had tried to intervene, their assistance had only worsened his daily life.
That was when he gave up trying to connect with people and chose to befriend the one thing that would never betray him—books.
Books, those tomes of knowledge, was the only form of peace and support he had.
And that was exactly what he needed—a guide through hard times. But as that thought continued, a voice rang around everyone.
“Young witches and wizards of Hogwarts!”
Hearing the warm, familiar voice, he took a deep breath, closed his book, and set a bookmark on the page he’d stopped at.
Recently, he’d enjoyed learning about mystical creatures and how wizards had summoned and dealt with them for centuries.
Unfortunately, he had to set the book aside and focus, for it was finally that time of year.
“I believe you all know how auspicious this day is for Hogwarts,” the voice continued, warm and grandfatherly. “Every year, on this date and at this hour, we welcome among us bright and hopeful children with dreams of becoming great witches or wizards one day.” He gestured toward the new students, “just like each of you once did.”
Everyone could see the new students, seated nervously and waiting in the corner, unsorted and huddled together.
‘Friendship before the Sorting Ceremony is a mistake,’ the brown-haired Ravenclaw thought, knowing that these friendships often turned to rivalry—or even enmity—once they were sorted into different houses.
Unless, of course, you were Harry Potter, whose friends somehow all ended up in the same house, or Draco Malfoy, with his loyal followers placed alongside him in Slytherin.
‘Birds of a feather.’
Perhaps Harry and his friends were simply too loyal and hotheaded, or perhaps Draco and his minions were too bitter, landing them in their respective houses.
But not everyone was so lucky.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Headmaster’s voice rang out clearly, “we shall now begin the Sorting Ceremony!”
At this, his first instinct was to cover his ears.
Why?
“Let us start with a song from the Sorting Hat!”
Because of this.
The ancient, dusty hat—a sentient artifact.
He didn’t understand how it was possible, as his professors had told him they were incapable of bringing inanimate objects to life.
But the hat was proof of the strength of some ancient wizards. And its songs being equal proof of their poor taste in music.
Listening to the Sorting Hat’s song, which droned on and on while the new students listened with wide eyes and eager ears, the brown-haired Ravenclaw noticed something interesting.
‘It’s not the same song as last time, is it?’
The tune was different, making him wonder if the hat created a new song each year.
But he didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he focused on observing the students from powerful families, just to ensure he avoided crossing their paths.
He scanned the hall, noting Draco’s spot near the front of the Slytherin table as he scrutinized certain new students.
These were children from either pureblood families or affluent backgrounds.
So, when a name was called, he made sure to remember it well.
“Lovegood, Luna Lovegood!”
‘Trouble,’ he mused, noticing Draco’s expression sour slightly.
This could only mean one thing—a complex political situation best avoided.
But it seemed avoiding trouble might be challenging.
“Ravenclaw!”
Luna Lovegood’s sorting into his house meant he might need to sit further back than usual.
Fortunately, as the girl tiptoed to the Ravenclaw table, a group of cheerful girls invited her to sit with them.
He was safe, for now.
After a few more names—mostly Muggle-borns or others considered less significant—several pureblood names surfaced as well.
“Weasley, Ginny Weasley!”
The Weasleys were a troubled family, at odds with most other purebloods. Trying to get close to them often meant trouble with the Malfoys.
Yes, the Malfoys hated the Weasleys.
‘Great, another person to avoid.’
“Gryffindor!”
He noted the joy in the girl’s face, her eyes glinting with happiness as she glanced shyly toward the most famous boy in school—Harry Potter.
And following her sorting, it took a while, quite a bit of time, before the last name was called.
“Zerome, Daniel Zerome!”
A Muggle-born, and one that no one paid any particular attention to.
“Hufflepuff!”
That was the final sorting for the day, and this year, Gryffindor had gained the most students.
It wasn’t surprising; with Harry Potter in Gryffindor, many students hoped to be a part of that house.
The Gryffindors were so thrilled with their new additions that, despite the headmaster expressing gratitude for the students choosing Hogwarts, no one in Gryffindor was really listening. But everyone else was attentive.
“The sorting isn’t just an assignment to a house,” the headmaster reminded them. “It signifies loyalty and dedication to its values, a commitment that may last longer than you expect.”
Students spent most of their days striving to earn house points, awarded for performing well in studies, sports, and general conduct. These points helped increase the standing of their assigned house, and at the end of the year, the house with the highest total was declared the best house.
Needless to say, with the addition of Harry Potter to Hogwarts, Gryffindor had seen an almost overnight surge in points—nearly to an unfair degree.
By this time, the event had been going on for a while, and most of the students were hungry.
“The last thing I want to remind everyone,” Professor Dumbledore continued, “not just the new Witches and Wizards, but those who have been with us longer as well.”
So when Professor Dumbledore announced that he was nearing the end of his speech, everyone paid attention.
“At Hogwarts, everyone is equal.” His voice grew louder. “Your birth, blood, wealth, or fame matters not. Here, you are a student, just like everyone else.”
Everyone nodded, showing agreement—or at least appearing to.
“You shall treat your fellow students with the same respect you would wish for yourself,” he said, his voice resounding around the hall. “Treat them as friends, brothers, or sisters, but never as someone below or above you.”
Anyone who had been part of Hogwarts knew these were just words.
“Respect your seniors and professors,” he continued.
Empty words.
“Be a friend to everyone.”
Words he had unfortunately once believed in.
“And now!” With everyone sorted into their respective houses and excitement buzzing for the new year, he finally announced, “You may enjoy your feast!”
With his voice echoing around and food appearing right before their eyes, the boy was reminded once again why he chose to remain here, despite all the negatives.
“And starting tomorrow, a new day will begin for everyone!”
Because despite the flaws around him, the beauty of magic made it nearly impossible to leave.
And that’s why he stayed.
For the magic.
…
…
[Late Evening — Boys’ Washroom]
The event and the Sorting Ceremony took hours every year, which wasn’t an issue for most, given the excitement.
‘Not for me.’
He sighed and splashed clean water over his face, washing away the dust and oil that had accumulated from the countless people moving around in dusty robes and shoes.
Though he wasn’t overly concerned with cleanliness, he kept up with basic hygiene, and that included caring for his face.
Drying off with a towel, he looked in the mirror. Dark circles under his eyes were evidence of sleepless nights spent studying magic.
But in that mirror, beyond the dark circles, he noticed something else.
“Look who we have here.”
He saw three faces he wished he hadn’t.
“Dinner is still ongoing, Malfoy.” He sighed, seeing his everyday bullies in the washroom.
He knew what would come next, but by now, he’d grown accustomed to it.
“You don’t tell me what’s ongoing and what isn’t, mudblood.”
Most would be infuriated by such an insult, many would even fight back. But the boy merely shook his head.
“I don’t,” he agreed with Draco, adjusting his robe. “I was reminding myself.”
With that, he tried to leave the washroom.
But, of course, they wouldn’t let him.
“And when did I say you could leave, Butler?” Draco Malfoy sneered, emphasizing the boy’s surname.
“There are new students, Malfoy,” the boy said. “And many of them will be passing through here soon. It wouldn’t be good for them to see their seniors fighting and bullying others.”
But Draco just laughed.
“Oh, trust me,” he said. “No pureblood is going to waste their breath worrying about a mudblood getting bullied. They’d find it rather amusing.”
Draco turned to his rounder of two followers. “Don’t you think so, Crabbe?”
The boy grinned sadistically. “Of course, Draco.”
“What about you, Goyle?”
The other follower nodded. “I agree, Draco.”
The Malfoy heir grinned widely. “Then show our filthy little mudblood classmate what the lesser-blooded juniors should learn from him.”
Behind his back, the boy clenched his fist. He knew he was about to be bullied, and there was nothing he could do.
If he reported it to the teachers, the bullying would worsen. And if he fought back, they’d bring even more wizards to torment him.
It was a losing game, and he had to endure it.
“Drac—”
Before he could say more, Crabbe, the largest of them, gripped him by the mouth and lifted him.
“You don’t say my name, Butler,” Draco hissed. “You don’t say my name, ever.”
He struggled to break free, but Crabbe’s hands were massive and unyielding.
“You don’t belong here,” Draco continued. “Your kind isn’t welcome.”
He wanted to fight back, but he lacked the strength, the magic, and the status to do so.
“The only reason you’re allowed here is because Hogwarts pities your kind, Butler.”
“L-Let go,” he struggled, while Draco watched in amusement.
“Gladly,” said the heir, glancing at Crabbe.
Crabbe nodded and shoved him against the basin.
“It’s a new day, and there are new students around,” Draco said. “That’s why I’ll let you off with just this—Accio!”
A mug filled with water flew directly onto the boy’s head, soaking his hair and robe.
“Aguamenti!” Draco cast, directing a stream of water onto the boy’s pants, making it look as if he’d wet himself.
And there was nothing the boy could do but stay silent.
Draco smirked, drying his hands on a towel and glancing back at him.
“Consider yourself lucky, Damien Butler,” he said. “But you won’t always be so fortunate. So stay out of my sight.”
His two sidekicks scoffed, pretending to spit at Damien before following Draco, leaving him alone—wet and humiliated.
For ten minutes, Damien didn’t move. He sat there, in soaked clothes and silent rage. For minutes, he sat there, wondering what his mistake had been.
‘Being born into a non-magical family? Being poor? Or... being born?’
Sometimes he felt like a burden.
His family wasn’t wealthy; it took everything they had to feed and care for him. Yet they did so without complaint.
So when they learned he was a wizard and would receive free education and a bright future, they couldn’t have been happier, even though it meant they’d rarely see him.
Their worlds had diverged, but they still loved one another.
Unknown to them, their child was suffering in the world of magic.
Damien wanted to curse himself—for being born, for being talentless, for being a burden.
But then he remembered the joy on his parents’ faces every time they saw him and the hopes they had for him.
It hurt to know he might not live up to their dreams, but he knew he had to live for them too.
So, with soaked clothes, hidden tears, and a heavy heart, he left the washroom.
Walking through, he noticed it was quite late.
Most students had already settled in their rooms, likely preparing for bed.
And on a typical night, he would be required to sleep as well.
But tonight, with everyone’s attention on the new students, no one would notice a second-year student missing from his room. So, rubbing his eyes, he made his way to the one place that never judged him.
The library.
Of the many smaller libraries scattered around the school, one central library remained open to all, though certain floors were restricted.
But out of every place available to students, this was the only one open at any hour.
And even now, illuminated by candlelight and magical wisps, the library stood calm and unjudging.
Of course, it was empty. No student or teacher wandered the library this late. Some students did before exams, but there were none at this time of year, and no one felt afraid due to the protective magic that kept dark forces at bay and restricted access.
For Damien, it didn’t matter. He had come seeking solace, wanting a place where he wouldn’t feel judged or unwelcome.
And so, as he entered, he felt a faint smile form. He basked in the warmth of the magic, inhaled the scent of old and new books, and ran his fingers over the hardcovers of his favorite titles.
Over the year he had been at Hogwarts, he had read dozens of books, soaking in the stories, histories, and myths of Magical Britain.
Needless to say, there was a reason he was in Ravenclaw.
He proved that by selecting the thickest book available on that floor —The Tales of Hogwarts, documenting the school’s journey through the years— and taking a seat at the center of the room, where the brightest candles shone.
He ran his fingers over the cover, enjoying the texture of the worn paint. The book was old, always refreshed with new knowledge each year and read by dozens —opened by thousands.
For him, he had read the book a few times, finishing it each time.
He devoured the words while many struggled to move past the first few pages. It wasn’t that the book was particularly thrilling; it was written for curious students in a formal, rather unexciting way.
It was documentation, highlighting major events, many stories, and a few unexplored mysteries, igniting curiosity.
But what Damien loved most about it was the mention of names, pure-blood and Muggle-born alike, who had achieved great feats and were listed side by side —no marginalization, no favoritism, no hatred. Just equal achievers placed next to one another.
Some created new magic, some became heroes who protected the wizarding world, and some made history by topping exams that shouldn't have been topped.
Most importantly, they made a name for themselves irrespective of blood and family ties.
This gave Damien hope that greatness, wealth, and respect could be achieved without privilege. It kept him going.
The book even spoke of great magicians like Merlin, who came from nothing and left behind a legacy.
‘Merlin… I wish to be like him.’
He remembered arriving at Hogwarts and hearing Merlin’s name used as a form of respect and admiration. In Damien's eyes, that was the ultimate achievement, and he dreamed of reaching such heights one day.
But for now, he was just a boy sitting alone in the library, turning the pages of a massive book.
Hours passed as he kept reading, lost in his favorite stories and events, forgetting his pain, humiliation, and weariness.
Daybreak came, and he didn't notice the candles dying out, replaced by a few rays of sunlight.
It was a rare bright day for Scotland and its typically cloudy mornings.
By now, it was six in the morning, and usually, most students would be waking up.
Damien, however, kept reading, ignoring that all the candles on the other tables had gone out, except at the sixth, central table where he sat.
‘Merlin was a genius who only grew stronger after his first year,’ he read, captivated by tales of Merlin’s talents. ‘By his fourth year, he had surpassed his teachers, and by the fifth, he was comparable to the headmaster.’
He was in awe.
“How can someone grow so strong, so fast?” he murmured, reaching the end of Merlin’s time at Hogwarts.
The stories that followed were even more astonishing, with Merlin aiding Arthur and becoming immortalized in history, his end shrouded in mystery.
After finishing Merlin’s story, he took a deep breath and checked the time —his eyes widened in shock.
“By Merlin!” he gasped. “I need to get out!”
Soon the librarian would arrive, and he’d likely get a scolding for not being in his dormitory.
He hurriedly got up and tried to leave, accidentally flipping to the next page.
“Huh?”
On that next page, written in bright red letters contrasting with the black text on previous pages, was a question:
[Do you wish to be like him?]
He froze, staring at the words in shock.
‘This…’ He was stunned. ‘Wasn’t this page torn out?’
The page number read ‘666,’ a page that had previously been torn out —a mystery he had always wondered about— was now back in the book, bearing this question.
He rubbed his eyes, thinking it must be his exhaustion making him see things.
But the words remained.
And they prompted one question in his mind.
“How?”
He wasn’t asking how the words or page had returned.
He was asking how he could be like Merlin.
[Chant: Translocatis Ars Goetia]
Too shaken to process it fully, he couldn’t understand what he was seeing, but out of confusion, he whispered the chant aloud.
“Translocatis… Ars… Goetia.”
As he spoke, the book began to glow red, sprouting flames that made Damien back away.
But it was too late.
The flames caught him, engulfing his entire body.
“Ahh—”
Before he could fully cry out, his burning form vanished along with the fiery book.
All that remained was the sixth chair of the sixth table at the sixth hour, slightly out of place.
_____________________________________
[A/N:
MC
Name: Damien Butler
Age: 12
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Height: Average
✌️]]
