6 Magical Addiction
The shrill trill of the telephone sliced through the air, shattering the peaceful silence of the Dursley's clean living room at 4 Privet Drive. Petunia, her blonde hair styled in a perfect coif, hastened across the plush carpet in her crisp apron to snatch up the receiver. She darted a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece - 2:35pm, right on time for the promised update from Dudley's new pre-school teacher on how her Dudders was faring in his first week.
Pride swelled in Petunia's breast as visions of her cherubic three-year-old son filled her mind. Over the past three months, she had watched in wonder as Dudley seemed to blossom into a shining example of youthful maturity. Where once he had been prone to bouts of ear-splitting tantrums, now he would settle almost instantly, his chubby features relaxing into an expression of serene calm quite unbecoming of one so young.
A contented smile tugging at her lips, Petunia raised the receiver. "Hello, Petunia Dursley speaking," she answered in a chipper tone.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Dursley." The voice on the other end sounded decidedly strained. "This is Miss Honey, Dudley's teacher at Little Whinging Pre-School."
Petunia's smile faltered minutely at the exhausted tone, but she rallied quickly. "Yes, of course, Miss Honey. How is my little Dudders getting on? He's been such an angel at home lately, I can scarcely believe how mature he's become."
An awkward pause crackled down the line before Miss Honey responded, the shuffling of papers just audible. "Well...you see, Mrs. Dursley..." She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. "I'm afraid Dudley's behaviour has been quite...challenging...here at school."
Petunia's perfectly arched brows knitted together in a frown of confusion. "Whatever do you mean? Has he been misbehaving?"
Miss Honey exhaled an audible sigh, the sound saturated with frustration. "Yes, I'm afraid so. Dudley has been acting out terribly - throwing tantrums, hitting other children, refusing to follow instructions. He flies into these...moods...and it takes multiple staff members to get him calmed down before he hurts someone."
The words hung in the air, their weight slowly sinking in as Petunia's mouth formed a perfectly round 'o' of shock. "But...that's just not possible," she sputtered, shaking her head in denial. "Dudley's been a perfect little lamb at home. I can't fathom what might be causing such behaviour at school."
The teacher's tone took on a softer, more sympathetic quality. "I understand this must be confusing, Mrs. Dursley. But I assure you, this is the reality of the situation. Why, just today Dudley hurled a wooden block straight at another child's head during playtime, all because he didn't get his way. It took three of us to restrain him and prevent anyone from being seriously injured."
A sharp gasp escaped Petunia's lips as her free hand flew up to cover her mouth. "Oh my...I'm terribly sorry, Miss Honey. I had no inkling...I simply don't know what could have gotten into him."
As the litany of Dudley's misdeeds continued to pour forth, Petunia's eyes drifted distractedly about the living room, as if searching for some rational explanation amid the familiar surroundings. Her gaze settled upon the small, unremarkable figure of her nephew Harry, perched quietly on the sofa. The boy's brilliantly green eyes, so reminiscent of her freakish sister, remained glued to the flickering television screen.
For the briefest of moments, Petunia could have sworn those striking eyes flicked towards her, a fleeting spark of...something...igniting in their depths before Harry's attention returned to the programme. A queer feeling stole over her, but she impatiently shrugged it off with a terse shake of her head.
"Mrs. Dursley?" Miss Honey's voice broke through her daze. "Are you still there?"
Petunia started, blinking rapidly as she refocused. "Yes, yes...sorry about that, Miss Honey. I'm just trying to make sense of it all. What do you suggest we do to get Dudley's behaviour back on track?"
With a practiced air of authority, the teacher launched into a spiel about maintaining consistent expectations and consequences between home and school environments during this turbulent transition period. Petunia listened with rapt attention and nodded along.
"You can count on me, Miss Honey. I'll do whatever it takes to ensure my Dudders flourishes," she vowed.
oo0ooOoo0oo
Lucas sat on the worn, lumpy couch, his emerald eyes fixed on the flickering television screen. The news anchor's monotonous voice droned on, but Lucas's mind was elsewhere, piecing together the information he had just overheard about Dudley's behaviour at school.
His brow furrowed slightly as he considered the implications. Could his constant use of calming spells on his cousin have created a dependency on that soothing magical influence?
Lucas's fingers tapped an absent rhythm on his thigh as he contemplated the idea. Dudley, accustomed to the calming effects of the spells at home, would have found himself ill-equipped to handle his anger without that external aid. Without the familiar magical intervention, his anger would have only intensified, spiralling into a vicious cycle of frustration and outbursts.
Lucas frowned slightly. He had been playing with Dudley's emotions, bending his cousin's feelings to suit his own needs. A pang of guilt hit him as he thought about the impact of his actions on such a young and impressionable child.
Why had he even started down this path in the first place? Lucas closed his eyes, attempting to recall the reasoning that had seemed so sound at the time. But before he could explore that line of thought too deeply, a sudden, searing pain lanced through his forehead, as if a white-hot poker had been pressed against his scar.
Lucas gasped in shock, and his hand flew up to clutch at the throbbing mark as his thoughts scattered, the ethical qualms he had been grappling with mere moments ago vanishing like smoke on the wind.
His eyes snapped open. This is a good opportunity for me, actually. If I can create a longer-lasting calming spell, then that would solve the issue entirely. Dudley will be calm, and I will improve my magic. It's a win for both parties…
With a subtle flick of his wrist, Lucas sent a tendril of invisible mist winding towards Petunia, who sat knitting in the adjacent armchair. He watched intently as the transparent strands wrapped around her, the mist's soothing effects already clear in the slight relaxation of her shoulders.
Two minutes passed, and the mist began to dissipate, its calming influence gradually fading away. Lucas narrowed his eyes, focusing his Will on the outward representation of his Visualization, urging it to linger just a little longer. The mist obeyed, clinging to Petunia for a few extra heartbeats before finally evaporating into nothingness.
This is only a temporary solution. He needed something more permanent, a way to infuse the calming magic into an object that could be carried with Dudley wherever he went.
Pushing himself off the couch, Lucas made his way to the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards until he found a small, clear glass bottle. Cradling the bottle in his hand, he quietly slipped out of the kitchen and padded down the hallway towards his cramped cupboard room under the stairs.
Once inside the familiar confines of his meagre living space, Lucas carefully unscrewed the cap and set it aside. Taking a meditative posture, he closed his eyes. The gentle lapping of the waves against the shore filled his ears, and he could almost feel the cool, salty breeze caressing his skin. In this state of heightened focus, Lucas brought his finger to his mouth and bit the soft flesh gently, creating a small cut. A bead of blood welled up, and he held his finger over the bottle, watching as the crimson droplets fell into the clear glass.
Once he had gathered enough blood, Lucas called upon his general healing spell, directing its energy towards the cut on his finger. The cut trembled slightly, and he let the spell do its work slowly. Holding the bottle up to the lamp's light, Lucas studied the rich, vibrant colour of his blood, and hoped that it would be sufficient as a medium for his power.
But the question remains… How can I infuse the spell into my blood?
Lucas closed his eyes, letting his mind drift into the familiar visualization of the boundless ocean. The gentle ebb and flow of waves lapped at the edges of his consciousness, a soothing rhythm that helped centre his focus.
He took a deep, steadying breath, allowing the sounds and sensations of the vast sea to wash over him, clearing his thoughts of all distractions. When a deep sense of clarity settled upon him, he turned his awareness inward, honing in on the core of his Vast Sea Visualization.
There, amidst the relaxed currents of his inner being, a memory stirred - hazy recollections of novels he had read long ago, stories of cultivators condensing their will into tangible form. A faint spark of inspiration flickered to life, and Lucas latched onto it.
Amidst the depths of the ocean, he envisioned a single, glistening droplet taking shape, condensing from the very waters of his Visualization. Into this droplet, he poured the full weight of his Will.
The droplet pulsed and thrummed with barely contained potential, a blank slate waiting to be imbued with purpose. This would be the foundation upon which he built his calming spell, the vessel to carry his Intent.
Satisfied with the formation of the Will-Droplet, Lucas shifted his focus to conjuring the soothing mist once more. He pictured the transparent tendrils gathering around him, a veil of serenity cloaking his senses.
With an exertion of his Will, he commanded the mist to encircle the Will-Droplet, coiling around it. Slowly, the first wisps of mist began to seep into the droplet's surface, drawn relentlessly towards its core.
Lucas watched as more and more of the calming mist followed suit, pouring into the droplet until it shone with a gentle, ethereal glow. As the last tendril dissipated, the once-blank Will-Droplet seemed to come alive, radiating a warm, soothing aura that promised to implant a deep, unshakable calm.
Opening his eyes, Lucas studied the bottle of his blood intently. Gripping the Will-Droplet firmly in his mind's grasp, he willed it into the physical realm, watching as it manifested as a sparkling bead that hovered above the bottle's opening. With a final surge of concentration, he released his hold, allowing the Will-Droplet to descend and merge with the crimson liquid below.
Seeing the blood glowing for a moment as the Will-Droplet merged with it, he smiled slightly. Let's test this out…
oo0ooOoo0oo
The Dursley home sat in eerie silence, the ticking of the hallway clock the only sound penetrating the stillness. Lucas crept down the corridor, bare feet padding softly on the worn floorboards. Shadows clung to every corner, pressing in around him like a smothering blanket. A sliver of moonlight filtered through the gap in Dudley's curtains, casting a pale glow across the carpeted floor.
Lucas paused outside his cousin's bedroom door, chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. His fingers twitched at his side, itching to reach for the doorknob. Closing his eyes, he stretched out with his Will, feeling for the tumblers in the lock.
The lock clicked open with a soft snapping sound. Lucas turned the brass knob, easing the door inward on well-oiled hinges. It swung open without a creak of protest.
Dudley lay sprawled across his toddler bed like a tiny beached whale, his mouth slightly open, emitting soft snores with each breath. His little form was clad in a comically large t-shirt that looked more like a tent draped over his small, chubby body. Lucas, standing at the edge of the bed, couldn't help but let his lip curl ever so slightly as he observed his cousin's peaceful, albeit noisy, sleep.
Pushing aside a twinge of distaste, Lucas reached into the pocket of his pants to pull out a small glass bottle. Inside, the crimson liquid sloshed against the glass as he gently removed the cork stopper. A faint metallic scent, sharp and tangy, filled the air.
Carefully, he tipped the bottle, allowing the viscous fluid to trickle out in a thin stream. It flowed through Dudley's greasy blonde hair, disappearing into the roots with each drip. Lucas's emerald eyes were intense, watchful, as he waited for the last ruby droplets to soak in.
When the bottle was drained, he put back the cork stopper and slipped it into his pocket once more. Exhaling slowly, Lucas allowed his eyes to drift shut as he centred himself. In his mind's eye, he visualized a vast ocean, the waves lapping soothingly at the shores of his consciousness. Focusing on a specific portion of that ocean, he allowed his affection to his parents to gradually fill it.
Like the gentle, loving attachment between child and parents, the section of sea gradually became viscous and clung together like syrup. Without an immense shock, this attachment would not be broken easily.
Lucas allowed a portion of his Will to soak itself in that part of the sea, and then opened his eyes to focus intently on Dudley's blood-covered hair follicles. He let that sticky Will cover Dudley's blood-covered hair follicles. There… that should let the spell-infused blood stick to him for now. Though the Sticky Spell is pretty newly developed, it's also very simple, so it should last for a couple of days until I need to cast it again.
Satisfied, Lucas's eyes fluttered open once more. With one last glance at the sleeping Dudley, Lucas turned on his heel and slipped from the room as silently as he'd entered.
Back in his cupboard beneath the stairs, he sank down onto his sad excuse for a mattress. Turning the empty bottle over in his young hands, he thought deeply on the potential of the Will-Droplet. To infuse his very blood with powerful spells and enchantments, binding them permanently to objects, even living beings...there was a lot of potential.
What if he crafted a pen that could improve his handwriting? Or a pair of shoes that would muffle his footsteps, rendering him undetectable? There were countless ways in which this can be used.
And yet...Lucas's brow furrowed slightly as the limitations of his method occurred to him. Taking too much blood too frequently could gravely weaken him, maybe even cause lasting damage. I'll need to be careful in how frequently I draw my blood.
Frustrating, to be sure, but a small price to pay for the incredible advantages such magic could grant him. With a small sigh, the young wizard burrowed beneath his threadbare blanket, the fabric rough against his skin.
