Name: Dudley Dursley
Race: Muggle (True)
Profession: Magus (False), Hamon User
Strength: 9
Agility: 6
Stamina: 15
Magic: 0
Spells: None
Mystic Codes: None
Skills: Iron Mountain Strike (LV5), Boxing (LV3), Language (LV2), Math & Science (LV2), Physiology (LV2), Handcrafts (LV1), Firearms (LV1), Archery (LV1)
Special: Hamon Breathing (LV1)
The skills list was a curious assortment of all sorts of things—everything but magic, really—all activated by the experience points he earned from eating every day.
The system's explanation to Dudley was simple: "A great deal of knowledge is required for any spellcaster."
It was a perfectly reasonable explanation, and Dudley accepted it without question.
In short, it was thanks to these skills and his own hard work that he had managed to create his perfect persona as the model student. He also noticed that while his skills could be levelled up with food, his "Special" ability required his own training.
Dudley didn't know what the maximum level was, but his LV3 Boxing was already enough to let him dominate and sweep every high school tournament he entered. As for his Strength and Agility stats, he had no way of comparing them, but he figured they must be pretty good. At least when it came to strength, he'd never had to back down from anyone.
After he heard the system's familiar chime, Dudley saw the Magic stat on his character sheet rise from 0 to 0.5. His heart was thumping like a pixie trying to escape a bottle.
It was only half a point, and it was nothing compared to his other stats, but it was a historical step—a leap from nothing to something.
Could that git Shinji Matou actually have the talent for magic? Dudley thought, a wave of profound shock washing over him.
Suddenly, two new lines of text popped up. The system was answering his question, something it rarely ever did.
"Shinji Matou's magical circuits aren't missing; they're completely solidified, like a river that's completely silted up and has stopped flowing. He cannot refine his life force into magical power using his circuits. However, if a huge amount of energy were to blast them open, Shinji Matou could also use magic."
"Please, keep working hard, spellcaster, complete your missions, and aim to activate more of your magical circuits or add more Magic Crests. Become the strongest spellcaster as soon as possible."
"Blast them open... and use magic..." Dudley had caught a few key words.
I've got magic now, so does that mean I can do it too?
A daydream appeared before his eyes. He saw himself holding a wand in his left hand and a stack of books on spells in his right, strolling through Hogwarts as if he owned the place.
Then, his eyes fell on the "Muggle (True)" beside his name and the paltry 0.5 magic value.
You had to walk before you could run. For now, he needed to stick to brewing potions.
Three months flew by, and Dudley, who had become a bookworm in a single bound, had devoured every book on magic that Mrs. Figg owned. There weren't many, to be fair, and most were just first-year-level textbooks. After all, Mrs. Figg was a Squib—what good would it do her to buy more? She also couldn't help him when he came across things he didn't understand. But thanks to her, Dudley's magical theory knowledge had greatly expanded. At the very least, he wasn't a complete magic-blind idiot anymore.
"Children, it's time to go home," the Dursleys announced, right on schedule. For once, they even included Harry in the homecoming.
Not only had Vernon landed the big deal, but he had secured a few extra orders as well, earning him the sales director position and a massive commission. That meant the Dursley family was about to go up a rung on the social ladder.
The Dursleys had been worried that Dudley hadn't been eating well at Mrs. Figg's, but their fears were put to rest when they saw how much bigger he had gotten. Looking at him, you'd think he was a high school rugby player, even though he was only in the fourth grade.
Of course, Dudley wasn't the only one who had changed. In the three months he'd been gone, Vernon's gut had swollen up like a balloon. Clearly, his trip had been a rather indulgent one. Seeing his father's jiggling belly with every step, Dudley made a mental note to get him on a daily exercise regimen. That sort of weight wasn't healthy.
Before he left, Dudley reluctantly handed Mrs. Figg a book titled Magical Drafts and Potions. It was a fantastic book for any magical beginner, not only for potions but for learning how to defend against the Dark Arts as well. Every time he read it, he discovered something new, and it had quickly become his favourite.
"If you like it so much, just take it," Mrs. Figg said, placing the book back into his hand. To her, it was just a book. She could always go buy another one if she wanted to.
But Dudley didn't take it in the end. For one thing, he had already committed the whole thing to memory, and Mrs. Figg didn't live far away anyway. He could come visit anytime he wanted, and he was sure she'd be happy to see him.
The other reason—the more important one—was that the Dursleys didn't like magic, and they certainly didn't like anything that had to do with it. It was a sore spot for Petunia. Dudley was a dutiful boy, and he didn't want to upset her, so he wouldn't bring up magic in front of them until he could properly mend Petunia's heart.
He hoped that day would be soon.
---
Night fell, and the world outside was completely still. Faint street lamps and the light of the stars were the only things breaking up the darkness. The streets were empty save for a few dogs quietly sniffing at rubbish bins. In the distance, the roar of a car could be heard before fading into the night. Now and then, a night bird chirped from a branch. The moon hung in the sky, casting a faint, silver glow on everything around it, as if the whole world was wrapped in a soft light.
Harry and the Dursleys had already fallen into a deep sleep, but on the second floor of the house, Dudley was brewing something in his room. On the desk were a cauldron and some simple, common lab equipment, like beakers, graduated cylinders, funnels, test tubes, and a digital scale.
Dudley wasn't using an open flame, of course. He was using a hot plate.
He had bought all his equipment from a chemical supply store. He could use the graduated cylinders to measure the volume of liquids and the digital scale for precise measurements. He would then mix things in a beaker and record his results in a notebook.
To be honest, while a wizard's spells were wondrous, their methods for brewing potions were dreadfully behind the times. They still used primitive equipment, and even the most famous potioneers relied on feeling and experience.
There wasn't a lick of science to it.
The greenish-brown liquid in the cauldron slowly turned a light blue as he stirred it. A look of satisfaction finally appeared on Dudley's face. It meant he had succeeded.
He carefully spooned the liquid out of the cauldron and poured it slowly into a test tube. After sealing it with a stopper, he placed it on a nearby shelf.
Only then did Dudley finally let out a sigh of relief. He hadn't gotten any proper rest in days, all to get his measurements just right and brew the perfect potion. But it was worth it. Looking at the liquid—the colour of a calm Aegean Sea—in the test tube, Dudley was completely satisfied.