Spitfire | Fred Weasley [2]

Chapter Fifty-Four

TRIGGER WARNING:
Drug Abuse

[Spitfire : Chapter Fifty-Four]

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11 May, 1995

All Isaac Deehan ever wanted was silence. Complete utter silence. Silence from his mother's weeping, his fathers yelling, his sisters teases, the Slytherin guidelines . . . his own thoughts. Thanks to George Wylie, Isaac was finally granted such a luxury. Smoking was a helpful habit, sure, but nothing could be compared to the muggle product Wylie had given him. It was from the boys sickly father, apparently—he got into a massive accident. Everything offered by the wizarding world hadn't worked, but this delightful creation had; oxycontin.

     Isaac wasn't so educated on what it was, but what from George Wylie told him—it makes the world easy, and your body numb. In short, that was exactly what Isaac wanted. By taking the small white pill, Isaac was even able to easily fight through the cigarette withdrawal with ease—every wrong in his life went right, like a light switch being switched off from the wall.

     Going to class, conversing through lunches and dinners, and even going to meetings all became easier. Of course, staying awake became a difficulty but Isaac simply reenergized with potions given to him by Madam Pomfrey for his insomnia. The best thing about everything was the fact Isaac finally had complete control over his life. He could stop if he wanted to, but he didn't want to. Therefore, he could do this for the rest of the year—his life, even.

      It was euphoric, mind-altering, Isaac finally felt free. Things that should stress him didn't, he couldn't even stay on topic long enough to even shed an ounce of worry. The best part yet, Isaac became a prized pupil to everyone around him. The Death Eater-wannabes loved his recent attendance during meetings, Cassie loved his usually-uncommon smiles, and Estelle was proud that Isaac was actually doing things now other than mope.

The only person sensing that something wrong was George Wylie, the boy who lended Isaac a couple pills when he noticed him rubbing his neck all the time. His father had problems with pain, sometimes the boy would wake up through the night to his father wailing, begging for it to stop. Wylie couldn't bare watching someone so young go through such a thing—especially the results if he were to fall and never get up again.

His father was fine with the pills, drowsy at times, but overall fantastic. They helped him, and helped him re-emerge as the man he was before the accident. Wylie knew of the things addiction to such a substance could do, he had learnt it when his mum went nuts over the fact they were turning to muggle healers. "You could become dependent!" She'd say. "Addicted, mentally insane! You'll become the drugs husband, not mine. It will twist your mind, poison you with ill thoughts. You'll separate from who you used to be, you'll become nobody!"