Chapter Fifty-One: The Confusion Spell

Professor McGonagall's office.

Siwen was holding a stack of notes he had written while reading, asking Dumbledore questions about alchemy.

“Look at this symbol—are you sure it's an ancient rune?” Dumbledore tapped a spot in Siwen’s notes with his long forefinger, then frowned at him and asked.

Siwen looked closely. Amidst the neatly written runes, a striking small seal script stood out. He had read it so many times and never noticed it!

“Mr. Rozier, I must say your recent state is rather concerning,” Dumbledore remarked.

“I suspect you’re putting too much pressure on yourself. The reading list I gave you is enough for some older students to spend an entire term on, and you finished all of it in less than two months. That must be a tremendous burden on your mind.”

Siwen nodded, somewhat dejected. This was already the third time recently he’d made such a basic mistake. But he knew perfectly well that he wasn’t actually under much mental strain. His soul form—ghostly Siwen—was like some kind of cheat, allowing him to read far more efficiently than others, not to mention this cheat didn’t need food or sleep.

Yet his recent poor state was obvious. His once-proud memory had failed him numerous times in just a week.

One memorable incident happened during Herbology. Professor Essad had called on him for a demonstration, as usual, but he’d mixed up the simple procedure for handling Devil’s Snare. Instead of using the Lumos spell to resolve the problem, he had—quite harshly—pulled out a knife and sliced the vine in two.

Professor Essad was furious, accusing him of making trouble on purpose. When Siwen refused to admit it, the professor concluded he was just too cowardly to own up and, disappointed, deducted twenty points from Slytherin. The rest of the Herbology class was canceled, turning into a study period, while Professor Essad sadly tended to the poor, severed Devil’s Snare.

“Have you finally reached your limit?” Mobley asked, leaning in. “If I got called on in every class, I’d probably lose it even sooner than you did.”

But Siwen only shook his head blankly. “I honestly forgot how to handle Devil’s Snare.”

Mobley and Abraxas looked at him in disbelief, and even Gomez and Elchiona glanced at him in surprise.

“Hand on your heart—do you believe what you’re saying?” Abraxas poked his chest.

“Everyone knows you have a great memory and you’re diligent. Even we wouldn’t make a mistake on something so simple, let alone you!” Mobley agreed.

Siwen grew more bewildered. He looked at the wand in his hand, unsure where the problem lay.

...

“So you’re saying your memory has been acting strangely lately?” Dumbledore asked with a frown. “How so?”

“Yes, very strangely,” Siwen nodded, trying to recall the oddities of the past days. “It’s not really memory loss. I still read and research quickly. But sometimes I’ll suddenly forget a specific piece of knowledge.”

“Just suddenly forget?” Dumbledore’s expression turned grave.

“Or... maybe I get things mixed up. Last week, I mistook a cauldron for Ab, and talked to it for half an hour. They all said I was acting weird...” Siwen looked at Dumbledore, only to see the professor pointing his wand at him.

“Professor?” Siwen tried to dodge instinctively, but a heavy pressure pinned his shoulders, leaving him unable to move.

“Finite Incantatem!” Dumbledore’s wand shot a white beam of light at Siwen.

Siwen instantly felt as though a shackle had fallen away; his mind cleared at once.

He gasped for breath, like a drowning man just rescued.

“How do you feel?” Dumbledore asked.

“Terrible, Professor,” Siwen replied between breaths, forcing a wry smile. “Was I Confunded?”

Dumbledore nodded. “I’m afraid so. And it’s likely been going on for some time; otherwise, the symptoms wouldn’t be so obvious.”

Siwen collapsed back into the chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk, looking utterly defeated.

“Oh, Merlin, how many stupid things have I done lately? I’ll never live this down—”

“Mr. Rozier, I don’t think now is the time to be dwelling on your mistakes,” Dumbledore said, struggling not to smile. “What’s more important is to consider who cast the spell on you, and when it started.”

He analyzed the specifics of the spell for Siwen: “The caster is likely very skilled. The Confundus Charm used here is quite targeted, confusing only a small aspect of your mind.”

“But to avoid mishaps, they probably reinforced the charm periodically. Over time, even with great skill, your memory would start to show problems.”

“So think—do you know anyone with strong spellcasting ability, who could repeatedly Confund you without being noticed?”

Siwen scratched his head, looking frustrated. “I thought I’d gotten on well since coming to school. I shouldn’t have made any enemies!”

His roommates could be ruled out—they didn’t have the skill. As for others he'd interacted with more, only the Slytherin prefects came to mind. But they were all pure-bloods, with no real conflicts of interest, so it seemed unlikely...

“I’ve heard you often run into Miss Goshawk from Ravenclaw. What’s your relationship with her?” Dumbledore asked.

“No way!” Siwen blurted. His relationship with Miranda had been good ever since they confided in each other about family matters. She had no reason to cast spells on him.

‘She can’t possibly be avoiding paying back that money she owes me, right?’ The thought almost made Siwen laugh.

“I was just giving an example. You should keep your mind open,” Dumbledore said, patting Siwen’s shoulder.

“All right, don’t worry about it for now. Set the alchemy questions aside. There’s the Halloween Feast tonight—enjoy yourself and get some rest!”

Dumbledore winked at Siwen and walked out of the office.

Siwen stared at the alchemy notes left on the desk, lost in thought.

‘Why does it feel like Professor Dumbledore just used this as an excuse, and couldn’t be bothered to keep answering my questions...’

...

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