Chapter 476: Obliviation Charm
Wade didn’t consider himself forgetful—quite the opposite. His memory retention was far better than in his previous life, and certainly superior to most of his classmates. The resurrection of Voldemort by Little Barty Crouch was no minor matter; it was infinitely more significant than the Magic Puppet or the Invitation Letter. So why, then, did he keep forgetting his own purpose?
Holding a newspaper, Wade had just stepped out the common room door when he suddenly stopped mid-stride, turning back to gaze at the girl sitting on the sofa—her expression always a little dazed, a little distant.
“Luna,” Wade said, “help me with something.”
“Sure!” Luna tucked her book markers into her books, then carefully placed them back on the common room shelf. “What do you need?”
“Accompany me to the Headmaster’s Office,” Wade said slowly. “When we meet Dumbledore, make sure to remind me to show him the newspaper in my pocket.” He paused, worried that if he didn’t say it now, he’d drift off into another tangent before finishing.
Luna stared at him with her pale eyes for a moment, then simply said, “Got it.”
She pulled on her coat and walked out with him. Only when they were halfway down the corridor did she ask, voice faint and dreamy, “You’re being haunted by Morphis, aren’t you?”
“Morphis?” Wade repeated.
“It eats memories,” Luna explained, as if stating a fact. “But only painful ones. You must’ve encountered a greedy Home creature.”
She tilted her head, frowning as she searched her mind for a forgotten spell. “If you read The Quibbler more often, you’d know how to banish it. There’s a very simple one.”
“The Quibbler?” Wade chuckled. “I actually thought about subscribing.”
“Really?” Luna brightened. “I’ll write down the address and payment details when I get back!”
“Sounds good. Thanks.”
Wade wasn’t really after the spell—The Quibbler was just like The Unexplained Mysteries or Science Fiction Weekly, the kind of magazine perfect for killing time.
By the time they reached the third floor, they met Theo and Lechi, who waved cheerfully. “Wade! Fancy joining us for dinner in the Great Hall?”
Wade glanced at the time. “Sure thing!”
Luna stared in disbelief as Wade turned toward his friends. Then, suddenly, she reached out and tugged at the back of his robes.
“Luna?” Wade turned, puzzled.
“The Headmaster’s Office,” she asked. “You’re not going there anymore?”
“Why would I?” Wade said, then snapped back. “Oh! Right—sorry, I almost forgot.”
He bid Theo farewell and walked back with Luna toward the tower. “Sorry,” he said, “I nearly lost track.”
“No problem,” Luna replied.
“Uh… mind if I ask?” Wade said. “What’s so important that you needed to see Dumbledore?”
Luna blinked, then stared at him, silent. She let out a long, slow sigh.
“What’s wrong?” Wade asked. “Is it serious?”
“It’s… too serious,” she murmured. “I’ll find that article for you when I get home.”
“For me?” Wade frowned. He didn’t understand, but he knew Luna was always like this—odd, mysterious, unpredictable. He didn’t press further, just turned the thought over in his mind.
Magazine… Morphis… memory-eating…
Wait—hadn’t he been the one who invited Luna to the Headmaster’s Office?
Why had he come here again?
Wade furrowed his brow, trying to recall.
…
“Peppermint humbugs!” The Stone Beast reluctantly stepped aside.
The spiral staircase began to rise on its own.
Knock knock knock.
Luna tapped the door.
“Come in,” Dumbledore said. The door slid open silently.
He saw Wade for the third time that week and immediately sensed something was wrong. He stepped forward, face serious. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing major,” Wade replied. “But I believe it’s crucial—for the school’s future… and for magic itself.”
He walked in, pulled out a chair, and sat down as if it were natural. He gestured for Luna to sit too, then continued, “Professor, I’ve always felt Hogwarts is missing a vital course—one that nurtures student thought, morality, values.”
“Growth isn’t just about knowledge,” he added, glancing at Luna, silently affirming his point. “It’s about how we use knowledge, and for what purpose.”
He looked around. “House rivalries, bullying, bloodline prejudice, professorial bias—none of these make students better people. They only deepen divisions, breed mistrust, even hatred.”
Dumbledore nodded slowly. “You’re right. These issues exist. But eliminating prejudice and hatred? That’s a long journey. The Maze tournament was an attempt—small, subtle, hard to notice.”
“So I think the school should be more proactive,” Wade said. “Professors should teach students what’s right, what’s foolish or wrong. We could hold mental sharing sessions—open forums where students can directly express their thoughts.”
“Why not?” Dumbledore smiled, pleased. “Perhaps we can start next term. In fact, I have a perfect reason.”
He winked, a mischievous glint in his eye.
Wade guessed he meant the Triwizard Tournament. He didn’t press. “I’ll refine my ideas later. These were just spontaneous thoughts. If we’re to act, we’ll need a full plan.”
“Of course,” Dumbledore said. “I’ll be eager to see what you bring me in September. I’ll be proud of your effort, no matter the outcome. But Wade…” He leaned forward, gazing at him gently. “You didn’t come here just to pitch an idea, did you?”
“Something else… something deeper… brought you back again and again. Think carefully. What was it you really wanted to tell me?”
Wade fell silent. His mind felt off. He frowned, searching.
Fragments flashed through his thoughts: walking down the corridor… chatting with Theo and Lechi… the smell of food drifting from the Great Hall… Morphis… Ravenclaw Tower… Luna looking up and asking, “What do you need?”… pulling out a parchment from his pocket…
Then it hit him.
Dumbledore was looking at him differently—carefully, almost cautiously, as if he were a patient with a hidden illness. It stirred something in Wade—anger, not at Dumbledore, but at the idea that he might be broken.
Before he could speak, his robes twitched.
Luna reached into his pocket and pulled out the newspaper, handing it to Dumbledore.
“He wants you to see this,” she said, her voice soft, almost sorrowful. “Don’t blame him. He’s been haunted by a memory-eating creature. That’s why he keeps forgetting.”
Dumbledore took the paper. It was an old article, years out of date. He adjusted his glasses and read it carefully.
Wade stared at the newspaper, his expression torn between confusion and dawning realization.
Luna looked at him with pity. “Wade, if your mind isn’t what it used to be—if you’ve lost some of your brilliance—don’t be sad. There’s a reason for everything.”
Wade sighed. “Thanks, Luna. But I don’t think it’s my mind. I think I’ve been cursed by something strange.”
He stepped closer, eyes fixed on the photograph in the article. Only by staring at that face could he stop himself from losing the memory.
“This is what I wanted to tell you, Professor Dumbledore,” Wade said, his voice firm. “During my Divination exam, I saw this man in the crystal ball. Little Barty Crouch.”
“Indeed?” Dumbledore paused, then said softly, “Miss Lovegood, dinner’s already started. You should go to the Great Hall. Oh, the roast lamb tonight is delicious—don’t miss it.”
“Alright,” Luna said, glancing between them, then stood and left.
Only when the door closed did Dumbledore ask, “What was he doing?”
“He was holding a baby—its face shaped like a serpent, eyes glowing red,” Wade said. “When I saw it… I knew. I just… knew.”
“Voldemort,” Dumbledore finished, smoothly, as if he’d been waiting for the word.
Then Dumbledore touched his throat, then his temple, and murmured, “That’s quite ancient.”
“Ancient what, Professor?” Wade asked.
Next, Dumbledore raised his wand slightly, moving it like a conductor’s baton, whispering a long, unfamiliar incantation. Golden light—thin, wispy, like mist—began to rise from the floor, swirling through the air. It filled the room, then suddenly snapped inward, wrapping around Wade like threads of light. They vanished instantly.
A similar pulse passed over Dumbledore—his beard briefly shimmered gold.
And then—like a veil being lifted—Wade’s mind cleared.
Memories flooded back: Voldemort, Little Barty Crouch, the resurrection ritual… his own confused, drunken-like behavior.
And Professor Mor’s words echoed in his mind:
“Some magical artifacts can influence the thoughts of everyone in the world.”
“Did someone… influence my thoughts, Professor?” Wade asked. “Did someone silently cast a curse on me?”
“I don’t think they meant to target you, Wade,” Dumbledore said. “Even I felt its pull. And I can’t imagine someone casting a spell directly on me without my knowing.”
“So this… is a global curse?” Wade asked.
“A widespread Obliviation Charm,” Dumbledore confirmed. “Voldemort didn’t want anyone discovering his resurrection. So he cast a powerful, far-reaching spell—one that makes you forget anything related to him. The more you focus on him, the faster you forget. It even disrupts unrelated thoughts.”
“No wonder my memory’s been getting worse,” Wade murmured. “I forgot it was me who wanted to come here—Luna brought me.”
“But… can such a spell even exist?”
“Voldemort is the master of curses. But even he couldn’t achieve this alone—especially not after resurrection. He must’ve used something dangerous.”
He paused. “Just recently, I received a report—someone broke into the Department of Mysteries, the Brain Chamber.”
Wade studied Dumbledore’s calm face. “You don’t seem worried at all. Can you remove it completely?”
“If it’s just shielding one person, yes,” Dumbledore said. “But to erase the spell entirely? Only killing the caster would do it.”
Wade felt a knot of anxiety tighten.
Then Dumbledore chuckled softly.
“Besides,” he added, “why would we want to?”
Wade blinked. “Professor?”
“Think about it, Wade,” Dumbledore said, smiling. “This spell isn’t all bad. It’s a double-edged sword. The other edge… is pointed right at Voldemort.”
Wade left the office, walking through the corridor. He passed groups of students laughing, chatting, walking together. And suddenly—he understood.
A terrifying enemy lurked in the shadows. Everyone unconsciously forgot his threat. He was given time to grow, to plot, to rise. That was deeply unsettling.
But the spell had a flaw. It was indiscriminate. It couldn’t distinguish between loyal followers and the innocent.
What if, when Voldemort finally called his Death Eaters—when he gathered his werewolves, giants, Dementors, and eight-eyed spiders—his own minions forgot him?
Would they still obey?
Would they still follow?
And if he tried to rebuild his old network, would the beasts still serve him?
The thought struck Wade. He almost laughed.
Now he understood why Dumbledore had smiled.
(End of Chapter)
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