Chapters 141-150

Mirror, Mirror Upon the Wall…(Who is the Most Powerful Wizard of All?)

Minerva looked as shocked as Hermione felt, although she was better at playing it down. Severus appeared unmoved, while Bill Weasley’s expression was clearly concerned.

‘I don’t believe in coincidence,’ Dubois elaborated. ‘You have asked for my help concerning the paralysis of the portrait of one of the most powerful wizards of the twentieth century. I have discovered that the problem was caused by Necromantic magic, probably executed on the other side of the Veil—an almost impossible feat of magic.

‘At the same time you find out that someone has manipulated the protective magical tattoos and is draining the magical energy from all Muggle-borns and half-bloods in Britain.

‘That kind of energy has to go somewhere. It’s too much energy to be used up right away, even if the draining is a very slow, gradual process. Even if you wanted to create a whole army of Inferi, you wouldn’t need that much power! In other words, your leech needs to store magical energy somewhere safe that could blow up a whole continent.

‘Of course, ‘somewhere safe’ is tricky where magic is concerned. It doesn’t work like Muggle electricity. You can’t simply put it into a battery and shelve it.’

‘You’d want to keep it where spill-over can’t do any harm,’ Bill said, picking up Dubois’s train of thought. ‘Somewhere where you think that no one can get at it.’

‘Beyond the Veil!’ Hermione gasped. ‘Only Necromancers can do magic in Death. And before I heard of the Deathly Hallows, I thought no one could go there—and back. To be honest, I still believed that until approximately twenty minutes ago.’

‘Severus?’ Minerva asked. ‘What do you think?’

Severus’ eyes were fixed on the still figure of Dumbledore’s portrait. His fathomless black gaze didn’t betray any emotion. Only a slender finger that kept tracing his mouth showed how deep in thought he was.

When he spoke at last, his words were soft and carefully considered. He did not meet Hermione’s eyes. ‘I am still not completely convinced that it is possible to go beyond the Veil and back.—I have been close to the Ninth Gate only once in my life, and I barely had the strength to return.

‘However, I don’t believe in coincidence either.’

‘So you will attempt this, Professor Snape?’ Dubois asked.

Hermione’s throat was so tight that she could barely breathe. She knew what he would say, and she desperately wanted to protest, to shout, to scream, ‘No, no, no!’ Instead she only stared at Severus as he slowly nodded his head.

‘Yes. Unless you think that you are better qualified?’ he sneered.

Dubois ignored the sarcasm. ‘I am not powerful enough,’ she stated simply, with a shrug and a smile. ‘As a Portrait Mistress I travel a lot,’ she went on. ‘You’d be surprised at how often your name comes up in dinner conversations around the world, Professor Snape.’

His scowl didn’t seem to intimidate her at all. ‘You must be aware that in some circles the game of ‘Who is the most powerful wizard in the world?’ never gets old. For many years the answer was simple—and caused hours of awful arguments: Voldemort or Dumbledore, Dumbledore or Voldemort.’ Dubois ignored Severus’ grimace. ‘Of course the answers have changed of late,’ she continued. ‘I must admit that it is quite amusing how miffed certain American and French wizards are that once again the names that come up most often belong to two British wizards.’

‘If you have a point to make, then get to it, Madame,’ Severus ground out.

Dubois merely smiled. ‘Two, actually. Those names are: Harry Potter.

‘And Severus Snape.’

‘Any other names?’ Severus asked, as if the names Dubois mentioned were of no more consequence than a remark about rainy weather in the Highlands.

The blond witch sighed and shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, no. A few, of course: Peter Jackson, Steve Jobs, the American president. But none of them are Necromancers, and I don’t believe any of them are powerful enough to cast a spell with the scope of what you are dealing with here.’

oooOooo

‘Welcome to the annual Chess Tournament at the Ministry of Magic!’ Shacklebolt intoned. ‘Players, please take your seats and raise your wands!’

Percy took a deep breath and raised his wand to salute his boss. Umbridge’s smile was sweet enough to make his teeth ache. She twirled her wand in her pudgy fingers and returned the traditional greeting.

‘Let the games begin!’ Shacklebolt called, and the audience went wild, clapping and cheering.

As the crowd quieted, Percy caught how Umbridge looked at the minister out of the corner of his eye. She smirked at Shacklebolt, and the Minister’s affable expression froze on his face.

Then she lowered her pink wand to the chess-board.

oooOooo

‘Damn.’ Draco yawned and scowled at the sleeping kittens that adorned the walls of his superior’s office.

The spell that had sent the porcelain spies with their fluffy hair and pretty pink bows to sleep was an incredibly complex charm, with just a touch of Transfiguration mixed in. In short, it caused the essence of magic to thicken, slowed down the very atoms of the awful decorative plates and dragged the inhabitants of the room’s ornaments down into the heavy laziness of solid matter. Unfortunately it also had a similar effect on the caster of the spell.

He gulped a vial of Invigoration Draught. When he felt certain that there was no more steam issuing from his ears, and he felt sufficiently awake and alert, he began to search Umbridge’s office.

Methodically, systematically.

oooOooo

Ron had guessed that Umbridge wouldn’t be a brilliant chess player, but that she’d be devious and vicious in her moves.

Fifteen minutes into the game, Percy knew that his little brother had been right on spot, and he was worried. Between one move and the next, he couldn’t tell whether he should be scared because he would win too quickly, or because she would win too soon.