Professor Sprout clearly could not produce another handful of miasma-eating flower seeds. As the poisonous mist swept toward them again, the wizards could think of nothing to do for the moment but raise shields and retreat.
Voldemort had risen into the air again. Through the sickly green mist, Harry could see that Voldemort was actually spewing it from his mouth-or perhaps his nostrils. Somewhere around there, at any rate.
What the hell kind of magic was this? Why did it work like that?
Bewildered and uncertain, Harry quickly began searching his mind for similar spells and ways to counter them.
Before he could think of anything, however, a figure stepped in front of them all. The gray robes and white hair that nearly trailed along the ground belonged to Dumbledore.
Facing the poisonous mist head-on, Dumbledore held his wand level and rapidly recited an incantation. Even Harry and the others standing behind him instantly felt a wave of icy air. On this midsummer night, everyone gave an involuntary shiver.
Mist also sprayed from the tip of Dumbledore's wand, but his was billowing white ice mist-a powerful spell of extreme cold.
Of course!
Against mist-based magic, you could either burn it away with fire or freeze it with ice.
Who knew what might happen if the poisonous mist evaporated rapidly? Besides, it was exceptionally aggressive. Using a fire spell might cause problems.
Freezing magic was an excellent choice at a time like this.
What else would you expect from Dumbledore?
Watching the sickly green mist turn into countless frozen droplets that fell to the ground almost in the blink of an eye, while the ice mist continued surging toward Voldemort, Harry offered a heartfelt word of admiration.
Dumbledore always seemed able to face everything calmly and make the best possible choice