The empty seat beside him was unbearable. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to be here.

Three weeks ago, it had been the headline of the Daily Prophet. He remembered thinking More deaths with a sick feeling, then reluctantly picking up the paper. I wonder if anyone I know died? he had thought morbidly.

His eyes had fallen on the name.

And then he didn’t remember anything, for a while.

He remembered sitting in his room much later, staring at the ceiling and seeing nothing. He remembered being angry, remembered crying, remembered laughing hysterically, convinced that it wasn’t real—it couldn’t be, how could he be dead?

He’d barely said a word for three weeks. His best friend was dead. He didn’t know what he wanted; he only wanted to get rid of the empty, burning feeling somewhere deep in his chest. It wouldn’t go away.

On the platform, he had said goodbye to his mother, and told her in dead tones that he would be all right. He had sat down with the few friends that remained, and said ‘hello,’ but not to the one he wanted to see.

Not to Dean.

Seamus sighed and rested his head against the windowpane of the Hogwarts Express, already feeling lonely.

- - -

The Great Hall was half-empty. Missing faces leapt out at him—no Malfoy, still no Parvati, no Harry, Ron, or Hermione… Girls at every table were wearing black ribbons in their hair, faces were tear streaked and pale; Seamus knew he wasn’t the only one grieving a loss.

His eyes drifted to the High Table and he felt another pang of grief. Dumbledore was gone; encased in a white marble tomb by the lake. Snape (Murderer, he thought angrily) was gone; no hollow black eyes glittered down at the students over a hooked nose and a sour expression. McGonagall sat in the Head’s chair, staring broodingly at the table, nodding absently as Professor Sprout spoke into her ear.

Seamus ignored the Sorting; there were few students, it didn’t take long. McGonagall rose to her feet and motioned for silence, and gradually the noise died down. Seamus noticed that she seemed much older than she had at the end of last year; more lines streaked her face, and her hair had completely greyed.

“Welcome to another year at Hogwarts,� she announced, and her strong voice carried throughout the hall, the same as ever, belying her weakened appearance. Seamus almost smiled. “I am Professor McGonagall, your new Headmistress.� She introduced the new Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts professors, then looked down and paused before continuing. Seamus shifted in his seat; there was more?

“The current state of war has affected us all in different ways. Death has reached even to the doors of our school.� She took a deep breath. “Before his death� (here she hesitated for the briefest moment) “Professor Dumbledore and I had been planning an…event of sorts, to help those of you that the war has touched most strongly.�

Her eyes gleamed slightly as she spoke, and even Seamus, in his dispassionate state, could tell that she cared deeply about this. “Arranging this task has helped me cope with my own feelings of grief, anger, and loss. Indeed, my pain at our bereavement has considerably lessened—truly it’s nearly gone. I believe—I know that this will be a great help to those of you selected to participate.� McGonagall offered her students a rare smile and took her seat. “Enjoy your meal.�

As the golden plates filled, talk buzzed around the hall. Seamus stared thoughtfully at McGonagall before turning to his own plate.

“What do you suppose it is?� Lavender asked him in a low tone.

Seamus shrugged. “Does it matter? We’ll find out soon enough.�

Lavender and Neville exchanged a look, one of pity mingled with worry. Lavender touched his wrist lightly. “Seamus…you’re not the same.� Her gaze was direct, and he could tell that she cared, that she felt the same pain. He didn’t care.

He gave her a long look, then slowly nodded, looking back down at his plate. She was right. He wasn’t.

- - -

The night had been sleepless. Seamus had stared at Dean’s empty bed, and listened to the absence of Neville’s snores, as the only two inhabitants of the dorm lay awake.

He was jolted from his reverie over breakfast by the sound of wings and the clatter of talons on wood. He looked up, and a pair of intelligent brown eyes gazed at him over his eggs. He frowned at the owl and unrolled the letter being thrust imperiously at him. Written in flowing, loopy handwriting was a very odd poem.

Irresistible lure,
Custom-built prize,
Awaits the doer
Who makes it in time.

Just for you,
Was this treasure made,
Collect the clues,
And survive the maze.

If you can name it,
This thing with danger bought,
Then you can claim it,
But don’t get caught.

Outside the doors
At ten tonight
With skills yours
Your glory will shine bright.

He had barely finished reading it when the parchment erupted into flames. Seamus was relatively used to objects doing this, so he brushed his singed fingers against his cool goblet and stared up at the enchanted ceiling, lost in thought. This had to be what McGonagall had meant…a maze…a challenge? To take their minds off of all the death…off their losses…

His thoughts drifted back to the mysterious prize. Just for you was this treasure made… That made it sound like it was whatever he wanted the most…an irresistible lure…

Dean…

Suddenly his heart leapt in his chest. McGonagall said the maze had lessened her loss—could it have removed it entirely? What he wanted most in the whole world…

Could he get his best friend back?

- - -

His heart was pounding madly as he stepped through the massive front doors. A second pathway was illuminated beside the usual one, glowing unearthly silver, seemingly lit from beneath the ground itself.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Dean. He might see him again tonight… His hands were trembling with eagerness.

Something massive loomed out of the shadows of the night. He stopped and gaped, astounded at what he saw.

An immense stone structure stood before him. It was tall, cathedral-like, but the front was a flat face of obsidian marble. A huge arch stood open in the face of the rock before him, twelve feet high, and in the darkness inside the structure he saw the tiniest pinprick of light, far, far away. He shivered in the warm night; his eagerness had suddenly deserted him. He felt small, alone, and afraid.

“Mr. Finnigan.�

Seamus started; he hadn’t realized anyone else was there. “Professor. I didn’t see you.�

“That’s obvious, Mr. Finnigan.� The elderly woman stood beside the gaping entryway. “I expected to see you. I know how hard it is to lose a friend.�

He didn’t answer. Jaw clenched, he nodded once.

“Trust me when I say that if you succeed tonight, it won’t be so hard.�

Seamus’ heart leapt into his throat again as adrenaline flooded his body. He nodded again, now unbearably eager to enter the maze. He would do it, he would see Dean again.

“Are you ready?�

“Yes.�

“Then good luck, Mr. Finnigan.�

Seamus set his jaw, and with pounding heart and a wild hope, he strode past McGonagall and into the darkness.

---

The inside was pitch-black--no light around him showed the way, but always that pinprick of light far, far away. Suddenly, Seamus ran head-on into something. Stumbling, he swore and reached his hand out to touch whatever it was. It felt cold, and hard--stone? Obviously it was one of the walls of this maze, but he could see through it...

He had to go towards the light, he knew, so he ran his hand along the wall, hoping to find a pathway that would lead him towards the light. None were there, so reluctantly he charged off down a left-hand passageway.

It was a true maze, twisting and turning and dead ends everywhere. Seamus desperately kept running towards the light, but walls kept getting in his way and he had to turn away from his goal.

He rounded a corridor and suddenly the silence that had been broken only by the echoes of his footsteps was shattered with loud noise. Someone was talking, words echoing off the walls and doubling back so he could barely understand a word.

Suddenly, he recognized his own voice. He was talking... Then he realized what he was saying.

"Dean, I miss him so much, we've been friends for so long and now I'm alone--"

Stop it, he willed himself, stop talking now...

"--completely alone, I can't stand it, what am I going to do without him--"

Shut up, shut up!

"--never going to see him, never again, never going to laugh with him or joke around in Charms with him--"

Seamus fell to his knees, his eyes beginning to burn with tears. Desperately, he pressed his hands to his ears, trying to drown out his voice. "--but I can't stop, I can't stop talking about Dean, because I can't stop thinking about Dean and how much I'm going to miss him--"

What's happened? Seamus thought desperately. It has to be a spell...But what spell?

"--Dean would know, if he was here, he was smart, he knew everything, but I guess he didn't know everything or else he would be here--"

Seamus closed his eyes and heart and tried to think. He was talking...babbling...was there a spell for that? His mind ranged back over spells...Babbling Curse...Lockhart had once said something about Babbling Curses--

"--that was the day he drew that picture of Lavender for me, he knew I fancied her and I remember he slipped it into my Charms book--"

Screwing up his eyes against memories of Dean, Seamus tried to remember if Lockhart had said anything more, but he couldn't. It's still a curse, then, I can end the spell, that should work--but I can't say it, he thought wildly, not if I'm still talking about Dean...

It was nearly impossible, but Seamus closed his mind, blocking out all his thoughts of Dean. Stop thinking about him, let it go, he's gone, just accept that and stop thinking about it... He couldn't accept it, but slowly he freed his mind from the compulsion to think about Dean. His words changed as he did, from remembrances of his best friend to childhood memories to what he had eaten for breakfast this morning.

Setting about breaking the spell, Seamus turned his mind to spells, and soon his voice followed suit. Random spells began issuing from his wand, sending light, sparks, and other dangerous things from his wand. Seamus prayed that the spell he was looking for would come soon.

"--Reducto--Relashio--Lumos--Nox--Flagrate--Dissendium--Finite Incantatum--"

A ringing silence fell.

Panting, Seamus rose to his feet again. He realized he was covered in cold sweat, and shaking violently. Wiping a hand across his forehead, Seamus prayed for strength, because if that was the first task in this maze and it scared him this much, he had no hope for the rest of it.

---

The darkness began to lighten, and Seamus could see a fire burning through the shadows of the clear stone. He hadn't minded the darkness before, but now that a release was imminent, he was unbearably eager to get out. He ran towards the fire, smacking headfirst into a rapid succession of walls in his haste.

Finally, he managed to emerge into the clearing where the fire burned, and he found to his surprise that the blaze came from a...bush? Looking around, Seamus realized that he was standing in a garden. Yew trees lined the edges, forming as solid a wall as the stones behind him. Grass and herbs carpeted the floor in strange varieties, and the occasional flower bloomed along the path. His eyes traveled the patches of herbs along the path, recognizing some from Herbology and Potions. Seamus followed the cobblestoned path, noticing that the path branched off to the left into a pumpkin patch. Frowning, he followed the main path to a stone bench so massive it should probably be called a table.

Jars of dried plants stood along the edge of the table, and a rather plain purple sack lay open beside what looked like Neville's weird pet plant. What drew Seamus' eye, however, was the dragon-hide notebook in the center of the bench. Tentatively he reached out to touch it, and when nothing untoward happened, he picked it up and opened it to the first page.

There, in the same loopy handwriting that had been on the summons letter, was a poem.

In my midst you’re sure to find
Plants and Herbs of every kind

Search me well and you will see
Fluxweed, Hellebore, Gillyweed

Beware the Mandrake’s cry if you
Should ever dig for Gurdyroot

Before you leave me you must bring
Lovage, dittany and Shrivelfig

And in my pages you must write
The other names of aconite

With that the door will open wide
And you may take of what I hide

So stop to ponder if you will
The Malowsweet won’t make you ill.

Seamus felt his stomach drop as he stared at the paper in dismay. He was all right at Herbology, but he was no Neville... He quickly reread the poem. Seemed like all he had to do was find the right plants and put them in the bag. The other names of aconite were easy; he remembered with a smile the very first Potions class he had ever had. Quickly he turned the page and wrote with his wandtip "wolfsbane" and "monkshood". The letters glowed, then a word appeared beneath them: "Correct."

Feeling slightly less panicky, Seamus skimmed the strange instructions again. He bit his lip and looked around as the last part of the poem sunk in. Door? he thought tensely, searching for one. What door? Years of living at Hogwarts, however, had taught him that if there was no door to be seen, one would soon appear if one completed the task at hand.

A Shrivelfig was easy; Seamus had used them in Potions often enough. A low bush yielded Shrivelfigs in plenty, and Seamus plucked one easily and slipped it into the sack. That was where things stopped being easy--what in the name of Merlin were lovage and dittany?

He began picking though the grasses, searching for anything that might jog his memory. He knew he'd heard the names before, dittany in particular, but it eluded him... His hand lightly brushed a small plant and a tiny cloud of pollen wafted up to his face. Instantly his eyes watered and he sneezed violently--sneezewort, he realized, and moved on, resolving to hereafter avoid the innocent-looking plants.

A quarter of an hour later, Seamus was getting desperate and irritated. He had combed the garden three times and had no idea what he was looking for! The bush was still burning, the sneezeworts still made him sneeze, and no further clues had appeared in the mysterious notebook. (He'd thrown it into what looked like one of Sprout's Venomous Tentaculas, and though it hadn't helped his search it had certainly made him feel better.)

His eyes fell on the burning bush, and he wandered over to it. He watched it flame for a moment, then noticed that there were others of its kind growing nearby, minus the scorching flames. The leaves dripped with a strange, thick fluid that smelled absolutely heavenly... Seamus frowned and leaned forward, a memory triggered.

"Dean, what's that plant?" Seamus asked his friend as they lounged on Dean's back porch. The summer sun was blazing, and both boys were sweating heavily. "It's oozing." True enough, a glutinous, sweet-smelling liquid coated the leaves.

Dean shrugged. "Dunno. Mum keeps it."

As both boys watched, the plant suddenly blossomed into a tongue of flame. Startled, Seamus quickly beat it out, looking curiously at what remained of it. "I wonder what--"

"Seamus, Dean, do I smell smoke out there?" Mrs. Thomas's voice was dangerous as she bustled out of the back door. "What are you boys doing?"

Dean winced. "It wasn't us, Mum--your plant just caught fire from the sun."

She glanced at the flowerpot. "Oh, the dittany?"

Seamus grinned and plucked one of the gooey stems. He carried it to the table and dropped it into the sack, then sat down to think. Lovage... I've heard that before...

He paced the garden, desperately trying to remember. Nothing. Defeated, he sat down in the grass and pressed his hands to his eyes. Sorry, Dean, I tried...

His eyes were watering, and Seamus willed himself not to cry. The burning feeling kept building, though, and he pressed his fists harder against his eyes. You. Will. Not. Cry. Finnigan.

And he didn't.

He sneezed.

Seamus' eyes flew open. The sneezeworts danced before his face. Angrily he pushed them aside--and his eyes fell on a small plant he hadn't noticed before, nestled near the sneezeworts.

His mind flashed back to a textbook and an old, old essay. Sneezewort and lovage have the same potions-making properties, and are often grown together in gardens--

He grabbed a handful of the little plants and pulled them roughly from the ground. Please be lovage, please, please... He opened the sack and tossed the handful of herbs into the bag.

Instantly, both the bag and the bench vanished, revealing a door set into one of the yew trees. A small box rested on the ground where the bench had stood, and Seamus bent to retrieve it. Inside the box was a small notebook, Muggle-made, one that would have been ignored by any other wizard but filled Seamus' eyes with tears.

Dean's sketchbook...

Wiping his filled eyes with the back of his hand, Seamus tucked the book into the pocket of his robes and opened the door set into the tree, setting off into the maze once again--this time with Dean at his side.

---

Seamus held his wand a little higher, trying to pierce the darkness and find the source of the sudden chill that had begun to permeate the maze. In the pale light of his wand, he saw nothing but the faint outlines of the clear stones and the half-shadows the walls cast.

A strange rattling noise came from far ahead, and the oppressive chill began to deepen. Seamus felt a sudden horror, and gripped his wand tighter. No, it can't be...they wouldn't have...

The rattling sound grew louder, like the death sighs of thousands of wounded men. Seamus swallowed hard, trying to ignore the cold sweat that had suddenly drenched his skin. What was the spell, I can't remember... Fighting the urge of terror-spawned panic, Seamus wracked his memory for the spell Harry had taught them.

The shadows before him gave way to a heavy black shape--all rags and slimy, skeleton-like hands groping for him. The dementor's breath sucked what little warmth remained in the air of the maze, and his wand light seemed to dim.

Faint screams began to echo in his ears. Wand blasts and the sound of Professor McGonagall shouting Stay in the dormitory and keep calm, everything will be fine before rushing out into the battle sent chills down his spine.

"E--ex--" He couldn't remember the spell.

Stepping back, away from the dementor, Seamus tried to think around the horrible feelings that were starting to fill him. Dementors prey on emotions...happy emotions...what can I do?

It was getting closer and he backed away further, his hand holding his wand shaking madly. The screaming and explosions began to grow louder, and laid over it all he could hear the droning voice of the orator at Dumbledore's funeral, and his mother's sobs...

Harry had said you needed happy memories to fight dementors, but he hadn't been happy since Dean had died-- A faint idea began to form in his mind.

If this thing wants happy emotions, I'll give it sad ones instead.

Closing his eyes tightly, Seamus began to remember all the times he had ever grieved for anything. Letting the images fill his thoughts, he drifted all the way back to his childhood. Burying his pet cat...watching his sunny-haired playmate from primary school waving goodbye as she left for France...the hundreds of people at Dumbledore's funeral...the day the death toll had included his best friend.

The paper fell from his suddenly nerveless hands, but his eyes were still locked on the name. Half a centimeter high black newsprint that hit him like a fifty-foot wave, drowning him in sudden grief.

"Dean's dead, Dean's dead," voices were chanting in his mind, and he fell to his knees, screaming--

Tears streamed down his face, but Seamus didn't pull himself out of the memory just yet. The dementor's ragged form was still before him--it was still cold as death, and the horrible gasping still sounded in his ears. He felt the scabby, clammy hands grasp his shoulder and fought the urge to scream. He clenched his eyes tighter and remembered the empty horror, the sick feeling of overwhelming grief--

The hands released him, and Seamus's eyes snapped open in shock. The dementor hovered before him for a moment, then drew another rasping breath and drifted past him, moving on into the shadows behind him.

His knees suddenly gave out, and he fell to the ground, feeling a combination of relief and renewed grief so overwhelming he retched. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Seamus reached into his pocket and felt for Dean's book. His hand touched the canvas cover, and he closed his eyes for a moment. Still miss you, mate.

Then he rose to his feet, took a deep breath, and went further into the heart of the maze.

---

Seamus heard the ghostly cackle before him and stopped dead. Don't tell me... He crept forward, slowly, and though he didn't see anything through the clear walls, he knew that there was something--someone--ahead of him. As he turned a corner, the hallway was suddenly flooded with light, and he threw up an arm to shield his eyes. When the light grew bearable, he realized what was before him.

He stared.

Peeves the Poltergeist hovered before him, in his garish clothes and belled hat, grinning wickedly. "Well, lookit who's gotten so far!"

"What are you doing here?" Seamus gaped.

"I am your next challenge." Peeves wiggled his ears at him and blew a raspberry.

Seamus gritted his teeth together. "All right. What do I have to do?"

Peeves flipped upside down and began examining his fingernails.

"Peeves."

The little man began to sing, "All alone inside his head, is it true his best friend's dead?"

"Peeves, I am not going to play games with you!" Seamus roared in rage. "Or else I swear--"

Peeves flipped back upright and blew another raspberry. "I've got a riddle. I'll only tell it once."

Seamus winced. "Hang on." He dug in his pocket for Dean's notebook and flipped it open to a blank page. Taking his wand as a pen, he poised it over the paper. "Go."

"Here's the riddle.

"People like me turn lead to gold,
Mystic cures, my craft unfold.
I start nowhere and end well,
My name is an easy one to tell."

Seamus groaned loudly. He was no good at riddles. For a very long few minutes, he stared at the words that meant absolutely nothing to him.

"Want some help?" Peeves asked innocently.

His head snapped up. "Yeah."

"Too bad!" Peeves burst out with cackling laughter and began to zoom around the corridor, writing profanities on the clear walls.

Trying to stifle his irritation and think, Seamus began pacing. Lead to gold...that's alchemy...I don't know any alchemists...God dammit...

Peeves floated up behind his ear and whispered, "Is that your dead friend's notebook?"

Furious, Seamus swung the book at Peeves, bellowing "Shut up and leave me alone!" His eyes were stinging again, and now he was furious with himself for even starting to cry in front of this poltergeist. Angry and completely distracted, Seamus stared down at the riddle again, trying to think.

"You dropped something," Peeves cooed.

"What?" Seamus snapped, then glanced around and realized that some Chocolate Frog cards had flown out of the notebook when he had swiped at Peeves. Absently, he picked one up and looked at it. He smiled sadly at the white beard and twinkling blue eyes "Dumbledore..." He flipped the card over and scanned it, thinking, I wonder if they added a line that says "Murdered by a greasy-haired git..."

Suddenly, his eyes snapped to a line towards the bottom of the card.

...his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel...

Seamus's eyes flipped back to the riddle. "Starts nowhere...N," he mumbled to himself. "Ends well...L." He stared at Peeves, who was singing "Weasley Is Our King" while drawing caricatures of Voldemort on the floor.

"I know the answer."

Peeves glanced at him. "Eh?"

"Nicolas Flamel."

The poltergeist stared at him for a long moment, then snapped to attention and swept his hat from his bed. "You may pass."

Seamus grinned, slipping the Frog card back into the book and stashing the book back in his pocket. Thanks again, Dean.

As he strode past Peeves into the darkness, he suddenly felt a sharp sting on the back of his neck.

Peeves cackled again and swooped away as Seamus felt his neck. His fingers came back wet and black, and he swore violently.

Ink pellet.

---

Seamus found his mind wandering as he trudged through the maze. He could still see that pinpoint of white light he was striving to reach, and he continually headed towards it. His thoughts, however, kept drifting back to McGonagall and what she had said. Dean's notebook in his pocket was making him rethink his previously held idea that he was going to see Dean again. Now he wasn't sure what to expect...if he ever got out of this maze.

Suddenly, his foot sank ankle-deep into squelching mud. Swearing, Seamus leapt back and lifted his wand higher. In the pale light cast by the spell, he could see that the entire path for a good fifteen feet in front of him was thick, deep, disgusting mud. Footprints crisscrossed the surface, some of them very, very deep. None had reached the other side.

Feeling decidedly nervous, Seamus began pacing the shore of the mud, considering his options. He couldn't jump over; trying to cross wouldn't be smart at all... So how could he do this? He'd never been good at Wingardium Leviosa, Levitating himself probably wouldn't be a good idea... He couldn't think of any spells to thicken or dry something...

If there was some way to make a bridge...

Seamus's eyes took stock of the entire hallway. There was mud on the floor and clear stone walls. Not much to work with.

Unless...

"Seamus, mate, you're being stupid," Dean had pointed out heartlessly. "It's to protect ourselves, because we sure as hell aren't learning a thing in Defense class."

"Why do we even need to protect ourselves?" Seamus had snapped.

Dean gave him a direct look. "You know the answer and I know the answer, so why do I need to say anything?"

Seamus stared at the ceiling of his four-poster. "So what spell did you work on today?" he asked finally, more out of politeness than any real curiosity.

"The Reductor Curse," Dean answered. "It's really useful for blasting things down. Watch this." He pointed his wand at the water jug on Seamus's bedside table. "Reducto!" The vase was instantly reduced to dust.

"Neat," Seamus commented. Curiosity now afire, he asked, "So what other tricks are you learning in that D.A.?"

Seamus knelt down and examined the stone walls. They weren't solid, they were blocks that fit together with mortar. Just what he had hoped. Lifting his wand, he noticed that the walls didn't go up as far as he had thought, only to about three feet above his head. Again, just what he had hoped. Standing back, he pointed his wand at a stone in the bottom layer and said, "Reducto!"

The stone disappeared. Grinning, Seamus began to work his way up and down the wall, first cutting out a section of stones so that it stood apart from the rest. Then he began to destroy stones in the bottom, with the structure getting shakier by the minute.

Finally, with a deafening crash and splash, a section of the wall toppled free, landing in the mud. Seamus was instantly spattered with thick, brown, gooey mud--but there was a bridge.

Gingerly, he stepped out onto the first part of the wall, and when it didn't sink any further into the mud, he confidently jogged down the rest of the wall and jumped over the three-foot strip or so of mud that his wall hadn't covered.

Dirty but confident, Seamus continued on.

---

Seamus heard the crackling sound of another fire before he saw it. He was suddenly aware that he could see a boxed-in space through the clear walls, and naturally the path he was on led him there.

He was rapidly becoming accustomed to the strange things he would find in the maze, and was not surprised at all when he walked into a large, torchlit room containing some very odd scenery. A huge carving of a book stood in the center of the room. Beside this book was a cage, containing a large, fluffy, white creature that was muttering invectives in a low, irritated tone. Two doors stood on opposite sides of the room: one was locked, the other was ajar and Seamus could hear squeals and high-pitched muttering from the room beyond. Momentarily ignoring the creature in its cage, Seamus crossed the room to the stone book and read the words engraved on it.

Ahead is a room full of disgruntled gnomes. One of the gnomes has a key. You will need that key to pass through the door in this room and continue your journey. The Jarvey may help you or it might hinder. Good luck, adventurer.

Intrigued, Seamus knelt down beside the cage containing what he now knew was a Jarvey and prodded it in the side. "Oy. Can you talk?"

"'Course I can talk, blockhead!" it shrieked, snapping at his hand.

With an oath, Seamus jerked his hand back beyond the range of the thing's teeth. First Peeves, now this?

"Let me out of this cage!" the Jarvey yelled, attempting to squeeze itself through the bars. When Seamus made no move to assist it, it added a few choice insults to the mix.

"Keep insulting me and you'll never get out of that cage," Seamus snapped.

The Jarvey quieted and went back to muttering under its breath, giving Seamus the occasional evil glare with its yellow-rimmed eyes.

Like I'm asking this nutter for help... Seamus shook his head and decided to try and get the key himself. Crossing the room, he walked confidently into the room with the gnomes. "All right, I'm looking for a key--"

Instantly, war shrieks were heard, and dozens of muddy little potatoes with legs began leaping on him. Swearing a blue streak, Seamus tried to get them off, but they hung on with their pointed teeth and bony fingers, digging in deeper and squealing attack cries.

Shaking the last one off, Seamus ran back into the room with the Jarvey and slammed the door behind him. Several loud thumps were heard against the door, then the gnomes returned to their muttering.

Glaring at the Jarvey, which was cackling madly with vicious glee, Seamus thought, I can see how this thing might hinder me, I'm going to waste time murdering it! Gazing at it, he wondered, How can this thing help me get that key from the gnomes?

"Gnomes?" The Jarvey started trying to push itself through the bars again. "Let me at 'em, I'll tear 'em apart with my teeth! Juicy gnomes! Sweet gnomes! I'm so hungry!"

Seamus hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud, but he was glad he did. "You want the gnomes?"

"Give 'em to me!"

"Promise not to bite me if I come and pick up your cage?"

"GIMME THE GNOMES, YOU LITTLE--" What the Jarvey said at this point does not bear repeating.

Gritting his teeth, Seamus went to the cage and picked up the Jarvey. His hand was scratched and bitten bloody at this point, but he managed to hold on to the cage. Taking a deep breath, he threw the door of the gnome's room open and yelled, "All right, quiet!"

There was an instant uproar, and then an almost as instant silence.

"One of you has a key. I want it now or I'll let the Jarvey out." Seamus winced as the Jarvey's fangs dug deeper into his hand, but clenched the handle even tighter.

Instantly a key was flung at his feet. Seamus bent, set down the Jarvey's cage, and picked up the key with his good hand. All the gnomes leapt at him again, and he dashed out and slammed the door shut behind him.

They deserve each other, he thought bitterly, then unlocked the door opposite and went on.

---

The pinprick of light he had steadily been moving closer to had begun to grow larger, and Seamus knew he was getting close. He began slowly returning to his old practice of running, his feet moving faster almost of their own volition. To his surprise, the stones began to darken, slowly becoming opaque--what was this?

He realized why they had begun to darken as he reached a fork in the road. He couldn't see anything through the walls, and had no clue of what lay before him. To the left, he could see the light at the far end, glowing larger than ever before. Impulsively he moved towards it, but hung back as he noticed the thick green mist hovering in the pathway. Inhaling slightly, he detected a faint, sickly sweet odor...and then at the end, a slightly noxious scent. Poisonous? Probably.

He glanced down the other pathway. Low, animal-like moans of pain came drifting down the echoing stone corridor. Then, quite clearly, a young girl's voice. "Help, someone help me!"

Seamus froze. He'd had enough tricks, how could he know that this wasn't some sort of trap?

"Is someone there? Please, help!" The note in her voice was heartbreaking, but Seamus clenched his wand tighter and didn't move.

"Please, it's just my leg...it's stuck, I need help, I think it's broken."

She knew he was there. He cast one last look at the mist-choked pathway, then turned and strode down the path that would lead him to the girl.

A short ways in he found her: a tiny, wispy little girl, leg trapped under a broken section of wall. Her skin was like chocolate, and her eyes so wide, brown, and scared... Seamus stared down at a little-girl version of his best friend. After a moment, he found his voice. "It's all right, I'm here to help you."

"Thank you," she whispered, her eyes filled with tears. "Can you help me get my leg out?"

He nodded and pointed his wand at the chunk of rock. He usually wasn't too good with this spell, but it was an emergency... "Wingardium Leviosa!" Obediently, the broken block lifted and hovered to the side. On impulse, the little girl tried to shift back, but Seamus stopped her. "Don't move, you'll hurt your leg even more." Carefully he examined it the broken limb, frowning slightly. "Yeah, it's broken..." Something odd occurred to him, and he glanced at the little girl. "What are you doing here?"

She shook her tiny head, and black ringlets bounced around her head. "I don't know..." She looked up at him and smiled, a small one, full of fear, but a smile nonetheless. "I'm Ann."

"Seamus." He gave her a quick, reassuring smile, then looked back down at her leg. "Hold still for a minute." Recalling a spell that Dean had taught him from one of the D.A. meetings (Harry had thought it a good idea in case of emergencies), Seamus pointed his wand at her leg and muttered, "Ferula". Instantly a thin slat of wood appeared beside her leg and gauze bandages appeared to bind the injured leg tightly to it.

She shyly looked up at him. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Taking stock of their surroundings for the first time, Seamus noticed a small worktable. Curiously, he stood up to examine it. A small cauldron stood empty, along with a pitcher of water and jars full of basic potion ingredients. Quickly noting what ingredients there were, Seamus realized that he had materials on hand to make an antidote for the poison mist. Simultaneously, he realized that he could also make a healing potion for Ann's leg.

There was only enough tinder under the cauldron, however, to make one potion.

For a very long moment, Seamus stared at the ingredients. Don't be selfish, heal the little girl and find another way to the prize, an inner voice that sounded remarkably like a mix between his mother and Professor McGonagall chided him.

Are you kidding? You already splinted her leg, she'll be fine! Take the antidote and go! another voice argued, one that sounded more like himself.

"What should I do?" he whispered.

Ann looked up at him, her dark eyes trusting. "What's wrong?"

He glanced up at her. "Nothing...I just..." He sighed and knelt down beside her. "Ann, there's only enough to make one potion. I can make a healing potion for you, or an antidote to pass through some poison mist and go on my way."

"Why do you need to go through the mist?"

Seamus considered this for a moment. The shortest path was not always the straightest, he remembered Dumbledore had once told him when he had gotten caught for cutting through the Forbidden Forest as a shortcut. He didn't need to go through the mist, he could find another way...

But it's so close...what do you choose, this little girl or Dean?

"Someone's waiting for me on the other side," he murmured.

Her expression was unwavering. "Someone important?"

"Very important."

She looked down at her leg. "I'll be all right..." She bit her lip slightly, and he knew she was lying.

He cursed in his mind. This damn maze...

Take this one thing for yourself, Seamus. Dean's more important.

Looking at this little girl, and how much she looked like him, Seamus realized that turning his back on her would be turning his back on Dean. He couldn't leave her in pain like this. With another muttered oath in his head, Seamus stood and crossed to the cauldron. Lighting the tinder with his wand, he began working feverishly on a healing potion, trying to go as quickly as he could, in case there might be something remaining he could make his antidote with.

Ann watched with unnerving directness as he mixed simple ingredients in simple amounts. Finally, it reached a bright blue, and he knew it was ready. Siphoning it off into a small cup, Seamus turned and handed the little girl her potion. "Drink this. Careful, it's hot."

She swallowed it, and then smiled happily as she looked down at her leg, which mended in a heartbeat. "Thank you, Seamus." Untying the splint, she stood up and did a little skip down the corridor. She turned and looked at his potion-making set for a moment. "Your fire went out."

He looked at the cauldron and saw that, indeed, it had. He sighed heavily. "It's all right. I'll find another way."

She stood before him and looked up at him. "Are you going to leave now?"

He nodded slightly, already moving past her.

"I don't want to be alone..." Her voice was small and frightened again.

Seamus stopped short and looked back. Her eyes were wide and pleading. He closed his own briefly and made another decision. He couldn't take her with him, it would be dangerous... He knelt in front of her and reached into his pocket, pulling out Dean's notebook. "This was my friend's. It's got some good pictures in here. I watched him draw most of them." Feeling a slight lump in his throat, he went on. "You can hold on to it until I get back, all right?"

She took the book and looked solemnly at him. "You promise to come back?"

"That book's very important to me. I'll come back for it."

She nodded, and her young face broke into a broad, sunny smile. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when they opened Seamus started back in astonishment--they were a bright, twinkling blue. "You pass the test, Seamus." Even her voice had changed, now richer and more...adult. Leaning forward, she planted a still-girlish kiss on his lips.

Instantly, he felt a strange, tingling warmth pass through his body. Touching a finger to his lips, he stared at what he had thought was only a little girl.

"That is an antidote for the poison mist beyond," she told him, handing him Dean's notebook. "Go, before it wears off."

Nodding, Seamus rose. "Thank you, Ann...if that's your real name," he added with a grin. The little girl laughed and pointed imperiously back down the corridor, back towards the fork in the road. Still smiling and feeling that strange warmth, Seamus strode down the hall. When he reached to fork, he turned back to thank her again, but everything had gone.

Seamus looked at the mist for a moment, then plunged through it. It was cold and still smelled strangely, but didn't affect him. Still, he was glad when he finally emerged from it.

---

Seamus could see the light ahead of him was a torchlit room, and he hurried forward. As he rounded a corner, the room came into full view and he froze, then leapt back around the corner out of sight.

From what he could see as he peeked his head around the corner, the room at the end of the hall was circular, and a door stood closed on the other side. Seamus’s two least favorite people in the world, however, guarded this door: Argus Filch and his cat, Mrs. Norris. Both had shifty, keen gazes sweeping the room and the adjacent hallway, and Seamus shrank back further into the shadows.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of footsteps behind him and he whirled to meet them, his wind light dispelling the shadows. His gaze fell on a pair of identical faces, and he grinned broadly. "Fred--George--what the hell are you doing here?"

"We're here to help," Fred said confidently, his voice low.

"Who else would help you get past Filch?" George laughed.

Seamus felt more relaxed than he had in hours. "Great. So what do we do?"

"Ah, there's the hitch," George replied.

"We can't come up with the plan," Fred told him, spreading his hands.

"It's all you," they added in unison.

Seamus's face fell. "Oh. Right...gimme a minute..." He began pacing the hallway, thinking hard. Filch was the most experienced person in school for dealing with troublemakers of Fred and George's ilk...what to do, what to do... "I don't suppose you can give me any ideas?"

"Nope."

"Sorry."

"I didn't think so." Seamus returned to pacing. After a moment, the seed of an idea sprouted in his mind. "Does it have to be a real prank?" he mused. "Could it just be a hint of a prank?"

Fred frowned slightly, faintly grinning. "Go on..."

"What if I send you two in for a distraction?"

"That could work," George thought out loud. "There's two of them, though, and Filch pays attention to both of us."

Seamus bit his lip. "Can you Transfigure Mrs. Norris?"

The three looked at each other and burst out in hastily stifled laughter. Fred wiped a tear from his eye. "We've wanted to do that for years. But I don't know if we're that good at Transfiguration."

"Got any Skiving Snackboxes?"

George clucked his tongue. "Seamus, I thought you knew better than to ask obvious questions like that." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small assortment of the multicolored treats. "What kind do you want?"

"Can you cast an illusion spell on a vomiting end of a Puking Pastille to make it look like a cat treat?"

The twins shared evil grins. "Now why didn't we think of that?" Fred laughed, taking the sweet from his brother, snapping it in half, and tapping one end with his wand, muttering a spell Seamus couldn't hear. As he leaned around the corner, he took careful aim, and with a practiced throw, he tossed it in a smooth, underhanded cast towards the room.

The three watched with bated breath as Mrs. Norris trotted over to the treat that had rolled into the room. With a small meow, she snapped up the Puking Pastille.

Seamus had never seen a cat projectile vomit before. He wouldn't have wished it on his own feline, but it was rather satisfying to watch Mrs. Norris. Filch's cry of fright sent the three off into gales of silent laughter.

"What next?" Fred whispered, over the sounds of more vomiting.

"Can the two of you go on and act like you're going to do something?" Seamus began. "Just go in, act shifty--if he wants to search you, let him. Just keep his eyes off the hallway and the door."

George and Fred grinned and said, "It would be our pleasure, Seamus." With jaunty, confident grins, the twins set off down the hallway, stepping lightly over the puddle of cat vomit at the doorway.

Seamus hid around the corner, listening eagerly for the sounds of the exchange.

Filch sounded furious. "You two! What did you do to my cat?"

Fred was ostentatiously innocent. "We didn't do anything."

"Yes, you bloody well did! Wh--" The man's rusty voice broke off abruptly. "I know that look. You're planning something."

George did not sound convincing. "Of course not."

"You are! Whatever you've got, give it here--!"

"We don't have anything, old man, I swear--"

"We'll see about that!" Filch's shuffling gait was audible even from down the hallway, and Seamus decided that his would be his time to go. Slipping quickly down the hallway, he paused in the doorway to quickly assure Filch's total distraction (he was attempting to get a hold of George to search him). Fred winked at him over the caretaker's head, and Seamus saluted and stole across the room.

The door was unlocked, and he slipped inside, the door closing behind him with a deafening boom.

---

The darkness was stifling. He couldn’t see anything, he couldn’t hear anything—it felt like he was surrounded by thick, black, nothingness. He could barely breathe. “Hello?� His voice sounded small.

“Ah, Mister Finnigan. I knew you would find your way.�

He started; he knew that voice, he’d listened to it for years—But, that’s impossible, he’s dead! “P—Professor Dumbledore?� he asked in hesitant amazement.

“Yes, Seamus.�

His heart leapt in his chest—Dumbledore was dead, but here he was talking to him! That has to mean— “Dean?� he called into the darkness.

Dumbledore’s voice, however, answered. “No, Seamus.�

He shook his head, not believing it. He’d finished the maze; he was going to find what he wanted most in the world, and that was Dean! “He has to be here!� he protested.

“No spell can reawaken the dead, Seamus.�

Anger filled him. “Then how am I talking to you?� he snapped.

A small light flickered into life, and Seamus found that he was facing a portrait. His heart fell as Dumbledore looked sadly at him. He’s really not here… “I thought…� Seamus murmured, falling to his knees, “I thought…he’d really be here.�

“Seamus, Professor McGonagall told you that it would help you cope with your loss, not remove it.�

He shook his head numbly, like a confused animal—he’d thought that he was going to see him again, it was what had kept him going—“But I still feel it,� Seamus said stubbornly. “It still hurts.�

“Undoubtedly it always will.�

“Then what was the point of all this?� Seamus yelled suddenly, irrational rage coursing through him. “Why did you drag me through here if it didn’t do any good?�

Dumbledore was apparently as patient in death as he was in life, for he only smiled. “It did do good. Tell me, Seamus, how did you complete the challenges?�

“Luck, and a good memory.� He laughed bitterly.

Dumbledore nodded. “Memories of what?�

“What do you mean, memories of—� Seamus stopped. He thought.

He stared.

“Dean…�

Dumbledore nodded. “His mother’s plants…the spells he taught you…his fondness for Chocolate Frogs.�

Seamus couldn’t help but smile, though he felt cheated, disappointed. After all that he had done, he had really thought… “And the little girl…I would have gone on and left her, but it would have been like leaving Dean.�

“Exactly.� Dumbledore’s ancient blue eyes twinkled. “So you did find Dean, in a way.�

Seamus looked up at the Headmaster’s portrait, his voice bitter. “But I didn’t, really. That’s just the old saying, isn’t it—‘you found him within yourself.’ It doesn’t make it any better.�

“But you have learned that his loss is not the end.�

He looked down, and his arm touched the sketchbook tucked into the back of his jacket. It was a part of Dean; he’d always have it, wouldn’t he? Just like he’d always have the memories and everything else. He’d grieved for Dean; he always would, but…somehow, now, it was easier to live instead of grieve, and not grieve instead of live.

“Yes, sir. I think I have.�

Dumbledore smiled. Another light came on, shining on a pedestal in front of the portrait. A wooden box lay on top of a scarlet velvet cushion. “Your prize, Seamus.�

Frowning, he stepped forward and took the box down. When he opened it, a strange chill flooded him, than a very warm rush and a sudden flood of tears in his eyes.

He would recognize this anywhere, from the fingerprinted wood to the grooves and chips carved out after six years of work. Dean’s wand.

“The ones we love never truly leave us, Seamus.�

He looked up and smiled through his tears. “No, sir. They don’t.�