"9:30." He stood from the bed he was sitting on and ran his hands through his dark hair.

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

"What does that mean?" A look of deep thought clouded his dull eyes as he began to pace.

"Should I go?

"Of course I should go. After this season of Quidditch I need to focus on something else besides that damn sport."

He looked down at his entwined fingers, which still had the smell of burning parchment on them after his morning post turned to dust in his hands.

"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 quoted.

"Oh, why the bloody hell not!"

He glanced at his watch. 9:55 P.M.

"I'd better hurry."

He grabbed his coat as he ran from his room. He was shrugging it on his broad shoulders as he stepped outside the door to his Quidditch team's dormitory.

"Good evening, Misters Wood," a voice squeaked.

Oliver turned to see a house elf dressed in miniature wizarding robes bowing to him.

'That is officially the oddest thing I have ever seen, a house elf wearing wizard robes?'

"Please follow me, Misters Wood." The oddly dressed elf gestured for him to follow as it walked toward a carriage sitting next to the building.

"That looks like a Hogwarts carriage."

"It tis, Misters Wood," the odd house elf opened the door to the carriage with a flick of its fingers.

"Thank you."

Once inside, Oliver settled in for the trip, the carriage lurched as it took off into the sky.

"Hogwarts, I'm going to Hogwarts. But, why am I going to Hogwarts? What is this maze thing?"

A crease appeared between his brow as thought overtook him.

"You know it’s a wonder I don't have those Muggle ulcer things with all the worrying I do. I really need to stop talking to myself."

The carriage came to a stop and the door swung open. Oliver stepped out and looked up at the building that had once been his home.

"It's good to be back," he said as he stared up at the building.

"Misters Wood, please follow me." The odd house elf suddenly appeared at his side. He followed the little elf into the ancient castle, down the main corridor past the Great Hall and down another hallway, past the library.

'Where are we going? I've never been in this part of Hogwarts before.'

They went upstairs and downstairs, through doorways, down hallways and up or down stairs again. Soon Oliver had no idea where they were. Just when he was going to ask, the elf stopped in front of a door.

"Here we are, Misters Wood, good luck." The little elf bowed and then disappeared with a 'pop'.

"Well, here goes nothing."

Oliver opened the door and walked in. He looked around the room and was immediately even more confused then before.

"What in Merlin's name?"

He was standing in the middle of a room with no furniture, no decorations, just doors, at least twenty doors in all.

"What do I do now?" Oliver asked, looking about for some help.

As if in response, a door to his right opened and light spilled out, along with scent of summer. He walked towards it and cautiously stepped inside.

Privet and Yew trees lined the periphery of a garden area forming a strong solid hedge. But it did not feel as caged, oppressive and close as one would think, being inside a building and all.

The grass around the small brick path, which started at the door, was of varying shapes and hues, and the odd Geranium and Daisy could be seen as well. A small path branched off to the left where the clearly discernible orange of pumpkins could be seen.

The main path seemed to lead to a dead end as well. There was, however, a large stone bench at that end. As Oliver made his way along the path, he was suddenly struck with a bout of violent sneezing. The small, seemingly harmless plants swayed innocently in the wind, but he knew a sneezewort when he saw one.

Passing the ginger and valerian roots rather quickly, he finally came to a stop before the stone bench. Many jars and containers of dried roots and plants lined the far end of the table and a small sack was sitting close to the Mimbulus Mimbletonia to the left, but in the middle sat a small Dragon-Leather notebook. Opening it cautiously to the first page, he read:

'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 Mallowsweet won’t make you ill'

"Well the other names of aconite are easy," he said as he picked up a quill, turned the page and began writing.

Aconite
Wolfsbane
Monkshood

"Yeah for listening to Professor Snape and Professor Sprout," he cheered dryly.

"Now to find Lovage, dittany and Shrivelfig."

Oliver grabbed the necessary tools to gather the plants and got to work. Soon he had collected them all and put them into the appropriate containers for each specimen. He used the sack on the table to carry them.

"But, why are there other herbs and plants listed? It isn't for the rhyming, that could have been done in an easier way."

So, he decided to collect the rest of the plants mentioned in the poem. It took him awhile to get the Mandrake, but he did it without killing himself, which he was quite happy about. He was very relaxed by the time he was done, something he hadn't been since his teammate had been killed.

'Don't think about that, You Know Who is dead. Reliving what he's done, and what you've done, won't help.'

"There, all done, now what?"

The hedge that seemed to be a dead end opened, revealing...

"Another door? Another damned door?" Oliver hissed in frustration.

"This is okay, maybe the way out is through the door." He calmed himself down and walked towards the door, opening it.

"This place again." He looked about the room he had been in before going into the garden.

"So, which door is it this time?" he asked the air around him, slightly annoyed that he didn't seem to be going anywhere.

The door across from him swung open revealing a dark, dirty city street. The sounds of Muggle car horns and neighbors fighting could be heard from where he was standing.

"Oh, no, I'm not going in there." He backed away from the door and started trying to open the other doors in the room. But, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't open any of them.

"What is this? This isn't a maze! I should have multiple choices on where to go next!"

In response, a door opened and inside was a Werewolf. It slowly started creeping towards the door and him.

"What amazing choices. I choose the city!" He ran for the other opened door, closing it quickly behind him. "It's like the room was playing with me or something."

He walked down the street and realized it was an alleyway. He continued walking until he came to the main street, where he stopped in horror.

"This can't be happening." His face contorted as he gripped his stomach.

He turned and ran back down the alleyway to the door he had just come through.

'I have to get out of here.'

All other coherent thought seem to leave him as he ran.

"WHAT? NO!" He banged on the brick wall where the door had been just moments before. "This can't be happening, this can't be happening," he chanted as he slid to the ground, trying desperately to catch his breath.

"So, Oliver, how are you liking that starting position on the team?" a voice asked from behind him.

"You're not real, you’re dead, you can't be real." Oliver slowly stood, staring at the man before him.

"Well, I'm here, aren't I? What's wrong? I thought we were friends." The man inched forward.

"You were my friend, but then you died."

The man moved over a step, giving Oliver the chance to make a run for it. He sprinted past the man who should be dead, down the alleyway and back on to the street. He ran to the buildings nearest to him and tried to open the doors to them, none would open.

"Open damn it! Why won't you open?" Tears fell down his face as he collapsed against a door, a block away from the alleyway where the man had cornered him.

"Is this my punishment? Is that it?" he yelled to no one, tears streaming down his face.

Memories he had been trying to ignore came rushing at him. That day, that fateful day, just six months ago.

Oliver had been a member of the Puddlemere United Quidditch team for three years; he had never once started a game. They didn't need him; they had Connor Douglas. Connor was the second best Quidditch Keeper in the world.

Oliver thought of playing for a different team, but they had never seen him play; they didn't want a bench warmer. He was at his wit’s end. Quidditch was his life and he only got to play during reserve team practice. He didn't even get to play against the good players, only the secondhand ones, who would never become anything. But, he knew he was good enough to start, maybe even better then Connor.

So, he devised a plan to start a game, to be seen and to get out of bloody perfect Connor's shadow.

It would be an accident, nothing to ruin his Quidditch career or anything, just to get him out a game or two. As starting Keeper, Oliver would show the world that he was capable of being one of the best Quidditch players the wizarding world had ever seen.

And he did; he got that starting position. Then it happened...

Oliver was sitting in the locker room, he was nervous. 'This is what you wanted, to start. Yeah, but like this? He wasn't supposed to get that hurt.'

'Oh, come on, get a backbone, man!'

"You can do this." And with that statement, he decided. He would ignore the fact that he was the reason one of his best friends was in St. Mungo's.

He stood from the bench he was sitting on and picked up his gloves. He dropped them when he heard them, the screams.

He ran from the locker room and onto the pitch where the other starters were warming up for the game, but there were no players in the air. Fans were still entering the stands; they looked confused at the screaming. An Auror was talking to the coach and the rest of the team.

"What is going on?" Oliver stepped up to the group and one of their Chasers, Jesse, had tears flowing down her face.

"There was a Death Eater attack, at St. Mungo's. Connor Douglas was killed."


"Oh, Oliver," Connor's voice called.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he yelled at the approaching man. "I never meant for you to...to die! I was jealous of you! You had everything, I had nothing! You were supposed to get hurt, something the team Healers could fix almost instantly! You were never supposed to be at St. Mungo's; you were supposed to be in the stands that day! But if I had known how badly hurt you were going to be, I wouldn’t have done it!"

"Would you have? Knowing the Death Eaters would get rid of the only obstacle in your way of Quidditch fame, you wouldn't have planned the 'accident'?"

"NO, I WOULDN'T HAVE! I was desperate, but never that desperate! You were my friend! I've hated myself for so long, because of what I did to you. I wanted to hurt you, get you out of the way. I got my wish. In the cruelest of ways I got my wish, you died. If I could go back, I would be a good friend to you, no matter what. I am so sorry."

"No, you're not. Now that I'm gone you have it all. You're a starter on the New Puddlemere United! They arose from the ashes of death to become a world class Quidditch team again! Led by the best friend of their dearly departed star, Connor Douglas. Led by you. You had the nerve to call yourself my best friend. You used that title to get pity and even more recognition. You. Used. Me."

"I don't know what I have to do to make you go away! You've been haunting me for six months now, never this...real, but always there just the same! What do I have to do? Go public? Tell everyone what I really am?" Oliver ran his hands through his hair as he turned from the still approaching man. He let out a fairly hysterical laugh, glancing at the man as he did.

"Wait, why didn't I realize this before?"

"What are you talking about, Wood?"

"You stumbled a bit, just now, when I laughed. Why?"

"As it turns out your coordination doesn't get better after you die," came Connor's sardonic reply.

"Or, you're not really, Connor."

Oliver closed his eyes, summoning a thought to guide his spell. He opened his eyes and then he pointed his wand at Connor.

"Riddikulus!"

What was once Connor Douglas was now a Snitch without wings.

"Goodbye, Connor."


Oliver sat with his head in his hands in the room with many doors. After Boggart/Connor had been turned into a Snitch, the door at the end of the alleyway had reappeared. A short while after his return to the "damned door room," as Oliver had begun to call it, another door had opened.

This time, inside he saw a laboratory with bubbling potions and odd scientific-looking devices. The room didn't look all that bad, but after the last one, he was wary of what was really lying inside all these blasted doors.

"Just go, the only way out of this place is to do what it wants you to do." With that, he walked up to the door, stopping just before entering. He put a hand on the door jam for support, as though a great pain was searing through him. He took a deep breath and entered the room. The door closed behind him, leaving him all alone in what looked like a Potions lab.

"This is one odd looking Potions lab, some of these tools I've never seen before."

He walked to, what looked like, the main work table. On it was a slip of paper, it read:

'This task, if you choose it accept it, is to find and solve a riddle. If you succeed, you will get a great reward.'

"If I choose to accept it, really? What are my other choices? Being mauled by Werewolf?"

On the parchment under the task explanation the word "yes" appeared.

"Oh, nice.

"Fine, where do I begin?"

'Go to where glory is brewed.'

"Why does that sound so familiar? Oh, that was part of Snape's confuse the first years with big words and flowery language speech."

"Where is glory brewed? Of course, a cauldron, you brew potions in it."

Oliver walked to the other side of the room to another work table; a large cauldron sat on it. He reached inside, and pulled out a slim piece of paper.

'People like me turn lead to gold,'

"That's nice. What does that mean?"

He looked in the cauldron to see if he missed something. Inside was another piece of parchment; it was like the one he had found on the first table.

'They work in this place, who are they? Find their story.'

"Who are they?"

'That's what you have to figure out, genius.'

"Wow, these little pieces of paper are so cute!" he said sarcastically as he crumpled the paper in his hand.

"Okay, find their story. It would probably be in one of those books."

On the opposite side of the room three bookshelves lined the wall. He stepped away from the small work table, which was against the wall opposite the bookshelves. He passed by the large, main work table that was in the middle of room. He stepped up to the shelves and scanned some of the titles, but he didn't know what he was looking for.

"Okay, books about Potion masters."

He started at the top of one shelf and worked his way down and over. There was nothing there.

He turned and looked over the lab, looking at all the weird tools and devises.

"Wait, this isn't a Potion's lab. It's an alchemy lab. That’s why these odd tools are in here." He shook his head at himself.

He turned back to the bookshelves and started scanning them again. Soon he found what he was looking for.

"Alchemist: The Special Few"

He opened the book, and flipping through the pages, he found another slim piece of paper.

'Mystic cures, my craft unfolds.'

"Okay, people like me turn lead to gold, mystic cures, my craft unfolds. So, what do you want me to do? Maybe there's another one of those charming parchments in this book too."

He flipped through a few more pages before finding, yet again, another piece of parchment.

'Where can you a measure the worth of a man? Find where for the next piece of the riddle...'

"Isn't a riddle enough of a puzzle?"

'If you're a pansy, yes.'

"Quaint, remind me to burn all of you before I leave."

Again crumpling the paper in his hand he walked to the main work table. He threw the papers on it, and ran his hands through his hair. His eyes traveled over the large work table, taking in the odd instruments. His eyes stopped when they fell on a bronze devise.

"That's it! A scale!"

He reached for the set of glowing bronze scales, which were sitting on the far side of the table. He sat them down in front of him, careful not to knock off the gold sitting in its scales. He moved the gold around and found another one of those pieces of paper he loved under it. He didn't give it a second glance as he put it on the table and started sifting through the other scales’ gold.

"Ah ha!" He triumphantly held up another slim piece of paper.

'I start nowhere and end well,'

"Well now, you don't help me much. I guess I have to look at the evil paper now."

'Evil paper? Really!'

"Oh, stop being over dramatic! I'm talking to a bloody piece a' paper!"

'Don't worry, only one left. Then you can go be crazy all by yourself! Good riddance, you're giving me a headache.'

"I'm giving you a headache? How could you even get a headache? You don't have a head!"

'You heard me! Now do you want your clue or not?'

Oliver took a deep breath, counted to ten, and replied in a calm voice.

"Yes, thank you."

'I will protect you from dying, should you ingest what you should not. Find me and you find the last piece to the riddle. Did you follow that, crazy?'

"Yes, I did. I must say, for the last clue it was rather easy. It's a bezoar."

'If I could clap for you, I would, but alas...no hands.'

Oliver walked up to the selves next to the main work table and started going through all the ingredients, looking for the one he needed.

"Where is it? It should be here! Why isn't it here?"

He looked over the large worktable again and then the smaller one, but nothing.

"Where is it?" he impatiently said, running his hands through his hair.

He looked down at the annoying piece of paper and did a double take.

'Dum...dum...de...dum...hum...bum...de...boo! La, la, la, loo...'

"What aren't you telling me?"

'I told you everything I was supposed to tell you. It's not my fault you're not looking where you should.'

"Fine, where should I look?"

'Wherever you haven't yet.'

"Why, thank you. That was a great help!"

'No problem. Hum, de, dum...bum, de, loo...'

"You're a terrible singer!" he bellowed as he crumpled the paper in his hands.

He felt like an idiot. He had just purposely insulted a piece of paper, about its singing no less! It couldn't even make noise! It had all been writing! He rubbed his temples and tried to regain his slipping sanity.

"Okay, where haven't I looked yet?"

He spent the next hour looking everywhere. He looked over the book shelves, under the tables and then he went over everything again.

"Ah! This is more aggravating then the damned paper!"

He sat in a chair that was next to the small work table, rolled his head back and closed his eyes. They snapped open a second later.

"You've got to be kidding me?"

Hanging from the ceiling was an array of dried herbs and plants, in their midst was a see through sack with about twenty bezoars in it. He pulled the chair across the room and climbed on it; reaching above him, he pulled the bag down. He jumped off the chair, walked over to the large table and emptied the bag’s contents on to it. Sifting through bezoars, he found another slim piece of paper and another talkative parchment.

'My name is an easy one to tell.'

"All right, people like me turn lead to gold, mystic cures my craft unfolds. I start nowhere and end well; my name is an easy one to tell. Well, whoever they are, they're an Alchemist. Famous Alchemists...I start nowhere and end well; my name is an easy one to tell...Nicholas Flamel!"

He looked expectantly at the door, but it didn't open. He grabbed the other parchment off the table.

"What now, why isn't the door opening?"

'You got it right, yea... But before you can leave you need to claim your prize.'

"Look, about earlier, I was upset, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

'I guess you're forgiven. You can find your prize behind the books entitled "The Love of Alchemy" vols. 1, 2, and 3.'
"Thank you," he said nicely.

Oliver walked over to the bookcases and quickly found what he was looking for. He put the books aside and pulled out a vial with a bright yellow liquid inside.

"Invigoration Draught... This could come in handy, especially if I'm in this place for a long time or for use when I get back."

As he was putting it into the sack he had from the first room, he felt the brush of a breeze on his back. He turned to see the door had opened again. He bent down to pick up the chatty parchment, which had been blown off the table by the door swinging open.

"Would you like to go with me?"

'Oh! A field trip! Yes, please, I want to go!'

"All right, let's get going." He put the parchment in his front pocket and walked back into the room with the many doors as a feeling of no longer being alone warmed him.

"Where to next?" he asked the room.

A door swung open revealing a garden. It was darker then the first, but it still seemed inviting.

"Another garden; lets go."

He walked into this new garden. He noticed it was more enclosed then the first. It was a wide walkway with tall hedges on either side.

"Now this is more like a maze." Oliver walked down the passageway as the door closed behind him.

The path continued for a long while. It turned and dipped and twisted, soon Oliver felt that he was going in circles. His face contorted when an awful stench hit him like a ton if bricks.

Wet, disgusting, and stinky, the path in front of him was made entirely of mud. Confused footprints cut across the surface, some deep enough to cause concern - it looked as though he might sink in right up to his knees if he tried to cross.

"I'll just summon a broom or transfigure one from this brush."

He yelped in pain as a searing heat spread through his chest. Oliver grabbed at his chest, pulling a piece of parchment from his front pocket.

"OW! That hurt! What was that for?" he yelled at the paper.

'How else am I supposed to get your attention? Tap you on the shoulder, yell maybe? You can't summon a broom or transfigure one.'

"Why the bloody hell not?"

'Because, I have spoken. It’s the rules! Get over it!'

"Fine!" Oliver shoved the paper back in his pocket and tried to think of another way around the problem.

"That's it!" He backed about a yard and half up and readied himself when...

"AH! What the hell? Will you stop doing that?" he yelled at the paper he had, again, pulled from his jacket pocket.

'You can't jump over it.'

"How did you know I was going to jump over it?"

'I know all...'

"Okay then, how do I get over it?" he asked, rather proud of himself.

'If I wanted to get over the mud I'd turn myself into one of those Muggle paper aeroplanes and fly across. Oh, that's right, you can't do that.'

"I knew I should have burned you," he hissed as he put the paper in his bag; he didn't want to get burned again.

"How to get over it... No jumping or brooms..."

His expression was one of pure concentration. He stared at the mud pit before him, his eyes intense.

"I got it!" he yelped excitedly, a mad gleam coming to his eyes.

He walked over to the wall of hedges and started pulling branches off. Soon he had a pile of long, thick branches.

"Now, how do I get them farther out?" He bit his lip thinking over the possibilities.

He pulled out his wand and levitated a branch, moving it over the pit of mud. When it reached the end, he gently lowered it to lie partially on the mud and partially on the solid ground beyond the mud.

He continued doing this, overlapping the new branch with the old until he grabbed the last, long, Christmas tree like branch and laid it over the last branch in the pit, setting the opposite end on the ground next to his feet.

He looked proudly over his work, a branch bridge that created a path through the mud.

"And now for the last touch, a little bit of wand waving."

He stood at the edge of the bridge and waved his wand over it, muttering an incantation under his breath. The branches transformed from a flimsy bridge into a long, wide piece of wood.

"It isn't as thick as I would like it, but it will do."

He grabbed his bag and threw it over his shoulder. Walking up to the bridge he took a deep breath and placed his foot on to the bridge. He slowly placed the next the one on. When he didn't sink, he opened his eyes and let out a breath.

"I'm not dead. That's good."

His relief didn't last. The bridge started sinking into the dark, smelly mud.

A look of panic crossed Oliver's face. He started walking faster across the bridge as the mud began to envelop it. He was halfway there when the mud started touching his shoes. His footsteps became wider and faster. His body lurked just a few steps from the end. He caught himself just in time. Regaining his balance, he continued his fervent walking. His foot stepped off the makeshift bridge just as the mud covered it.

"Woo! Who said the Ravenclaws were the smart ones?!" he cried victoriously as he tried to catch his breath.

"What do you have next for me?" Oliver yelled at the hedges surrounding him. "I can take it!"


Oliver stood in the room with many doors, again. After making it over the mud pit, another door had appeared in the hedges. It led him, of course, back to this room.

"So...where to next?" He looked at the doors surrounding him.

He heard a door behind him open. He turned to see what looked like the North Tower.

'It looks just like it, minus Professor Trelawney's decorations and cloud of nearly toxic incense smoke.'

He walked in and looked about the room. There was a large stone carving of a book in the middle of the room with a cage hanging next to it; inside was what looked like a big white ferret.

'Is that what I think it is?'

As he walked closer, he realized that there was writing on the stone book.

'Ahead is a room 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.'

"Disgruntled gnomes...interesting. Oh no, a Jarvey! First a paper that insults, now an animal that insults!"

He turned toward a door on the other side of the room, guessing that it was the one with the gnomes in it.

"It's not like I enjoy sitting in a cage all day..."

A scratchy, deep voice hit Oliver's ears; he turned toward it as it continued.

"I've been sitting here waiting for you. A guy, who by the looks of him is all brawn and no brain, I'm surprised you could read the instructions. Did you have problems with the big words? Like 'disgruntled' or 'adventurer'?" the Jarvey taunted him.

Oliver walked up to the cage and faced the jeering animal. He remembered how to handle Jarveys from school.

"You listen to me and you listen to me good, ya' fat ferret! I'm going to need your help to get through this task, so you are going to listen to what I tell you, got it?"

"Why should I?"

"Because, I have a wand and..." Oliver pulled it from his pocket for effect. He quickly pulled it away from the Jarvey, when it tried to grab it. "I'm not afraid to use it."

"How do I know you even know how to use it?" the Jarvey crackled.

"Trust me, I know how."

The Jarvey fell silent at this, sitting back down in its cage. Oliver went into thinking mode.

After a few minutes, he opened his bag and started digging around in it. The Jarvey stared at him as he pulled a piece of paper from the sack and started talking to it.

"What are the rules for this one? Is there anything I can't do?" Oliver asked the parchment.

'You have to use the Jarvey somehow. Oh, and you can't wait out here until they all die.'

"Maybe I should feed you to the Jarvey. You two would go well together."

'Hey, I was just stating the rules. There is no need to go all violent on me.'

"All right, you need to get out of that cage," Oliver said as he pushed the paper into his front pocket and stifled a yawn.

After getting the Jarvey out its cage, he again opened his bag and dug around in it. He pulled out a vile with bright yellow liquid inside. Taking the stopper out of the vile, he downed its contents in one mouthful.

"What was that, muscle head?" the screechy voice of the Jarvey asked.

"Invigoration Draught, I was starting to get really tired."

He closed his eyes as the potion took affect. When he opened his eyes again, he felt as though he had just awoken from a good night’s sleep.

"Okay, this is how we are going to do this. I will take one half of the room and freeze as many as I can. You will take the other half and try to find the key. If you spot it, tell me, I will freeze the gnome who has it."

Before the Jarvey could remark, he started for the door, the Jarvey following on all fours.

He pressed his ear to the door. Inside he could hear the squeaks of the gnomes. He motioned to the Jarvey and pulled open the door.

Inside the room were more gnomes then he thought existed on the entire planet. The room looked like a large store room, no windows or other doors. All the gnomes stopped what they were doing and stared at him and the Jarvey.

"Ready?" he asked the Jarvey.

"More ready then you are, stupid."

"Go!"

As soon as he yelled, all hell broke lose. Gnomes going in every direction, some trying for the door, which Oliver closed just in time.

The Jarvey was in heaven, running after the gnomes like there was no tomorrow.

Oliver ran around casting the body-binding curse on every gnome he could. Then he spotted it. A gnome was wearing a necklace, with a key on it.

Oliver ran toward the gnome with wand pointed out, and at least fifteen other gnomes jumped on him. He struggled to get them off.

"Ow! Stop biting me!" he ordered the gnomes.

All of a sudden, he felt them being pulled off his back. He turned his head and behind him the Jarvey was yanking them off.

Oliver was able to get his wand arm free; he pointed his wand at the gnome with the key. After its friends had attacked Oliver, it had stopped running and had sat to watch the fun.

"Petrificus Totalus!" he yelled. The gnome froze and fell over with a surprised look on its face.

After freeing himself from the other gnomes, he pulled the key from the gnome and ran for the door. He threw body-binding curses left and right, trying to get away from the attacking gnomes.

He grabbed the Jarvey as he passed it and pulled the door open. He started beating the gnomes back and shooting spells. Finally he closed the door, dropped the Jarvey and sat down in front of the door.

"Hey, look what you did to my fur! You may not worry about your appearance, as anyone who looks at you can tell, but I pride myself at looking my best!"

"Oh, shut-up," he said half-heartily.

Oliver stood and walked over to another door in the room.

"I guess this is the door this key goes to."

"Wow, your intellect astounds me," the Jarvey said dryly.

"Do you want to go back in the cage?"

The Jarvey went silent at this and tried to look sweet.

Oliver took a deep breath, put the key in the lock and turned it. The door opened smoothly.

"What in the world?" Oliver's eyes went wide as he stared into the doorway.

"It's just a little library. Why are you so shocked, dunderhead?" the Jarvey asked.

"It isn't the room with many doors...did you feel that?"

"What?"

"I think all hell just froze over," he said, completely serious.

He walked into the room and the door closed behind him, leaving him alone in the little library.

"Bye, Jarvey. What do I do now?"

He felt an odd sensation run through him.

"I hate asparagus. I think Harry Potter has pretty eyes. What?" a very confused Oliver said.

He continued to talk about anything and everything. From how difficult the Potions N.E.W.T. was to how bad a jock strap itched.

"I never liked Filch...Damn Babbling Curse! I wonder what it feels like to have boobs...ah!"

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to think of how to stop this.

"Silencio!"

He stopped talking, but now he couldn't say anything. He tried opening the door, but it wouldn't work.

Pulling out the piece of paper from his front pocket, he stared down at it.

'I've always wondered what it would feel like to have boobs as well. Ha ha ha!

'What do you want? Oh, can little Oliver not talk cause he silenced himself? I must say I like you better this way.'

Oliver walked around the little library and found a quill and ink. Then he wrote on the paper asking how to leave this room.

'You need to stop the spell and still have the ability to speak, and then you can leave.'

He shoved the paper back in his pocket and reversed the silencing spell.

"That's it, why didn't I think of that before? It is so easy! I like daisies! I like how I look in my Quidditch robes; they make my bum look good."

He pulled out his wand and pointed it at himself.

"Finite Incantatem!"

"It worked! Thank Merlin!"

Another door appeared. Opening it he found himself back in the room with many doors.

"And the world is right again!" he said sarcastically.

A door opened and inside was a hallway.

"Ow! Must you do that?" he questioned the paper he pulled from his front pocket.

'This is the end of your journey. No more doors will open. Make it good, kid."

Oliver put the paper back and walked toward the door. With a deep breath, he entered the door.

It looked like a regular Hogwarts hallway. Stone ground with deep red rugs every so often. The walls were lined with portraits of old people who were sleeping. Small bits of light came from the candles that floated near the ceiling.

He walked for a few moments before coming to a crossroads. Down one way there was a large gold door, the end. But it was hard to see through the thick green mist that hung in the air. Down the other way was more hallway that continued for a few yards before curving to the right. That way was clear.

Oliver was thinking about what that green mist could be when he heard it.

“Please, it’s just my leg. I just need some help getting it out. I think its broken.” The crying voice of a girl pleaded from the clear hallway.

He didn't need to hear anything else. Oliver started down the hallway that the voice came from.

After walking around the curve, he saw her, a girl with dark brown curls and bright hazel eyes. She was trapped under a fallen wardrobe.

"Need some help?" he asked with a smile.

"Yes, please," she answered with a Scottish accent.

He levitated the wardrobe off her and pulled her over to lean on the opposite wall.

"Thank you so much. Ah...my leg." She grimaced when she tried to move it.

Oliver looked at her leg; it was obviously broken with a gash right above the left knee.

"I'm going to set your broken bone with a spell, okay? It is going to hurt."

She steeled herself and nodded.

Oliver pointed his wand at her leg. Waving his wand in a complicated pattern he mumbled an incantation.

A soft purple beam came from his wand and settled on her leg. She held back a scream as the spell went to work healing her broken bones.

"There, how is your leg now?" he asked her, concern evident in his eyes.

"Much better thank you...ah!" Her look of peace left as her face contorted in pain.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"My leg...the gash...it is sending a...shooting pain through my whole...body...ah!" she cried. Tears flowed freely down her face as she tried to stifle her screams.

Oliver took a closer look at her leg; the gash had become infected.

"How long were you under that thing?"

"About an hour...why?"

"Your leg is infected. It normally takes a while for that to occur."

He took a closer look at the wardrobe and saw that it hadn't been clean in a long time.

'Whatever is on that thing caused an almost instant infection.'

He turned back to her and noticed a door a few steps away that was slightly ajar. Walking to it, he pushed the door open and found a small Potions lab. He quickly walked back to the girl.

"Listen...um, what is your name?" he asked the girl, who was still withering in pain.

"I'm Kara..."

"I'm Oliver and I'm going to help you get to that lab over there, okay? I will be as gentle as possible," he reassured her.

Kara nodded and he wrapped his arm around her waist. Pulling her off the ground, he carried her bride-style into the lab, setting her on one of the counters.

"Are you all right? Did I hurt you?" He looked into her eyes.

"I'm fine...thank you." She gave him a strained smile.

He walked over to the other table and looked over the ingredients.

'They have everything to make a basic healing potion, just what she needs. There are also the ingredients to make an antidote, which would help me get through that green mist, I'm sure it is poisonous.'

He had a choice to make: help the girl or help himself. He had helped himself before; he wasn't going to do that again. He started making the healing potion.

A short while later, he had finished the potion and gave it to Kara.

"This might make you very sleepy," he warned.

She drank it in one gulp, and soon she relaxed. Oliver looked at her leg again. Seeing that the potion was clearing up the infection, he magically closed the wound.

When he looked back up, she was asleep. He settled himself down into a chair to watch over her. She wasn't out of the woods yet; she could still need more of the healing potion.

He sat there watching her, making sure she was breathing. Part of him wanted to leave and find the end of this...maze. Another part of him knew that if he left her and something happened to her...he would never forgive himself.

"No one is going to die because of me again," he whispered to himself.


An hour later Kara awoke and told him she was feeling much better. He checked her leg and no infection could be seen. He gave her some more of the healing potion and told her to take it if she started to feel sick at all.

"Thank you very much. You didn't have to help me, but you did, thank you." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

Blushing, he mumbled that it was no problem.

A few minutes later, he was on his way. He decided to continue down this hallway for a while to see where it led. He found more doors along the way, none of them opened. He pulled on one door, thinking it wouldn't open, but it did.

"Wow! I went to school here for seven years and never found this place?"

Inside the room was a confectionary. The walls were all shelves covered with jars of sweets. Two long tables sat parallel with each other; they made a path from the door to the back of the room.

On the table to the right of Oliver as he entered were pies, cakes, icings, huge cookies and a bowl of eggs.

On the table to the left of him were cakes that had not been iced yet. On one side of the table, the side farthest from the door, was a large hand fan that faced the door. It reminded Oliver of the fans Chinese women used. Closest to the door on that table was a huge bowl of flour.

'I wonder what that fan is for? Judging by the size of it, it probably makes a strong gust of wind.'

Realizing that this room wasn't going to help him much, he decided to leave. He grabbed a cookie on the way out and was humming to himself as he walked.

"Well now, if it isn't a Bludger-headed Gryffindor," an eerily familiar voice taunted.

Oliver looked up just in time to get a face full of water. Shaking the water out of his eyes, he glared up at Peeves the Poltergeist.

"Row, row, row your boat
gently down the stream...
when Oliver sees the soap,
he begins to scream"

Dropping his now disintegrating cookie, he turned back to the room he was just in to grab a towel. Peeves laughed at him as he walked away.

'Damn Peeves! Someone needs to teach him a lesson!" Oliver thought as his eyes roamed the room around him.

A devilish smile crept onto his face and a wicked gleam came to his eye.

He walked to the other side of the room and stood behind the right table.

"Time for me to pull out the Slytherin bag of tricks and do a little instigating," he said as he rolled up his sleeves.

He had a pie in one hand another levitating by the door when Peeves arrived.

"Where did you go, Bludger-head?" Peeves’ mocking voice asked as he entered the room.

Squish! Splat!

Oliver threw a pie in Peeves’ face just as he floated in. Before Peeves could react, another pie hit him from the side.

"Why you little..." Peeves pulled the pies from his face, but before he could finish his sentence, pies, cakes and cookies were coming at him from every direction.

'Come on, Peeves, retaliate!' Oliver thought, hoping Peeves had seen it on his way into the room.

Soon, Oliver was out of deserts and Peeves started gloating.

"Now you are defenseless! Time for some real fun!" Peeves shouted with glee as he picked up the large bowl of flour from the left table.

Oliver acted as though he was trying to back away from Peeves. He was cowering in the corner to the left when Peeves launched the bowl at him.

With a flick of his wand the fan, which he now realized was for cooling the cakes, started moving and blowing the flour back at Peeves. But, before the flour reached Peeves, Oliver shouted a quick spell to finish the job.

"Aguamenti!"

A jet of clear water mixed with the airborne flour and cover Peeves.

"Eek! What is this?" Peeves tried to get the sticky goo off him.

"That, Peeves, is what I like to call instant-glue!" Oliver laughed as Peeves quickly floated from the room, muttering about annoying Gryffindors under his breath.

Oliver continued down the hallway for a while before realizing that it wasn't leading him to the end of the maze, so he turned around.

'How will I get through that mist though?'

He thought hard as he walked, going over every possibility. Just as he walked around the curve, it came to him.

"It's so easy!"

He cast a protective charm on his skin in case the mist burned and then cast the bubble head charm on himself.

He walked through the mist and grasped the golden door handle. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

"What?" he asked in bewilderment as he released the charms.

He was standing in his old Transfiguration classroom. Looking around, he spotted something and walked to it.

"Hello there," he greeted a tabby cat sitting on a desk.

The tabby cat changed into an older woman, who gave him a nod and bit of a smile.

"I see you made it through alive, Mr Wood."

"Yes, I did," he replied with a smile.

"Good, follow me. I will show the way to the carriage." She gestured for him to follow her as she left the room.

They walked through the familiar halls of Hogwarts to the main doors.

"This is where I leave you, Mr. Wood. You did well in the maze of sorts I set up. I will try to make it to one of your Quidditch games sometime soon." She turned to leave.

"Wait, Professor. The paper I got at the beginning of the challenge said something about a prize."

"You already claimed your prize."

She gave a slight smile at his confusion and continued.

"After the war I noticed that so many students had lost that, spark, of who they once were.

"I went to one of your Quidditch matches a few weeks ago. I was saddened by what I saw. Your eyes were dead. I remember the life they once held. The gleam that would come to them when you spoke of something you were passionate about.

"Your eyes have that spark again.

"Terrible things have happened, things we wish we could change. Just don't let those things kill your spirit.

"Do I make myself clear, Mr. Wood?" she finished, that authoritarian mask falling once again.

"Yes, Professor, crystal clear. Thank you." He nodded to her.

He walked down the steps of Hogwarts and climbed into a carriage feeling a hundred times lighter then he did when arrived.