He hadn't planned to accept the offer, at first, if that's what it was. A burning parchment that offered glory in a maze of obstacles? He didn't care for glory. Not like that Dunbar Oglethorpe or the strutting first year Quirinus Quirrell. Who struts in their first year? Quirrell was going to meet a bad end if he didn't learn some caution. And his mind... His mind was open and worse, all his emotions showed on his face. No subtlety whatsoever. As Snape found his mood darkening, he turned his thoughts back to the maze.
He didn't care about the glory. The Oglethorpes and Quirrells of the world could have that. But the obstacles, the challenge... yes. If he did it, if he succeeded, he could prove to Dumbledore that he was capable of teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts after Viridian was gone. If he could succeed in these challenges, surely he could find a way to break the curse on the position. And if he did that, he could teach the class that would truly allow him to counteract all the evil he had done. If not for his past, he would have loved to keep the Potions class. Don't lie to yourself, Severus. What you want is to live alone with your own lab and prepare potions. You don't want to teach young hooligans when they clearly can't tell a drop from a bucketful. If you have to teach them something, teach them how to survive.
And that, he couldn't do, except as an aside during his own classes or during the few times he was able to substitute for the regular Dark Arts teacher. But if he succeeded in the maze, all that could change. He could teach them how to survive, and in doing so, make up for what he had done, the pain he had caused, the deaths... Don't think about it. You have a class to teach in five minutes, and you do not need your head full of dead Muggles.
He steadied himself, placed a scowl on his face, and stormed into the Potions dungeon to face the fourth year Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff class. The Hufflepuffs were busy passing notes and whispering to each other, while the Ravenclaws all seemed to be daydreaming. Even Wilbert Slinkhard, who was usually extremely attentive, seemed to spend more time doodling on his parchment than listening to the proper number of cockroach legs to add. Why did I ever agree to this? He knew why. It was because of Dumbledore. He would do anything for Dumbledore.
Finally, it was the end of the day. Finally.
After supper, he spent some time pondering the parchment. He was very glad he had a mind for memory. Despite the fact that it had burned up after only one recitation, the message was clear in his mind. Ten o'clock, outside the doors, there would be a maze. And with his skills, which surely included logic puzzles and riddles, he could attain some object of glory. Part of the puzzle was within the message, so his memory was clearly going to be important as well. Already he had an advantage over most wizards who had lamentable memories and not an ounce of logic. The question of course was "Which doors?" There were plenty of doors at Hogwarts, but the best guess was that the riddle referred to the main doors into the Great Hall of the castle. He decided that when the time came, he would use those doors and hope it was the right choice.
At precisely nine thirty, Severus Snape left his office and made his way out of Hogwarts. The moon had not yet risen, but a strange white orb hovered in the distance. Snape smirked to himself. He had been right, then. He went over to it. It did bear a strong resemblance to the moon, and could have fooled someone if it wasn't so low to the ground and if it were actually the time for a full moon. But where was the maze?
He surveyed his surroundings, but nothing looked particularly maze-like. He began to scowl. If this were some practical joke played by one of his students, they would suffer severely for it. As he thought that, he looked down, and saw a round, flat piece of wood. As he watched, words formed in the air: Entry to the maze. No entry until ten o'clock. No entry without invitation. A trap-door, then. He looked around. No one else seemed to be here. True, it wasn't yet ten o'clock, but he figured that others would want to have a look around. Or maybe he really was the only one.
He continued scanning the area. The fake moon had disappeared, and everything looked the way it normally did. Over there was the Quidditch field, and over there the Forbidden Forest. Snape felt his scowl deepen. He didn’t mind waiting, but he hated looking foolish. Yet here he was staring at the ground when he could be getting potions supplies in the forest. If it gets me the Dark Arts post...
Just as he was thinking that, he heard the sound of a deep brass bell. After ten chimes, wisps of fog began drifting out of the sides of the trapdoor, until a cloud of mist hid it completely. Then nothing. Silence and mist.
He looked around again, but all was still desolate and forlorn. He stepped into the mist, to get a better look, but instead, he found himself plummeting through empty space. He landed on a hard, dusty stone floor, at least judging by its texture. There was no light.
“Lumos,” he murmured. His wand lit, but even so, it scarcely penetrated the dense fog. He could not even see his feet. Standing there a moment, he tried to decide what to do. Obviously, he could not go back the way he came. Equally obvious was the fact that there was no clear path. No direction seemed any more likely than any other. He took a tentative step forward, all senses alert.
Nothing happened, so he took another step forward, and another. If he could find a wall...
Suddenly, the fog parted briefly to show his immediate surroundings. Straight ahead was an old, elaborately crafted archway, created by two stone pillars and a brass lintel. The pillar to his right was ivory, while the one to his left was black onyx. Both were delicately carved with leaves and vines intermingling with fantastical creatures such as dragons, phoenixes, and chimaeras. The brass lintel was equally decorative and wrought among the decorations was ornate lettering reading The Labyrinth of Lost Souls.
Severus Snape stood there, one year after having first accepted Dumbledore’s offer to teach Potions, one year after leaving the Death Eaters, one year after seeing the Potters murdered, and he shivered. It was not an encouraging sign. Still, he had nowhere else to go, and he seemed to be precisely where he was meant to be. Another chill passed through him.
Lost souls...
He stepped forward through the archway, into the mists. They obscured everything. He could not even see his own hand when he passed it in front of his face. So much for Lumos. Still, he couldn't just stand there all night. He reached out with his left hand, and moved slowly in that direction, until he felt stone wall under his hand. It was cool and damp, and the labyrinth smelt of death. He began moving forward, using his hand and the wall as a guide. The oppressive silence screeched in his mind; he couldn't even hear his own footfalls. The maze twisted on and on, and though he knew he was missing important choices, he stuck to the wall. It was his nose that informed him that something had changed. There was a new scent to the air. Somewhere nearby, there had to be plants, as he could almost taste the greenery. Stowing his wand in one of his inner pockets, he held out his right hand to see if he could feel any plants ahead of him. He continued forward along the wall until his right hand ran into a solid mass of branches, soft needles, and berries. Yew.
He spoke the word aloud, and as he did so, the mists parted before him. He still could see nothing to his sides or behind him, but in front of him was a wrought iron gate opening up to an inner maze of yew and privet hedges. Amidst the hedges grew an extraordinary number of plants, some of which he'd never seen before, even in books. And mixed within the rich, verdant scent of greenery was the perfume of soft flowers. A full moon glowed eerily overhead, casting a deathly, silver sheen over everything.
Severus was entranced by the garden. He could only imagine the number of Potions supplies he could find in this place! He went forward slowly, identifying plants as he went. He saw chamomile, High John the Conqueror, and mugwort, along with various mints, nightshades, and night-blooming flowers. A narcissus grew entangled with a lily. Pansies grew near petunias and lavender blossoms. It was a garden beyond his wildest dreams, and he was alone in it. If only he'd had the foresight to bring along a container or sack of some kind and his silver knife!
He soon became lost in cataloguing the various plants and recollecting all their properties in potion-making. He was so lost within his own mind, that soon, he had made it to the centre of the labyrinth without realizing it. The centre was once more ringed with stone walls, but these walls were veiled with thick vines of ivy, moonflowers and other crawling plants. Within the stone circle were more gardens, with the exception of a small circle in the very centre and a path leading up to it. In the circle was a stone table, and on it were jars and sacks. The scent in the air of flowers and greenery was so thick and intoxicating that it nearly overwhelmed him. As he stepped forward onto the path leading to the inner circle, he was overcome by a fit of sneezing. He looked down. Sneezewort, of course! He cursed his inattention upon seeing the small, seemingly harmless plants at the entrance to the narrow path. It was a minor inconvenience, however, and he continued forward.
When he got to the centre, he was able to analyse the items on the table, beginning with the largest sack. He was happy to discover Mandrake root within it and emptied the sack onto the table; Professor Sprout always had her second years grow enough Mandrake for the entire school. He could use the sack for more useful supplies, like the jar of gillyweed sitting innocently at the edge of the table. More jars went into his sack: jars of gurdyroot, fluxweed, datura, hellebore, wormwood, malowsweet, and sage quickly entered the sack. And then he saw the aconite. He was desperately short of aconite due to his recent experiments on the Wolfsbane Potion. He held it in his hand, longingly, before adding it to the sack with the others. Soon, the table was empty of everything but a single book, bound in dragon hide. Perhaps the book would have some directions for the challenge. He opened it to the first page, and began to 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 Malowsweet won't make you ill
He looked at it again, sure he had missed something. That's it? Bring three herbs and write the names of aconite?
He was sure none of the jars now sitting in his sack had been among the three he had to find, but he checked again to be positive. No, there was no dittany, lovage, or shrivelfig among them. Well, that did make things a bit more difficult. However, at least he could keep the ones he had collected. But how was he to find three particular plants among these teeming gardens? There must be over a thousand species of plants crammed into the small, circular place. Well, if anyone could do it, he could. He wasn't Potions Master at Hogwarts for nothing. He'd know the herbs he sought as soon as he saw them.
Taking his time, he looked through the various herbs until he found the ones he sought. It was tedious and time consuming, especially as the mist crept back into the area. At one point, he even felt a tentacle reach out at him, but recognizing the Devil's Snare, he quickly relaxed and moved away from it. In this way, he avoided most of the dangers. He also added other herbs he found to his sack. In the end, he did not want to think about how much time he'd spent crawling among the yew and privet trees to find the three required herbs, but find them, he did, and more besides. It was a rather productive task, all considered. His feelings of gloom dispersed somewhat in light of the achievement.
He returned the way he had come, back to the stone table. The book still lie open to the page with the riddle. He opened it to the centre, and pressed the herbs inside it. Then, he turned to a blank page and began writing.
"The other names of aconite," he wrote at the top of the page, "are Wolf's Bane, Wolf's Hat, Leopard's Bane, Monk's Hood, Dumbledore's Delight..." He stopped for a moment and chuckled at that one, then continued, "Cupid's Car, Helmut Flower, Mourning Bride, Blue Rocket, Thor's Hat, Storm Hat, Soldier's Cap, Friar's Cap, and Auld Wife's Huid."
Following this, he picked up his quill once more, to show them, whoever they were, just who they were dealing with.
"The etymology comes from Aconae, or little turnip, due to the shape of its roots. It is used primarily in potions that weaken or cure Werewolves, including the famous Wolfsbane potion, which is extremely difficult to brew. There are only a few wizards capable of doing so."
He did not mention that he had recently managed it himself and could thus be counted among those few. Instead, still clasping his sack of useful herbs, he waited for the mysterious door to open.
Without any warning, even more quantities of mist suddenly surged into the area. Before long, he was once more completely enveloped in the dense fog and could see nothing but that mist. He remained still, breathing in the thick, moist air. It smelled almost alive, and it felt alive too, the way it tickled his face. He felt disoriented, as if the world was spinning on him, but he had nothing to grab onto in the fog. And through the fog came the sound of a gong. It was repeated once more. Gong. Gong. He felt suspended in time and space. Then, just as suddenly, the mists parted again, and he found himself in a completely new area of the maze. He felt a need to check his sack, and, to his disappointment, none of the herbs he had taken, aside from the aconite, were there. Instead, there was something small at the very bottom. He picked it up and looked at it. It was a folded sheet of parchment. He unfolded it to see a map, or part of a map. In the very centre was a black hat simply blinking on and off. He moved a little bit forward, and the hat moved up. To the bottom left of the blinking hat was a more proper map: it showed the entrance to the maze and the maze of yew and privet hedges, along with the dead end and the beginning of the path he had not gone down. But that was very far from where he was now. Well, at least he could see where he had been. Perhaps he could find his way back there.
He started off in that direction, and as he did so, the map magically reoriented itself so that his new destination was on the top of the map, and as he moved, so did it, gradually becoming more central, until the walls of the maze led him off in a different direction. Keeping the map open, he had no need of the Four-Point Spell, but the mist and the maze were tricky. In no time at all, he had circled completely around again, and the small bits of detailed map disappeared. He wondered why the new places he had been didn't show up. Perhaps he needed a different map for that. By now, he was completely lost within the stone maze and the mist. He continued on, using the stone walls to guide him, and hoping he would eventually get back to where he was.
As he continued down the dark and misty path, he noticed that the ceiling seemed to be lower than normal, and he found himself having to hunch over. Soon, too, he felt out with his right hand, and discovered that the other wall was nearly touching him. Eventually, the right-hand wall suddenly disappeared again, and right as he noticed that, he found himself exiting the mists into a round chamber. It was very dark, so he used Lumos to see the chamber more completely. The walls of this chamber were full of elaborate paintings, and since the room was not exposed to the sun, the pigments of the paints had never faded. Reds, golds, and blacks predominated, showing scenes of torment and danger. Or perhaps more appropriately, scenes of fear. Dragons swooped overhead, destroying whole villages with their dangerous flames. Cloaked figures that reminded Severus of the dementors of Azkaban hovered over scared children. Chimaeras attacked young maidens chained to mountains. Men in masks pointed wands at naked men and women, writhing in agony... Among these larger murals were smaller paintings of all the more common phobias known to man: snakes, spiders, and scorpions huddled around naked people giving speeches and papers marked with T for Troll. Bunnies crowded around homes along with rats and angry geese. Fear of failure, fear of exposure, fear of falling, fear of heights, fear of snakes, fear of gerbils... All these were depicted in acute detail, the faces of the subjects manifesting blind terror. It was fascinating.
As Snape began to inspect the paintings, a loud clang startled him from behind. He looked back, suddenly alert to danger. A large, steel grate had suddenly dropped from the ceiling at the opening to the passage. He was trapped. A shudder of fear accompanied a tightening of his chest. He was going to die here, in this room of fear, pain, and torment. There was no food, no water... and no way out. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. There had to be a way out. If not, surely there would be bones in here, the bones of others who had gotten trapped. This room was too old for this to be the first time anyone had come here. He opened his eyes again, and went back to inspecting the paintings, looking for some clue to find his way out, relieved that he was not claustrophobic.
He found himself morbidly drawn to the mural of the masked men. Death Eaters, his mind supplied, before he could stop it. He stood before the mural, taking in all the details: the cruel sneers showing the torturer's glee; the terrified, agonized faces of the victims. He shuddered, remembering a past he longed to forget. Without realizing it, he had closed his eyes, yet the mural was still vivid before him, now fully three-dimensional. He had gone back in time, in his own mind. The smell of burning was thick in the air, and he stood watching as Lucius Malfoy directed his wand at a naked Muggle woman.
"Crucio!" Malfoy shouted, crowing with laughter as the poor woman dropped to the ground. Severus felt sick. "Get up, you silly woman!" he wanted to shout at her. "Fight him, run away!" But she didn't. She just kept screaming and writhing on the ground. And in one moment, as if she knew he was there, she turned and looked at him, a pleading look in her blue eyes. Their eyes locked, and out of habit, Severus felt her mind give way to his. The back of his own mind screamed, No! I don't want to know... but soon, he was lost in her torment, and as she screamed out loud, she screamed in his head. It was so loud and painful, he nearly fell over, but he steadied himself against the onslaught of her emotions. Then, neatly, and with no emotion showing on his face, he extended his own wand to perform the only spell that could stop it. "Avada Kedavra!" he shouted, wanting her dead, wanting the pain to be over. A look of horror froze on the woman's face as the spell hit her, and she fell over, unmoving. She was dead. It was over. Then he ran away, to Dumbledore. He couldn't do it anymore.
Severus opened his eyes, but something in the mural had changed. One of the men had removed his mask, and Severus stared back into his own eyes. As he continued looking, unable to tear his gaze away, the mural Severus opened his mouth. The mouth became an opening, which in turn became a tunnel. The way out.
As Snape clambered into the tunnel, he found it to be extremely tight. He would have to shimmy through it like a snake, which was impossible to do while holding out his wand. He had to relinquish the light. As soon as he had put the wand in his robes, the darkness consumed him. Still, he had to get out, had to find his way out of the maze. So, he continued on, making slow progress due to the tightness of the passage. He felt like he was there for ages, like he was slowly dying inside the walls of the cave. It went on and on. There was no light and no sound but the scrapes of his shoes on the walls. The air was dry, musty, and smelled of earth and death. Dust occasionally fell across his face, and got caught in his throat. He wondered if the passage would ever end, or if, some day, they would find his bones lying among the stones.
Eventually, the passage ended. He was in another chamber, this one very small, not larger than a broom closet. Suddenly, someone else was there. Dumbledore lay on the floor, pale and weak, eyes full of weariness and pain. Severus saw a double of himself enter and stand over Dumbledore. What was he doing? Dumbledore looked up at the double with the eyes of the Muggle woman he had killed. "Severus," Dumbledore pleaded, begged. "Severus, please. . ."
"No," Severus pleaded to the double, but it seemed not to hear him. He watched as his double pointed his wand at Dumbledore. "No!" he yelled again. "Stop, no, not Albus, not that, no. Please stop!"
The double ignored him and, with a look of hatred and revulsion, spoke the words "Avada Kedavra!"
Voices clouded his mind. See what you are? Murderer! Killer! Coward! You'll destroy everything you care about because you're too weak to do otherwise! Too much of a coward to ...
"NO!" he shouted into the now empty chamber, the walls echoing his words back to him. "I AM NOT A COWARD! I would never kill him, never!" As he said that, it calmed him, and he realized he'd been tricked by a boggart. He wasn't sure where it had gone, but he was completely alone in the dark room. Closing his eyes again, he took a deep breath to centre himself. He had killed that woman, but he wouldn't kill Dumbledore. Why would he? Voldemort was gone; his past was in his past. He steadied himself some more. It was just a boggart. It wasn't real. He was starting over, making up for his past. The situation that had just been presented was ridiculous. At that, he smiled briefly, considering the usual counter-curse to boggarts. Dumbledore would never ask that of him; he knew about the Muggle woman, knew what it had done to him. Dumbledore would never ask him to destroy the one person who trusted him, who believed in him, even knowing everything he had done. And he, Severus Snape, would never kill the one person who had given him a second chance and a new life. He took another deep breath, and felt, rather than saw, as dense fog began to surround him, gently caressing his skin. With the mists came the brass bell, and in the silence, he heard it clang three times. And as they rang, they seemed to call out his doom. He remembered the entrance to the maze: The Labyrinth of Lost Souls. Would he lose his soul here? Or was it already gone? Was there any hope at all? Any possibility he could truly put his past behind him? Or was it too late, was he too far gone into the dark?
When the mists cleared, finally, Severus stood in the same room. There were only two slight differences. The tunnel leading back to the vividly painted chamber was now blocked by a metal grate, and now there were doors around the entire room. Closed doors, to be sure, but doors all the same. It was still dark, and he still had to use his wand to see anything. He turned around several times, and began to inspect the doors, to see if there were any clues as to where they led. He didn't want another experience like the one he'd just had. Seeing himself kill Dumbledore... He found himself shaking, and mentally berated himself for his weakness. Yes, you're alone now, or so you think, but that's no excuse for you to lessen your control. All your training in Occlumency is for naught if your body language is going to betray your innermost thoughts. Isn't that what you were just mentally chiding Quirrell for? You didn't kill Dumbledore. It's a boggart. Get a grip of yourself!
He had finally decided that it clearly didn't matter what door he passed through when he noticed a parchment lying on the floor. He picked it up and read:
My single eye had sought to see much more,
The roundness of my back was no mere infection.
In death my memory guards a passage to nectar's door,
In life I cured those with firebeast's affliction.
As soon as he had finished reading it, it exploded into flames just like the first one had. He considered the puzzle. There weren't too many one-eyed humpbacked witches and wizards, let alone those who'd created cures for Dragon Pox, so it had to be Gunhilda of Gorsemoor. . . or did it? He couldn't quite understand the third line: In death my memory guards a passage to nectar's door...
But suddenly, an image came up, a half-remembered moment of his past. He had been walking down a hallway at Hogwarts when he suddenly heard whispers and half-concealed laughter. His eyes narrowed. He knew those voices. James and his gang were up to something, and he was going to find out what.
"Just one more," Lupin was saying under his breath. "The one-eyed witch statue."
"Honeydukes..." Peter Pettigrew breathed, reverently.
"Shh!" cautioned James. "Someone might hear. We don't want this to be confiscated!" He waved an old piece of parchment in the air.
It was enough for Severus. He went straight to Dumbledore. But Dumbledore had just smiled his enigmatic smile, eyes all a twinkle, and told him he shouldn't be worrying about what the boys were doing, so long as it didn't harm anyone.
Yeah, right, Severus thought, bitterly. Even when they did harm someone, or nearly, you let them get off. And you don't see your own bias, don't understand that I have to be unfair in giving points to Slytherin because you secretly favor everyone else! Voldemort has prejudiced you against all ambition, even when it's used for good. And really, you're the most ambitious of us all, you just don't see it.
He was surprised at how easily his thoughts had gone from horror at the thought of killing Dumbledore, to bitterness at his anti-Slytherin bias. Well, no one was perfect, not even Dumbledore, and he rather thought the man might not mind having someone around who didn't fawn over him or put him up on a pedestal. Someone to keep him human...
Well, this reflection wasn't getting him anywhere. The riddle had to refer to Gunhilda of Gorsemoor, the famous healer. It was her statue that stood in Hogwarts. But now what did he do? He remembered how the mists had departed when he had said the name of the yew trees, so presumably speaking aloud was enough. He said the name, and one of the doors opened.
He looked back at the room, then stepped through the threshold. The door slammed shut behind him, echoing through the stone walls of the labyrinth. He took out the map, if that's what it was, and looked at it. He stood outside a round room, and the tunnel, painted chamber, and the path to it were all indicated, but, according to the map, he wasn't standing on a path at all. As for the hedge maze, it was nowhere in sight. Well, he would just have to continue on this path. He walked forward, right into more mist. Again, he could only see a short distance in any direction, and had to rely on feeling his way through the passage. At least it didn't swallow him completely this time.
Severus continued forward along the path, becoming used to the mist and low visibility. As time went on, he found that his other senses were more than compensating for the lack of visibility. He could sense openings in the maze with his nose: the air in open spaces was slightly thinner and less earthy in scent. His fingers could tell slight shifts in the walls that meant a curve or turn well before the curve actually appeared. His ears were ever alert to danger, but so far, he had heard nothing. Silence predominated. His confidence in the maze increased as he recognized these abilities of his other senses, and it was such that he hadn't noticed that the mists had nearly obliterated all sight once more. It was as if he didn't need his eyes at all.
Despite this new confidence and his heightened senses, it was still a shock when he came to the ledge. He had been following the wall when his nose informed him that an opening was going to appear shortly, most likely a whole chamber. In the entire time since meeting with the boggart and solving the riddle, he'd yet to sniff air so thin and light. The wall continued straight, so a curve was not imminent. Finally, his left hand felt an opening, and right after that, his left foot was hovering over air.
Suddenly, the mists cleared, and he was shocked to see his left foot about to step over a ledge into a rocky ravine below. It would certainly have resulted in his death. His heart pounded in his chest: he could feel as it thumped against its walls, and could hear it in his ears along with the sound of his fast, yet shallow breaths. He didn't want to die. Not now. Not when he was so close to making up for his past.
Taking a deep breath, Severus brought his foot back to the ledge, and retreated from the edge to think about his next action. It had been close, but he was still alive. But it looked like he had run into one of the dead ends. He'd have to go back the way he came in order to find one of the alternative paths. He was just about to do that when something caught his eye. From far below, at the bottom of the rocky cliff, came a glimmer of golden light. He stared at it, sure that it was the prize mentioned in the original riddle. It wasn't a dead end at all. Well. He wasn't an unregistered Animagus for nothing. Of course, this hadn't been his original plan. No, his original purpose for learning the change had more to do with self-defence.
He could still remember the night of his third year when he'd found the books that led him to his new ability. He had been following James, Sirius, and Peter that night, convinced they were up to something. And sure enough, he saw as they entered the library and made their way to the Restricted Section. He'd found Filch immediately, and told him the story. Filch had told him to go back to his dormitory, but he didn't want to put up with the other idiots in his class who would want him to do all their work for them. Instead, he had hid in the darkness of the corridor and silently followed Filch to the library. Once he'd seen Filch drag the three boys away from the library, he waited a few more minutes, then went to see what they'd been trying to study.
Right away, he found the piles of books hastily closed, presumably because of Filch's timely arrival. All of them were books on how to become an Animagus. Severus was alarmed. If those fellows figured out how to transform themselves, their pranks would become much more dangerous and much less easily traced back to them. He had to be prepared. Severus spent a good many hours copying information. His best chance was to beat them at their own game. They had no subtlety - likely, they'd change into brutish animals. He, on the other hand, figured he would turn into a snake, ideally a poisonous one. Then, all he'd need was one bite, and they'd be of no danger whatsoever.
To his disappointment, when he finally managed it, he had not turned into a snake, but into a raven. Well, at least it would help him fly away from them. After awhile, he forgot about his worries. He never was attacked by strange animals and figured they had given up their study or simply hadn't succeeded. Then, after being nearly killed by the werewolf, Remus Lupin, he'd remembered the books. He nearly told Dumbledore about them, but Dumbledore's attitude had been clear. He, Severus, was not to go about saying anything about Lupin's condition and Lupin, meanwhile, was not punished, nor was Sirius, James, or Peter. Besides, if he told Dumbledore about their attempts, he'd also have to mention his own, including the rule-breaking he'd done in order to manage it. Better to keep silent.
Now, he was happy that he turned into a raven rather than a snake, since a raven could fly down into the ravine. He stood for a moment, and began to concentrate. He started with his nose, since it was beak-like already, and from there, focussed on his body and wings. Soon, he had completely assumed his raven form.
He flew down, down, down... past the rocky cliffs and down towards his golden prize. Below him, he saw more mist beginning to form, and soon, he was surrounded in it once more. This time, the disorientation was more dizzying than ever, and as he struggled to keep his senses, he felt his body slowly turn once more into a man. Four bell chimes rang out, the mist dissipated, and he found himself standing in a completely new part of the maze. His map was completely blank, and the glowing object was nowhere in sight.
He stopped and wondered for a moment, then picked a direction at random. He wished he had some guide, some small hint of where to go, but there was nothing. In some ways, it was like the art of creating a potion. The ways the ingredients shifted when combined with others, when exposed to heat or cold, when stirred in a particular direction . . . these were all mysterious processes and could only be discovered by doing them. Apparently the maze was the same. He stepped forward, this time more carefully, and headed down the maze. He walked on for some time, his body tense with the expectation that he might once more find his foot hovering over thin air. He still used his other senses to determine curves and open spaces, but he was much more cautious about those open spaces.
After a while of walking, he saw it. A flash of yellow in the distance. He checked his map, and sure enough, he could see the outline of the path leading to the ledge. It led into nothingness, but it showed him walking towards it. The prize was ahead. He hurried forward, grateful that the mists were dissipating, and soon saw the edges of the cliffs from which he had flown. Then, his prize came into view, and he saw that it was no such thing.
It was a bird. To be specific, it was a Fwooper, and it sat in front of two dark red doors, closed and sealed. Past the bird were more rocks, leading up. He was at the end of the ravine. The door was the only way to go on. Severus looked at the bird, trying to figure out what it was doing there, but the only thing he found was a brass sign reading:
You hear it, but you don't do it
Well, that was hardly helpful. He strode towards the door, but was sure it would not simply open. Then again, more wizards than not had ignored the obvious in favour of flashy spells. He would not fall into their camp. Instead, he put his hand on the two doors and pushed, since there was no doorknob, nor any indentation. This did not achieve the desired result. He took out his wand, pointed at the door, and said, "Alohomora!"
The doors remained closed, but black words began to form on them, in the same ornate lettering he had seen on the entrance to the labyrinth. He read them as they appeared. The way ahead is sealed, and the door will only open to the Fwooper's song. Remove her Silencing Charm at your own risk.
At his own risk indeed! The song of the Fwooper caused insanity. He did not want to be insane; that would hardly further his intentions. However, if he couldn't hear the bird. . . If he had a knife, he'd be able to cut some of the fabric from his robes and stuff them in his ears, but he didn't have one. Plus, he would rather not destroy his robes. Now, Muffliato, on the other hand could have been useful, if it did not automatically include the caster. He paced for awhile, letting his mind work. It was his spell, after all. If anyone had a chance of modifying it to exclude the caster, he did. It wouldn't do to give the bird his wand. No. Something had to be done to the spell itself.
After pacing and thinking some more, he finally found a good modification. It wouldn't muffle the sound as completely as Muffliato did, and that was its major drawback, but it would allow him to be excluded. From as close to the doors and as far from the bird as he could get, he pointed his wand and said, "Muffliando!" and then, once he could hear the buzzing sound, he removed the Silencing Charm.
Immediately, he heard the most beautiful melody. It was strange to think such a brightly coloured bird would have such a deep, low voice. It sounded like a cello. His mother had loved cello music, and had played it for him when he was little. It was one of the things that had originally attracted her to his father, one of the little Muggle things she liked, despite being a witch. That and literature.
Severus saw her, then, briefly, through a dark haze or veil that was somehow linked to the annoying buzzing in his ears. He knew that if he could make the buzzing stop, he would be able see her more clearly. And then, his voice whispered in the back of his mind, you can dance with her to the cello music, you can see her smile again, you can become her son again, before she died, before she let that man you were forced to call Father beat her senseless, despite the fact that she was a witch and he was a mere Muggle. But here she is, alive again, far away from that hovel. You can be together. You can change the past, make better decisions, get your revenge in ways that will not involve losing your freedom and becoming a slave to horror.
He realized he was turning in circles, his wand forgotten on the floor of the maze. Something about seeing it there, out of his hands, outside his control seemed wrong, but he was lulled by the sight of his mother, smiling at him, offering a real chance, not the false one Dumbledore offered. A chance to change the past, to begin again. And then, he remembered. It was his doing! He had cast the spell that kept her in darkness, that kept him from being able to be with her and start over.
As he picked up his wand to undo his foolish spell (being with his mother couldn't possibly be wrong), something felt wrong. The sound of the music changed. There was a note out of place; a sour taste in the air. He looked back at his mother... No! He recoiled from the sight. She was hideous. Her face was gaunt and dry, with sharp teeth and bloodshot eyes. Her hair was the opposite of his: dry and brittle, the colour of dead leaves. She was grasping at him, staring fiercely with an intensity he had only seen in predators intent on their prey. Her claws, for that's what they were, reached out at him, and her silent shriek hurtled through the air. He backed away. It wasn't her, it couldn't be. And as he backed away, he saw an opening between the two red doors. His senses began to return. The burning parchment. The chance to prove himself. The maze. The Labyrinth of Lost Souls. Lost souls...
He ran from the thing that had once been his mother. He ran through the red doors and into utter darkness. They shut firmly behind him, cutting off the buzzing from the Muffliando spell. Severus took a deep breath. That had been too close. He'd nearly walked into insanity of his own volition. He made a mental note to work on the spell some more, in case he was ever in a similar situation. Then, ready to move on, he said, "Lumos." His wand did not light up.