Chapter Four
Severus looked around the unfamiliar corridors and suppressed a sigh. Of course. There had only been three possible choices, so naturally he had managed to take both of the wrong ones. Once he had again reached the fork in the path, the left passage had initially seemed somewhat recognizable, but had quickly resolved itself into what proved to be a steady descent. To get back to the student quarters they needed to go up, not down, but after a very brief consideration, he had decided not to attempt to retrace his steps for the third time. His luck could only hold so long; it had appeared marginally safer just to keep going. That had been a half-hour ago, however, and his hope that, eventually, another turning would have to lead upwards, was beginning to fade. Thankfully, the boy at his side had remained, for much of the trip, surprisingly silent; he could not have realised what was happening, but at least he seemed to have enough sense not to jangle Snape's nerves further with useless chatter.
Snape assumed that, whatever the cause of the eruption back in the cave, his fellow conspirators had managed to deal with it. Delaia could be resourceful when she chose, Albus was Albus at any age and Apollo . . . on reflection, Snape decided not to think about Apollo. He desperately wanted to get back to their rooms and find everyone alive and well and waiting impatiently for him, especially the annoying Slytherin, but at the moment that looked less and less likely. He could only hope Delaia would have the sense to remember what he'd told her; if anyone came looking for him or Hamlin, she had to somehow manage to hide the fact that they were missing. Which might prove a bit awkward if they did not find their way out of this infernal maze shortly, as it would be difficult, to say the least, to explain away their absence at dinner.
It was, therefore, with mixed emotions that Snape noticed a large portal appear in front of them as they rounded yet another corner. The walls of the cavern had been getting progressively narrower as they descended; as a result, the massive wooden door almost completely covered the wall in front of them. It was a dead end-they had to turn around now, or go on; there was no more room for the indecision of the last few minutes. Snape cautiously approached the door-anything in Augusta's part of the caverns warranted a good deal of respect-but felt nothing. If there were wards on the thing, they were so subtle they did not . . .
Too late, he realised just what it was that did protect this entrance, as he and Sophicles were caught up in a rush of wind and swirl of light, and catapulted through the suddenly translucent door into the chamber beyond. An entrapment charm, how lovely. To his surprise, however, despite the fact that the door solidified behind them and refused to so much as waver at every spell Sophicles threw at it in the next few minutes, they remained both awake and uninhibited in movement. Apparently, Augusta did not feel that additional measures were necessary to restrain anyone captured by her wards, a fact which led Severus to suspect just how strong they might be.
Turning his attention from the door, he glanced around the room. Behind him, Sophicles was trying yet another version of Alohomora; Snape could have told him it was a waste of time, but at least it kept the boy busy for the present, which postponed his inspection of their surroundings. After a horrified few minutes of poking about on his own, Snape forgot all about Hamlin in the realisation of just what it was that they'd uncovered. This had to be Augusta's "storeroom" for failed experiments.
Every type of nightmare imaginable was displayed behind translucent barriers that ranged in rows disappearing into the distance. My God, the amount of suffering this room contained . . . Snape was regarding in fascinated disgust a particularly strange cross of elf and centaur, which judging by its expression had died in considerable agony, when Sophicles let out a startled scream. Whirling about, Snape was prepared to tell him not to worry, that all these things were quite beyond any further pain no matter what they might look like, when he recognized that it was not the dead displays that had shocked him. Walking in what felt to be slow motion towards a small golden cage attached to the dark grey stone of the wall, Snape knew with mounting dismay just who it was who was staring back at them, his long grey hair falling around his withered face. It took a moment, but Snape finally found his voice. "Valentin?"
* * *
"Very well, where do we find this conasse?" Apollo asked, retrieving her wand from Delaia and stashing it up her sleeve. Her niece was staring in what appeared to be awe at the crumpled form of the boy at her feet. Apollo sighed. Whenever she could spare a minute, she was going to have to do something to get these two together. She had assumed that sharing a room every night would have done the trick by now, but judging by the completely irrational way they were treating each other, apparently a bit more incentive was needed. God knew she had no such trouble; it had been damned difficult behaving herself the previous night with Severus right in the next bed, but contemplating what she had planned for the future had made it at least tolerable. Assuming the man did not succeed in getting himself killed before she had the chance, that was . . . which brought her back to their current problem.
Delaia was still looking down at the peacefully sleeping boy as if she'd just stabbed him through the heart-it was maudlin enough to make Apollo want to retch. "Honestly, Delaia, you just stupefied him. He'll be alright. Can we go deal with this madwoman now?"
Delaia gently replaced Albus' wand in his sleeve and smoothed the fall of auburn hair back from his face with a gentle motion. "Maybe we should put him on the sofa, or in bed. It will look odd if anyone comes in and he's still on the floor."
Apollo agreed and impatiently stood by as Delaia performed the necessary mobilicorpus spell, then pulled the reluctant girl out the door with her. She could moon over Albus later. For right now, they had a witch to deal with-and God help you if you've done anything to Severus, Apollo thought savagely.
"Uh, Apollo?" Delaia was looking at her with a slight frown on her face. "Are you ok?"
"Fine, my dear. Why wouldn't I be? Now, where do we find her?"
As it turned out, no one had seen Augusta since early in the day, and indeed, they garnered a few very surprised looks when they inquired after her. Apparently, even those at Durmstrang did not often seek her out. Finally, they settled on broaching the lion in its den, and Delaia led the way, with extreme reluctance, back to the hidden entrance to the vault.
"Severus countered several wards, but there's a thought web . . . "
"You told me, remember?" Apollo tried to keep her voice level, but her nerves were on edge. It seemed sometimes that they had been nothing else for as long as she could recall. Taking one of the little vials out of her pocket that she had placed there in their short time back at the rooms, she poured it over the lock. Bright violet sparks and a fetid odor that luckily did not last long was followed by a hissing sound.
"What was THAT?" Delaia asked, her voice sounding impressed. Apollo repressed a smile. So typical. Those who did battle only with wands never could understand how much finer, more delicate and, at times, infinitely more dangerous, a simple potion could be. Not that there was anything simple about that one . . .
"Just a little something I whipped up a while back. I think we're through."
It proved to be so, as half the rock face slid back a second later, revealing a large, clinically efficient looking room that was seriously out of place amidst the medieval ambiance of the rest of the castle. Apparently, Augusta didn't desire ancient battle-axes on the walls of her workrooms, not that Apollo could blame her, actually.
It took very little time to determine that the laboratory was empty, at least of dangerous witches. Well, other than me, Apollo thought smugly, as she fingered her remaining vials. Soon, however, she forgot their mission temporarily, caught up in amazed wonder at the riches spread out before her. Like Aladdin's cave, she thought, feeling slightly dizzy. My God, she didn't even know what some of these things were! Making a sack out of the front fold of her robe, she began tipping vials into it, after testing one to make sure that, as she'd supposed, they were spelled to be unbreakable.
"Apollo . . . is this it?" Delaia was holding a small vial of something truly disgusting under her nose; after the instinctive recoil, however, Zosimus smiled. Holding the little thing up to the light, she let it swirl around slightly. The reddish-brown substance within was viscous, but still in liquid form, just as it should be. "Perfect."
"Then let's go. They aren't here."
Delaia was hugging herself and looking about fearfully. Apollo didn't know what was wrong with the girl, but nothing could make her leave before she'd finished exploring these treasures. The amount of time, not to mention expense, that must have gone into collecting some of these ingredients was truly amazing. Row after row of sparkling vials, sitting in tidy formation on metal shelves, filled the large room, and another chamber similarly arrayed was visible through an open door at the far end.
"Apollo!" Delaia was now tugging at her sleeve.
"We can't leave yet, I want to . . . "
Zosimus stopped at the sight of her obviously enraged little niece leveling her thick black wand at her. "We. Are. Going . . . Now."
Apollo nodded and carefully placed the vial in her hand into the bag. "There's no reason to get quite so . . . overwrought, Delaia. Some of these . . . ," she gestured at the rows of potion ingredients, "are absolutely IMPOSSIBLE to get."
"So are replacements for Severus and Sophicles."
Apollo came back to herself with a thud. Damn it all, the girl had a point.
"We have to find them . . . quickly," Delaia continued, lowering her wand as she saw that Apollo had snapped out of her trance, "but if no one's seen Augusta all day, and she isn't here, then just where is she?"
Apollo liberated two more vials from her pocket, her personal concoctions both, and glanced around with real regret. Merlin, this was going to hurt. "I don't know, but I know something that will get her attention, no matter where she is."
Ushering Delaia out the door and back into the corridor, Apollo stopped just long enough to toss the vials into the treasure house behind her, then let the rock facing quickly slide back over the opening. Even through the thick stone, the sound of eruption after eruption could be heard, along with the splintering of supposedly unbreakable vials by the thousands. For an instant, the very ground seemed to tremble under their feet. Apollo felt ill. Such a waste.
Delaia was looking at her, she finally noticed, with horrified eyes. "Well, you wanted her here, didn't you? If that doesn't bring her, I don't know what will."
* * *
Snape regarded the creature-it hardly seemed human-in front of them with a roiling in his stomach. He had, of course, seen some truly appalling sights as a Death Eater, but rarely had anything effected him quite this badly. He wasn't sure if it was because the . . . boy . . . was a relative- his great uncle now that he thought about it-or because of the sheer clinical efficiency with which he had been dealt. The cage was small, but tall enough for him to almost be able to stand as, at twelve years old, he had yet to assume the Snape family height. His prison contained food and water containers, and a few old blankets. Other than that, it was empty. It reminded Severus of nothing so much as the cages for valuable birds at Eeylops' Owl Emporium, where even the most magnificent of creatures was detained in just such a cage. Of course, the owls would eventually be purchased by someone, and then allowed to fly freely much of the time. The boy in front of him might or might not know it, but there was no such freedom planned for him. From his dead-eyed expression, Snape rather thought he knew.
"What . . . who . . . is that?" Snape could barely hear Sophicles' whispered question, so low pitched was his voice. One glance at him was enough to show that Snape was about to have two traumatized children on his hands. He didn't bother to answer, but began looking around instead for a way out. If he had felt frantic before . . .
To his surprise, the boy answered the question himself. "I am Valentin de Plannis. Are you here to get me out?" It did not sound like he thought it likely.
"What are you doing in there?" Sophicles inquired, looking less afraid now that it seemed the creature could talk. He approached the bars of the cage, but stayed well out of arms' reach. Snape could have told him that Valentin was not likely to hurt him; even was he so inclined, it was extremely doubtful that he had enough strength left at this point. He couldn't even begin to imagine why the boy was still alive. From his understanding of the procedure, it took only a few minutes, was irreversible and was always lethal. Yet, however ancient his appearance, Valentin was undoubtedly still living, and since he was being fed, it seemed likely that he was expected to continue to do so for some time. It didn't make sense . . . unless, of course, Augusta had yet to perfect her experiments. Snape mulled that thought over for a few seconds, and decided that he might have hit on the answer. The stories he had heard growing up about Augusta's abilities had, after all, postdated this period by decades. It was probable that her later knowledge had been gained over time, due to trial and error, and at this stage things were still a bit . . .
His thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable application of an Alohomora spell behind him. Sophicles had had no success with the door to the chamber, but the cage opened for him with ease. Snape continued to ignore the boys while he examined the room. He had no idea if it was possible to replace the life force that had been drained from his young relative or not, but it would be a moot point if they did not get out of this gruesome menagerie before its keeper returned. Severus, deciding that, at this point, his using magic was definitely the lesser of two evils, took out his wand and faced the door. "A blasting spell," he told Sophicles, "the strongest you know."
The boy gulped, but complied. Together, they sent twin bolts of red rushing towards the door, only to have it become transparent again at the last second, allow the bolts through, then reform itself around them. Oh yes, Augusta deserved her reputation, Severus thought in high dudgeon.
Sophicles was regarding the door thoughtfully. "I've never seen one able to do that before," he commented.
Neither had Snape, but he wasn't about to admit it. He stared at the portal in resentment, scenes of other entrapment devices running through his head. The problem was that the Death Eaters had not been a particularly subtle group. Instead of working up devilishly clever charms, if you wanted to hold someone against their will, you simply deprived them of their wand and threw them in a cellar or dungeon, with or without a guard depending on their level of ability. Most of Voldemort's prisoners had not remained alive long enough for anything more elaborate to be necessary. That left him at something of a loss in this case, however.
"So, it becomes permeable whenever it senses a threat?" Sophicles was advancing on the door, a thoughtful expression on his cherubic features.
"Apparently. However, it does not seem to find you very threatening, Hamlin." Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to think. It was useless; he had simply never encountered anything like this before.
"Well, we could always go out the back." Snape turned to regard the scrawny, filthy creature behind him. Valentin looked like a Halloween scarecrow, but he spoke with the patented Snape family drawl. His expression clearly said, oh great, my rescuers are idiots.
Severus looked around the unfamiliar corridors and suppressed a sigh. Of course. There had only been three possible choices, so naturally he had managed to take both of the wrong ones. Once he had again reached the fork in the path, the left passage had initially seemed somewhat recognizable, but had quickly resolved itself into what proved to be a steady descent. To get back to the student quarters they needed to go up, not down, but after a very brief consideration, he had decided not to attempt to retrace his steps for the third time. His luck could only hold so long; it had appeared marginally safer just to keep going. That had been a half-hour ago, however, and his hope that, eventually, another turning would have to lead upwards, was beginning to fade. Thankfully, the boy at his side had remained, for much of the trip, surprisingly silent; he could not have realised what was happening, but at least he seemed to have enough sense not to jangle Snape's nerves further with useless chatter.
Snape assumed that, whatever the cause of the eruption back in the cave, his fellow conspirators had managed to deal with it. Delaia could be resourceful when she chose, Albus was Albus at any age and Apollo . . . on reflection, Snape decided not to think about Apollo. He desperately wanted to get back to their rooms and find everyone alive and well and waiting impatiently for him, especially the annoying Slytherin, but at the moment that looked less and less likely. He could only hope Delaia would have the sense to remember what he'd told her; if anyone came looking for him or Hamlin, she had to somehow manage to hide the fact that they were missing. Which might prove a bit awkward if they did not find their way out of this infernal maze shortly, as it would be difficult, to say the least, to explain away their absence at dinner.
It was, therefore, with mixed emotions that Snape noticed a large portal appear in front of them as they rounded yet another corner. The walls of the cavern had been getting progressively narrower as they descended; as a result, the massive wooden door almost completely covered the wall in front of them. It was a dead end-they had to turn around now, or go on; there was no more room for the indecision of the last few minutes. Snape cautiously approached the door-anything in Augusta's part of the caverns warranted a good deal of respect-but felt nothing. If there were wards on the thing, they were so subtle they did not . . .
Too late, he realised just what it was that did protect this entrance, as he and Sophicles were caught up in a rush of wind and swirl of light, and catapulted through the suddenly translucent door into the chamber beyond. An entrapment charm, how lovely. To his surprise, however, despite the fact that the door solidified behind them and refused to so much as waver at every spell Sophicles threw at it in the next few minutes, they remained both awake and uninhibited in movement. Apparently, Augusta did not feel that additional measures were necessary to restrain anyone captured by her wards, a fact which led Severus to suspect just how strong they might be.
Turning his attention from the door, he glanced around the room. Behind him, Sophicles was trying yet another version of Alohomora; Snape could have told him it was a waste of time, but at least it kept the boy busy for the present, which postponed his inspection of their surroundings. After a horrified few minutes of poking about on his own, Snape forgot all about Hamlin in the realisation of just what it was that they'd uncovered. This had to be Augusta's "storeroom" for failed experiments.
Every type of nightmare imaginable was displayed behind translucent barriers that ranged in rows disappearing into the distance. My God, the amount of suffering this room contained . . . Snape was regarding in fascinated disgust a particularly strange cross of elf and centaur, which judging by its expression had died in considerable agony, when Sophicles let out a startled scream. Whirling about, Snape was prepared to tell him not to worry, that all these things were quite beyond any further pain no matter what they might look like, when he recognized that it was not the dead displays that had shocked him. Walking in what felt to be slow motion towards a small golden cage attached to the dark grey stone of the wall, Snape knew with mounting dismay just who it was who was staring back at them, his long grey hair falling around his withered face. It took a moment, but Snape finally found his voice. "Valentin?"
* * *
"Very well, where do we find this conasse?" Apollo asked, retrieving her wand from Delaia and stashing it up her sleeve. Her niece was staring in what appeared to be awe at the crumpled form of the boy at her feet. Apollo sighed. Whenever she could spare a minute, she was going to have to do something to get these two together. She had assumed that sharing a room every night would have done the trick by now, but judging by the completely irrational way they were treating each other, apparently a bit more incentive was needed. God knew she had no such trouble; it had been damned difficult behaving herself the previous night with Severus right in the next bed, but contemplating what she had planned for the future had made it at least tolerable. Assuming the man did not succeed in getting himself killed before she had the chance, that was . . . which brought her back to their current problem.
Delaia was still looking down at the peacefully sleeping boy as if she'd just stabbed him through the heart-it was maudlin enough to make Apollo want to retch. "Honestly, Delaia, you just stupefied him. He'll be alright. Can we go deal with this madwoman now?"
Delaia gently replaced Albus' wand in his sleeve and smoothed the fall of auburn hair back from his face with a gentle motion. "Maybe we should put him on the sofa, or in bed. It will look odd if anyone comes in and he's still on the floor."
Apollo agreed and impatiently stood by as Delaia performed the necessary mobilicorpus spell, then pulled the reluctant girl out the door with her. She could moon over Albus later. For right now, they had a witch to deal with-and God help you if you've done anything to Severus, Apollo thought savagely.
"Uh, Apollo?" Delaia was looking at her with a slight frown on her face. "Are you ok?"
"Fine, my dear. Why wouldn't I be? Now, where do we find her?"
As it turned out, no one had seen Augusta since early in the day, and indeed, they garnered a few very surprised looks when they inquired after her. Apparently, even those at Durmstrang did not often seek her out. Finally, they settled on broaching the lion in its den, and Delaia led the way, with extreme reluctance, back to the hidden entrance to the vault.
"Severus countered several wards, but there's a thought web . . . "
"You told me, remember?" Apollo tried to keep her voice level, but her nerves were on edge. It seemed sometimes that they had been nothing else for as long as she could recall. Taking one of the little vials out of her pocket that she had placed there in their short time back at the rooms, she poured it over the lock. Bright violet sparks and a fetid odor that luckily did not last long was followed by a hissing sound.
"What was THAT?" Delaia asked, her voice sounding impressed. Apollo repressed a smile. So typical. Those who did battle only with wands never could understand how much finer, more delicate and, at times, infinitely more dangerous, a simple potion could be. Not that there was anything simple about that one . . .
"Just a little something I whipped up a while back. I think we're through."
It proved to be so, as half the rock face slid back a second later, revealing a large, clinically efficient looking room that was seriously out of place amidst the medieval ambiance of the rest of the castle. Apparently, Augusta didn't desire ancient battle-axes on the walls of her workrooms, not that Apollo could blame her, actually.
It took very little time to determine that the laboratory was empty, at least of dangerous witches. Well, other than me, Apollo thought smugly, as she fingered her remaining vials. Soon, however, she forgot their mission temporarily, caught up in amazed wonder at the riches spread out before her. Like Aladdin's cave, she thought, feeling slightly dizzy. My God, she didn't even know what some of these things were! Making a sack out of the front fold of her robe, she began tipping vials into it, after testing one to make sure that, as she'd supposed, they were spelled to be unbreakable.
"Apollo . . . is this it?" Delaia was holding a small vial of something truly disgusting under her nose; after the instinctive recoil, however, Zosimus smiled. Holding the little thing up to the light, she let it swirl around slightly. The reddish-brown substance within was viscous, but still in liquid form, just as it should be. "Perfect."
"Then let's go. They aren't here."
Delaia was hugging herself and looking about fearfully. Apollo didn't know what was wrong with the girl, but nothing could make her leave before she'd finished exploring these treasures. The amount of time, not to mention expense, that must have gone into collecting some of these ingredients was truly amazing. Row after row of sparkling vials, sitting in tidy formation on metal shelves, filled the large room, and another chamber similarly arrayed was visible through an open door at the far end.
"Apollo!" Delaia was now tugging at her sleeve.
"We can't leave yet, I want to . . . "
Zosimus stopped at the sight of her obviously enraged little niece leveling her thick black wand at her. "We. Are. Going . . . Now."
Apollo nodded and carefully placed the vial in her hand into the bag. "There's no reason to get quite so . . . overwrought, Delaia. Some of these . . . ," she gestured at the rows of potion ingredients, "are absolutely IMPOSSIBLE to get."
"So are replacements for Severus and Sophicles."
Apollo came back to herself with a thud. Damn it all, the girl had a point.
"We have to find them . . . quickly," Delaia continued, lowering her wand as she saw that Apollo had snapped out of her trance, "but if no one's seen Augusta all day, and she isn't here, then just where is she?"
Apollo liberated two more vials from her pocket, her personal concoctions both, and glanced around with real regret. Merlin, this was going to hurt. "I don't know, but I know something that will get her attention, no matter where she is."
Ushering Delaia out the door and back into the corridor, Apollo stopped just long enough to toss the vials into the treasure house behind her, then let the rock facing quickly slide back over the opening. Even through the thick stone, the sound of eruption after eruption could be heard, along with the splintering of supposedly unbreakable vials by the thousands. For an instant, the very ground seemed to tremble under their feet. Apollo felt ill. Such a waste.
Delaia was looking at her, she finally noticed, with horrified eyes. "Well, you wanted her here, didn't you? If that doesn't bring her, I don't know what will."
* * *
Snape regarded the creature-it hardly seemed human-in front of them with a roiling in his stomach. He had, of course, seen some truly appalling sights as a Death Eater, but rarely had anything effected him quite this badly. He wasn't sure if it was because the . . . boy . . . was a relative- his great uncle now that he thought about it-or because of the sheer clinical efficiency with which he had been dealt. The cage was small, but tall enough for him to almost be able to stand as, at twelve years old, he had yet to assume the Snape family height. His prison contained food and water containers, and a few old blankets. Other than that, it was empty. It reminded Severus of nothing so much as the cages for valuable birds at Eeylops' Owl Emporium, where even the most magnificent of creatures was detained in just such a cage. Of course, the owls would eventually be purchased by someone, and then allowed to fly freely much of the time. The boy in front of him might or might not know it, but there was no such freedom planned for him. From his dead-eyed expression, Snape rather thought he knew.
"What . . . who . . . is that?" Snape could barely hear Sophicles' whispered question, so low pitched was his voice. One glance at him was enough to show that Snape was about to have two traumatized children on his hands. He didn't bother to answer, but began looking around instead for a way out. If he had felt frantic before . . .
To his surprise, the boy answered the question himself. "I am Valentin de Plannis. Are you here to get me out?" It did not sound like he thought it likely.
"What are you doing in there?" Sophicles inquired, looking less afraid now that it seemed the creature could talk. He approached the bars of the cage, but stayed well out of arms' reach. Snape could have told him that Valentin was not likely to hurt him; even was he so inclined, it was extremely doubtful that he had enough strength left at this point. He couldn't even begin to imagine why the boy was still alive. From his understanding of the procedure, it took only a few minutes, was irreversible and was always lethal. Yet, however ancient his appearance, Valentin was undoubtedly still living, and since he was being fed, it seemed likely that he was expected to continue to do so for some time. It didn't make sense . . . unless, of course, Augusta had yet to perfect her experiments. Snape mulled that thought over for a few seconds, and decided that he might have hit on the answer. The stories he had heard growing up about Augusta's abilities had, after all, postdated this period by decades. It was probable that her later knowledge had been gained over time, due to trial and error, and at this stage things were still a bit . . .
His thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable application of an Alohomora spell behind him. Sophicles had had no success with the door to the chamber, but the cage opened for him with ease. Snape continued to ignore the boys while he examined the room. He had no idea if it was possible to replace the life force that had been drained from his young relative or not, but it would be a moot point if they did not get out of this gruesome menagerie before its keeper returned. Severus, deciding that, at this point, his using magic was definitely the lesser of two evils, took out his wand and faced the door. "A blasting spell," he told Sophicles, "the strongest you know."
The boy gulped, but complied. Together, they sent twin bolts of red rushing towards the door, only to have it become transparent again at the last second, allow the bolts through, then reform itself around them. Oh yes, Augusta deserved her reputation, Severus thought in high dudgeon.
Sophicles was regarding the door thoughtfully. "I've never seen one able to do that before," he commented.
Neither had Snape, but he wasn't about to admit it. He stared at the portal in resentment, scenes of other entrapment devices running through his head. The problem was that the Death Eaters had not been a particularly subtle group. Instead of working up devilishly clever charms, if you wanted to hold someone against their will, you simply deprived them of their wand and threw them in a cellar or dungeon, with or without a guard depending on their level of ability. Most of Voldemort's prisoners had not remained alive long enough for anything more elaborate to be necessary. That left him at something of a loss in this case, however.
"So, it becomes permeable whenever it senses a threat?" Sophicles was advancing on the door, a thoughtful expression on his cherubic features.
"Apparently. However, it does not seem to find you very threatening, Hamlin." Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to think. It was useless; he had simply never encountered anything like this before.
"Well, we could always go out the back." Snape turned to regard the scrawny, filthy creature behind him. Valentin looked like a Halloween scarecrow, but he spoke with the patented Snape family drawl. His expression clearly said, oh great, my rescuers are idiots.