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The heart of the dungeon
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You remember that woodlice are one of the few creatures that are completely immune to magic of any kind, and decide to cast a heat spell to clear a path indirectly.

You raise your wand. "Fiel fresa fusila fuego!"

A magical flame whooshes out of your wand, sending golden sparks shooting.

The flame doesn't harm the woodlice, but it heats the air, and dries it. The woodlice have no option but to retreat: without moisture they can't absorb oxygen, they would suffocate.

This leaves a path.

"Wait!" says Snako. "I... I can't go any further."

"What's wrong?"

"It's the woodlice. I have had a terrible fear of them ever since I accidentally ate one thinking it was a small nut. The feeling of its little legs wriggling in my stomach is something that has haunted me ever since. I can't... I just can't go on."

"Listen Snako, it's ok. I'll keep going but if you're too afraid you are no good to me down here anyway. You should turn back and tell Slumblebore what we have found down here. Tell him that I wasn't afraid and decided to carry on"

"Yes, yes... I will Arthur. Slumblebore needs to know," says Snako in relief. "I'll go and tell him."

Snako turns and hot-foots it back the way you came.

As his hurried footsteps fade into the distant darkness, you breathe deeply and plunge forwards past the woodlouse army who are retreating into the still moist cracks in the stone.

After walking further down the dank, chilly passage you come to a door made of iron bars.

Just beyond you can hear a faint murmur of voices.

This is it: the heart of the dungeon. Whoever or whatever has been setting these traps for you and Snako must be here, at the bottom of it all.