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The heart of the dungeon
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With an uncharacteristic flash of inspiration, you remember that woodlice are one of the few creatures that are completely immune to magic of any kind... but! They detest dryness and heat. Ergo you can cast a heat spell to clear a path indirectly. Brilliant!

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 open a path.

"Wait!" says Kensley. "I... I can't go on."

"What's wrong? Why not?"

"It's the woodlice. I have had a terrible fear of them ever since one accidentally rolled into my cake mixture when I was a child. It got baked into a scone and I ate it by mistake. I can still feel the horrible crunch when I bit through its carapace, and the hideous tickle when I swallowed its roasted legs. I can't... I just can't get any closer to them."

"Listen Kensley, don't worry," you take a deep breath. "I'll keep going by myself, on my own. You get Slumblebore and tell him what is going on down here. And if should... if I should... die down here, tell him that I would like to be buried outside my lovely little Hogger Hole next to the potatoes."

"Yes, yes... I will Arthur. I'll get Slumblebore and we will bury you in the potato patch together," says Kensley with a little sniffle.

Kensley turns and walks quickly back up the passageway. As she walks you notice that she has put her hand in her pocket and is fiddling with something which then drops out of her pocket and hits the stone flagstones with a faint chink. Kensley doesn't notice and walks on, but the thing bounces and then rolls down the corridor towards you, stopping at your feet.

You bend down and pick it up. It is a ring of pure gold.

How curious, you think.

Even more curious, you can just make out some tiny writing engraved on the surface of the ring, which says:

But there is no time to worry about mysterious rings: you breathe deeply and plunge forwards past the woodlouse army who are delving 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 Kensley must be here, at the bottom of it all.