It took precisely three days of living in Severus Snape's body for Marquas to understand the true horror of the situation: the man had been catastrophically down bad for Lily Evans. It wasn't just the occasional memory or fleeting regret, it was a full-blown, all-consuming obsession that permeated every aspect of his existence.
The evidence was everywhere. Hidden in a false bottom of his desk drawer was a collection of dried flowers that Lily had apparently given him during their school days. Several books contained notes in the margins where they'd carried out written conversations. Most disturbing was the enchanted journal that, when activated with a specific charm, displayed only entries about Lily, hundreds of pages chronicling every interaction, every smile, every casual touch from their first meeting until their falling out.
"This isn't devotion," Marquas muttered as he flipped through the pages. "This is a psychological disorder that needs a team of professionals and possibly some very strong potions."
What made it worse was that these weren't just Snape's memories, they were becoming his memories too. Every night, Marquas dreamed in snippets of Snape's past. Lily's laugh. The way sunlight caught her red hair. The devastation of her rejection. The gut-wrenching agony of learning she'd married James Potter. It was like experiencing a toxic relationship in fast-forward, and it was giving him emotional whiplash.
"This stops now," he declared one evening, after waking from a particularly intense dream about the day Snape had called Lily a Mudblood. "I refuse to spend the next twenty years pining over someone else's wife."
He was sitting in his new quarters at Hogwarts, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes. Term wouldn't start for another week, giving him time to settle in and, more importantly, deal with this Lily situation before he had to face hormonal teenagers.
The real problem, as Marquas saw it, wasn't just that Snape loved Lily, it was that he'd never properly processed losing her. Never moved on. Never accepted that she had made her choice, and it wasn't him.
"What you need," he told his reflection as he combed his now-silky hair, "is closure. And since this is my mind now, I'm the one who has to get it."
The solution came to him during breakfast the next morning. He was sitting at the staff table, nursing a cup of coffee (he'd introduced the house-elves to proper brewing techniques, much to their confusion), when an owl dropped the Daily Prophet in front of him. On page six was a small announcement: James and Lily Potter would be attending a Ministry charity gala that weekend.
Marquas stared at the words until they blurred. This was it, his chance to see her one last time and put this whole mess to bed.
There was just one small problem.
"I can't exactly waltz in there as Severus Snape, Death Eater extraordinaire," he muttered, pushing his plate away. The other professors were giving him concerned looks; apparently talking to oneself wasn't part of the Snape brand. He scowled at them for good measure.
Back in his quarters, he began to plan. The gala would be heavily attended, which meant security but also crowds to hide in. He couldn't use Polyjuice Potion, too risky if he needed to make a quick exit. But a glamour charm combined with a Notice-Me-Not spell might work...
"This is insane," he told himself as he worked out the details. "I'm planning to magically disguise myself to crash a party to see a woman who isn't even aware I'm not the same man who's been obsessed with her for years."
But insane or not, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was necessary. Not just for his own peace of mind, but for Snape's redemption. The path to becoming a better person started with letting go of toxic attachments.
Saturday evening found Marquas in Diagon Alley, carefully applying the last touches to his disguise in the bathroom of the Leaky Cauldron. The glamour charm altered his features subtly, softening the hook of his nose, changing his eye color to blue, adding a slight wave to his hair. Nothing dramatic enough to trigger magical alarms, but enough that no one would recognize him as Severus Snape.
"Showtime," he murmured, adjusting the collar of his dress robes, charcoal gray with subtle silver embroidery, a far cry from Snape's usual funeral attire.
The Ministry gala was being held in one of the grand ballrooms, a cavernous space enchanted to look like a nighttime garden, with stars twinkling above and rosebushes lining the walls. Magical musicians played in one corner, their instruments floating beside them. The elite of wizarding society mingled and preened, a sea of expensive robes and glittering jewelry.
Marquas slipped in with a group of late arrivals, his Notice-Me-Not charm ensuring that the security wizards' eyes slid past him without interest. Once inside, he snagged a glass of champagne from a floating tray and positioned himself near a large rosebush, surveying the crowd.
And then he saw her.
Lily Potter stood near the center of the room, laughing at something her husband had said. She wore emerald green robes that set off her hair, which fell in loose waves around her shoulders. Even from a distance, her eyes were striking, the same vivid green that Harry would inherit.
She was beautiful, yes. But as Marquas watched her, he felt something unexpected: objectivity.
These weren't just Snape's memories anymore. He could see what Snape never could, that Lily was just a woman. A bright, talented, kind woman, certainly, but not the goddess Snape had built in his mind. She had flaws. She made mistakes. She was human.
And more importantly, she looked genuinely happy with James Potter, who hadn't left her side, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back, his expression softening whenever he looked at her.
"They really do love each other," Marquas murmured, surprised by how little pain the observation caused. There was a twinge of something perhaps Snape's emotions echoing from deep within but it was distant, manageable.
He watched them for nearly an hour, noting the way they interacted with each other and their friends. Sirius Black was there too, handsome and louder than necessary, making Lily roll her eyes even as she smiled. Remus Lupin stood slightly apart, looking tired but content. Peter Pettigrew hovered at the edges, laughing too eagerly at jokes and constantly checking to see if the others were watching him.
Little rat, Marquas thought, eyeing Pettigrew with distaste. That was another problem to solve, but not tonight.
Finally, when James was pulled away by some Ministry official, Marquas saw his opportunity. He circled casually around the edge of the room until he was closer to Lily, who had stepped away from the main crowd to admire an enchanted ice sculpture.
"Beautiful work," he commented, standing beside her but not too close. "Though I think the charm is starting to fade on the left wing."
Lily turned, her green eyes curious. "You're right," she said, examining the slightly drooping wing of the ice phoenix. "Are you a charm specialist?"
"More of a potions man," Marquas replied with a small smile. "But I appreciate good spellwork."
They chatted easily for a few minutes about the gala, about the latest advancements in charm theory, about the ridiculous hat the Minister was wearing. Talking to her was... normal. Pleasant even, but not earth-shattering. Not worth destroying a life over.
"I should find my husband," she said eventually, glancing around the room. "He's hopeless at these events. Likely trapped by old Tiberius Ogden talking about firewhisky regulations."
"Before you go," Marquas said, surprising himself, "I wanted to say something."
Lily looked at him expectantly, head tilted slightly.
"You seem very happy," he said simply. "It's good to see."
Her expression softened into a genuine smile. "I am. Thank you..."
"Just an observer," he replied, stepping back with a slight bow. "Enjoy your evening, Mrs. Potter."
He turned and walked away before she could question him further, feeling strangely light. That small exchange had done more to exorcise Snape's ghost than years of obsessing ever could. Lily Evans Potter was a real person with her own life, not a fantasy to be worshipped or a prize to be won.
Marquas slipped out of the gala as unobtrusively as he'd entered, making his way back to Hogwarts through a series of Apparition points to avoid being tracked. By the time he reached his quarters, the glamour charm was fading, Snape's features reasserting themselves in the mirror.
But something was different. The pain that had lurked behind those dark eyes seemed diminished somehow, replaced by clarity.
That night, Marquas sat at Snape's desk and began to write. Not in the enchanted Lily-journal, but in a fresh one he'd purchased in Diagon Alley. At the top of the first page, he wrote: "The Lily Evans Resolution."
Dear Lily,
You'll never read this letter, which is precisely why I can be honest. I've loved you in the worst possible way selfishly, possessively, destructively. I've used that love as an excuse, as a shield, as a reason to avoid becoming a better person.
Tonight I saw you happy, truly happy, with a man who isn't me. And I realized something important: I need to let you go. Not because I don't care, but because caring means wanting your happiness more than my own.
You made your choice long ago. It's time I respected it.
This is goodbye, not in anger or bitterness, but in acceptance. You deserve love, but I'm done being sad. I have a life to live that doesn't revolve around you.
Be well, be happy, be safe.
Severus
He read it over once, then folded the parchment carefully and sealed it with wax. He wouldn't send it, of course. But the act of writing it felt important, a way of drawing a line between past and future.
Then he did something that would have been unthinkable to the original Snape. He gathered every memento, every dried flower, every note written in Lily's handwriting, and placed them in a small wooden box. He added the letter on top, then closed the lid and cast a sealing charm.
"Out of sight, out of mind," he murmured as he placed the box on the highest shelf in his quarters, behind a collection of advanced potions texts where he wouldn't accidentally glimpse it.
As a final step, he took out a small journal bound in plain black leather and wrote on the first page:
Day 1: Didn't simp today. Progress.
He chuckled at his own joke, but there was truth in it. The real Snape had spent years defining himself by his unrequited love. Marquas intended to define himself by something far more useful: action.
The next day, when an owl arrived bearing a message from Lucius Malfoy about an upcoming "gathering" (Death Eater code for "come kiss Voldemort's robes"), Marquas felt ready. The Lily situation wasn't completely resolved, years of obsession wouldn't disappear overnight but he'd taken the first crucial step.
He wasn't Snape pining after Lily anymore. He was Marquas in Snape's body, with a clear mind and a mission: survive this mess, maybe save some lives, and completely rewrite Severus Snape's tragic destiny.
"And step one," he muttered as he penned a response to Lucius, "is figuring out how to troll the Dark Lord without getting myself killed."
He glanced at his reflection as he sealed the letter. With his improved appearance and the weight of obsession lifting from his shoulders, he looked almost... formidable.
"Watch out, wizarding world," he said with a smirk. "Severus Snape is about to get an upgrade."