The first rule of being a double agent, Marquas quickly discovered, was that timing was everything. Too eager to sabotage, and you'd be exposed. Too cautious, and you'd effectively become the very thing you were pretending to be. It was a constant dance on the edge of a blade or in this case, on the rim of a very precisely calibrated cauldron.
Three days after his meeting with Dumbledore, Marquas was putting the finishing touches on a potion that would mark his first deliberate act of sabotage against Voldemort's operations. The laboratory in his private quarters had become his sanctuary, the one place where he could be entirely himself without the constant performance of being either Death Eater Snape or Professor Snape.
"Balance is key," he murmured to himself as he added precisely three drops of hellebore essence to the shimmering liquid. "Too obvious and I'm dead. Too subtle and it's pointless."
The potion in question had been commissioned by Voldemort himself, a draught to temporarily enhance the magical abilities of newer Death Eater recruits during a planned kidnapping operation. The target was a Ministry official.
Marquas had promised the Dark Lord a potion that would sharpen reflexes, enhance spell casting precision, and temporarily boost magical stamina. What he was actually brewing was considerably more... creative.
The base of the potion was legitimate enough. It would indeed enhance certain magical abilities, providing just enough real effect to seem genuine. But Marquas had modified the formula with an ingenious twist: a delayed-release compound that would trigger specific cognitive effects approximately thirty minutes after consumption. Effects that included mild disorientation, a tendency toward literal interpretation of instructions, and his personal favorite, a subtle compulsion to focus on the most irrelevant details of any given situation.
"The perfect recipe for operational chaos," he said with a satisfied smirk, watching the potion turn from amber to a deep crimson as he stirred counterclockwise exactly seventeen times.
The beauty of it was that none of the effects would seem like sabotage. The enhanced abilities would be noticeable immediately, reinforcing trust in the potion. By the time the cognitive effects kicked in, they would manifest in ways that could be attributed to nerves, poor planning, or simple incompetence, all qualities that Voldemort already expected from his lower-ranking followers.
He carefully decanted the finished potion into twelve crystal vials, each labeled with precise dosage instructions. To any other Potions Master examining them, they would appear to be exactly what Voldemort had requested the additional ingredients were masterfully disguised using techniques that even Snape's considerable original knowledge hadn't included. That was pure Marquas innovation, combining magical brewing with principles of modern chemistry.
"Delivery day," he murmured the following evening, securing the case of potions inside his robes as he prepared to Apparate to Malfoy Manor, where he would hand them directly to Lucius for distribution to the operation team.
The manor was unusually quiet when he arrived, with only a handful of Death Eaters present in the drawing room that had become their unofficial headquarters. Lucius was seated in an ornate wingback chair, reviewing what appeared to be architectural plans spread across a low table. Bellatrix lounged nearby, idly twirling her wand and looking bored, always a dangerous state for someone of her particular brand of insanity.
"Ah, Severus," Lucius greeted him with practiced cordiality. "Right on schedule."
"Punctuality is the courtesy of kings, Lucius," Marquas replied smoothly, removing the case from his robes and placing it on the table. "And the necessity of poisoners."
Bellatrix snorted. "Always with the dramatic pronouncements, Snape. One might think you fancy yourself a poet instead of a brewer."
"And one might think you'd have better things to do than provide commentary on my conversational style, Bellatrix," Marquas returned coolly. "Yet here we are."
Her eyes narrowed dangerously, but before she could respond, Lucius intervened with practiced diplomacy. "The potions, Severus? They are as requested?"
"Precisely as the Dark Lord specified," Marquas confirmed, which was technically true, the potions did everything Voldemort had asked for. They just did a bit more as well. "One vial per recruit, to be consumed exactly twenty minutes before the operation begins."
Lucius nodded, examining one of the vials with an appreciative eye. "Excellent craftsmanship, as always. The Dark Lord will be pleased."
"Just make sure those idiots follow the dosage instructions," Marquas added with a contemptuous sneer. "These aren't pumpkin juice, exceeding the recommended amount could have... unpredictable effects."
Another technical truth. Overdosing would indeed have unpredictable effects, specifically, it would accelerate and intensify the cognitive sabotage elements. But it was also exactly the kind of warning the real Snape would give, simultaneously demonstrating his expertise and disdain for less talented wizards.
"I'll ensure they're properly instructed," Lucius assured him, closing the case. "Will you be joining us for the operation?"
"Unfortunately not," Marquas replied. "The Headmaster has called a staff meeting regarding the upcoming term. My absence would be... noted."
The excuse was perfect reasonable, verifiable, and highlighting his value as a spy within Hogwarts. Neither Lucius nor Bellatrix questioned it.
After a few more minutes of conversation, during which Marquas gleaned valuable details about the kidnapping plan (information he would later relay to Dumbledore), he departed with the satisfaction of a job well begun, if not yet completed.
Two days later, Marquas was grading summer assignments in his office when a house-elf appeared with a note delivered by Lucius's eagle owl. The message was brief, encoded in the innocent-seeming language that Death Eaters used for written communication:
Severus,The family gathering was a disappointment. Our relatives became confused about the arrangements and delivered birthday presents to the wrong address entirely. The celebration has been postponed indefinitely.—L
Marquas couldn't suppress a smile as he incinerated the note with a flick of his wand. Translated from Death Eater euphemism: the kidnapping operation had failed spectacularly, with the team somehow missing their target entirely.
His sabotage had worked and better yet, it had worked in a way that pointed to incompetence rather than interference. The beauty of it was that Voldemort would likely punish the team members, never suspecting that their failure had been chemically induced.
"First blood to the new improved Severus Snape," he murmured, returning to his grading with considerably lighter spirits.
The full details of the operation's failure emerged three days later at a hastily called Death Eater gathering. Marquas stood in the circle around Voldemort, face impassive behind his mask as the Dark Lord berated the mission leader.
"Explain to me," Voldemort said in the deadly soft voice that preceded his worst rages, "how twelve of my followers failed to capture a single, middle-aged Ministry official from his own home?"
The unfortunate team leader, a wizard named Travers, was visibly trembling. "My Lord, we followed the plan exactly. We arrived at the designated location at precisely nine o'clock as instructed"
"And found a house full of rubber ducks instead of our target," Voldemort finished, his red eyes gleaming with fury. "Yes, I am aware of that particular detail."
Marquas had to employ every ounce of his Occlumency skills to maintain his composure. Rubber ducks? That was even better than he'd anticipated.
"There must have been a mistake in the intelligence, My Lord," Travers continued desperately. "The address we were given—"
"Was correct," Voldemort cut him off. "As confirmed by our sources within the Ministry. Williamson has lived at 17 Blackthorn Lane for the past eleven years. You and your team went to 71 Blackthorn Lane—l, a storage facility for Muggle children's bath toys."
A ripple of tense murmurs went through the circle. Several Death Eaters shifted uncomfortably.
"We took the potions as instructed," Travers said, throwing a desperate glance toward Marquas. "They seemed to work at first, we all felt stronger, more focused. But then... things became confused. Mulciber insisted the address was 71, not 17. When we arrived and saw it wasn't a house, Rowle was convinced it was some kind of advanced disguise charm. By the time we realized the mistake, Ministry Aurors were already responding to reports of masked wizards breaking into a toy warehouse."
Voldemort's gaze shifted to Marquas, who tensed imperceptibly. "Severus. Your potions. Could they have caused this... confusion?"
It was the moment of truth. Marquas stepped forward and knelt briefly before rising to address the Dark Lord. "The potions performed exactly as designed, my Lord. They enhanced magical ability, reflexes, and stamina, effects that several members have confirmed they experienced initially."
He paused, then added with perfectly calculated disdain, "However, no potion can overcome fundamental incompetence. The ability to read a simple address correctly was not among the enhancements I was asked to provide."
There was a dangerous silence, during which Marquas maintained absolute control over his thoughts, showing Voldemort only genuine certainty in the quality of his work, and honest contempt for the failed team.
Then, unexpectedly, Voldemort laughed, a chilling sound devoid of genuine mirth. "Well said, Severus. Indeed, it seems I must be more selective in choosing who benefits from your valuable concoctions."
Relief washed through Marquas, though he allowed none of it to show. He had passed the test. His position was secure.
The meeting continued with Voldemort administering Cruciatus punishments to the failed team members while outlining a new approach to tracking potential prophecy children. Throughout it all, Marquas observed silently, filing away information to report to Dumbledore while considering his next acts of subtle sabotage.
"Rubber ducks," Dumbledore repeated, blue eyes twinkling with barely suppressed amusement. "An entire warehouse of them."
"According to Travers," Marquas confirmed, allowing himself a small smile now that he was safely in the Headmaster's office. "The team spent fifteen minutes trying to determine which duck might be the transfigured Ministry official before the Aurors arrived."
Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Most fortuitous. And Williamson and his family?"
"Were never in danger," Marquas assured him. "By the time the Death Eaters realized their mistake, Auror response teams were already on site. Voldemort has postponed any further attempt indefinitely, he's furious about the failure."
"Thanks to your... intervention, we now have time to arrange it." Dumbledore studied him with that penetrating gaze. "May I ask how you managed to sabotage the operation so effectively without raising suspicion?"
Marquas considered how much to reveal. While he had established a working relationship with Dumbledore, he wasn't ready to share all his methods.
"Let's just say I made some creative adjustments to the enhancement potions," he replied. "Nothing detectable, nothing traceable. The effects appeared to be simple human error which Voldemort already expects from his lower ranks."
"Ingenious," Dumbledore murmured. "And quite elegant in its subtlety."
"The key is to never make it obvious," Marquas explained. "Small failures, misdirections, delays, individually insignificant, but collectively damaging to his operations. Voldemort expects grandiose opposition. He's less prepared for death by a thousand cuts."
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "A strategy worth pursuing. Though I caution you to be extremely careful, Severus. Voldemort's trust, once lost, cannot be regained."
"I'm well aware of the risks," Marquas assured him. "But doing nothing is not an option."
"No," Dumbledore agreed solemnly. "It never is, in times like these."
As he left the Headmaster's office, Marquas felt a growing sense of confidence. His first major act of sabotage had succeeded beyond expectations. He had protected innocent lives, maintained his cover, and even strengthened his position in Voldemort's inner circle by appearing competent while others failed.
It was a good start. But only a start.
Back in his laboratory, Marquas turned his attention to his next project. With term beginning in just a few days, he would have less time for experimental brewing. He needed to develop potions that could be prepared in advance and deployed strategically.
His latest idea was something he called "Cognitive Dissonance Drops" a tasteless, odorless liquid that, when added to food or drink, would create a temporary but profound disconnect between a person's intentions and their actions. Not mind control exactly that would be too easily detected but rather a subtle manipulation of the pathways between thought and execution.
"Think of it as a magical Freudian slip inducer," he murmured as he jotted down potential ingredients. "Say 'torture the prisoner' but actually unlock their cell door."
The applications were endless. A few drops in the refreshments at a Death Eater strategy meeting could lead to leaked information, misunderstood orders, or compromised security protocols.
As he worked through the theoretical framework, Marquas realized he was genuinely enjoying himself. There was something deeply satisfying about applying his unique combination of magical knowledge and modern thinking to outwit some of the most dangerous wizards in Britain.
"Who knew dying and waking up as Severus Snape would be the career change I never knew I needed?" he chuckled to himself as he carefully labeled a test vial.
The laboratory clock chimed midnight, reminding him that the start-of-term feast was tomorrow, technically today and he should get some rest. As the new Potions Master, he would be formally introduced to the student body. First impressions mattered, especially since he intended to run his classroom very differently from both canon Snape and his predecessor Slughorn.
He cast preservation charms on his experimental potions and tidied his workspace with practiced efficiency. Tomorrow would mark the beginning of a new phase in his unexpected journey, balancing teaching responsibilities with his increasingly complex role as a double agent.
As he prepared for bed, Marquas glanced at the small journal on his nightstand, now filled with nearly two weeks' worth of daily entries tracking his progress in this strange new life.
Day 15: Successfully sabotaged Death Eater kidnapping operation. Target family safe. Voldemort suspects nothing. Also finalized lesson plans for first-year Potions. Productivity level: surprisingly high for someone who died recently.
He smiled as he closed the journal and extinguished the lights with a wave of his wand. The rubber duck incident was just the beginning. Voldemort and his Death Eaters had no idea what they were in for now that Severus Snape had been upgraded to include twenty-first century innovation and a distinct lack of soul-crushing obsession with Lily Evans.
The wizarding world was about to experience something entirely new: a Potions Master with both a plan and a sense of humor.
And in the darkness of his bedroom, as he drifted toward sleep, Marquas's mind was already buzzing with ideas for his next act of subtle sabotage. Perhaps something involving Lucius Malfoy's precious peacocks...