Marquas's first month as Hogwarts' Potions Master had been, in a word, revolutionary. Students who had expected a terrifying dungeon bat instead found themselves facing a demanding but surprisingly engaging professor who seemed determined to drag potion-making into the modern era or at least out of the medieval one.
"The problem with traditional brewing," Marquas announced to his seventh-year NEWT class one crisp October morning, "is not the principles but the execution. We've been using the same techniques for centuries while ignoring obvious opportunities for improvement."
Several Ravenclaws were frantically taking notes, while the Slytherins looked varying degrees of intrigued and suspicious. As head of their house, Marquas had proven to be a puzzling contradiction, he favored them subtly but called out their entitlement mercilessly.
"For instance," he continued, gesturing to the cauldron before him, "why must a brewer physically stir a potion 394 times counterclockwise, risking repetitive stress injuries and inevitable human error, when the same effect could be achieved through enchanted implementation?"
A Ravenclaw girl raised her hand tentatively. "But Professor, wouldn't magic interfere with the potion's properties?"
"Five points to Ravenclaw for a pertinent question, Miss Chen," Marquas nodded approvingly. "Indeed, direct magic applied to an in-process potion often causes instability. However—" he paused dramatically, enjoying his audience's rapt attention, "—what if the magic were applied to the brewing apparatus rather than the potion itself?"
And with that, he unveiled his latest creation: a cauldron that gleamed with subtle enchantments, runes etched precisely around its rim.
"I call it the Auto-Brewing Cauldron," he announced with undisguised pride. "Capable of following complex brewing instructions without direct magical interference with the potion itself."
The students stared in genuine amazement as Marquas demonstrated. He placed ingredients in specific compartments, wrote out brewing instructions on a special parchment with enchanted ink, and then activated the cauldron with a tap of his wand. Immediately, the apparatus began working measuring, adding, stirring, and adjusting temperature with mechanical precision.
"This prototype can execute a standard Pepperup Potion without human intervention beyond the initial setup," Marquas explained as the students watched the cauldron methodically brewing. "For more complex potions, some manual steps remain necessary, but even advanced brewing becomes significantly more efficient."
By the end of the demonstration, even the most skeptical students looked impressed. The Pepperup Potion produced by the Auto-Brewing Cauldron was perfect better, in fact, than most manually brewed versions.
"I've applied for a patent under 'S. Prince Labs,'" Marquas informed them as they bottled samples of the potion for analysis. "By next year, I expect these to be commercially available for research and educational purposes."
"Prince Labs, sir?" a Slytherin boy inquired. "Not under your own name?"
Marquas allowed himself a slight smirk. "Let's just say I prefer to keep certain innovations separate from my... public persona, Mr. Rowle."
The truth, which he certainly wouldn't share with students, was more complex. Marquas had carefully considered the implications of patenting his inventions under "Severus Snape" a name that would eventually become notorious in the wizarding world if events unfolded anything like the original timeline. "S. Prince," referencing Snape's mother's maiden name, provided a useful pseudonym that was still technically his.
Plus, he rather enjoyed the subtle Prince-as-royalty connotation. A petty pleasure, perhaps, but Marquas had learned that in a world of potential death by megalomaniac wizard, one took one's enjoyments where one could find them
••••
Later that evening, as Marquas refined the Auto-Brewing Cauldron's runic sequences in his private laboratory, a knock at his door interrupted his concentration.
"Enter," he called, hastily covering his more sensitive projects with concealment charms.
Minerva McGonagall swept in, her expression as crisp as her perfectly pressed tartan robes. "Good evening, Severus. I trust I'm not interrupting anything... explosive?"
"Nothing that would damage the castle's structural integrity," Marquas assured her with dry humor. "At least, not tonight."
The Transfiguration professor's lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. Over the past month, they had developed an unexpected rapport. Initially suspicious of his reformed appearance and teaching methods, McGonagall had gradually warmed to him after observing his classes and noting the marked improvement in student engagement and results.
"I've been hearing rather extraordinary things about your latest classroom demonstration," she said, eyeing the Auto-Brewing Cauldron with professional curiosity. "An automated brewing apparatus? Most innovative."
"Merely practical," Marquas demurred, though he couldn't entirely suppress a flash of pride. "The traditional approach wastes time and introduces unnecessary variables."
"Nevertheless," McGonagall persisted, circling the cauldron with keen interest, "it represents a significant departure from established methods. Particularly coming from someone who was, until recently, rather... traditional in his outlook."
The observation contained a question, one of many that his colleagues had been delicately circling since his transformation. Why had bitter, greasy, conventional Severus Snape suddenly become an innovative, relatively well-adjusted Potions Master with revolutionary ideas and significantly better personal hygiene?
"People change, Minerva," Marquas replied simply. "Sometimes due to gradual evolution, sometimes due to... sudden insight."
"Indeed," she nodded, clearly unsatisfied with the vague explanation but too professional to press further. "Well, your 'sudden insight' appears to be benefiting our students. Even the Gryffindors report that your classes are challenging but fair, a notable departure from what I anticipated, given your history with my house."
Marquas suppressed a smile. The original Snape's pathological hatred of Gryffindor had been yet another aspect of his character that needed immediate correction. While Marquas maintained a slight bias toward Slytherin, house loyalty being expected of its Head, he had deliberately abandoned the vicious prejudice that had made canon Snape such a controversial teacher.
"I find that judging students on their actual performance rather than their house colors yields more accurate assessments," he said mildly. "Revolutionary concept, I know."
McGonagall actually snorted at that. "Cheeky. Well, I came to inform you that your proposed curriculum adjustments have been approved by the Board of Governors. Apparently, your demonstration cauldrons sent to key board members were quite persuasive."
Marquas nodded, concealing his satisfaction. He had strategically sent prototype Auto-Brewing Cauldrons to several influential board members, including Lucius Malfoy, knowing that pure-blood traditionalists wouldn't be swayed by pedagogical arguments alone. But a shiny new magical invention with practical applications and potential profit margins? That spoke a language they understood.
"Excellent. I'll implement the changes next week." He hesitated, then added, "Thank you for your support in this matter, Minerva. I know my methods are... unconventional."
"Unconventional does not mean incorrect," she replied with surprising warmth. "Hogwarts has perhaps been too resistant to change in recent decades. A little innovation might be precisely what we need." With a nod of farewell, she turned to leave but paused at the door. "Oh, and Severus? Do try to patent that cauldron quickly. I suspect it will be quite revolutionary."
After she left, Marquas returned to his work with renewed energy. The Auto-Brewing Cauldron represented more than just a convenient invention, it was a strategic move in his larger plan. Beyond the educational applications, it would establish "S. Prince" as a legitimate innovator in the potions field, providing both additional income and a professional identity separate from his roles as professor and spy.
Most importantly, it would give him credibility to introduce even more radical innovations in the future, innovations that could potentially change the course of the coming war.
••••
"The McKinnons," Lucius continued, lowering his voice despite the privacy wards around his study. "They've become particularly troublesome. The Dark Lord desires a potion that can bypass their protective wards, something undetectable until activated."
The McKinnons. Marquas kept his expression impassive, but internally, alarm bells were ringing. In the original timeline, Marlene McKinnon and her entire family were murdered by Death Eaters, a particularly brutal killing that Sirius Black would later reference. But why are they being targeted now? Is this the butterfly effect of his transmigration, events meant for 1981 unraveling a year too soon?"
"An interesting challenge," he remarked, stalling for time. "Ward-penetrating potions are notoriously unstable. What's the timeframe?"
"The Dark Lord anticipates action before Samhain," Lucius replied. "He feels a demonstration is needed to counter the Order's recent successes."
Less than two weeks. Marquas nodded thoughtfully, mind racing through potential options. This would require a masterful balancing act, appearing to comply while actually sabotaging the plan without exposing himself.
"I'll begin work immediately," he promised. "Though I'll need details on the specific wards they're using."
Lucius smiled thinly. "Already arranged. Rookwood has provided a complete analysis from Ministry records. I'll have it delivered to your quarters at Hogwarts."
As their conversation shifted to lighter topics, Ministry politics, Narcissa's plans for the Malfoy Yule celebration, complaints about Dumbledore's latest educational decrees, Marquas kept part of his mind focused on the McKinnon problem. This would be his biggest challenge yet as a double agent: how to appear to help Voldemort while actually saving his targets.
••••
"The McKinnons?" Dumbledore looked genuinely alarmed, a rare expression for the typically serene Headmaster. "You're certain?"
"Absolutely," Marquas confirmed, pacing the circular office with barely contained tension. "Voldemort wants them eliminated before Samhain as a 'demonstration.' He's assigned me to create a potion that can bypass their protective wards."
It was well past midnight, but Marquas had gone straight to Dumbledore's office upon returning from Malfoy Manor, the urgency of the situation overriding normal protocol.
"This is most disturbing," Dumbledore murmured, absently stroking Fawkes's brilliant feathers as the phoenix crooned softly. "Marlene has been instrumental in our counter-intelligence efforts. Her loss would be devastating, both personally and strategically."
"Not to mention her entire family," Marquas added grimly. "Voldemort isn't known for leaving witnesses."
Dumbledore nodded, his usual twinkle entirely absent. "What do you propose, Severus? I assume you have a plan, given your recent successes in... redirecting Voldemort's operations."
Marquas paused his pacing, leaning against one of the office's many bookshelves. "Two parallel approaches. First, I'll develop a potion that appears to match Voldemort's requirements but actually contains a delayed-action beacon component. When activated, it will alert the Order to the Death Eaters' presence and temporarily strengthen the existing wards rather than weakening them."
"Ingenious," Dumbledore acknowledged. "And the second approach?"
"A contingency," Marquas replied. "We need to prepare for the possibility that Voldemort bypasses my potion entirely or suspects tampering. The McKinnons should be relocated temporarily, with convincing doubles left in their place."
"Polyjuice would be detected by the Death Eaters' counter-measures," Dumbledore pointed out.
"Not Polyjuice," Marquas shook his head. "Transfigured constructs, similar to advanced shop mannequins, but imbued with enough basic movement patterns and responsive charms to fool distant surveillance. Up close they wouldn't pass inspection, but they don't need to, they just need to maintain the illusion that the McKinnons are home while the family is actually secured elsewhere."
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose appreciatively. "That would require exceptional transfiguration work. Perhaps Minerva—"
"No," Marquas cut in firmly. "The fewer people who know about this, the better. Voldemort has ways of extracting information even from the most well-intentioned allies. This operation needs to be completely compartmentalized."
The Headmaster studied him thoughtfully. "You've given this considerable thought in a very short time, Severus."
"Planning for contingencies keeps me alive," Marquas replied simply. "And in this case, it might keep the McKinnons alive too."
After discussing the technical details of both plans, they agreed on a timeline and division of responsibilities. Dumbledore would personally approach the McKinnons with the relocation proposal while ensuring that their absence remained undetected. Marquas would develop the decoy potion and coordinate the placement of the transfigured constructs.
As he finally returned to his quarters in the early hours of the morning, Marquas felt the weight of his dual role more heavily than ever before. Real lives depended on his ability to navigate between these worlds without faltering. One mistake, one moment of carelessness, and an entire family would be murdered.
He collapsed into his chair, summoning a glass and a bottle of Ogden's Finest with a tired wave of his wand. As the amber liquid poured itself, he pulled out his journal and added a new entry:
Day 45: Voldemort targeting the McKinnons. Developing counter-strategy. Auto-Brewing Cauldron patents filed. Lucius's peacock plan postponed due to more pressing homicidal maniac problems. Note to self: Being a double agent is significantly more exhausting than software development.
The next ten days would test his skills and nerve like nothing before. But as he sipped his firewhisky, Marquas felt an unfamiliar emotion beneath the anxiety and exhaustion, determination hardening into something like purpose.
He wasn't just surviving in this fictional world anymore. He was actively reshaping it, preventing tragedies, saving lives that had been mere background details in a book series. The McKinnons wouldn't be a sad reference in Sirius Black's reminiscences this time. They would survive.
And if Marquas had his way, they wouldn't be the last casualties of fate that he intended to rewrite.
Setting down his empty glass, he moved to his laboratory and began gathering ingredients. The Auto-Brewing Cauldron gleamed in the corner, ready for its most important task yet. Patent applications and teaching innovations were significant achievements, but they paled compared to what he was attempting now.
As he worked through the night, carefully balancing deception and functionality in his potion design, one thought kept him focused: in this new timeline, the story would have a different ending. Not because of destiny or prophecy, but because one person decided to change it.
"Let's see you predict this plot twist, Trelawney," he murmured as dawn began to break over the castle grounds. The first phase of his McKinnon rescue potion was complete, looking exactly like what Voldemort wanted while being precisely the opposite.
Now he just had to convince the most powerful dark wizard in Britain that he was a loyal servant while actively sabotaging his plans. All without getting caught, tortured, and killed.
"Just another day at the office," Marquas sighed, reaching for another batch of ingredients. "Better than dealing with JIRA tickets, at least."