McKinnon operation had been Marquas's most nerve-wracking success to date. Through a combination of his decoy potion, Dumbledore's relocation efforts, and some truly inspired transfiguration work, the entire family had been evacuated just hours before Voldemort's strike team descended on their home. The Death Eaters had instead found themselves triggering a cascade of modified shield charms that reflected their own curses back at them, resulting in three incapacitated attackers and the rest fleeing in confusion.
The best part? Marquas's potion had performed exactly as promised from Voldemort's perspective, it had indeed bypassed the perimeter wards. The "failure" was attributed to unexpected secondary defenses rather than any flaw in Snape's work. Voldemort had been furious about the outcome that lasted for days, reportedly causing several Death Eaters to suddenly discover urgent family business abroad.
Marquas also can't just go around saving people, not without consequences. If he acts openly, Voldemort will sense the betrayal. The price of even a single misstep is his life. That's why the only way he can help… is by not helping directly. He must make his interventions look like coincidences, accidents of fate. A wrong turn avoided. A spell misfired and a delay that saves a life. He can only protect a few key individuals, and even then, only from the shadows.
There will be countless moments where he must hold himself back, forced to watch operations unfold without lifting a finger. Each time, it will tear at him. But until at least half the Horcruxes are destroyed, he can't afford to be exposed. Because the moment Voldemort suspects, It's over.
November descended upon Hogwarts with a vengeance, bringing biting winds and a perpetual half-light that made Marquas seriously reconsider his choice to haunt a drafty Scottish castle."Next time I possess someone," he muttered, "it'll be a wizard with a timeshare in the Bahamas." Even with his improved warming-charm-infused wardrobe, the dungeons maintained an impressive commitment to being absolutely miserable during the winter months.
"Clearly, insulation was not a priority for the Founders," he muttered, casting his third warming charm of the morning as he prepared for a day of teaching first-years how not to melt their cauldrons. "Magical geniuses who never heard of double-glazing. Probably thought frostbite built character."
The morning's Daily Prophet lay open on Marquas's desk, its headline grim: "DARK MARK SEEN OVER BRISTOL: FAMILY OF FOUR FOUND DEAD." Another murder, another escalation in a war that seemed to be accelerating faster than he remembered from the books. Voldemort was growing bolder, more public in his attacks, clearly attempting to sow widespread terror.
Marquas stared at the moving photograph of the Dark Mark hovering in the night sky, a sick feeling in his stomach. For every operation he managed to sabotage, there were three more that succeeded. He was making a difference, but not enough, not nearly enough.
His brooding was interrupted by a sharp knock at his office door. Strange, given that it was barely 6 AM and no student in their right mind would voluntarily seek out the Potions Master at this hour.
"Enter," he called, discretely sliding his wand into his palm beneath his desk.
The door opened to reveal Albus Dumbledore, looking unusually serious, the customary twinkle in his blue eyes notably absent. He wasn't even sucking on one of those infernal lemon drops truly, the apocalypse must be nigh.
"Headmaster," Marquas greeted him, immediately alert. Dumbledore rarely made personal visits, especially at this hour. "What's happened?"
"A delicate matter has arisen that requires your particular expertise, Severus," Dumbledore replied, casting several privacy charms with casual flicks of his wand. "Are you familiar with Regulus Black?"
Marquas stiffened. Regulus Black, Sirius's younger brother, Death Eater, and in the original timeline, doomed to die after discovering one of Voldemort's Horcruxes and attempting to destroy it. According to the books, he had been dragged to his death by Inferi in a hidden cave after ordering his house-elf, Kreacher, to leave with the locket Horcrux.
"Voldemort's youngest follower," Marquas answered carefully. "Joined immediately after leaving Hogwarts last year. Quiet, intelligent, from what I've observed at gatherings. Does a surprisingly good Dark Lord impression at Death Eater holiday parties, though nobody tells him that to his face."
"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded. "It seems young Mr. Black has had something of a crisis of conscience. Earlier this morning, he arrived at the Hog's Head, asking specifically for me. According to Aberforth, he appeared injured and in a state of considerable distress."
Marquas's mind raced. In the original timeline, no one knew about Regulus's change of heart or his attempt to destroy the Horcrux until years later. If he was seeking out Dumbledore now, something significant had changed.
"What did he want?" Marquas asked, already suspecting the answer.
"To defect," Dumbledore said simply. "And to share information about a magical artifact of great importance to Voldemort, one that Mr. Black believes is key to his power."
The locket Horcrux, Marquas thought with a jolt of excitement. If Regulus had already discovered the Horcrux but somehow escaped the cave...
"Where is he now?"
"That's the concerning part," Dumbledore frowned. "After providing Aberforth with basic details, he left to retrieve something, presumably this artifact, promising to return within the hour. That was four hours ago."
Marquas stood abruptly. "He's gone after a Horcrux."
Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up, genuine surprise crossing his features. "You know about the Horcruxes?"
Shit. Marquas had slipped, the term hadn't been widely known, even among those fighting Voldemort. In the books, Dumbledore had spent years researching and confirming his suspicions about them.
"I've... heard rumors," he recovered smoothly. "Whispers among the inner circle about objects of great significance to the Dark Lord. Items he values beyond reason and has hidden with lethal protections. The term 'Horcrux' was mentioned once, though few seemed to understand its meaning. I personally thought it was a fancy name for his sock collection, but the level of security seemed excessive even for someone with his fashion sense."
Dumbledore studied him intently. "You continue to surprise me with the depth of your intelligence gathering, Severus. Yes, I believe what Regulus described is indeed a Horcrux, a container for a fragment of Voldemort's soul, split through the darkest of magic."
"And Regulus knows where one is," Marquas stated rather than asked. "But if he hasn't returned..."
"Then he may have encountered the very protections you mentioned," Dumbledore finished grimly. "Before he left, he told Aberforth something about a cave, a lake, and 'the dead ones in the water.' Does that mean anything to you?"
Marquas felt a cold chill that had nothing to do with the dungeon's poor insulation. "Inferi. He's facing Inferi. Because apparently, regular corpses weren't creepy enough for the Dark Lord. He had to make them mobile."
"I feared as much," Dumbledore sighed. "Unfortunately, I cannot leave the school immediately, there's a delegation from the Wizengamot arriving within the hour that I cannot postpone without raising questions. By the time I could reach this cave..."
"It might be too late for Regulus," Marquas finished. "You want me to go."
It wasn't a question. And despite the obvious danger, Marquas didn't hesitate. This was a pivotal moment, a chance to save someone who, in the original timeline, had died a lonely, heroic death that went unrecognized for years.
And Dumbledore won't risk sending the entire Order of the Phoenix just to save one person, not when it could be a trap, a ploy orchestrated by the Dark Lord himself. The stakes are too high, and Dumbledore knows better than to gamble with so many lives on a hunch. But sending Snape… that's a risk worth taking.
Lately, Snape has grown bolder in his defiance against Voldemort, slipping deeper into the shadows with every passing day. Dumbledore's trust in him, once cautious, measured is steadily solidifying. He sees something in Snape. A resolve. A silent war and perhaps… the potential to tip the scales.
"Aberforth extracted the location from his memories," Dumbledore continued, producing a small vial of swirling silver liquid. "I've brought my Pensieve so you can view it directly. The cave appears to be along the southern coast."
Twenty minutes later, Marquas was striding toward Hogwarts' boundaries where he could Apparate, a bag of hastily gathered potions and equipment slung over his shoulder. The memory had shown a desolate stretch of coastline with towering cliffs and a narrow opening visible only at low tide, a location he recognized from Dumbledore's ill-fated expedition with Harry in the sixth book.
What wasn't in the books, however, was the exact nature of the protections beyond the basic blood sacrifice to enter. Marquas was flying blind into one of Voldemort's most heavily guarded Horcrux locations, with only fragmented knowledge to guide him.
"Just another Tuesday in the life of a transmigrated Potions Master," he muttered as he reached the apparition point. "Rescue mission to Inferi Central. Delightful. I should really start charging hazard pay for these little excursions. Or at least get frequent near-death experience points. "
With a crack, he disappeared, the cold November wind swallowing the sound of his departure.