December arrived at Hogwarts with theatrical flair, dumping nearly a foot of snow overnight and transforming the castle grounds into a winter wonderland that would have made a holiday card photographer weep with joy or possibly develop frostbite while trying to capture the perfect shot. Students bounced between exam anxiety and holiday excitement, while the staff maintained the delicate balance of keeping educational standards while not completely crushing festive spirits.
For Marquas, the month marked nearly a season since his unexpected transmigration into Severus Snape's body. Three months of double-agent espionage, revolutionary potions work, and gradually rewriting a timeline he wasn't supposed to know about. The irony wasn't lost on him that he'd achieved more of historical significance in three months as Snape than in twenty-nine years as Marquas Wilson, software developer and snark enthusiast.
"Makes one wonder about the concept of destiny," he mused as he adjusted the temperature on a simmering cauldron in his private lab. "Was I always meant to be hit by that Prius, or was some cosmic algorithm just desperate for a plot twist?"
Since the rescue of Regulus Black, Marquas had been dividing his time between teaching duties, Death Eater obligations (kept to an absolute minimum), and the development of what he had stubbornly continued to call "The Reasonably Handsome Rebellion" despite Regulus's ongoing objections.
Their shadow organization remained small by design, currently just the two of them, plus Kreacher the house-elf, whose loyalty to Regulus bordered on fanatical. The ancient elf had proven unexpectedly valuable, providing access to locations and information that would have been otherwise impossible to obtain not to mention his unique talent for delivering scathing insults in a mumble just quiet enough to maintain plausible deniability.
Regulus himself was officially dead, living in a magically expanded and heavily warded flat in Cokeworth that Marquas had acquired under a false identity. The irony of setting up their rebel headquarters in Snape's childhood town wasn't lost on either of them, but the depressed industrial area offered perfect anonymity, wizards rarely ventured there, and Muggles paid little attention to the seemingly abandoned factory building that housed their operation. Plus, the rent was ridiculously cheap, apparently "possible Death Eater hideout" wasn't a selling point that drove up property values.
Their primary focus was now the hunt for additional Horcruxes. Dumbledore had successfully destroyed the locket using Fiendfyre in a controlled setting, confirming that Voldemort's soul fragment had indeed been contained within it. The Headmaster was now pursuing his own research into Voldemort's past, while Marquas and Regulus worked their separate angle, tracking dark artifacts through old pureblood networks.
But today, Marquas was focused on a different project altogether, one that had nothing to do with Horcruxes, Death Eaters, or the fate of the wizarding world. Instead, he was brewing the final batch of what he had dubbed "Basic Living Improvement Potions," or BLIPs for short.
"Domestic magic," he murmured as he carefully added powdered moonstone to the blue-tinted mixture, "the most underrated branch of wizardry. Forget defeating dark lords, the real magic is not having to scrub toilets by hand."
The cauldron emitted a pleasant chime-like sound as the ingredient was absorbed, the liquid shifting to a soft lavender color. Perfect. This particular formulation, the Persistent Cleaning Solution, was the last in his series of household potions designed to make his living quarters significantly more comfortable than the average wizard's home.
Over the past months, Marquas had gradually upgraded his dungeon quarters from "depressing medieval cell" to "actually habitable living space" through a combination of transfiguration, charms, and his own specialized potions. Having grown up with modern conveniences, he found the wizarding world's bizarre neglect of basic quality-of-life improvements both frustrating and perplexing.
"They can apparate across countries but can't figure out decent plumbing," he'd complained to Regulus during one of their planning sessions. "It's like they collectively decided indoor sanitation was less important than self-stirring cauldrons."
His BLIPs series addressed these oversights systematically. Today's brew completed the set: a cleaning solution that, when applied to surfaces, would repel dirt and grime for months rather than requiring daily scouring charms. He'd already implemented self-warming floors (no more ice-cold stone underfoot on winter mornings), magically pressurized shower systems (goodbye communal bathing, hello actual water pressure), and his personal favorite, a coffee-brewing wand holster that could deliver the perfect cup of Italian roast with a simple wand movement, an invention he considered more valuable than most defensive spells, particularly before 8 AM.
As he decanted the completed potion into spray bottles, a knock at his laboratory door interrupted his domestic improvements.
"Enter," he called, setting aside the bottles and ensuring nothing overly suspicious was visible. While his quarters were heavily warded against intrusion, he maintained appearances of normalcy for expected visitors, which meant hastily shoving several "Voldemort's Secret Weaknesses" notes under a copy of "Advanced Cauldron Monthly."
Minerva McGonagall stepped in, eyebrows rising slightly at the lavender-colored potion and array of spray bottles. "Am I interrupting something, Severus? That doesn't look like your typical deadly concoction."
"Surprisingly, Minerva, not all my brewing involves toxins or explosives," Marquas replied dryly. "This is merely a cleaning solution with extended duration properties."
"Cleaning solution?" she repeated, sounding almost disappointed. "I must say, that seems rather... mundane for your talents."
"Were you expecting a potion to turn students into attentive listeners? Even I have limits to my magical abilities."Marquas couldn't resist a small smile. "Even potion masters occasionally tire of scrubbing cauldrons manually. This formulation maintains cleanliness for approximately three months with a single application."
McGonagall's expression shifted from disappointment to genuine interest. "Three months? That's rather impressive, actually. The standard household charms require weekly renewal at minimum."
"Precisely," Marquas nodded. "Wizarding domestic magic is strangely underdeveloped considering the potential applications. We can charm teapots to dance but haven't improved basic sanitation since the eighteenth century."
"A fair observation," McGonagall conceded, looking around his laboratory with new eyes. "Is that why your quarters always smell considerably better than Horace's did? I'd attributed it to personal habits, but perhaps there's more to it."
"A combination of factors," Marquas admitted. "I've made several adjustments to improve livability. The castle has charm, certainly, but medieval comfort standards leave much to be desired."
McGonagall's lips twitched in what might have been a suppressed smile. "Would you perhaps be willing to share some of these 'adjustments'? Hogwarts winters are particularly brutal in the north tower classrooms."
"I might be persuaded," Marquas replied, surprised but pleased by her interest. "Though I warn you, Minerva, once you experience magically pressurized hot water, regular bathing arrangements become rather disappointing."
"I'll risk the disappointment," she said with unexpected dryness. "After thirty years of Hogwarts bathing, my standards are already so low they're practically subterranean."
"Now, domestic innovations aside, I came to inform you that Albus wishes to see you before the holiday break begins. Something about 'shared research interests,' which I assume is code for matters relating to You-Know-Who."
"Indeed," Marquas nodded, instantly refocusing. "When?"
"This evening after dinner," she replied. "And Severus?"
"Yes?"
"I would be quite interested in that cleaning solution once it's perfected. The house-elves do their best, but some of those trophy cases haven't been truly clean since Godric Gryffindor's time."
With that surprisingly practical request, she departed, leaving Marquas amused at how quickly his "mundane" household improvements had caught the attention of Hogwarts' most practical professor. Perhaps there was a wider market for his BLIPs than he'd initially considered, another potential revenue stream for S. Prince Labs that could fund their more clandestine activities.
••••
"The memory is fragmentary," Dumbledore explained as he carefully poured silvery wisps into his Pensieve, "but most illuminating nonetheless."
Marquas stood beside the Headmaster's desk, watching the swirling memories with concealed anticipation. Since their acquisition of the locket Horcrux, Dumbledore had been pursuing an investigation into Tom Riddle's past with renewed vigor, collecting memories from those who had known him before his transformation into Lord Voldemort.
"Whose memory is it?" Marquas asked, though he could guess from the timeline, this would be Hokey the house-elf's memory of Hepzibah Smith showing Riddle the Hufflepuff cup and Slytherin locket, both of which he subsequently stole after murdering her.
"A house-elf called Hokey," Dumbledore confirmed. "She served an elderly witch named Hepzibah Smith, a wealthy collector of magical antiquities who had several... shall we say, significant interactions with a young Tom Riddle during his employment at Borgin and Burke's."
"Let me guess, she thought she was getting a charming antiques expert, and instead got a homicidal megalomaniac with kleptomania? Dating profiles were clearly just as misleading then as they are now." Marquas nodded, maintaining his façade of learning this information for the first time. He had slowly come to realize that the old characters like Voldemort, McGonagall, and Dumbledore, barely reacted to his sarcasm.
In fact, he was willing to bet that if he told them he was a transmigrator and they were all fictional characters, they'd just nod and say, "Interesting theory, Severus." As if they were too mature, or too detached, to care. But that's exactly why he appreciated young Regulus Black. The boy didn't just laugh at his jokes, he actually built on them, adding wit and value of his own. "And you believe these interactions may reveal something about potential Horcruxes?"
"See for yourself," Dumbledore gestured to the Pensieve. "After you, Severus."
Together they plunged into the memory, emerging in the overstuffed, pink-dominated sitting room of Hepzibah Smith. The scene played out much as Marquas remembered from the books, the elderly witch preening for the handsome young Riddle, proudly revealing her greatest treasures: Hufflepuff's cup and Slytherin's locket, both items that Riddle coveted for their historical significance and connection to Hogwarts founders.
When they emerged from the memory, Dumbledore watched him expectantly, clearly waiting for his analysis.