January returned to Scotland with a vengeance, bringing with it the kind of bone-deep chill that made Marquas seriously reconsider his life choices or at least the ones that had resulted in him living in a drafty castle in the Scottish Highlands instead of, say, a nice villa in magical Tuscany. Even his improved quarters couldn't fully compensate for the fact that Hogwarts had been designed by people who apparently considered hypothermia character-building.
"Medieval architects," he muttered, casting his fourth warming charm of the morning as he prepared for the first Potions class of the new term. "Brilliant enough to create moving staircases but couldn't figure out central heating."
The Christmas break had been productively split between his official duties (a brief, tense appearance at Malfoy Manor's annual Yule celebration where he'd perfected the art of looking interested while mentally cataloging potion ingredients), his teaching preparations (revolutionizing the second-term curriculum for all seven years simultaneously), and his clandestine activities with Regulus (Horcrux hunting, Death Eater undermining, and arguing about their organization's name).
"The Reasonably Handsome Rebellion sounds like we're staging a coup against ugliness," Regulus had complained for the dozenth time. "Why not something properly intimidating?"
"Because 'Two Blokes, a House-Elf, and Some Wild Optimism' lacks gravitas," Marquas had replied.
On the business front, S. Prince Labs had officially launched its "Domestic Enchantment" line with considerable success. The Persistent Cleaning Solution had sold out its initial production run within two days of hitting the shelves at Diagon Alley's premier housewares shop, with backorders stretching into February. Apparently, the wizarding world had been desperate for practical household magic without realizing it.
But today marked a return to his most precarious role: active Death Eater espionage. Voldemort had summoned his inner circle for what Lucius had cryptically described as "strategic realignment in light of recent setbacks." Translation: someone was getting crucio'd into next week for the string of failed operations that Marquas had subtly orchestrated over the past months.
"Just what I needed," Marquas sighed, checking his Occlumency shields for the third time that morning. "A front-row seat to the Dark Lord's tantrum. At least the students won't seem so intimidating afterward. Nothing puts first-year potion disasters in perspective like watching a grown man with snake nostrils having a meltdown."
As if on cue, the first of his NEWT-level seventh years began filing into the classroom, looking appropriately apprehensive about returning to Potions after the holiday break. Marquas had developed a reputation as a demanding but surprisingly effective teacher, rigorous in his expectations but genuinely interested in student improvement, a far cry from canon Snape's reign of terror.
"Today," he announced once everyone was seated, "we'll be discussing detection and countering of covertly administered potions, a skill that might prove more practical than theoretical for many of you, given current societal trends."
The students exchanged uncomfortable glances. Everyone knew what "current societal trends" meant: the war was escalating, with reports of Imperius victims.
"The standard detection spells taught by Professor Flitwick are adequate for basic identification," Marquas continued, flicking his wand to reveal a series of diagrams on the blackboard. "But many modern potions are specifically designed to evade such detection. Which is why we'll be brewing this."
He indicated a cauldron of shimmering silver liquid on his desk. "The Revelation Draught. Considerably more comprehensive than standard detection methods, capable of identifying nearly any foreign substance in food or drink, including most known mind-altering potions.
A Ravenclaw girl raised her hand. "Professor, isn't that an Auror-restricted potion?"
"Five points to Ravenclaw for your detailed extracurricular reading, Miss Fawley," Marquas nodded. "It is indeed restricted, for commercial brewing and distribution. Educational use under qualified supervision is permitted, particularly given current circumstances."
He didn't mention that he'd personally lobbied Dumbledore to approve this lesson, arguing that preparing students to protect themselves was more important than Ministry technicalities. The Headmaster had agreed with surprising readiness, even helping secure the necessary permits.
"You'll work in pairs," Marquas instructed, waving his wand to display brewing instructions. "Focus particularly on the timing of the moonstone addition, too early, and the solution becomes useless; too late, and it becomes highly volatile. Much like dating, timing is everything, though unlike dating, this explosion will only singe your eyebrows, not your dignity."
As the students gathered their ingredients and began setting up workstations, Marquas moved through the classroom offering guidance and corrections. Teaching had become unexpectedly satisfying, seeing genuine understanding dawn on students' faces provided a different kind of fulfillment than his other activities.
"Sir," a Slytherin boy approached his desk while his partner prepared their cauldron, "is it true you've developed an advanced version of this potion for commercial release?"
News traveled fast. Marquas had indeed created an enhanced Revelation Draught as part of S. Prince Labs' security line, though it hadn't yet been officially announced.
"Product development discussions are not appropriate during class time, Mr. Rosier," he replied, maintaining his professional demeanor while mentally noting that Edgar Rosier's father was a known Death Eater and potential intelligence source. "Though I believe S. Prince Labs will be advertising new security products in next month's Potioneer's Quarterly."
The young Rosier nodded with undisguised interest before returning to his workstation. Interesting. Either the boy was collecting information for his Death Eater father, or he had genuine academic interest in innovative potions. Possibly both.
By the end of class, most student pairs had produced respectable attempts at the Revelation Draught, with three groups achieving nearly perfect results. Marquas dismissed them with assigned reading on advanced concealment potions and their counters, knowledge that might literally save lives in the coming months.
As the classroom emptied, his forearm began to burn with the unmistakable summons of the Dark Mark. Perfect timing, at least, his teaching schedule was clear for the remainder of the day.
Time to play the other role, he thought grimly, heading to his quarters to change into appropriate Death Eater attire before departing the castle grounds.
••••
Malfoy Manor had become the de facto headquarters for Voldemort's operations, a development Lucius seemed simultaneously proud of and terrified by. The grand ballroom had been converted to a meeting chamber, with high-backed chairs arranged in a circle around a central space where unfortunate messengers or failed operatives often found themselves writhing under the Cruciatus Curse.
When Marquas arrived, most of the inner circle was already present: Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus, the Carrow siblings, Dolohov, Yaxley, and several others. Lucius stood near the entrance, greeting arrivals with the strained politeness of a man hosting a gathering he couldn't refuse.
"Severus," Lucius nodded as he approached. "I'm glad you were able to attend on such short notice."
"The Dark Lord's summons take priority over all else," Marquas replied smoothly, the expected response. "I gather recent events have necessitated reassessment?"
Lucius's expression tightened. "Several operations have yielded... suboptimal outcomes. The McKinnons remain elusive, the Ministry raid was compromised, and the Bristol cell was infiltrated by Aurors. The Dark Lord is... displeased."
"Understandably so," Marquas commented, maintaining a neutral expression despite the satisfaction he felt knowing his various sabotage efforts had contributed to all three "suboptimal outcomes."
Before Lucius could respond further, the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees, the telltale sign of Voldemort's arrival. The assembled Death Eaters fell immediately silent, turning toward the ornate doors at the far end of the chamber as they swung open to admit the Dark Lord.
Voldemort glided into the room with inhuman grace, his pale features set in an expression of cold fury that promised suffering for someone before the meeting concluded. Gone was any trace of the handsome Tom Riddle; magical corruption had transformed him into something increasingly serpentine and alien.
"My faithful servants," he began, his high, cold voice carrying effortlessly through the silent chamber. "We gather today to address certain... disappointments in our recent endeavors."
The tension in the room was palpable as Voldemort took his seat at the head of the circle, red eyes scanning each face as if searching for guilt or weakness. Marquas maintained perfect Occlumency shields, projecting nothing but calm attention and appropriate deference.
"For too long, we have suffered setbacks that cannot be attributed to mere chance," Voldemort continued. "Our plans leak like sieves, our targets receive warnings, our operations face unexpected resistance precisely when they should be most vulnerable."
Marquas kept his expression impassive, though internally his alertness heightened. This wasn't just the usual post-failure rage session, Voldemort was specifically suggesting coordinated opposition beyond normal Order activities.
"The obvious conclusion," the Dark Lord continued, "is that we face a traitor in our midst."
The chamber erupted in immediate denials and protestations of loyalty, each Death Eater trying to outdo the others in expressing their outrage at such a possibility. Marquas participated with calculated restraint, not so vehement as to draw attention, not so reserved as to appear suspicious.
"Silence," Voldemort commanded softly, instantly hushing the room. "I do not make this accusation lightly. Nor do I yet know the identity of this... disloyal element. But I intend to find out."
He stood, beginning to pace the circle with predatory grace. "Each of you will be investigated. Your recent activities examined, your communications scrutinized, your loyalties tested. Those with nothing to hide have nothing to fear."
Except your paranoia and sadistic tendencies, Marquas thought behind his mental shields. This development was concerning but not unexpected. Sooner or later, Voldemort was bound to suspect internal sabotage.