The Prophecy's Shadow [2]

At the entrance to the Department of Mysteries, they found the massive black door hanging off its hinges, magical scorch marks indicating the force used to breach it. Beyond lay the circular chamber with its multiple identical doors, now mostly shattered open, removing the room's usual disorienting defense mechanism.

Dumbledore raised his hand, signaling for silence as he cast detection spells to identify threats ahead. After a moment, he turned to the group with grave concern.

"The temporal anomalies are expanding. Exercise extreme caution, pockets of accelerated or decelerated time may affect spell propagation and physical movement unpredictably."

"Lovely," Black muttered. "Time distortions and Death Eaters. Anything else we should worry about? Dragons? Inferi? Snape's shampoo running out?"

"Your wit remains as underdeveloped as your magical capabilities," Marquas retorted, though with less heat than usual. The situation was too serious for genuine rancor.

They moved forward into the circular chamber, where the signs of magical combat were evident, scorch marks on the walls, shattered stone, and the disturbing sight of an Unspeakable frozen mid-fall, caught in what appeared to be a bubble of slowed time.

"The Hall of Prophecy is our priority," Dumbledore stated quietly. "If they secure whatever record they're seeking, the strategic balance shifts significantly."

A silver lynx Patronus, Kingsley Shacklebolt's messenger, materialized before them. "Eastern approach engaged with heavy resistance. Time distortions affecting combat effectiveness. Requesting reinforcement."

"Proceed to the Hall," Dumbledore instructed Marquas and one of the Aurors. "Mr. Black, you'll accompany me to reinforce the eastern team. Move with caution, conventional tactical assumptions may not apply with temporal anomalies in play."

As they separated, Marquas led the way toward the Hall of Prophecy, his mind racing with implications. If Voldemort learned of the new prophecy identifying "one who wears another's face" as his undoing, Marquas's already precarious position would become untenable. The Dark Lord would focus all his considerable resources on identifying and eliminating this new threat.

They encountered their first resistance at the entrance to the Hall, two masked Death Eaters maintaining a guard position, clearly not expecting attack from behind. Marquas and the Auror dispatched them with efficient nonverbal spells before they could raise an alarm.

"Binding only," Marquas instructed as the Auror prepared to secure the unconscious Death Eaters. "But check for emergency Portkeys or communication devices first."

The precaution proved wise, each Death Eater carried a charmed coin similar to the ones Hermione would eventually create for Dumbledore's Army, but designed to alert others if activated. Marquas pocketed these before proceeding.

The Hall of Prophecy stretched before them in eerie silence, countless glowing orbs arranged on towering shelves, each containing a recorded prophecy. At the far end, they could see movement, dark figures systematically checking shelf markers, searching for specific records.

"Three targets visible," the Auror whispered. "More likely nearby. Standard approach or something creative?"

Marquas considered their options. Standard magical combat in this environment risked massive destruction of prophecy records, potentially creating a cascade of released magical energy with unpredictable effects. They needed something more controlled.

"Cover me," he instructed, retrieving a specialized potion from his robes, one of his recent innovations designed to create targeted magical disruption without widespread damage. "When I give the signal, cast a shield charm directly above the targets, angled at forty-five degrees."

The Auror looked confused but nodded agreement. Marquas calculated trajectory, then with precise aim, threw the potion vial in a high arc toward the Death Eaters. As it reached the apex of its flight, he signaled, "Now!"

The Auror cast the angled shield charm exactly as instructed. The potion vial struck it and shattered as designed, but instead of the contents simply raining down, the angled shield directed the potion spray in a concentrated pattern directly onto the Death Eaters below. Upon contact with organic material, the potion released a magical sedative effect specifically calibrated to human biology, dropping all three targets unconscious within seconds.

"What was that?" the Auror asked, impressed despite himself.

"Targeted Magical Incapacitation Solution," Marquas replied, already moving forward to secure the area. "Less dramatic than combat spells, more effective in sensitive environments."

They found the Death Eaters' search had been methodical but apparently unsuccessful, they hadn't yet located whatever specific prophecy record they sought. More concerning was what Marquas found clutched in one unconscious Death Eater's hand: a parchment with accurate coordinates for a prophecy recorded just hours earlier.

Impossible, he thought with growing alarm. Someone with inside knowledge of the Department of Mysteries' cataloging system had provided this information, suggesting a level of infiltration beyond what they'd suspected.

A massive magical explosion shook the entire Hall, sending vibrations through the floor and causing prophecy orbs to rattle dangerously on their shelves. From somewhere beyond the Hall came the distinctive cruel laugh of Bellatrix Lestrange, followed by screams that suggested the battle was intensifying elsewhere in the Department.

"We need to secure these prisoners and join the main conflict," the Auror urged.

Marquas nodded agreement, but as they prepared to move the unconscious Death Eaters, a chilling voice spoke from behind them.

"How predictable you've become, Severus."

Marquas turned slowly, already knowing what he would find. Lord Voldemort stood at the entrance to the Hall, his inhuman features arranged in an expression of calm assessment that was far more terrifying than rage would have been.

"Always the clever tactician, always one step ahead," Voldemort continued conversationally, as if they were discussing an interesting academic problem rather than standing on opposite sides of a violent conflict. "Until now."

The Auror raised his wand, but before he could cast a single spell, Voldemort made a casual flicking motion. The man was thrown backward with devastating force, colliding with a shelf of prophecy records that collapsed under the impact, releasing dozens of ghostly figures that began speaking their predictions simultaneously in a cacophony of overlapping voices.

"I admit to some disappointment," Voldemort said, advancing slowly into the Hall as prophecy apparitions swirled around him, giving his approach an eerily supernatural quality. "I had such hopes for your contributions, Severus. Your innovations, your theoretical frameworks... all put to such misguided use."

Marquas maintained his position, mind racing through tactical options. Direct magical combat with Voldemort was unlikely to end well, particularly without Dumbledore's support. His specialized potions might create an opportunity to escape, but Voldemort's reflexes would make successful deployment challenging.

"The new prophecy has you concerned," Marquas observed, playing for time while positioning himself near a junction that offered multiple escape routes. "Enough to risk a direct Ministry assault rather than your usual subtle manipulations."

"Concerned? No," Voldemort replied with chilling confidence. "Intrigued, perhaps. 'The one who wears another's face.' A curious phrase that immediately brought you to mind, Severus."

The statement confirmed Marquas's worst fears, Voldemort had indeed connected the prophecy to him specifically. The question was how much the Dark Lord had deduced about his true nature.

"Your recent behavior has been... inconsistent with your established patterns," Voldemort continued, still advancing with predatory patience. "Your magical innovations exceed what your previously demonstrated capabilities should allow. Your strategic insights suggest knowledge you shouldn't possess."

Each observation struck uncomfortably close to the truth. Voldemort had been monitoring him more closely than he'd realized, noting the discrepancies between the original Snape's abilities and Marquas's enhanced capabilities.

"Almost as if you were someone else entirely," Voldemort concluded, his red eyes gleaming with dangerous curiosity. "Someone wearing Severus Snape's face."

Before Marquas could respond, the air between them distorted visibly, a temporal anomaly from the damaged Time Chamber expanding into the Hall of Prophecy. Voldemort paused, assessing this new variable with calculating precision.

Marquas seized the opportunity, throwing down one of his most powerful inventions, a potion that created a localized temporal acceleration field, effectively allowing him to move at many times normal speed within its radius for a few critical seconds.

The vial shattered, releasing a golden mist that enveloped him. To outside observers, he would appear to blur with speed as he sprinted toward the side exit. But from his perspective, everything slowed dramatically, Voldemort's surprised expression shifting with glacial slowness, spells emerging from the Dark Lord's wand like liquid light oozing through molasses.

He cleared the temporal acceleration field just as it collapsed, the potion's effects lasting only seconds but providing the crucial head start he needed. Behind him, Voldemort's rage manifested as a wave of destructive magic that obliterated entire shelves of prophecy records, releasing hundreds of ghostly predictions into the air simultaneously.

The resulting magical chaos was unprecedented, prophecies interacting with temporal anomalies, creating pockets of prescience where future events briefly materialized as semi-transparent visions throughout the Department. Marquas sprinted through this surreal landscape, dodging fragments of possible futures and shattered pasts while alarms blared throughout the Ministry.

He encountered Dumbledore's group engaged in fierce combat with Death Eaters near the exit, temporal anomalies making the fighting especially chaotic as spells sometimes reached their targets before they were even cast.

"Voldemort is here," Marquas reported as he joined their defensive line. "The Hall of Prophecy is compromised, and he knows about Trelawney's prediction."

"More concerning," Dumbledore replied grimly, deflecting a barrage of curses with elegant precision, "is that he appears to have connected it specifically to you."

Before they could discuss further implications, the entire Department shuddered with magical backlash, the combined effect of damaged Time-Turners, released prophecies, and high-level combat magic creating a cascade of magical instability.

"The Department is becoming structurally unsound," Moody shouted over the cacophony of alarms and combat. "We need to evacuate, now!"

Dumbledore made the call: "All Order members, strategic withdrawal! Secure any civilians and retreat to the designated rally point!"

As they fought their way toward the exits, Marquas found himself alongside Sirius Black, both of them covering the retreat of injured Aurors. Despite their mutual animosity, they worked with seamless coordination, Black's combat instincts complementing Marquas's tactical precision.

"If you've betrayed us, Snape," Black growled between spellcasts, "I'll end you myself."

"Your paranoia would be more convincing if it weren't so predictable," Marquas retorted, deflecting a curse aimed at Black's unprotected side. "Focus on survival now, baseless accusations later."

The evacuation was nearly complete when Bellatrix Lestrange appeared at the far end of the corridor, her wild eyes fixing on them with malicious delight. "Running away so soon? The fun's just beginning!"

She cast a spell of such concentrated dark magic that the very air seemed to warp around it, not aimed at them directly, but at the ceiling above. The already unstable structure began to collapse, massive stone blocks plummeting toward the retreating Order members.

Marquas reacted instinctively, casting a specialized shield charm he'd developed specifically for structural collapses. The magic expanded upward, creating a supportive lattice that momentarily halted the falling debris.

"Move!" he ordered the remaining evacuees. "The shield will hold for approximately fifteen seconds!"

Black hesitated, torn between retreat and the opportunity to confront Bellatrix. In that moment of indecision, the witch cast another spell, this one directed at a nearby temporal anomaly, deliberately destabilizing it.

The resulting magical reaction was catastrophic. Time and space distorted violently, pulling in surrounding magical energies including Marquas's shield charm. As the protective magic collapsed, Marquas shoved Black forcefully toward the exit, sacrificing his own clear escape path in the process.

The last thing he saw before debris engulfed his position was Bellatrix's triumphant smile and, beyond her, the approaching figure of Voldemort himself, red eyes fixed on Marquas with terrible purpose.

Then darkness claimed him as the Department of Mysteries collapsed around him, burying the secrets it contained, including the prophecy that had marked him as the one who would be the Dark Lord's undoing.